The Death Cure (The Maze Runner Book 3) (10)
CHAPTER
10
Thomas
was still groggy from sleep. The dreams he’d had—the memories of his
childhood—clouded his mind. He almost didn’t catch what the man had said.
“Like
hell you are,” Newt responded. He was out of his bed, fists clenched at his
sides, glaring at Janson.
Thomas
couldn’t remember ever seeing such fire in his friend’s eyes. And then the full
force of the Rat Man’s words snapped Thomas out of his fog.
He
swung his legs around to the floor. “You told us we didn’t have to.”
“I’m
afraid we don’t have much of a choice,” Janson replied. “The time for lies is
over. Nothing’s going to work with you three still in the dark. I’m sorry. We
need to do this. Newt, of everyone, you will benefit the most from a cure,
after all.”
“I
don’t care about myself anymore,” Newt responded in a low growl.
Thomas’s
instincts took over then. He knew that this was the moment he’d been waiting
for. It was the final straw.
Thomas
watched Janson carefully. The man’s face softened and he took a deep breath, as
if he sensed the growing danger in the room and wanted to neutralize it. “Look,
Newt, Minho, Thomas. I understand how you must feel. You’ve seen some awful
things. But the worst part is over. We can’t change the past, can’t take back
what has happened to you and your friends. But wouldn’t it be a waste to not
complete the blueprint at this point?”
“Can’t
take it back?” Newt shouted. “That’s all you have to say?”
“Watch
yourself,” one of the guards warned, pointing a Launcher at Newt’s chest.
The
room fell silent. Thomas had never seen Newt like this. So angry—so unwilling
to put on a calm front, even.
Janson
continued. “We’re running out of time. Now let’s go or we’ll have a repeat of
yesterday. My guards are willing, I assure you.”
Minho
jumped down from the bunk above Newt’s. “He’s right,” he said matter-of-factly.
“If we can save you, Newt—and who knows how many others—we’d be shuck idiots to
stay in this room a second longer.” Minho shot Thomas a glance and nodded
toward the door. “Come on, let’s go.” He walked past Rat Man and the guards
into the hallway without looking back.
Janson
raised his eyebrows at Thomas, who was struggling to hide his surprise. Minho’s
announcement was so strange—he had to have some sort of plan. Pretending to go
along with things would buy them time.
Thomas
turned away from the guards and Rat Man and gave Newt a quick wink that only he
could see. “Let’s just listen to what they want us to do.” He tried to sound
casual, sincere, but it was one of the hardest things he’d done yet. “I worked
for these people before the Maze. I couldn’t have been totally wrong, right?”
“Oh,
please.” Newt rolled his eyes, but he moved toward the door, and Thomas smiled
inwardly at his small victory.
“You’ll
all be heroes when this is over,” Janson said as Thomas followed Newt out of
the room.
“Oh,
shut up,” Thomas replied.
Thomas
and his friends followed the Rat Man down the mazelike corridors once again. As
they walked, Janson narrated the journey as if he were a tour guide. He
explained that the facility didn’t have many windows because of the often
fierce weather outside, and the attacks from roaming gangs of infected people.
He mentioned the severe rainstorm the night the Gladers been taken from the
Maze, and how the group of Cranks had broken through the outer perimeter to
watch them board the bus.
Thomas
remembered that night all too well. He could still feel the bump of the tires
running over the woman who’d accosted him before he boarded the bus, how the
driver didn’t even slow down. He could hardly believe that had happened only
weeks ago—it felt like it’d been years.
“I
really wish you’d just shut your mouth,” Newt finally spat. And the Rat Man did,
but he never wiped the slight grin off his face.
When
they reached the area they’d been in the day before, the Rat Man stopped and
turned to address them. “I hope you will all cooperate today. I’m expecting
nothing less.”
“Where
is everybody else?” Thomas asked.
“The
other subjects have been recovering—”
Before
he could finish Newt had pounced, grabbing the Rat Man by the lapels of his
white suit coat and slamming him against the nearest door. “Call them subjects
again and I’ll break your bloody neck!”
Two
guards were on Newt in an instant; they pulled him away from Janson and threw
him to the floor, aiming their Launchers at his face.
“Wait!”
Janson yelled. “Wait.” He composed himself and straightened his wrinkled shirt
and jacket. “Don’t disable him. Let’s just get this over with.”
Newt
slowly got to his feet, arms raised. “Don’t call us subjects. We’re not mice
trying to find the cheese. And tell your shuck friends to calm down—I wasn’t
gonna hurt you. Much.” His eyes fell on Thomas, questioning.
WICKED
is good.
For
some inexplicable reason, those words popped into Thomas’s mind. It was almost
as if his former self—the one who’d believed that WICKED’s objective was worth
any depraved action—was trying to convince him that it was true. That no matter
how horrible it seemed, they must do whatever it took to find a cure for the
Flare.
But
something was different now. He couldn’t understand who he’d been before. How
he could have thought any of this was okay. He’d changed forever … but he had
to give them the old Thomas one last time.
“Newt,
Minho,” he said quietly, before the Rat Man could speak again. “I think he’s
right. I think it’s time we did what we’re supposed to do. We all agreed
to it just last night.”
Minho
broke into a nervous smile. Newt’s hands balled into fists.
It
was now or never.
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