The future, a Crank-free world, he and his friends living in paradise.
Talk about a load of crap.
He let out a deep breath, and then, despite its being the middle of the day, he fell asleep.
231.10.31 | 4:48 p.m.
Thomas was back in his haven, the observation room.
Over the last few weeks, the guilt and anger had continued to build, slow trickles that joined to become a deluge, and now he was drowning. There was only one way he could ever bring the air back into his lungs. Being here, watching his old friends in the maze.
He and Teresa had grown distant lately—she seemed to have coped with her own difficulties after the Purge by throwing herself mind, body, and spirit into work, work, and more work—but Thomas didn’t mind. They spoke often enough through their telepathy to keep each other informed. Enough to know that they both were doing what was best for them.
And for Thomas, that had been to stay out of sight as much as possible. He had to stick to the normal regimen of tests, checkups, and classes, but other than that he made himself scarce. Unless Chuck or Teresa were available to hang out, Thomas spent most of his free time in his room, reading or sleeping, or observing his friends in the maze, watching their every move. Those moves had become pretty routine, the Gladers establishing themselves in a pretty impressive little community. Law, order, routine, safety. No one had died or been stung for a while now.
Thomas still loved eavesdropping whenever he could. Listening in when Alby, Minho, and Newt would sit down for meals. It made Thomas feel like a part of them, almost like he was there.
And that was exactly what he’d been doing all afternoon, switching between views and microphones when one scene grew boring. At the moment, over by the east door, Newt was talking to Minho, who’d just returned from running the vast maze itself.
“Anything new out there?” Newt asked, the sarcasm obvious. “Did a bloody Griever come out and ask for a snog?”
Minho leaned against the stone, still catching his breath. “How’d you know? I told him maybe some other time—not really my type.”
These two had some variation of this conversation almost every day, mocking the monotony of what the Runners found in their daily excursions. They’d started walking toward the Map Room when Thomas heard a knock at the door behind him. Sadly, he pulled himself away from the world of the maze and returned to WICKED.
“Who is it?” he asked.
The door opened, and Chuck’s curly head poked through. “Hey, Thomas. Dr. Campbell said I could have two free hours to help you with your notes. So…”
“Come on in, you shank. You don’t have to act like it’s a big deal every time.”
He and Chuck had started using some of the slang words invented inside the Glade, just between the two of them. Chuck’s favorite was klunk by a long shot. Dr. Paige said the Psychs were really interested in how the memory loss affected the Gladers. Sometimes there were surprises, like the invention of totally new words. A few of them came from Minho, who’d had quite the mouth even before entering the maze. The Swipe seemed to heighten the trait, which the Psychs also found interesting.
Of course, the Psychs found everything interesting.
Chuck came in and sat beside Thomas, plopping down in his seat with an exaggerated sigh of contentment. “They sent Frank in today, which means I only have one month left.” The mix of excitement and fear in Chuck’s eyes always broke Thomas’s heart a little. He shared as much blame for the fear part as anyone—it’d been his own selfishness having Chuck in here so often, seeing some of the bad things that happened inside the maze. But the kid was his brother in every way but blood—without him in his life, Thomas would’ve broken long ago.
“It’ll be here before you know it,” he said.
“Which means,” Chuck said, “that all of this’ll be over before we know it, too.”
“Yep. You got it.”
“What’d you do today?” Chuck asked. “Let me guess—medical checkup, classes, critical thinking, observe the maze.”
“Yep. You got it,” Thomas said again, making the boy laugh. “Pretty exciting life I lead, am I right?”
“Just wait until I get to the maze,” Chuck replied. “I’ll liven that place right up.” He said it with an enthusiasm that Thomas could only guess was genuine—kids that young had a knack for remembering only the good parts.
“Yep. You got it.” The third time made even Thomas laugh. Then he stood up. “Sorry, I have a meeting I’m supposed to go to.”
“Aw, come on, I just got here! I was hoping to watch the Gladers eat dinner. I think Gally and Alby are finally gonna beat the klunk out of each other tonight.”
“Sorry, bud,” Thomas said. “And you know you can’t be in here without me, so head to the barracks. Later we’ll grab food, come back here, and do more Glade spying. Maybe the Psychs’ll send a Griever in to dance for them.”
Chuck paled a little at that but did his best to cover it up. Sometimes, in his excitement to get to the Glade, he forgot about the monsters.
“Sorry,” Thomas said, wanting to kick himself. “Terrible joke.”
—
The meeting was in a small conference room, and Thomas arrived knowing absolutely nothing of its purpose. Dr. Paige sat at the head of the table, with two people to her left who were obviously Psychs. One was from the days before the Purge—a lady named Campbell. The other was a newbie, from Seattle or Anchorage or who knew where. Thomas purposely didn’t bother learning details like that. He couldn’t put his finger on why.