The Scorch Trials (The Maze Runner Book 2) (47)
CHAPTER
47
Thomas
slept fitfully for a few hours, tossing and turning, trying to find a
comfortable position on the hard rock. He finally fell into a deep slumber, and
then came the dream.
Thomas
is fifteen. He doesn’t know how he knows this. Something to do with the timing
of the memory. Is it a memory?
He
and Teresa are standing in front of a massive bank of screens, each one showing
various images from the Glade and the Maze. Some of the views are moving, and
he knows why. These camera shots are coming from beetle blades, and every once
in a while they have to change position. When they do, it’s like looking
through the eyes of a rat.
“I
can’t believe they’re all dead,” Teresa says.
Thomas
is confused. Once again he doesn’t quite understand what’s happening. He’s
inside this boy who’s supposed to be him, but he doesn’t know what Teresa’s
talking about. Obviously not the Gladers— on one screen he can see Minho and
Newt walking toward the forest; on another, Gally sitting on a bench. Then Alby
yelling at someone Thomas doesn’t recognize.
“We
knew it would happen,” he finally responds, not sure why he said it.
“It’s
still hard to take.” They aren’t looking at each other, just analyzing the
screens. “Now it’s up to us. And the people in the barracks.”
“That’s
a good thing,” Thomas says.
“I
almost feel as sorry for them as I do for the Gladers. Almost.”
Thomas
wonders what this means as his younger dream version clears his throat. “Do you
think we’ve learned enough? Do you really think we can pull this off with all
the original Creators dead?”
“We
have to, Tom.” Teresa steps over to him and grabs his hand. He looks down at
her but he can’t read her expression. “Everything’s in place. We have a year to
train the replacements and get ready.”
“But
it’s not right. How can we ask them to—”
Teresa
rolls her eyes and squeezes his hand so hard it hurts. “They know what they’re
getting into. No more talking like that.”
“Yeah.”
Somehow Thomas knows this version of himself in the vision he’s seeing feels
dead inside. His words mean nothing. “All that matters now are the patterns.
The killzone. Nothing else.”
Teresa
nodded. “No matter how many die or get hurt. If the Variables don’t work,
they’ll end up the same anyway. Everyone will.”
“The
patterns,” Thomas says.
Teresa
squeezes his hand. “The patterns.”
When
he woke up, the light dimming to a dull gray as the sun sank to a horizon he
couldn’t see, Harriet and Sonya were sitting just a few feet from him. Both
staring at him strangely.
“Good
evening,” he said with false enthusiasm, the troubling dream still fresh in his
mind. “Can I help you ladies?”
“We
want to know what you know,” Harriet said quietly.
The
lingering fog of sleep quickly vanished. “Why should I help you?” He wanted to
sit and think about what he’d dreamed, but he knew something had changed—he
could see it in Harriet’s gaze—and he couldn’t pass up the chance to save
himself.
“I
don’t think you have much choice,” Harriet said. “But if you share whatever
you’ve learned or figured out, maybe we can help you.”
Thomas
looked around for Teresa but couldn’t see her. “Where is—”
Sonya
interrupted him. “She said she wanted to scout the area to see if your friends
followed us. Been gone for about an hour.”
In
his mind, Thomas could see the Teresa of his dream. Watching those screens,
talking about dead Creators and the killzone. Talking about patterns.
How did it all fit together?
“Forget
how to talk?”
His
eyes focused on Sonya. “No, um … does this mean you guys are having second
thoughts about killing me?” The words sounded stupid to him, and he wondered
how many people in the history of the world had ever asked a question like
that.
Harriet
smirked. “Don’t go jumping to conclusions. And don’t think we’ve gone all
righteous. Let’s just say we have our doubts and want to talk—but your odds are
slim.”
Sonya
picked up her line of thought. “The smartest thing right now seems to be to do
what we were told. There are a lot more of us than you. I mean, come on. If it
was your decision, what would you do?”
“Pretty
sure I’d choose the option of not killing myself.”
“Don’t
be a jerk. This isn’t funny. If you could choose, and the two options were you
die or all of us die, which one would you pick? This is all about you or us.”
Her
face showed she was very serious, and the question hit Thomas like a thump to
his chest. She was right, on some level. If that really would happen—they’d all
die if they didn’t get rid of him—then how could he expect them not to do it?
“You
gonna answer?” Sonya pushed.
“I’m
thinking.” He paused, wiped some sweat off his forehead. Once again, the dream
tried to creep to the front of his mind and he had to push it back. “Okay, I’m
being honest here. I promise. If I were in your shoes, I’d choose not to kill
me.”
Harriet
rolled her eyes. “Easy for you to say, since it’s your life on the line.”
“It’s
not just that. I think it’s some kind of test and maybe you’re not really
supposed to do it.”
Thomas’s
heartbeat picked up—he really did mean what he said, but he doubted they’d believe
him even if he tried to explain it. “Maybe we should share what we know,
figure something out.”
Harriet
and Sonya exchanged a long look.
Sonya
finally nodded; then Harriet said, “We’ve had our doubts about this whole thing
from the beginning. Something about it isn’t right. So yeah, you better talk.
But let us get everybody over here first.” They stood up to go rouse the
others.
“Hurry,
then,” Thomas said, wondering if he really did have a chance to get out of this
mess. “We better do this before Teresa gets back.”
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