“Thomas heard Newt scream something from behind him.
“Don’t do it, Tommy! Don’t you bloody do it!”
The rods on the right wall seemed to reach like stretched-out arms for their home, grasping for those little holes that would serve as their resting place for the night. The crunching, grinding sound of the Doors filled the air, deafening.
Five feet. Four feet. Three. Two.
Thomas knew he had no choice. He moved. Forward. He squeezed past the connecting rods at the last second and stepped into the Maze.
The walls slammed shut behind him, the echo of its boom bouncing off the ivy-covered stone like mad laughter.”
When Thomas asked why Newt and some others didn’t just go into the Maze and search for their friends, Newt’s expression had changed to outright horror—his cheeks had shrunk into his face, becoming sallow and dark. It gradually passed, and he’d explained that sending out search parties was forbidden, lest even more people be lost, but there was no mistaking the fear that had crossed his face.