Elizabeth,
I understand why you left. You believed you were doing the right thing. Or perhaps you believed your absence would solve something here. I must confess that I miss you greatly and wish you had taken the time to think about your actions and their consequences. You will not remember this, but you must know: you do not belong in the Maze. You were never meant to go there. I am disappointed with your actions, but we cannot undo the past. All we can do is move forward. I have sent up a crate with some of your favorite things. You will find a vial of liquid among the contents there, wrapped carefully in bubble-wrap. Please drink this and remember. It will not replenish all of your memories, but it will give some back. Hopefully the memories it decides to give you will help explain things. I do not expect to see you again, so this is my goodbye.
I love you,
Mother

Elizabeth clenched the note in her hands and closed her eyes. She sat in her hut, the crate sitting open in front of her waiting patiently. All she had to do was close the distance and dig through the contents. It was right there, all she had to do was start. Nick and Alby had carried the crate to her hut after giving her the letter. Neither of them said a word as they dropped off the crate and left her alone with it; neither of them sought an explanation. Their silence spoke louder than their words could, however, and Elizabeth knew she owed the Gladers an explanation as soon as she could give it to them.

Finally she crept forward and looked into the crate. There was another box inside the crate, as well as the tattered dress still lying where Nick had thrown it. She picked that up first and ran her hands across the frilled sleeves, testing to see if her fingers remembered the fabric. It was a dark blue dress with frilly white sleeves and a bottom edged with lace. Other than that, it was a simple-looking thing and didn't appeal to her taste very much. Perhaps in another life she had treasured the dress, but now it meant nothing. It was ripped beyond wear, anyway, so there wasn't much point on lingering over it any longer. She tossed the dress aside and opened the box inside the crate, revealing an assortment of objects.

There was another dress, a forest green summer dress with tiny white flowers. It was intact and was cuter than the other one, in her opinion. She brushed her fingers against the collar but once again there was no memory attached to the feeling of it. Underneath the dress was a floral shirt and a pair of jeans. She wrinkled her nose. Whoever she was before the Maze had strange taste.

A leather-bound journal caught her eye and she went for that, but as she brought it towards her, a piece of paper fell from the pages. It was a picture of a dark-haired boy leaning over a table of test tubes and other science-y looking things. He was wearing a pair of goggles and holding a syringe of blue liquid in his hands. Whoever it was, he didn't seem to know that his picture was being taken at the time. In fact, there was a sort of glare to the picture as if it had been taken through a glass window. She turned it over but there was nothing written on the back to indicate who it was. She let the picture fall back into the crate and opened the journal to a random page.

Dear Diary,
Still no cure. I'm starting to think there is no cure. So many have been lost, so many lives have been sacrificed...I'm starting to regret everything Mother has done. She keeps saying that sending these Immunes into the Maze will reveal a cure, but I don't understand. I've seen their files and she's lied about so many things. Did she think I wouldn't find out? Does she seriously think they can build immunity by sending them into a place where they can be killed by those stupid robot-creatures? Couldn't they have made it a bit easier, at least? I don't see how this is helping anything. I don't like to oppose Mother, but I don't agree with anything she's doing. I hate WICKED. I hate it.
~E.P.

So it was some sort of illness? This was the reason behind the Maze? Elizabeth turned the page and was slightly annoyed by the next entry.

Diary,
Thomas smells really nice. Kind of musky and leathery, I guess? Whatever cologne he's using it's great. Anyway, he's one of the only people here I can talk to. Teresa hates me, Janson is an old creep, and all Mother talks about is this "WICKED is good," crap.
~E.P.

Most of the other entries were just as irrelevant as the second entry, and had a lot of fluff about this "Thomas" person, which was a little embarrassing and somewhat immature. Thomas must have been the boy the woman in her dream-memory had been warning her about. She remembered the woman's words about heartbreak and how much more important he was than her. Elizabeth got a funny feeling in her stomach as she continued. Whoever this Thomas-boy was, she had obviously fancied herself in love with him. She sighed and flipped through the rest of the journal.

