The Death Cure (The Maze Runner Book 3) (5)
CHAPTER
5
Thomas
was stunned. Mind spinning, he went to sit by Minho.
After
struggling for so long to remember his life, his family and childhood—even what
he’d done the day before he woke up in the Maze—the idea of having it all back
was almost too much to comprehend. But as it sank in, he realized that
something had shifted. Remembering everything didn’t sound good anymore. And
his gut confirmed what he’d been feeling since the Rat Man had said it was all
over—it just seemed too easy.
Rat
Man cleared his throat. “As you were informed in your one-on-ones, the Trials
as you’ve known them are over. Once your memories are restored, I think you’ll
believe me and we can move on. You’ve all been briefed on the Flare and the
reasons for the Trials. We are extremely close to completing our blueprint of
the killzone. The things we need—to further refine what we have—will be better
served by your full cooperation and unaltered minds. So, congratulations.”
“I
ought to come up there and break your shuck nose,” Minho said. His voice was
terrifyingly calm considering the threat in his words. “I’m sick of you acting
like everything is peachy—like more than half of our friends didn’t die.”
“I’d
love to see that rat nose smashed!” Newt snapped.
The
anger in his voice startled Thomas, and he had to wonder what awful thing Newt
had been through during Phase Three.
Rat
Man rolled his eyes and sighed. “First of all, each of you has been warned of
the consequences should you try to harm me. And rest assured, you’re all still
being watched. Second, I’m sorry for those you’ve lost—but in the end it’ll
have been worth it. What concerns me, though, is that it seems that nothing I
say is going to wake you people up to the stakes here. We’re talking about the
survival of the human race.”
Minho
sucked in a breath as if to begin a rant, but he stopped short, closed his
mouth.
Thomas
knew that no matter how sincere Rat Man sounded, it had to be a trick.
Everything was a trick. Yet nothing good could come of their fighting him at this
point—with words or with fists. The thing they needed most for the time being
was patience.
“Let’s
all just slim it,” Thomas spoke evenly. “Let’s hear him out.”
Frypan
spoke up just as Rat Man was about to continue. “Why should we trust you people
to … What was it called? The Swipe? After everything you’ve done to us, to our
friends—you want to remove the Swipe? I don’t think so. I’d rather stay stupid
about my past, thank you very kindly.”
“WICKED
is good,” Teresa said out of the blue, as if talking to herself.
“What?”
Frypan asked. Everyone turned to look at her.
“WICKED
is good,” she repeated, much louder, turning in her seat to meet the others’
gazes. “Of all the things I could’ve written on my arm when I first woke up
from my coma, I chose those three words. I keep thinking about it, and there
has to be a reason for that. I say we just shut up and do what the man says. We
can only understand this with our memories back.”
“I
agree!” Aris shouted, much louder than seemed necessary.
Thomas
was quiet as the room broke into arguments. Mostly between the Gladers, who
sided with Frypan, and the members of Group B, who sided with Teresa. There
couldn’t possibly be a worse time for a battle of wills.
“Silence!”
Rat Man roared, pounding his fist on the lectern. He waited for everyone to
quiet down before he continued. “Look, no one’s going to blame you for the
mistrust you feel. You’ve been pushed to your physical limits, watched people
die, experienced terror in its purest form. But I promise you, when all is said
and done, none of you will look back—”
“What
if we don’t want to?” Frypan called out. “What if we don’t want our memories
back?”
Thomas
turned to look at his friend, relieved. It was exactly what he’d been thinking
himself.
Rat
Man sighed. “Is it because you really have no interest in remembering, or is it
because you don’t trust us?”
“Oh,
I can’t imagine why we wouldn’t trust you,” Frypan replied.
“Don’t
you realize by now that if we wanted to do something to harm you, we’d just do
it?” The man looked down at the lectern, then back up again. “If you don’t want
to remove the Swipe, don’t do it. You can stand by and watch the others.”
A
choice or a bluff? Thomas couldn’t tell by the man’s tone but nonetheless was
surprised by his response.
Again
the room was silent, and before anyone else could speak, Rat Man had stepped
away off the stage and was walking toward the door at the back of the room.
When he reached it, he turned to face them again. “You really want to spend the
rest of your lives having no memory of your parents? Your family and friends?
You really want to lose the chance to hold on to at least the few good memories
you may have had before all this began? Fine with me. But you might never have
this opportunity again.”
Thomas
considered his decision. It was true that he longed to remember his family.
He’d thought about it so many times. But he did know WICKED. And he
wasn’t going to let himself fall into another trap. He’d fight to the death
before letting those people tinker with his brain again. How could he believe
any memory they replaced anyway?
And
there was something else bothering him—the flash he’d felt when the Rat Man had
first announced that WICKED would remove the Swipe. Besides knowing that he
couldn’t just accept anything WICKED called his memories, he was scared. If
everything they’d been insisting was true was in fact true, he didn’t want to
face his past even if he could. He didn’t understand the person they said he
was before. And more, he didn’t like him.
