The Death Cure (The Maze Runner Book 3) (7)
CHAPTER
7
Rat
Man returned before Newt or Minho could respond. But judging by the looks on
their faces, Thomas was sure they were on board. One hundred percent.
More
people were piling into the room, and Thomas turned his attention to what was
going on. Everyone who’d joined them was dressed in a one-piece, somewhat
loose-fitting green suit with WICKED written across the chest. It struck Thomas
suddenly how thoroughly every detail of this game—this experiment—had
been thought out. Could it be that the very name they’d used for their
organization had been one of the Variables from the beginning? A word with
obvious menace, yet an entity they were told was good? It was probably just
another poke to see how their brains reacted, what they felt.
It
was all a guessing game. Had been from the very beginning.
Each
doctor—Thomas assumed they were doctors, like Rat Man had said—took a place
next to one of the beds. They fidgeted with the masks that hung from the
ceiling, adjusting the tubes, tinkering with knobs and switches Thomas couldn’t
see.
“We’ve
already assigned each of you a bed,” Rat Man said, looking down at papers on a
clipboard he’d brought back with him. “Those staying in this room are …” He rattled
off a few names, including Sonya and Aris, but not Thomas or any of the
Gladers. “If I didn’t call your name, please follow me.”
The
whole situation had taken on a bizarre taint, too casual and run-of-the-mill
for the seriousness of what was going on. Like gangsters yelling out roll call
before they slaughtered a group of weeping traitors. Thomas didn’t know what to
do but go along until the right moment presented itself.
He
and the others silently followed Rat Man out of the room and down another long,
windowless hallway before stopping at another door. Their guide read from his
list again, and Frypan and Newt were included this time.
“I’m
not doing it,” Newt announced. “You said we could choose and that’s my bloody
decision.” He exchanged an angry look with Thomas that seemed to say they
better do something soon or he’d go crazy.
“That’s
fine,” Rat Man replied. “You’ll change your mind soon enough. Stay with me
until we’ve finished distributing everyone else.”
“What
about you, Frypan?” Thomas asked, trying to hide his surprise at how easily the
Rat Man had relented with Newt.
The
cook suddenly looked sheepish. “I … think I’m going to let them do it.”
Thomas
was shocked.
“Are
you crazy?” Minho asked.
Frypan
shook his head, bearing himself up a little defensively. “I want to remember.
Make your own choice; let me make mine.”
“Let’s
move along,” Rat Man said.
Frypan
disappeared into the room, hurrying, probably to avoid any more arguments.
Thomas knew he had to let it go—for now, he could only worry about himself and finding
a way out. Hopefully he could rescue everyone else once he did.
Rat
Man didn’t call for Minho, Teresa and Thomas until they were standing at the
final door, along with Harriet and two other girls from Group B. So far Newt
had been the only one to say no to the procedure.
“No
thanks,” Minho said when Rat Man gestured for everyone to enter the room. “But
I appreciate the invitation. You guys have a good time in there.” He gave a
mock wave.
“I’m
not doing it, either,” Thomas announced. He was beginning to feel the rush of
anticipation. They had to take a chance soon, try something.
Rat
Man stared at Thomas for a long time, his face unreadable.
“You
okay, there, Mr. Rat Man?” Minho asked.
“My
name is Assistant Director Janson,” he replied, his voice low and strained, as
if it was hard work to stay calm. His eyes never left Thomas. “Learn to show
respect for your elders.”
“You
quit treating people like animals and maybe I’ll consider it,” Minho said. “And
why are you goggling at Thomas?”
Rat
Man—Janson—finally turned his gaze to Minho. “Because there are many things to
consider.” He paused, stood straighter. “But very well. We said you could
choose for yourselves, and we’ll stand by that. Everyone come inside and we’ll
get things started with those willing to participate.”
Again,
Thomas felt a shiver pass through his body. Their moment was coming. He knew
it. And by the expression on Minho’s face, he knew it, too. They gave each
other a slight nod and followed Rat Man into the room.
It
looked exactly like the first one, with six beds, the hanging masks, all of it.
The machine that evidently ran everything was already humming and chirping. A
person dressed in the same green clothes as the doctors in the first room stood
next to each bed.
Thomas
looked around and sucked in a breath. Standing next to a bed at the very end of
the row, dressed in green, was Brenda. She looked way younger than everyone
else, her brown hair and face cleaner than he’d ever seen them back in the
Scorch. She gave him a quick shake of her head and shifted her gaze to Rat Man;
then, before Thomas knew what was happening, she was running across the room.
She
grabbed Thomas and pulled him into a hug. He squeezed back, completely in
shock, but he didn’t want to let go.
“Brenda,
what are you doing!” Janson yelled at her. “Get back to your post!”
