Disclaimer:

I do not own The Maze Runner, but if I did, I'd film it like The Office.

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Lawrence was silent for a moment before whispering, "Those are some awfully polite Cranks."

"Maybe they're not past the Gone yet?" Thomas suggested, then apparently thought the idea was stupid, because he quickly added, "Or not in the mood to get run over by a big van?"

"Maybe not all Cranks are the same," I replied thoughtfully. "Maybe they're not all bad and want to kill every living human left."

Even as I said the words, part of me didn't believe it. I shoved down the dread creeping down my spine as best as I could. Trepidation made my heart pound, positive something awful was about to happen.

"Well, either way, gun it," Brenda ordered blankly. It was both a blessing and a curse for her to be unfazed by almost anything. "Before they change their minds."

Lawrence obeyed and pushed hard on the gas, not daring to slow down this time. The Cranks that lined the walls watched carefully as we shot past. They had the same maddened eyes and battered faces as every other Crank we've seen, but they didn't try to attack us.

It could have been reassuring if it didn't seem so wrong.

Sure enough, just before we were about to finally pass them, there were several loud pops and Lawrence lost control of the vehicle. It swerved wildly to the right until finally crashing its front end into the wall violently. My entire body gave a jolt as I struggled to hold on, hands clenching onto the front of the armrests while my biceps pulled at the sudden movement. Two Cranks were pinned beneath the front of the van, screaming in agony and pounding their fists on the hood in an attempt to free themselves.

"What the hell?" Lawrence demanded before firmly putting the van in reverse.

The vehicle gave an ear-piercing screech as we moved backward as much as we could handle. The two Cranks dropped to the ground and were immediately swarmed by the ones closest to them, the sounds of wailing and beating making my gut wrench. Thumping came from all over as each of the people surrounding us began knocking their fists against the van. To top it all off, even as Lawrence was flooding the pedal, the tires squealed and spun, unable to gain traction on the ground.

"I retract my earlier statement!" I exclaimed, unsure of where to look. The leering faces of Cranks peered through every window; the sounds of their fists thudding against the van made it impossible to think.

"What's wrong?" Brenda yelled over the noise.

"They did something to the tires!" Lawrence replied. His voice was laced with fear as he glanced downward at the rotating wheels. "Or the axels. Something!"

He continuously switched back and forth from reverse to drive, but it didn't do much more than getting us a few feet. A woman with wildly tangled hair approached the window to Thomas' right with a shovel clenched firmly in her hands. She raised it high above her head before bringing it down against the glass. Luckily, it held.

"We really need to get out of here!" Thomas shouted. He was watching the woman with eyes so wide it appeared like they'd pop out of his head at any second. His bottom lip was quivering with fear.

"Any more helpful observations?" I shot back, gritting my teeth as the van lurched again. Sweat was beginning to dot Lawrence's hairline as he struggled to get us moving. No matter how many times he switched gears, nothing was successful.

Thumping from the roof signaled that someone had climbed on top again. I instinctively looked upward, then suddenly back down again as more thuds chimed in. The Cranks were hitting the van with whatever they could find, some even using their own skulls to inflict as much damage as they could. The shovel lady reared her arm back a sixth time, and grinned manically when a hairline fracture splintered across the glass. She appeared more than satisfied about that.

My heart climbed into my throat and I made a strangled noise of alarm. "Holy shit!"

"She's going to smash it!"

"Get us out of here!"

Myself, Thomas, and Brenda all screamed our respective sentences at the same time, our horror evident in our voices and the volume we yelled them at.

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" Lawrence shot back at Brenda, who was the most afraid I'd ever seen her appear on the outside. Her usually tanned skin appeared to have lost some of its color, either from the poor lighting or fear or both. Her entire body was tense. Her hands were outstretched but frozen, fingers were awkwardly bent like she didn't know what to do with them. I knew the feeling.

Our guide got the van moving just far enough that the shovel woman's next swing missed. But before I could even feel any relief, someone swung a sledgehammer into the windshield, splintering the glass like a spider web.

"We are going to die!" I exclaimed in a squeak. My heart was racing so hard I could almost feel my blood rushing in my ears, and my hands were shaking from both adrenaline and sheer terror. Normally, I'd force myself to try and think of a rational way out, but so much commotion was going on that I doubted I could even begin to form a plan.

We really needed Jorge. He'd find a way out of this.

"We are not going to die," Lawrence assured me before putting the van into reverse again. The van jolted, but that time I was prepared for it. The man with the sledgehammer was not. He tumbled off the hood with a surprised yell, only for another man - this one bald - to grab the tool from him. A few more attempted to steal the sledgehammer, beating each other for it. It seemed that the Cranks weren't friendly with each other. They just really didn't like us.

