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As if in answer to her question, someone fell through the black square - it was Minho, looking as if he'd been scratched or stabbed on ninety percent of his body.
"Minho!" Thomas shouted, filled with relief. "Are you okay? What about everybody else?"
Minho stumbled towards the curved wall of the tunnel, then leaned there, gulping big breaths.
"We lost a ton of people… it's a mess of blood up there… then they all just shut down."
He paused, taking in a really deep breath and letting it go in a rush of air.
"You did it. I can't believe it actually worked."
FryPan came through then, followed by Winston. Then the others. With each thud of feet hitting the concrete floor as a Glader slid through, Thomas's fear grew. Newt. Where the bloody hell was Newt?
Before long seventeen boys had joined Thomas and his friends in the tunnel, making a total of twenty Gladers in all. Each was was covered in Griever sludge and human blood, their clothes ripped to shreds. Newt was not among them. There was a long moment of emptiness that made Thomas's heart hammer harder than he'd ever thought possible as he stared at the black square, unable to breathe.
"And Newt?" he eventually managed to choke out, his fear-clogged throat strangling the words and cutting them off. Minho looked up at him, his eyes afraid.
"He was right there. I'm sure he was," he looked frantically to the last Gladers to come through, "wasn't he?"
Thomas felt like he was going to pass out from the way his heart was thumping, rushing adrenaline and devastation through his veins. Tears pricked his eyes and he finally gasped a breath, feeling his knees tremble beneath him.
"He must have- he can't have-"
Thomas felt his throat close, his heart fall. Their struggle seemed suddenly so pointless, so useless. If he hadn't kept Newt safe then he had failed. He had believed in Thomas and he had been wrong. Thomas swayed, the world starting to feel far away.
And then there was a muffled thump, and a second of pure silence before he appeared, his trainers hitting the ground hard and his bad leg making him stumble.
Thomas took a breath. Newt stood before him, covered like the others in goo and yellow oil and blood, his weapon clasped loosely in his hand. He blinked, looking dazed, but then his dark eyes flicked up and met Thomas's gaze full on.
And the last of Thomas's strength vanished.
He flew across the corridor, skidding on the mess on the floor as he threw his arms around the older boy, dragging him forward into a fierce embrace. Newt almost fell on top of him as he started in surprise before he wrapped his arms around Thomas, his weapon hitting the ground with a muffled clang.
Thomas's face was wet, the tears pouring down his cheeks without permission as he choked stuttering breaths into Newt's shoulder. The blonde only tightened his arms, his face pressing into Thomas's hair, his nose brushing the younger boy's neck as the two boys clung feverishly to each other.
"I- I thought- Gods Newt! You- You- took so shucking long i thought- I thought-"
Thomas's words were a messy jumble of hiccups and sobs, and Newt's breathing became just as difficult.
"I'm here. I made it. You did it, Tommy, you did it. You saved us from the Maze."
Thomas's sobs only grew in strength as the words hit home and Newt had to help him stand as his knees finally buckled.
"Half of us." he said, his voice weak. "Half of us dead."
Newt turned his face into his neck, his breath trembling against Thomas's ear.
"Tommy, you saved half of us. You did. You saved Chuck, and Teresa and Minho, FryPan and the others." He drew back, tipping his face to force Thomas to meet his eye. Thomas looked up at him with a look that just about broke his heart. "You saved me, Tommy. You promised me you would and you have."
"You know what?" Minho said, drawing their attention and that of the others who were staring at them, "Half might've died, but half of us shucking lived. And nobody got stung - just like Thomas thought. We've gotta get out of here."
Too many, Thomas thought, reluctantly drawing away from the security he felt in Newt's embrace. Too many by far. Within him rose a dark black bubble of mourning for the twenty people who'd lost their lives. Despite the alternative, despite knowing that if they hadn't tried to escape, all of them might've died, it still hurt, even though he hadn't known them very well. Such a display of death - how could it be considered a victory?
Close beside him, a voice shook him enough from his stupor to pay attention to the here and now.
"Let's get out of here," Newt said, his body pressed against Thomas's, their sides touching and his hand snaking between their hips to grasp Thomas's in a tight hold. "Right now."
"Where do we go?" Minho asked, giving Thomas no time to consider the long fingers enclosed around his own, grounding him with their warm touch.
He pointed down the long tunnel.
"I heard the door open down that way."
He tried to push away the ache of it all - the horrors of the battle they'd just won. The losses. He pushed it all away, focusing on feeling Newt's hand in his, the way the blonde linked their fingers tightly, knowing they were nowhere near safe yet.
"Well - let's go." Minho answered. And the older boy turned and started walking up the tunnel without waiting for a response.
Newt nodded, ushering the other Gladers past him to follow. One by one they went until only he remained with Thomas and Teresa.
"I'll go last." Thomas said.
No one argued. Newt stood close at his side. Chuck went, then Teresa, into the black tunnel. Even the torches seemed to get swallowed by the darkness. Thomas and Newt followed, hands still firmly entwined, not even bothering to look back at the dead Grievers.