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Thomas grabbed Minho by the arm.
"Somehow i have to get through that!"
He nodded towards the rolling pack of Grievers between them and the Cliff - they looked like one big mass of rumbling, spiked blubber, glistening with flashes of lights off steel. They were even more menacing in the faded grey light.
Thomas waited for an answer as Minho and Newt exchanged a long glance. The anticipation of fighting was almost worse then the fear of it.
Newt looked at Thomas with brown eyes full of so many different emotions that Thomas wondered how the blonde could think straight. Thomas was reaching out his hand before he thought about it.
"Newt…"
Newt nodded, his eyes softening as Thomas's fingers brushed his arm. He reached up to cover Thomas's hand with his own, giving it a hard squeeze. He didn't say anything but Thomas could see it written on his face.
Be safe, Tommy. Get us out of here.
He nodded back and tried to ignore the swirling desperation in his stomach. They'd get through this. He'd get them out. He had to.
"They're coming!" Teresa yelled. "We have to do something!"
"You lead," Newt finally said to Minho, his voice barely more than a whisper. He kept his eyes on Thomas as though he was scared what would happen if he looked away. "Make a bloody path for Tommy and the girl. Do it."
Minho nodded once, a steel look of resolve hardening his features. Then he turned towards the Gladers. Thomas heard Minho shouting but his eyes never left Newt.
"We head straight for the Cliff! Fight through the middle, push the shuckin' things towards the walls. What matters most is getting Thomas and Teresa to the Griever Hole!"
Thomas had to look away from Newt then, back at the approaching monsters - they were only a metre or so away. He gripped his poor excuse for a spear.
We have to stay close together, he told Teresa. Let them do the fighting - we have to get through that Hole.
He felt like a coward, but he knew that any fighting - and any deaths - would be in vain if they didn't get that code punched, get the door to the Creators opened.
I know, she replied. Stick together.
"Ready!" Minho yelled next to Thomas, raising his barbed-wire-wrapped club into the air with one hand, a long silver knife in the other. He pointed the knife at the horde of Grievers; a flash glinted off the blade. "Now!"
The Keeper ran forward without waiting for a response. Newt went after him without looking back, right on his heels and taking with him Thomas's heart and his fervent prayer for the blonde's safety.
Then the rest of the Gladers followed, a tight pack of roaring boys charging ahead to a bloody battle, weapons raised.