The Death Cure (The Maze Runner Book 3) (6)
CHAPTER
6
The
room lapsed into silence, broken only by the hum of machinery and a very faint
beeping sound. Thomas knew he was immune—at least, he’d been told he was—but he
didn’t know about anyone else, had actually forgotten about it. The sickening fear
he’d felt when he’d first found out came flooding back.
“For
an experiment to provide accurate results,” the Rat Man explained, “one needs a
control group. We did our best to keep the virus from you as long as we could.
But it’s airborne and highly contagious.”
He
paused, taking in everyone’s gazes.
“Just
bloody get on with it,” Newt said. “We all figured we had the buggin’ disease
anyway. You’re not breaking our hearts.”
“Yeah,”
Sonya added. “Cut the drama and tell us already.”
Thomas
noticed Teresa fidgeting next to him. Had she already been told something,
also? He figured that she had to be immune like him—that WICKED wouldn’t have
chosen them for their special roles otherwise.
Rat
Man cleared his throat. “Okay, then. Most of you are immune and have helped us
gather invaluable data. Only two of you are considered Candidates now, but
we’ll go into that later. Let’s get to the list. The following people are not
immune. Newt …”
Something
like a jolt hit Thomas in the chest. He doubled over and stared at the floor.
Rat Man called out a few more names, but none Thomas knew—he barely heard them
over the dizzying buzz that seemed to fill his ears and fog his mind. He was
surprised at his own reaction, hadn’t realized just how much Newt meant to him
until he heard the declaration. A thought occurred to him—earlier the Rat Man
had said that the control subjects were like the glue that kept the project’s
data together, made it all coherent and relevant.
The
Glue. That was the title given to Newt—the tattoo that was etched in his skin
even now, like a black scar.
“Tommy,
slim yourself.”
Thomas
looked up to see Newt standing there with his arms folded and a forced grin on
his face. Thomas straightened back up. “Slim myself? That old shank just said
you’re not immune to the Flare. How can you—”
“I’m
not worried about the bloody Flare, man. I never thought I’d still be alive at
this buggin’ point—and living hasn’t exactly been so great anyway.”
Thomas
couldn’t tell if his friend was serious or just trying to seem tough. But the
creepy grin still hadn’t left Newt’s face, so Thomas forced a smile onto his
own. “If you’re cool with slowly going crazy and wanting to eat small children,
then I guess we won’t cry for you.” Words had never felt so empty before.
“Good
that,” Newt responded; the smile disappeared, though.
Thomas
finally turned his attention to the rest of the people in the room, his head
still dizzy with thoughts. One of the Gladers—a kid named Jackson who he’d never
gotten to know very well—was staring into space with blank eyes, and another
was trying to hide his tears. One of the girls of Group B had red, puffy eyes—a
couple of her friends were huddled around her, trying to console her.
“I
wanted to get that out of the way,” Rat Man said. “Mainly so I could tell you
myself and remind you that the whole point of this operation has been to
build toward a cure. Most of you not immune are in the early stages of the
Flare, and I have every confidence that you’ll be taken care of before it goes
too far. But the Trials required your participation.”
“And
what if you don’t figure things out?” Minho asked.
Rat
Man ignored him. He walked over to the closest bed, then reached up and put a
hand on the odd metallic device hanging from the ceiling. “This is something
we’re very proud of here—a feat of scientific and medical engineering. It’s
called a Retractor, and it will be performing this procedure. It’ll be placed
on your face—and I promise you’ll still look just as pretty when everything is
done. Small wires within the device will descend and enter your ear canals. From
there they will remove the machinery in your brain. Our doctors and nurses will
give you a sedative to calm your nerves and something to dull the discomfort.”
He
paused to glance around the room. “You will fall into a trancelike state as the
nerves repair themselves and your memories return, similar to what some of you
went through during what you called the Changing back in the Maze. But not
nearly as bad, I promise. Much of that was for the purpose of stimulating brain
patterns. We have several more rooms like this one, and a whole team of doctors
waiting to get started. Now, I’m sure you have a million questions, but
most of them will be answered by your own memories, so I’m going to wait until
after the procedure for any more Q and A.”
The
Rat Man paused, then finished, “Give me just a few moments to make sure the
medical teams are ready. You can take this time to make your decisions.”