She
pressed her lips against Thomas’s ear, and then she was whispering, so quietly
he could barely hear her, “Don’t trust them. Do not trust them. Only me
and Chancellor Paige, Thomas. Ever. No one else.”
“Brenda!”
the Rat Man practically screamed.
Then
she was letting go, stepping away. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m just glad to see
he made it through Phase Three. I forgot myself.” She walked back to her post
and turned to face them once again, her face blank.
Janson
scolded her. “We hardly have time for such things.”
Thomas
couldn’t look away from her, didn’t know what to think or feel. He already
didn’t trust WICKED, so her words put them on the same side. But why was she
working with them, then? Wasn’t she sick? And who was this Chancellor Paige?
Was this just another test? Another Variable?
Something
powerful had swum through his body when they’d hugged. He thought back to how
Brenda had spoken in his mind after he’d been put into the white room. She’d warned
him things were going to get bad. He still didn’t understand how she’d been
able to do that—was she really on his side?
Teresa,
who’d been quiet since they left the first room, stepped up to him,
interrupting his thoughts.
“What’s
she doing here?” she whispered, the spite evident in her voice. Every little
thing she did or said now bothered him. “I thought she was a Crank.”
“I
don’t know,” Thomas muttered. Flashes of all that time he’d spent with Brenda
in the broken city filled his head. In a strange way, he missed that place.
Missed being alone with her. “Maybe she’s … just throwing me a Variable.”
“You
think she was part of the show, sent to the Scorch to help run things?”
“Probably.”
Thomas hurt inside. It made sense that Brenda could’ve been part of WICKED from
the beginning. But that meant she’d lied to him, over and over. He wanted so
badly for something to be different about her.
“I
don’t like her,” Teresa said. “She seems … devious.”
Thomas
had to force himself not to scream at Teresa. Or laugh at her. Instead, he
spoke to her calmly. “Go let them play with your brain.” Maybe her distrust of
Brenda was the best indication that he should trust Brenda.
Teresa
gave him a sharp look. “Judge me all you want. I’m just doing what feels
right.” Then she stepped away, awaiting the Rat Man’s instructions.
Janson
assigned the willing patients to beds while Thomas, Newt, and Minho hung back
and observed. Thomas glanced at the door, wondered if they should make a run
for it. He was just about to nudge Minho when the Rat Man spoke up as if he’d
read Thomas’s mind.
“You
three rebels are being watched. Don’t even think about trying anything. Armed
guards are on their way as we speak.”
Thomas
had the unsettling idea that maybe someone had read his mind. Could they
interpret his actual thoughts from the brain patterns they were so
studiously collecting?
“That’s
a bunch of klunk,” Minho whispered when Janson returned his attention to
getting people settled on the beds. “I think we should take our chances, see
what happens.”
Thomas
didn’t answer, looked over at Brenda instead. She was staring at the floor,
seemingly deep in thought. He found himself missing her terribly, feeling a
connection he didn’t quite understand. All he wanted was to talk to her alone.
And not just because of what she’d said to him.
The
sound of rushed footsteps came from the hallway. Three men and two women burst
into the room, all of them dressed in black, with gear strapped to their backs—ropes,
tools, ammunition. They were all holding some sort of bulky weapon. Thomas
couldn’t stop staring at the weapons—they tugged at some lost memory he could
just barely put his finger on, but at the same time it was like seeing them for
the first time. The devices shimmered with blue light—a clear tube in the
middle was filled with shiny metallic grenades that crackled and fizzed with
electricity—and the guards were pointing them at Thomas and his two friends.
“We
waited too bloody long,” Newt snapped in a low, harsh whisper.
Thomas
knew an opportunity would present itself soon. “They would’ve caught us out
there anyway,” he answered quietly, his lips barely moving. “Just be patient.”
Janson
walked over to stand beside the guards. He pointed at one of the weapons.
“These are called Launchers. These guards will not hesitate to fire them if any
of you cause trouble. The weapons won’t kill you, but trust me when I say that
they’ll give you the most uncomfortable five minutes of your life.”
“What’s
going on?” Thomas asked, surprised at how little fear he felt. “You just told
us we could make this choice ourselves. Why the sudden army?”
“Because
I don’t trust you.” Janson paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. “We
hoped you would do things voluntarily once your memories were back. It would
just make things easier. But I never said we don’t still need you.”
“What
a surprise,” Minho said. “You lied again.”
“I
haven’t lied about a thing. You made your decision, now live with the
consequences.” Janson pointed at the door. “Guards, escort Thomas and the
others to their rooms, where they can dwell on their mistakes until tomorrow
morning’s tests. Use whatever force is necessary.”
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