He
watched as the Rat Man opened the door and left the room. As soon as he was
gone, Thomas leaned in close to Minho and Newt so only his friends could hear
him. “There’s no way we do this. No way.”
Minho
squeezed Thomas’s shoulder. “Amen. Even if I did trust those shanks, why would
I want to remember? Look what it did to Ben and Alby.”
Newt
nodded. “We need to make a bloody move soon. And when we do, I’m going to knock
a few heads to make myself feel better.”
Thomas
agreed but knew they had to be careful. “Not too soon, though,” he said.
“We can’t screw this up—we need to look for our best chance.” It had been so
long since Thomas had felt it, he was surprised when a sense of strength began
to trickle through him. He was reunited with his friends and this was the end
of the Trials—for good. One way or another, they were done doing what WICKED
wanted.
They
stood up and, as a group, made their way to the door. But as Thomas put his
hand on the knob to pull it open, he stopped. What he was hearing made his
heart sink. The rest of the group was still talking, and most of the others had
decided to get their memories back.
*
* *
Rat
Man was waiting outside the auditorium. He led them down several turns of the
windowless hallway until they finally reached a large steel door. It was
heavily bolted and looked to be sealed against outside air. Their white-clad
leader placed a key card next to a square recess in the steel, and after a few
clicks, the large slab of metal slid open with a grinding sound that reminded
Thomas of the Doors in the Glade.
Then
there was another door; once the group had filed into a small vestibule, the
Rat Man closed the first door and, with the same card, unlocked the second. On
the other side was a big room that looked like nothing special—same tile floors
and beige walls as the hallway. Lots of cabinets and counters. And several beds
lined the back wall, each with a menacing, foreign-looking contraption of shiny
metal and plastic tubes in the shape of a mask hanging over it. Thomas couldn’t
imagine letting someone place that thing on his face.
Rat
Man gestured toward the beds. “This is how we’re going to remove the Swipe from
your brains,” Rat Man announced. “Don’t worry, I know these devices look
frightening, but the procedure won’t hurt nearly as much as you might think.”
“Nearly
as much?” Frypan
repeated. “I don’t like the sound of that. So it does hurt, is what
you’re really saying.”
“Of
course you’ll experience minor discomfort—it is a surgery,” Rat Man said
as he walked over to a large machine to the left of the beds. It had dozens of
blinking lights and buttons and screens. “We’ll be removing a small device from
the part of your brain devoted to long-term memory. But it’s not as bad as it might
sound, I promise.” He started pressing buttons and a buzzing hum filled the
room.
“Wait
a second,” Teresa said. “Is this going to take away whatever’s in there that
lets you control us, too?”
The
image of Teresa inside that shed in the Scorch came to Thomas. And of Alby
writhing in bed back at the Homestead. Of Gally killing Chuck. They were all
under WICKED’s control. For the slightest moment Thomas doubted his
decision—could he really allow himself to remain at their mercy? Should he just
let them do the operation? But then the doubt vanished—this was about mistrust.
He refused to give in.
Teresa
continued. “And what about …” She faltered, looked at Thomas.
He
knew what she was thinking. Their ability to talk telepathically. Not to
mention what came with it— that odd sense of each other when things were
working, almost as if they were sharing brains somehow. Thomas suddenly loved
the idea of losing that forever. Maybe the emptiness of having Teresa not there
would disappear too.
Teresa
recovered and continued. “Is everything going to be out of there? Everything?”
Rat
Man nodded. “Everything except the tiny device that allows us to map your
killzone patterns. And you didn’t have to say what you’re thinking because I
can see it in your eyes—no, you and Thomas and Aris won’t be able to do your
little trick anymore. We did turn it off temporarily, but now it’ll be gone forever.
However, you’ll have your long-term memory restored, and we won’t be able to
manipulate your minds. It’s a package deal, I’m afraid. Take it or leave it.”
The
others in the room shuffled about, whispered questions to each other. A million
things had to be flying through everyone’s heads. There was so much to think
about; there were so many implications. So many reasons to be angry at WICKED.
But the fight seemed to have drained from the group, replaced by an eagerness
to get it all over with.
“That’s
a no-brainer,” Frypan said. “Get it? No-brainer?” The only response he got was
a groan or two.
“Okay,
I think we’re just about ready,” Rat Man announced. “One last thing, though.
Something I need to tell you before you regain your memories. It’ll be better
to hear it from me than to … remember the testing.”
“What’re
you talking about?” Harriett asked.
Rat
Man clasped his hands behind his back, his expression suddenly grave. “Some of
you are immune to the Flare. But … some of you aren’t. I’m going to go through
the list—please do your best to take it calmly.”
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