The Scorch Trials (The Maze Runner Book 2) (11)
CHAPTER
11
The
room lapsed into silence. Thomas knew he should be upset by the absurd notion
that up to this point things had been easy for them. The idea should’ve
terrified him. Not to mention the stuff about manipulating their brains. But
instead, he was so intensely curious to find out what the man was going to tell
them, the words had merely washed across his mind.
Rat
Man waited for an eternity, then slowly lowered himself back into the chair and
scooted forward to sit behind the desk once more. “You may think, or it may
seem, that we’re merely testing your ability to survive. On the surface, the
Maze Trial could be mistakenly classified that way. But I assure you—this is not
merely about survival and the will to live. That’s only part of this experiment.
The bigger picture is something you won’t understand until the very end.
“Sun
flares have ravaged many parts of the earth. Also, a disease unlike any before
known to man has been ravaging the earth’s people—a disease called the Flare.
For the first time, the governments of all nations—the surviving ones—are
working together. They’ve combined forces to create WICKED—a group meant to
fight the new problems of this world. You are a big part of that fight. And
you’ll have every incentive to work with us, because, sad to say, each one of
you has already caught the virus.”
He
quickly held up his hands to cut off the rumblings that started. “Now, now! No
need to worry—the Flare takes a while to set in and show symptoms. But at the
end of these Trials, the cure will be your reward, and you’ll never see
the … debilitating effects. Not many can afford the cure, you know.”
Thomas’s
hand instinctively went up to his throat, as if a soreness there were the first
indicator that he’d caught the Flare. He remembered all too well what the woman
on the rescue bus had told him after the Maze. About how the Flare destroyed
your brain, slowly driving you insane and stripping you of the capacity to feel
basic human emotions like compassion or empathy. About how it turned you into
less than an animal.
He
thought of the Cranks he’d seen through the dorm windows, and he suddenly
wanted to run to the bathroom and scrub his hands and mouth clean. The guy was
right—they had all the incentive they needed to make it through this next
phase.
“But
enough of this history lesson and time-wasting,” Rat Man continued. “We know
you now. All of you. It doesn’t matter what I say or what’s behind the mission
of WICKED. You’ll all do whatever it takes. Of this we have no doubt. And by
doing what we ask, you’ll save yourselves by getting the very cure so many
people desperately want.”
Thomas
heard Minho groan next to him and worried about him throwing out another one of
his smartaleck remarks. Thomas shushed him before he could do it.
Rat
Man looked down at the messy stack of papers lying in the open folder, picked
up a loose piece of it, then turned it over, barely glancing at its contents.
He cleared his throat. “Phase Two. The Scorch Trials. It officially begins
tomorrow morning at six o’clock. You’ll enter this room, and in the wall behind
me you will find a Flat Trans. To your eyes the Flat Trans will appear as a
shimmering wall of gray. Each of you must step through it by five minutes after
the hour. So again, it opens at six o’clock and closes five minutes after that.
Do you understand?”
Thomas
stared at Rat Man, transfixed. It almost felt as if he were watching a
recording—as if the stranger weren’t really there. The other Gladers must’ve
felt the same, because no one answered the simple question. What was a Flat
Trans, anyway?
“I’m
quite certain you can all hear,” Rat Man said. “Do … you … under …
stand?”
Thomas
nodded; a few boys around him murmured quiet yeahs and yeses.
“Good.”
Rat Man absently picked up another piece of paper and turned it over. “At that
point, the Scorch Trials will have begun. The rules are very simple. Find your
way to open air, then head due north for one hundred miles. Make it to the safe
haven within two weeks’ time and you’ll have completed Phase Two. At that point,
and only at that point, you’ll be cured of the Flare. That’s exactly two
weeks—starting the second you step through the Trans. If you don’t make it,
eventually you’ll end up dead.”
The
room should’ve erupted into arguments, questions, panic. But no one said a
word. Thomas felt as if his tongue had dried up into an old, crusty root.
Rat
Man quickly slammed the folder shut, bending its contents even more than
before, then put it away in the drawer from which he’d retrieved it. He stood,
stepped to the side and pushed the chair underneath the desk. Finally, he
folded his hands in front of him and returned his attention to the Gladers.
“It’s
simple, really,” he said, his tone so matter-of-fact one would think he’d just
given them instructions on how to turn on the showers in the bathroom. “There
are no rules. There are no guidelines. You have few supplies, and there’s
nothing to help you along the way. Go through the Flat Trans at the time
indicated. Find open air. Go one hundred miles, directly north, to the safe
haven. Make it or die.”
The
last word seemed to finally snap everyone out of their stupor, all of them
speaking up at once. “What’s a Flat Trans?”
“How’d
we catch the Flare?”
“How
long till we see symptoms?”
“What’s
at the end of the hundred miles?”
“What
happened to the dead bodies?”
Question
after question, a chorus of them, all melding into one roar of confusion. As
for Thomas, he didn’t bother. The stranger wasn’t going to tell them anything.
Couldn’t they all see that?
Rat
Man waited patiently, ignoring them, those dark eyes darting back and forth
between the Gladers as they spoke. His gaze settled on Thomas, who sat there,
silent, staring back at him, hating him. Hating WICKED. Hating the world.
“You
shanks shut up!” Minho finally shouted. The questions stopped instantly.
“This shuck-face ain’t answering, so quit wastin’ your time.”
Rat
Man nodded once toward Minho as if thanking him. Perhaps acknowledging his
wisdom. “One hundred miles. North. Hope you make it. Remember—you all have the
Flare now. We gave it to you to provide any incentive you may be lacking. And
reaching the safe haven means receiving a cure.” He turned away and moved
toward the wall behind him, as if he planned to walk right through it. But then
he stopped and faced them again.
“Ah,
one last thing,” he said. “Don’t think you’ll avoid the Scorch Trials if you
decide not to enter the Flat Trans between six and six-oh-five tomorrow
morning. Those who stay behind will be executed immediately in a most …
unpleasant manner. Better off taking your chances in the outside world. Good luck
to all of you.”
With
that he turned away and once again started inexplicably walking toward the
wall.
But
before Thomas could see what happened, the invisible wall separating them
started to fog up, whitening to an opaque blur in a matter of seconds. And then
the whole thing disappeared, once again revealing the other side of the common
area.
Except
there was no sign of the desk and its chair. And no sign of Rat Man.
“Well,
shuck me,” Minho whispered next to Thomas.
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