After a certain point her other-self had stopped writing. Elizabeth had hoped that there'd be some sort of entry on her decision to sneak into the Maze, but there was nothing. She was about to put the journal back in the crate, but on a sudden whim she turned to the last page, revealing a final entry. She sucked in a breath as she read the contents:

Immune: Nick Alby Minho George Dave Kevin Will Dalton Doug Zart Ben Ric Gally
Non-Immune: Rob Newt Billy P.F. Marco Hank Elizabeth

What the hell was this? First she read about some sickness they apparently couldn't find a cure to, and now this? A list of the people who were supposedly immune to the disease? She'd already known that she wasn't immune from her memory-dream, but before now she she assumed she was the only one. She was the only one who wasn't supposed to be here, anyway, and before now she hadn't put two-and-two together. Is this why we're here, then? Because of some disease? she thought.

What did it all mean? Was someone here sick and they didn't know about it? She re-read the list. She was relieved to see that most of the Gladers, including Gally and Minho were immune, but Newt...Newt was like her.

A tinkling sound drew her attention and she looked into the crate just in time to see a vial roll out from underneath a ball of padding. She tossed the journal aside and picked up the vial. The liquid inside was a greenish color and the glass was warm to the touch. Holding it close to her chest, she searched the remaining contents in the crate. There were a few more pictures, mostly of the dark-haired boy, though there were two of her. There was a box of multi-colored gummy candies and another bag of feminine products, but that was it. That was all that was in the box.

Gummy candies and clothes. They had sent up nothing but useless things! Even the contents of the journal weren't terribly helpful, though they did offer more of an explanation to the reason they were here. Someone was trying to fight a disease, but the way they were going about it made absolutely no sense. Elizabeth squeezed the vial in her hands and then held it out. Her mother had said that it would replenish some of her memories, but could she really trust someone she didn't know? After a pause she replaced the vial in the crate, using the crumpled bubble-wrap to conceal it.

---

"So what was in the crate?" Nick asked at the table that night. Elizabeth shrugged.

"A pair of clothes and some feminine products. Nothing special, really."

"You expect us to believe that? Did you read the letter at least?" Dalton said. Elizabeth nodded.

"Yeah, it basically said that I'm not supposed to be here. It proves that I sneaked in without permission in order to get you that antidote," she replied.

"Hey, speaking of surprises!" Frypan cut in. He was carrying a cup over his head triumphantly.

"We weren't," Clint said. Doug nudged him in the abdomen.

"What, are we we supposed to be impressed by your strength or something?" Minho crossed his arms and grinned, "Everybody can hold up a cup, ya nitwit."

"Funny," Frypan set the cup down in the center of the table, "It's what's in the cup that counts."

Sixteen heads leaned in, all trying to get a look into the cup. Alby was the first to take action. He reached forward, grabbed the cup, and took a sip. The other Glader's watched his face for some sort of reaction, but Alby just looked at the cup in his hands and raised an eyebrow at Frypan.

"What is this?" he asked. Frypan grinned.

"Something amazing," he said.

"LET ME TRY!" P.F. grabbed the drink from Alby and took a drink. His face convulsed and the liquid dribbled from his mouth as he tried to swallow it down. Dalton, who was sitting next to P.F., shook his arm.

"P.F!" He turned to Frypan, "WHAT THE SHUCK MAN!"

P.F. swallowed and coughed: "This stuff is the BUNK!"

Suddenly the silence at the table turned into a shuffling chaos as the rest of the boys scrambled for a try. Chris tried it and went for more but was stopped by Hank who pulled it from his mouth by force.

"IT'S MY TURN YOU SHANK!"

"I have more!" Frypan piped up, which just made the chaos increase. Elizabeth was shoved to the ground as Newt and Minho lunged forcefully past her, crashing into each other in the process and grabbing each other's shirts to try to stop the other one from getting at the pot of concoction that Frypan brought over. Gally punched Hank in the shoulder and the two ended up on the ground, shortly joined by Doug and Ben, who were engaged in their own fight and fell over the two on the ground. Nick threw himself on Frypan and ripped the ladle out of his hand.

"GIMME THAT SPOON GREENIE!" he yelled. Frypan howled and let go of the ladle. Nick snatched it up and scrambled towards the pot, dipping it in and gulping down the...whatever-it-was.

"HELL YES!" Nick went in for another ladle-full but was intercepted by Zart, who rammed into his side and took the ladle for himself.

