The Death Cure (The Maze Runner Book 3) (2)
CHAPTER
2
Thomas
had imagined it happening, countless times. What he would do, what he would
say. How he’d rush forward and tackle anyone who came in, make a run for it,
flee, escape. But those thoughts were almost for amusement more than anything.
He knew that WICKED wouldn’t let something like that happen. No, he’d need to
plan out every detail before he made his move.
When
it did happen—when that door popped open with a slight puffing sound and
began to swing wide—Thomas was surprised at his own reaction: he did nothing.
Something told him an invisible barrier had appeared between him and the
desk—like back in the dorms after the Maze. The time for action hadn’t arrived.
Not yet.
He
felt only the slightest hint of surprise when the Rat Man walked in—the guy
who’d told the Gladers about the last trial they’d been forced on, through the
Scorch. Same long nose, same weasel-like eyes; that greasy hair, combed over an
obvious bald spot that took up half his head. Same ridiculous white suit. He looked
paler than the last time Thomas had seen him, though, and he was holding a
thick folder filled with dozens of crinkled and messily stacked papers in the
crook of one elbow and dragging a straight-backed chair.
“Good
morning, Thomas,” he said with a stiff nod. Without waiting for a response, he
pulled the door shut, set the chair behind the desk and took a seat. He placed
the folder in front of him, opened it and started flipping through the pages.
When he found what he’d been looking for he stopped and rested his hands on
top. Then he flashed a pathetic grin, his eyes settling on Thomas.
When
Thomas finally spoke, he realized that he hadn’t done so in weeks, and his
voice came out like a croak. “It’ll only be a good morning if you let me out.”
Not
even a flicker of change passed over the man’s expression. “Yes, yes, I know.
No need to worry— you’re going to be hearing plenty of positive news today.
Trust me.”
Thomas
thought about that, ashamed that he let it lift his hopes, even for a second.
He should know better by now. “Positive news? Didn’t you choose us
because you thought we were intelligent?”
Rat
Man remained silent for several seconds before he responded. “Intelligent, yes.
Among more important reasons.” He paused and studied Thomas before continuing.
“Do you think we enjoy all this? You think we enjoy watching you
suffer? It’s all been for a purpose, and very soon it will make sense to you.”
The intensity of his voice had built until he’d practically shouted that last
word, his face now red. “Whoa,” Thomas said, feeling bolder by the minute.
“Slim it nice and calm there, old fella. You look three steps away from a heart attack.” It felt good to let
such words flow out of him.
The
man stood from his chair and leaned forward on the desk. The veins in his neck
bulged in taut cords. He slowly sat back down, took several deep breaths. “You
would think that almost four weeks in this white box might humble a boy. But
you seem more arrogant than ever.”
“So
are you going to tell me that I’m not crazy, then? Don’t have the Flare, never
did?” Thomas couldn’t help himself. The anger was rising in him until he felt
like he was going to explode. But he forced a calmness into his voice. “That’s
what kept me sane through all this—deep down I know you lied to Teresa, that
this is just another one of your tests. So where do I go next? Gonna send me to
the shuck moon? Make me swim across the ocean in my undies?” He smiled for
effect.
The
Rat Man had been staring at Thomas with blank eyes throughout his rant. “Are
you finished?”
“No,
I’m not finished.” He’d been waiting for an opportunity to speak for days and
days, but now that it had finally come, his mind went empty. He’d forgotten all
the scenarios he’d played out in his mind. “I … want you to tell me everything.
Now.”
“Oh,
Thomas.” The Rat Man said it quietly, as if delivering sad news to a small
child. “We didn’t lie to you. You do have the Flare.”
Thomas
was taken aback; a chill cut through the heat of his rage. Was Rat Man lying
even now? He wondered. But he shrugged, as if the news were something he’d
suspected all along. “Well, I haven’t started going crazy yet.” At a certain
point—after all that time crossing the Scorch, being with Brenda, surrounded by
Cranks—he’d come to terms with the fact that he’d catch the virus eventually.
But he told himself that for now he was still okay. Still sane. And that was all
that mattered at the moment. Rat Man sighed. “You don’t understand. You don’t
understand what I came in here to tell you.”
“Why
would I believe a word that comes out of your mouth? How could you possibly
expect me to?”
