The Scorch Trials (The Maze Runner Book 2) (35)
CHAPTER
35
A
nightmare woke Thomas—something about Minho and Newt being cornered by a bunch
of Cranks past the Gone. Cranks with knives. Angry Cranks. The first spill of
blood finally jerked Thomas awake.
He
looked around, scared that he’d yelled or said something. The cab of the truck
still lay in the darkness of night—he could barely see Brenda, couldn’t even
tell if her eyes were open. But then she spoke.
“Bad
dream?”
Thomas
settled himself, closed his eyes. “Yeah. I can’t quit worrying about my other
friends. I just hate it so bad that we were separated.”
“I’m
sorry that happened. I really am.” She shifted in her seat. “But I seriously
don’t think you need to worry. Your Glader buddies seemed capable enough, but
even if they weren’t—Jorge is one tough monkey. He’ll get them through the city
just fine. Don’t waste the stress on your heart. We’re the ones you should
be worried about.”
“You’re
doing a terrible job of making me feel better.”
Brenda
laughed. “Sorry—I was smiling when I said that last part, but you couldn’t see
me, I guess.”
Thomas
looked at his backlit watch, then said, “We still have a few hours before the
sun comes up.”
After
a short silence, Thomas spoke again. “Tell me a little bit more about what
life’s like now. They took most of our memories—some of mine came back, but
they’re sketchy and I don’t know if I can trust them. There isn’t much there
about the outside world, either.”
Brenda
sighed deeply. “The outside world, huh? Well, it sucks. The temperatures are
finally starting to go down, but it’ll be forever before the sea levels do the
same. It’s been a long time since the flares, but so many people died, Thomas.
So many. It’s actually kind of amazing how everyone who survived stabilized and
civilized so quickly. If it weren’t for the stupid Flare, I think the world
would pull through in the long run. But if wishes were fishes … oh, I can’t
remember. Something my dad used to say.”
Thomas
could hardly contain the curiosity that now raced inside him. “What did happen?
Are there new countries, or just one big government? And how does WICKED fit
into it all? Are they the government?”
“There
are still countries, but they’re more … unified. Once the Flare started
spreading like crazy, they combined all their forces, technology, resources,
whatever to start up WICKED. They set up this crazy elaborate testing system
and have tried really hard to have quarantined areas. They slowed the Flare down,
but they can’t stop it. I think the only hope is to find a cure. Hope you’re
right that they’ve done it—but if they have, they sure haven’t shared it with
the public yet.”
“So
where are we?” Thomas asked. “Where are we right now?”
“In
a truck.” When Thomas didn’t laugh, she continued. “Sorry, bad time for jokes.
Judging by the labels on the food, we think we’re in Mexico. Or what used to be
Mexico. It makes the most sense. Now it’s called the Scorch. Basically any area
between the two Tropics—Cancer and Capricorn—is a complete wasteland now.
Central and South Americas, most of Africa, the Middle East and southern Asia.
Lots of dead lands, lots of dead people. So, welcome to the Scorch. Isn’t it
nice of them to send us sweet Cranks down here?”
“Man.”
Thoughts raced through Thomas’s mind, mostly related to how he knew he was a
part of WICKED—a huge part—and how the Maze and Groups A and B and all the junk
they were going through were parts of it too. But he couldn’t remember enough
for it to make any sense.
“Man?”
Brenda
asked. “That’s the best you can come up with?”
“I
have too many questions—I can’t seem to latch on to just one to ask.”
“Do
you know about the numbing agent?”
Thomas
looked over at her, wished he could make out more of her face. “I think Jorge
said something about that. What is it?”
“You
know how the world is. New disease, new drugs. Even if it doesn’t do jack to
the illness itself, they still come up with stuff.”
“What
does it do? Do you have any?”
“Ha!”
Brenda shouted it with contempt. “You think they’d give us any? Only the
important people, the rich people can get their hands on that junk. They call
it the Bliss. Numbs your emotions, numbs your brain processes, slows you down
to a drunken stupor so you don’t feel much. Keeps the Flare at bay because the
virus thrives in your brain. Eats at it, destroys it. If there’s not a lot of
activity, the virus weakens.”
Thomas
folded his arms. There was something very important here, but he couldn’t put
his finger on it. “So … it’s not a cure? Even though it slows the virus down?”
“Not
even close. Just delays the inevitable. The Flare always wins in the end. You
lose any chance of being rational, having common sense, having compassion. You
lose your humanity.”