Elizabeth yelped when someone stepped on her. She quickly go to her feet and stepped away from the turmoil and watched the boys fight over their chance at getting a drink.

"MOVE OVER, YA MOUTH-BREATHER!"

"I WAS HERE FIRST, GET YOUR OWN CUP!"

"SONOFA-GET OFF ME!"

Why in the world did Frypan think introducing an alchoholic beverage would be a good idea? Nothing good could come from this. She was about to leave when Nick pulled on her sleeve. She gave him her attention because he usually never paid her any. He was holding out a jar to her, filled almost to the brim with a brown, murky-looking liquid.

"Try it," he said, and then shoved the jar in her hands and re-joined the fray. Elizabeth stood holding the jar in her hands. Finally she shrugged and brought it to her lips. Her taste buds were overwhelmed by the yeasty, bitter flavor of it. She forced herself to swallow it down and then bent over, gagging.

"HEY! CAREFUL WITH THAT!" Minho grabbed the jar out of her hands before it all spilled out.

"My throat is burning," Elizabeth said, covering her mouth in disgust. Minho just grinned.

"I know, it's great!"

"It's gross!"

"You've obviously never tasted liquor before," Minho took a swig from the jar.

"Liquor? More like poorly made moonshine," Elizabeth retorted. Minho raised an eyebrow at her.

"Why so critical? We can't all have the finer things in life," he said, and then thought about it. "Yeah, I guess I'd peg you as more of a wine-lover."

"Excuse me?" Elizabeth wrinkled her nose and Minho laughed. There was a queasy feeling in Elizabeth's stomach as she thought of the effects of alcohol. It probably wasn't a good idea for her to stay here much longer, especially if this sort of behavior kept up. Maybe no one was drunk now, but then again, who knows how long these men had gone without a drink. Maybe none of them could hold their alcohol.

"MINHO!" Alby grabbed Minho's shoulder and Minho cursed when he dropped the jar and the last of the contents spilled onto the grass. He turned an angry face on Alby and punched him. Alby reeled back, almost falling to the ground from the force of it. When he came back, he was grinning. Will and Clint started whooping and a few of the others started casting bets. Her sense of dread rising, Elizabeth left. This time, nobody stopped her.

---

The next few weeks passed fairly quickly, albeit rather wildly. Jeff was sent up, replacing Frypan as Greenie. He didn't seem to like any of the jobs that were offered, so Nick appointed him as the first Slopper. He did the jobs that no one wanted to do: cleaning the shower stalls and scrubbing the dinner table clean, among others. Elizabeth was excited to be the one to show him all the ropes. Dalton was usually the one who showed the Greenies around, but this time she had asked him if she could do it. He agreed and she found that Jeff was an agreeable, sweet boy who was more concerned with the well-being of others than himself.

On request, Frypan supplied the Glade with his moonshine and the drink started appearing everywhere, much to Elizabeth's horror. Every night at dinner what started out as an energetic toast always ended in some sort of drunken brawl. And every night Elizabeth left before things got too crazy, and ended the day with a brisk run and a refreshing shower. Ever since her little mishap with Chris, she'd found that running-though not her first choice of exercising regime-made her feel good. When she ran, she didn't think of anything. When she ran, all she could think about was running. It was surprisingly very meditative.

One evening, when she was running past the doors to the Maze, she stopped to catch her breath and leaned against the wall of names. She raised her arms above her head to control her breathing, and was about to start up again when she heard a clanging sound. Curious, she walked over to the entrance of the Maze and stared in. There was another clanging sound, this time followed by a whir and an almost mechanical growl. Fear gripped Elizabeth's heart and she took a step back just as what she could only guess was a Griever stepped into view. When it saw her it stopped and Elizabeth could hear its ragged breathing. Knees trembling, Elizabeth dared to take another step back.

The Griever screamed. It was the most feral, bloodcurdling shriek she had ever heard. The sound reverberated painfully against her ears and every single hair on her body stood on its end. Unable to scream in return, Elizabeth gasped and started running, her survival instinct taking over. The Griever followed her movements and every step it took made the ground beneath Elizabeth's feet shake. It was so fast...she didn't dare look back.