He
crossed the room, the swish-swishing of his white pants the only sound cutting
the silence, and disappeared through the first steel door, closing it behind
him. Then the room erupted with noise as everyone started talking at once.
Teresa
came over to Thomas, and Minho was right behind her. He leaned in close to be
heard over the buzz of frantic conversations. “You shanks know more and
remember more than anybody else. Teresa, I’ve never made a secret of it—I don’t
like you. But I want to hear what you think anyway.”
Thomas
was just as curious to hear Teresa’s opinion. He nodded at his former friend
and waited for her to speak. There was still a small part of him that foolishly
expected her to finally speak out against doing what WICKED wanted.
“We
should do it,” Teresa said, and it didn’t surprise Thomas at all. The hope
inside him died for good. “It feels like the right thing to me. We need our
memories back so we can be smart about things.
Decide
what to do next.”
Thomas’s
mind was spinning, trying to put it all together. “Teresa, I know you’re not
stupid. But I also know you’re in love with WICKED. I’m not sure what you’re up
to, but I’m not buying it.”
“Me
neither,” Minho said. “They can manipulate us, play with our shuck brains,
dude! How would we even know if they’re giving us back our own memories or
shoving new ones inside us?”
Teresa
let out a sigh. “You guys are missing the whole point! If they can control us,
if they can do whatever they want with us, make us do anything, then why
would they even bother with this whole charade of giving us a choice? Plus, he
said they’d also be taking out the part that lets them control us. It feels
legit to me.”
“Well,
I never trusted you anyway,” Minho said, shaking his head slowly. “And
certainly not them. I’m with Thomas.”
“What
about Aris?” Newt had been so quiet, Thomas hadn’t even noticed that he’d
walked up behind him with Frypan. “Didn’t you say he was with you guys before
you came to the Maze? What does he think?”
Thomas
scanned the room until he found Aris talking to some of his friends from Group
B. He’d been hanging out with them since Thomas had arrived, which Thomas figured
made sense—Aris had gone through his own Maze experience with that group. But
Thomas could never forgive the boy for the part he’d played in helping Teresa
back in the Scorch, luring him to the chamber in the mountains and forcing him
inside.
“I’ll
go ask him,” Teresa said.
Thomas
and his friends watched as she walked over, and she and her group started
whispering furiously to each other.
“I
hate that chick,” Minho finally said.
“Come
on, she’s not so bad,” Frypan offered.
Minho
rolled his eyes. “If she’s doing it, I’m not.”
“Me
neither,” Newt agreed. “And I’m the one who supposedly has the bloody Flare, so
I have more stake in it than anybody. But I’m not falling for one more trick.”
Thomas
had already settled on that. “Let’s just hear what she says. Here she comes.”
Her
talk with Aris had been short. “He sounded even more sure than us. They’re all
for it.”
“Well,
that settles it for me,” Minho answered. “If Aris and Teresa are for it, I’m
against it.”
Thomas
couldn’t have said it better himself. Every instinct he had told him Minho was
right, but he didn’t voice his opinion aloud. He watched Teresa’s face instead.
She turned and looked at Thomas. It was a look he knew so well—she expected him
to side with her. But the difference was that now he was suspicious about why
she wanted it so badly.
He
stared at her, forcing his own expression to remain blank—and Teresa’s face
fell.
“Suit
yourselves.” She shook her head, then turned and walked away.
Despite
everything that had happened, Thomas’s heart lurched in his chest as she
retreated across the room.
“Ah,
man,” Frypan’s voice cut in, jarring Thomas back. “We can’t let them put those things
on our face, can we? I’d just be happy back in my kitchen in the Homestead, I
swear I would.”
“You
forget about the Grievers?” Newt asked.
Frypan
paused a second, then said, “They never messed with me in the kitchen, now, did
they?”
“Yeah,
well, we’ll just have to find you a new place to cook.” Newt grabbed Thomas and
Minho by the arms and led them away from the group. “I’ve heard enough bloody
arguments. I’m not getting on one of those beds.”
Minho
reached over and squeezed Newt’s shoulder. “Me neither.”
“Same
here,” Thomas said. Then he finally voiced what had been building inside him
for weeks.
“We’ll
stick around, play along and act nice,” he whispered. “But as soon as we get a
chance, we’re going to fight our way out of this place.”
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