Thomas
was quiet. Maybe more strongly than ever before, he felt that a memory—an
important one— was trying to squeeze its way through the cracks in the wall
blocking him from his past. The Flare. The brain. Going mad. The numbing agent,
the Bliss. WICKED. The trials. What Rat Man had said, that their responses to
the Variables were what this was all about.
“Did
you fall asleep?” Brenda asked him after several minutes of silence.
“No.
Just too much information.” He felt dimly alarmed at what she had said, but he
still couldn’t put anything together. “It’s hard to process it all.”
“Well,
I’ll shut up, then.” She turned away, rested her head against the door. “Push
it out of your mind. Won’t do you any good. You need rest.”
“Uh-huh,”
Thomas mumbled, frustrated at having so many clues but no real answers. But
Brenda was right—he could definitely use a good night’s sleep. He got
comfortable and did his best, but it took a long time before he finally dozed
off. And dreamed.
He’s
older again, probably fourteen now. He and Teresa are kneeling on the ground,
their ears pressed to the crack of a door, listening. Eavesdropping. A man and
a woman are talking inside, and Thomas can hear them well enough.
The
man first. “Did you get the additions to the Variables list?”
“Last
night,” the woman responds. “I like what Trent added for the end of the Maze
Trials. Brutal, but we need it to happen. Should create some interesting
patterns.”
“Absolutely.
Same with the betrayal scenario, if that ever has to play out.”
The
woman makes a noise that must be a laugh but that sounds strained and
humorless. “Yeah, I had the same thought. I mean, good Lord, how much can these
kids take before they’ll go crazy on their own?”
“Not
just that, it’s risky. What if he dies? We all agree that by then he’ll surely
be one of the top Candidates.”
“He
won’t. We won’t let him.”
“Still.
We’re not God. He could die.”
There’s
a long pause. Then the man says, “Maybe it won’t come to that. But I doubt it.
The Psychs say it will stimulate a lot of the patterns we need.”
“Well,
there’s a lot of emotion involved with something like that,” the woman answers.
“And according to Trent, some of the hardest patterns to create. I think the
plan for those Variables is just about the only thing that will work.”
“You
really think the Trials are going to work?” the man asks. “Seriously,
the scale and logistics of this thing are unbelievable. Think of how much could
go wrong!”
“Could, you’re right.
But what’s the alternative? Try it, and if it fails, we’ll just be in the same
spot as if we’d tried nothing.”
“I
guess.”
Teresa
tugs on Thomas’s shirt; he looks to see her pointing back down the hall. Time
to go. He nods, but leans back in to see if he can catch one last phrase or
two. He does. It’s the woman.
“Too
bad we’ll never see the end of the Trials.”
“I
know,” the man answers. “But the future will thank us.”
The
first purple traces of dawn were what woke up Thomas the second time. He
couldn’t remember stirring once in his sleep since his middle-of-the-night talk
with Brenda—not even after the dream.
The
dream. It had been the strangest one yet, lots of things said that were already
fading, too difficult to grasp and fit into the pieces of his past that were
slowly, very slowly, beginning to come together again. He allowed himself to
feel a little hope that maybe he wasn’t in on as much to do with the Trials as
he’d begun to think. Though he hadn’t understood much in the dream, the fact
that he and Teresa had been spying meant they weren’t involved in every aspect
of the Trials.
But
what could the purpose of all this be? Why would the future thank those people?
He
rubbed his eyes and stretched, then looked over at Brenda—her eyes still
closed, her chest moving with slow and even breaths, her mouth slightly open.
Though his body felt even stiffer than the day before, the restful slumber had
done wonders for his spirit. He felt refreshed. Invigorated. Somewhat perplexed
and brain-dead over his memory-dream and all the things Brenda had told him
about, but invigorated all the same.
He
stretched again and was just letting out a long yawn when he saw something on
the wall of the alley. A large metal plaque, riveted to the wall. A sign that
looked very familiar.
He
pushed the door open and stumbled out onto the street and over to it. It was
nearly identical to the sign in the Maze that had said WORLD IN
CATASTROPHE—KILLZONE EXPERIMENT DEPARTMENT . Same dull metal, same lettering.
Except this one said something very different. And he stared at it for at least
five straight minutes before he moved an inch.
It
said:
THOMAS,
YOU’RE THE REAL LEADER
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