The Scorch Trials (The Maze Runner Book 2) (13)
CHAPTER
13
Thomas
felt it getting late and knew they had to get sleep that night and be ready for
the morning. So he and the Gladers spent the rest of the evening making crude
packs out of bedsheets for carrying the food and the extra clothes that had
appeared in the dressers. Some of the food had come in plastic bags, and the now-empty
bags were filled with water and tied off with material ripped from the
curtains. No one expected these poor excuses for canteens to last very long
without leaking, but it was the best idea anyone could come up with.
Newt
had finally convinced Minho to be the leader. Thomas knew as well as anybody
that they needed someone to be in charge, so he was relieved when Minho
grudgingly agreed.
Around
nine o’clock, Thomas found himself lying in bed, staring at the bunk above him
once again. The room was strangely silent even though he knew no one had fallen
asleep yet. Fear surely gripped them as much as it did him. They’d been through
the Maze and its horrors. They’d seen close up what WICKED was capable of
doing. If Rat Man was correct, and all that had happened was part of some
master plan, then these people had forced Gally to kill Chuck, had shot a woman
at close range, had hired people to rescue them only to kill them when the
mission was complete … the list went on and on.
Then,
to top it all off, they gave them a hideous disease, with the cure as bait to
lure them to continue. Who even knew what was true and what was a lie. And the
evidence continued to suggest that they’d singled Thomas out somehow. It was a
sad thought—Chuck was the one who had lost his life. Teresa was the one
missing. But taking those two away from him …
His
life felt like a black hole. He had no idea how he would muster the will to go
on in the morning. To face whatever WICKED had in store for them. But he’d do
it—and not just to get a cure. He would never stop, especially now. Not after
what they’d done to him and his friends. If the only way to get back at them was
to pass all their tests and trials, to survive, then so be it.
So
be it.
With
thoughts of revenge actually comforting him in a sick and twisted way, he
finally fell asleep.
Every
Glader had set the alarm on his digital watch for five o’clock in the morning.
Thomas woke up well before that and couldn’t go back to sleep. When beeps
finally started filling the room, he swung his legs off the bed and rubbed his
eyes. Someone turned on the light and a yellow blast lit up his vision. Squinting,
he got up and headed for the showers. Who knew how long it’d be before he could
clean himself again.
At
ten minutes till the time appointed by Rat Man, every Glader sat in
anticipation, most holding a plastic bag full of water, the bedsheet packs at
their sides. Thomas, like the others, had decided he’d carry the water in his
hand to make sure it didn’t spill or leak. The invisible shield had reappeared overnight
in the middle of the common area, impossible to pass through, and the Gladers
settled just on the boys’ dorm side of it, facing where the stranger in the
white suit had said a Flat Trans would appear. Aris was sitting right next to
Thomas, and spoke for the first time since … well, Thomas couldn’t remember the
last time he’d heard the boy’s voice.
“Did
you think you were crazy?” the new kid asked. “When you first heard her in your
head?”
Thomas
glanced at him, paused. For some reason, up until that moment he hadn’t wanted
to talk to this guy. But suddenly the feeling vanished completely. It wasn’t
Aris’s fault that Teresa had disappeared.
“Yeah.
Then when it kept happening, I got over it—only I started worrying about other
people thinking I was crazy. So we didn’t tell anyone about it for a long
time.”
“It
was weird for me,” Aris responded. He looked deep in thought as he stared at
the floor. “I was in a coma for a few days, and when I woke up, speaking out to
Rachel seemed the most natural thing in the world. If she hadn’t accepted it
and spoken back, I’m pretty sure I would’ve lost it. The other girls in the group
hated me—some of them wanted to kill me. Rachel was the only one who …”
He
trailed off, and Minho stood up to address everyone before Aris could finish
what he was saying. Thomas was glad for it, because hearing about the trippy
alternate version of what he himself had been through only made him think of
Teresa, and that hurt too much. He didn’t want to think about her anymore. He
had to concentrate on surviving for now.
“We’ve
got three minutes,” Minho said, for once looking completely serious. “Everybody
sure they still wanna go?”
Thomas
nodded, noticed others doing the same.
“Anybody
change their mind overnight?” Minho asked. “Speak now or never. Once we go
wherever we’re going, if some shank decides he’s a sissy pants and tries to
turn back, I’ll make sure he does it with a broken nose and smashed privates.”
Thomas
looked over at Newt, who had his head in his hands and was groaning loudly.
“Newt,
you got a problem?” Minho asked, his voice surprisingly stern. Thomas, shocked,
waited for Newt’s reaction.
The
older boy seemed just as surprised. “Uh … no. Just admiring your bloody
leadership skills.”
Minho
pulled his shirt away from his neck, leaned over to show everyone the tattoo
there. “What does that say, slinthead?”
Newt
glanced left and right, his face blushing. “We know you’re the boss, Minho.
Slim it.”
“No,
you slim it,” Minho retorted, pointing at Newt. “We don’t have time for that
kind of klunk. So shut your hole.”
Thomas
could only hope that Minho was putting on an act to solidify the decision
they’d made for him to be the leader, and that Newt understood. Though if Minho
was acting, he was sure doing a good job of it.
“It’s
six o’clock!” one of the Gladers shouted.
As
if this proclamation had triggered it, the invisible shield turned opaque
again, fogging to a splotchy white. A split second later it vanished
altogether. Thomas noticed the change in the wall opposite them instantly—a
large section of it had transformed into a flat, shimmering surface of murky,
shadowy gray.
“Come
on!” Minho yelled as he pulled the strap of his pack onto his shoulder. He was
gripping a water bag in his other hand. “Don’t mess around—we only have five
minutes to get through. I’ll go first.” He pointed at Thomas. “You go last—make
sure everyone follows me before you come.”
Thomas
nodded, trying to fight the fire burning through his nerves; he reached up and
wiped the sweat off his forehead.
Minho
walked up to the wall of gray, then paused right in front of it. The Flat Trans
seemed completely unstable, impossible for Thomas to focus on. Shadows and
swirls of varying shades of darkness danced across its surface. The whole thing
pulsed and blurred, as if it might disappear at any second.
Minho
turned to look back at them. “See you shanks on the other side.”
Then
he stepped through, and the wall of gray murk swallowed him whole.
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