Thomas
realized that he’d stood up, though he had no memory of doing so. His chest
lurched with heavy breaths. He had to get control of himself. Rat Man’s stare
was cold, his eyes black pits. Regardless of whether this man was lying to him,
Thomas knew he was going to have to hear him out if he ever wanted to leave
this white room. He forced his breathing to slow. He waited.
After
several seconds of silence, his visitor continued. “I know we’ve lied to you.
Often. We’ve done some awful things to you and your friends. But it was all
part of a plan that you not only agreed to, but helped set in place. We’ve had
to take it all a little farther than we’d hoped in the beginning—there’s no doubt
about that. However, everything has stayed true to the spirit of what the
Creators envisioned—what you envisioned in their place after they were …
purged.”
Thomas
slowly shook his head; he knew he’d been involved with these people once,
somehow, but the concept of putting anyone through what he’d gone through was
incomprehensible. “You didn’t answer me. How can you possibly expect me to
believe anything you say?” He recalled more than he let on, of course. Though
the window to his past was caked with grime, revealing little more than
splotchy glimpses, he knew he’d worked with WICKED. He knew Teresa had, too,
and that they’d helped create the Maze. There’d been other flashes of memory.
“Because,
Thomas, there’s no value in keeping you in the dark,” Rat Man said. “Not
anymore.” Thomas felt a sudden weariness, as if all the strength had seeped out
of him, leaving him with nothing.
He
sank to the floor with a heavy sigh. He shook his head. “I don’t even know what
that means.” What was the point of even having a conversation when words
couldn’t be trusted?
Rat
Man kept talking, but his tone changed; it became less detached and clinical
and more professorial. “You are obviously well aware that we have a horrible
disease eating the minds of humans worldwide. Everything we’ve done up till now
has been calculated for one purpose and one purpose only: to analyze your brain
patterns and build a blueprint from them. The goal is to use this blueprint to
develop a cure for the Flare. The lives lost, the pain and suffering—you knew
the stakes when this began. We all did. It was all done to ensure the survival
of the human race. And we’re very close. Very, very close.”
Memories
had come back to Thomas on several occasions. The Changing, the dreams he’d had
since, fleeting glimpses here and there, like quick lightning strikes in his
mind. And right now, listening to the white-suited man talk, it felt as if he
were standing on a cliff and all the answers were just about to float up from
the depths for him to see in their entirety. The urge to grasp those answers
was almost too strong to keep at bay.
But
he was still wary. He knew he’d been a part of it all, had helped design the
Maze, had taken over after the original Creators died and kept the program
going with new recruits. “I remember enough to be ashamed of myself,” he
admitted. “But living through this kind of abuse is a lot different than
planning it. It’s just not right.”
Rat
Man scratched his nose, shifted in his seat. Something Thomas said had gotten
to him. “We’ll see what you think at the end of today, Thomas. We shall see.
But let me ask you this—are you telling me that the lives of a few aren’t worth
losing to save countless more?” Again, the man spoke with passion, leaning
forward. “It’s a very old axiom, but do you believe the end can justify the
means? When there’s no choice left?”
Thomas
only stared. It was a question that had no good response.
The
Rat Man might have smiled, but it looked more like he was sneering. “Just
remember that at one time you believed it did, Thomas.” He started to collect
his papers as if to go but didn’t move. “I’m here to tell you that everything
is set and our data is almost complete. We’re on the cusp of something great. Once
we have the blueprint, you can go boo-hoo with your friends all you want about
how unfair we’ve been.”
Thomas
wanted to cut the man with harsh words. But he held back. “How does torturing
us lead to this blueprint you’re talking about? What could sending a bunch of
unwilling teenagers to terrible places, watching some of them die—what could
that possibly have to do with finding a cure for some disease?”
“It
has everything in the world to do with it.” Rat Man sighed heavily.
“Boy, soon you’ll remember everything, and I have a feeling you’re going to
regret a lot. In the meantime, there’s something you need to know—it might even
bring you back to your senses.”
“And
what’s that?” Thomas really had no idea what the man would say.
His
visitor stood up, smoothed the wrinkles out of his pants and adjusted his coat.
Then he clasped his hands behind his back. “The Flare virus lives in every part
of your body, yet it has no effect on you, nor will it ever. You’re a member of
an extremely rare group of people. You’re immune to the Flare.”
Thomas
swallowed, speechless.
“On
the outside, in the streets, they call people like you Munies,” Rat Man
continued. “And they really, really hate you.”
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