The Scorch Trials (The Maze Runner Book 2) (41)
CHAPTER
41
Once
again, he woke to a blinding white light—this one shining directly into his
eyes from above. He knew immediately it wasn’t the sun—it was different. Plus,
it shone from only a short distance away. Even as he clenched his eyes shut
again, the afterimage of a bulb floated across the darkness.
He
heard voices—more like whispers. He couldn’t understand a word. Too soft, just
out-of-reach enough that they were impossible to decipher.
He
heard the click and clack of metal against metal. Small sounds, and the first
thing he thought of was medical instruments. Scalpels and those little rods
with mirrors on the end. These images swam up from the murkiness of his memory
bank, and combining them with the light, he knew.
He’d
been taken to a hospital. A hospital. The last thing he could ever imagine
existing anywhere in the Scorch. Or had he been taken away? Far away? Through a
Flat Trans, maybe?
A
shadow crossed the light, and Thomas opened his eyes. Someone was looking down
at him, dressed in the same ridiculous outfit as those who’d brought him here.
The gas mask, or whatever it was. Big goggles. Behind the protective glass, he
saw dark eyes focused on him. A woman’s eyes, though he didn’t know how he
could tell.
“Can
you hear me?” she asked. Yes, a woman, even though the mask muffled her voice.
Thomas
tried to nod, didn’t know if he actually did or not.
“This
wasn’t supposed to happen.” She’d pulled her head back a bit and looked away,
which made Thomas think she hadn’t meant that comment for him. “How’d a working
gun get in the city? You have any idea the amount of rust and gunk must’ve been
on that bullet? Not to mention the germs.”
She
sounded very angry.
A
man replied. “Just get on with it. We have to send him back. Quickly.”
Thomas
barely had time to process what they were saying. A new pain blossomed in his
shoulder, unbearable.
He
passed out for the umpteenth time.
Awake
again.
Something
was off. He couldn’t tell what. The same light shone from the same spot above;
he looked to the side this time instead of closing his eyes. He could see
better, focus more. Silver squares of ceiling tile, a steel contraption with
all kinds of dials and switches and monitors. None of it made sense.
Then
it hit him. Hit him with such shock and wonder that he scarcely believed it
could be true.
He
felt no pain. None. Nothing at all.
No
people stood around him. No crazy green alien suits, no goggles, no one
sticking scalpels in his shoulder. He seemed to be alone, and the absence of
pain was pure ecstasy. He didn’t know it was possible to feel this good.
It
wasn’t. Had to be a drug.
He
dozed off.
*
* *
He
stirred at the sound of soft voices, though it came through the haze of his
drugged stupor. Somehow he knew enough to keep his eyes shut, see if he could
learn anything about the people who’d taken him. The people who’d evidently
fixed him up and rid his body of the infection.
A
man was talking. “Are we sure this doesn’t screw anything up?”
“I’m
positive.” This from a woman. “Well, as positive as I can be. If anything, it
may stimulate a pattern in the killzone that we hadn’t expected. A bonus,
possibly? I can’t imagine it leading him or anyone else in a direction that
would prevent the other patterns we’re looking for.”
“Dear
God above, I hope you’re right,” the man responded.
Another
woman spoke, her voice high, almost crystalline. “How many of the ones left do
you think are still viable Candidates?” Thomas sensed the capital letter in
that word—Candidates. Confused, he tried to remain still, listen.
“We’re
down to four or five,” the first woman answered. “Thomas here is by far our
greatest hope. He responds really sharply to the Variables. Wait, I think I
just saw his eyes move.”
Thomas
froze, tried to stare straight ahead into the darkness of his eyelids. It was
hard, but he forcedhimself to breathe evenly, as if asleep. He didn’t know
exactly what these people were talking about, but he desperately wanted to hear
more. Knew he needed to hear more.
“Who
cares if he’s listening?” the man asked. “He couldn’t possibly understand
enough to affect his responses one way or the other. It’ll do him good to know
we made a huge exception to get that infection out of him. That WICKED will do
what it has to when necessary.”
The
high-pitched-voice lady laughed, one of the most pleasant sounds Thomas had
ever heard. “If you’re listening, Thomas, don’t get too excited. We’re about to
dump you right back where we took you from.”
The
drugs coursing through Thomas’s veins seemed to surge, and he felt himself
fading into bliss. He tried to open his eyes, but couldn’t. Before he drifted
off he did hear one last thing, from the first woman. Something very odd.
“It’s what you would’ve wanted us to do.”
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