"Dylan!" Thomas shouted. I glanced upward to see him staring in horror at something behind me. When I followed his gaze, I noticed a dirt-crusted arm reaching through a jagged hole in the back window. The broken glass embedded itself into their skin, spilling crimson blood along the vehicle, but the person didn't seem to notice.

With a growl, I wasted no time in climbing into the back. My own hands gripped the invaders' forearm. A cringe twisted my face as I turned their arm at the sharpest angle I could, earning an effective scream from them as the sharp glass cut deeper into their skin to combine the pain. When I released them, I yanked their appendage upward to suddenly get them free of the window and pushed it out with as much harshness as I could. Their blood was still soaking the unevenly cut glass; agonized yells somehow brought satisfaction curling inside of me.

Thomas was gaping from his seat. "I would'a just beat the klunk out of them with that snow pick over there, but that works, too."

"Maybe I should get the Launcher," Brenda suggested mostly to herself.

"No way," Thomas protested, shaking his head. "It'll be too big for that puny window."

Some Cranks were already reaching back into the van, carelessly stepping over the man with the bleeding arm even as he cradled it from a fetal position on the ground. The gash in it was ugly- a jagged, uneven line that would definitely need stitches. If he had access to them, that was.

Thomas unbuckled himself and hauled his lanky limbs over the center console that I had been previously been gripping onto. He snatched the snow pick from the back seat, then looked at me with determination setting his face.

"Let's do this."

While I was busy slipping the pistol from the waistband of my jeans, my brother wasted no time in getting the job done. He stuck true to his word and whacked the struggling arms with the flat end of the snow pick as hard as he could. Even if he was being ruthless in that sense, I could tell he was being careful not to accidentally chop into their skin with the pointed end.

I flicked the safety off in a fluid motion before raising the gun through the broken window. That time, I didn't allow myself to think twice before firing bullets into the surrounding Cranks. As the ammunition was shot into them, they screamed and started to fall back into each other. I couldn't help the flinching that jerked my body every time I pulled the trigger. Not even when I pulled my lips into a thin line and wrinkled my brow in concentration.

"I think we're almost loose!" Lawrence notified us between the bangs of the gun. "I don't know what the hell they did!"

I mentally kept track of the amount of bullets I was firing. I wasn't sure how many were there to begin with, but if I ran out, it wouldn't end well for any of us. Could some of them retaliate before Brenda could hand me her pistol? The Cranks seemed more afraid of the weapon I held than Thomas' snow pick, but they were still determined.

Luckily, we had the advantage— something to fight for.

It made us better. While the Cranks were violent, they were also reckless, only fighting for personal gain. They were essentially defeating themselves; everywhere, infected people were beating each other when they weren't trying to break into the van. I let them be, only shooting at the ones who tried to come for us. And trying to wound, not kill. Unless completely necessary.

Like the woman who somehow snuck up to the window and popped her face up to us, smiling cruelly at Thomas and I.

"Just let us in, children," she sneered. "All we want is food. Just give us some food. Let me in!"

The woman pushed her head through the opening as if she was trying to fit herself inside, even though it was clearly too small. Thomas braced himself before rearing his arm back. He was preparing himself to hit her with the snow pick.

But before he could, the van struggled forward. I was prepared for a backward lurch that didn't come. Instead, after a brief pause in which I was too shocked to move, we inched forward even more, violently enough that the woman fell from the window with an angered shriek. More blood from her hands stained the glass.

Lawrence got us jerkily moving forward again. "I think I've got it!"

Hope spread through me, then vanished abruptly when the thumping started all over again. Thomas gave a scream and yanked me back by my middle just as a knife slashed where my head would have been. The two of us laid still on the floor for a moment, panting heavily and watching as the man's arm flung wildly above our heads.

Blank-faced, I lifted the gun and fired over the window.

The vehicle shot forward just afterward, then kept going, to my immense relief. A sickening feeling brewed in my stomach as it bounced. Lawrence had run over the Cranks blocking our path. I tried to focus on the fact it was us or them, that there was no other choice.

Still breathing heavily, I flicked the safety back on the gun and scrambled to sit against the wall in the back. It made me across from Thomas as he feebly pushed himself into a sitting position as well. The snow pick was limp in his hand and he was panting just as hard as I was. His swinging took way more effort than me firing a pistol.

Fifteen bullets.

gif is dylan's gun

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lolol i feel like it took me a long time to write this chapter and it's just a battle so whoops! i really want to get more chapters in on this book, which is why i'm making some a bit shorter.

i don't really have any questions for this chapter because it was just one battle-type thing! nevertheless, i hope you enjoyed getting another taste of badass dylan. and badass thomas, too. sibling goals, right?

-kristyn