The Death Cure (The Maze Runner Book 3) (4)
CHAPTER
4
T-shirt
and jeans. Running shoes—just like the ones he’d worn in the Maze. Fresh, soft
socks. After washing himself from top to bottom at least five times, he felt
reborn. He couldn’t help but think that from here on things would improve. That
he was going to take control of his own life now. If only the mirror hadn’t
reminded him of his tattoo—the one given to him before the Scorch. It was a
permanent symbol of what he’d been through, and he wished he could forget it
all.
He
stood outside the door to the bathroom, leaning against the wall, arms folded,
waiting. He wondered if the Rat Man would come back—or had he left Thomas to
wander the place, begin yet another Trial? He’d barely begun the line of
thinking before he heard footsteps, then saw the weaselly man’s white for turn
the corner.
“Well,
aren’t you looking spiffy?” the Rat Man commented, the edges of his mouth
crawling up his cheeks in an uncomfortable-looking smile.
Thomas’s
mind raced with a hundred sarcastic answers, but he knew he had to play it
straight. All that mattered at the moment was gathering as much information as
he could and then finding his friends. “I feel fine, actually. So … thanks.” He
plastered a casual smile on his own face. “When do I get to see the other Gladers?”
“Right
now.” Rat Man was all business again. He nodded back toward the way he’d come
and gestured for Thomas to follow him. “All of you went through different types
of tests for Phase Three of the Trials. We’d hoped to have the killzone
patterns mapped out by the end of the second phase, but we had to improvise in
order to push further. Like I said, though, we’re very close. You’ll all be
full partners in the study now, helping us fine-tune and dig deeper until we
solve this puzzle.”
Thomas
squinted. He guessed his Phase Three had been the white room—but what about the
others? As much as he’d hated his trial, he could only imagine how much worse
WICKED could have made it. He almost hoped he never found out what they had
devised for his friends.
Finally
Rat Man arrived at a door. He opened it without hesitating and stepped through.
They
entered a small auditorium and relief washed over Thomas. Sitting scattered
among a dozen or so rows of seats were his friends, safe and healthy-looking.
The Gladers and girls of Group B. Minho. Frypan. Newt. Aris. Sonya. Harriet.
Everyone seemed happy—talking, smiling and laughing—though maybe they were
faking, to some extent. Thomas assumed they’d also been told things were almost
over, but he doubted anyone believed it. He certainly didn’t. Not yet.
He
looked around the room for Jorge and Brenda—he really wanted to see Brenda.
He’d been anxious about her ever since she’d vanished after the Berg picked
them up, worried that WICKED had sent her and Jorge back to the Scorch like
they’d threatened to—but there was no sign of either one. Before he could ask
Rat Man about them, however, a voice broke through the din, and Thomas couldn’t
stop a smile from spreading across his face.
“Well,
I’ve been shucked and gone to heaven. It’s Thomas!” Minho called out. His
announcement was followed by hoots and cheers and catcalls. A swell of relief
mixed with the worry clawing in Thomas’s stomach and he continued to search the
faces in the room. Too overcome to speak, he just kept grinning until his eyes
found Teresa.
She’d
stood up, turned from her chair on the end of the row to face him. Black hair,
clean and brushed and shiny, draped over her shoulders and framed her pale
face. Her red lips parted into a huge smile, lighting up her features, making
her blue eyes glow. Thomas almost went to her but stopped himself, his mind
clouded with vivid memories of what she’d done to him, of what she’d said about
WICKED being good even after everything that had happened.
Can
you hear me? he
called out with his mind, just to see if their ability had come back.
But
she didn’t respond, and he still didn’t feel her presence inside him. They just
stood there, staring at each other, eyes locked for what seemed like a minute
but could only have been a few seconds. And then Minho and Newt were by his
side, slapping him on the back, shaking his hand, pulling him into the room.
“Well,
at least you didn’t bloody roll over and die, Tommy,” Newt said, squeezing his
hand tightly. His tone sounded grumpier than usual, especially considering they
hadn’t seen each other in weeks, but he was in one piece. Which was something
to be thankful for.
Minho
had a smirk on his face, but a hard glint in his eyes showed that he’d been
through an awful time. That he wasn’t quite himself yet, just trying his
hardest to act like it. “The mighty Gladers, back together again. Good to see
ya alive, shuck-face—I’ve imagined you dead in about a hundred different ways.
I bet you cried every night, missing me.”
“Yeah,”
Thomas muttered, thrilled to see everybody but still struggling to find words.
He broke away from the reunion and made his way to Teresa. He had an
overwhelming urge to face her and come to some kind of peace until he could
decide what to do. “Hey.”
“Hey,”
she replied. “You okay?”
Thomas
nodded. “I guess. Kind of a rough few weeks. Could—” He stopped himself. He’d
almost asked if she’d been able to hear him trying to reach out to her with his
mind, but he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing he’d done it.
“I
tried, Tom. Every day I tried to talk to you. They cut us off, but I think it’s
all been worth it.” She reached out and took his hand, which set off a chorus
of mocking jabs from the Gladers.
Thomas
quickly pulled his hand from her grasp, felt his face flush red. For some
reason, her words had made him suddenly angry, but the others mistook his
action for mere embarrassment.
“Awwww,”
Minho said. “That’s almost as sweet as that time she slammed the end of a spear
into your shuck face.”
“True
love indeed.” This from Frypan, followed by his deep bellow of a laugh. “I’d
hate to see what happens when these two have their first real fight.”
Thomas
didn’t care what they thought, but he was determined to show Teresa that she
couldn’t get away with everything she’d done to him. Whatever trust they’d
shared before the trials—whatever relationship they’d had—meant nothing now. He
might find a sort of peace with her, but he resolved right then and there that he would only trust Minho and Newt. No
one else.
He
was just about to respond when Rat Man came marching down the aisle clapping
his hands. “Everybody take a seat. We’ve got a few things to cover before we
remove the Swipe.”
He’d
said it so casually, Thomas almost didn’t catch it. The words registered—remove
the Swipe— and he froze.
The
room stilled and the Rat Man stepped up onto the stage at the front of the room
and approached the lectern. He gripped the edges and repeated the same forced
smile from earlier, then spoke. “That’s right, ladies and gents. You’re about
to get all your memories back. Every last one of them.”
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