ｃａｎｏｎ ｒｅｆｒｅｓｈ

[a1]

MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD.

THE KILL ORDER
WICKED had no choice. She and Thomas--they had no choice. How could she
shrink at sacrificing a few to save the many? How could anyone? She
didn't have time for pity or sadness or wishes. It was what it was;
what was done was done; what would be ... would be.


THE MAZE RUNNER
Before Newt could finish, the girl shot up into a sitting position.
As she sucked in a huge breath, her eyes snapped open and she blinked,
looking around at the crowd surrounding her. Alby cried out and fell
backward. Newt gasped and jumped up, stumbling away from her. Thomas
didn't move, his gaze locked on the girl, frozen in fear.
Burning blue eyes darted back and forth as she took deep breaths. Her
pink lips trembled as she mumbled something over and over,
indecipherable. Then she spoke one sentence--her voice hollow and
haunted, but clear.
"Everything is going to change."
Thomas stared in wonder as her eyes rolled up into her head and she
fell back to the ground. Her right fist shot into the air as she
landed, staying rigid after she grew still, pointing toward the sky.
Clutched in her hand was a wadded piece of paper.
Thomas tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry. Newt ran forward
and pulled her fingers apart, grabbing the paper. With shaking hands
he unfolded it, then dropped to his knees, spreading out the note on
the ground. Thomas moved up behind him to get a look.
Scrawled across the paper in thick black letters were five words:
She's the last one.
Ever.


Despite his own curiosity, Thomas didn't bother trying to force his
way through to get a look--the bodies were too tightly squeezed
together. But he had caught a glimpse of her before being blocked off.
She was thin, but not too small. Maybe five and a half feet tall, from
what he could tell. She looked like she could be fifteen or sixteen
years old, and her hair was tar black. But the thing that had really
stood out to him was her skin: pale, white as pearls.


He approached Newt and Alby, who both knelt beside the girl. Thomas,
not wanting to meet their stares, concentrated on the girl; despite
her paleness, she was really pretty. More than pretty. Beautiful.
Silky hair, flawless skin, perfect lips, long legs. It made him sick
to think that way about a dead girl, but he couldn't look away. Won't
be that way for long, he thought with a queasy twist in his stomach.
She'll start rotting soon. He was surprised at having such a morbid
thought.


Thomas's gut clenched. He knew that he and the girl were connected
somehow. They'd come a day apart, she seemed familiar, he had a
consuming urge to become a Runner despite learning so many terrible
things.... What did it all mean?


Thomas didn't respond, kept looking, willing his mind to break down
the memory barrier and seek out this girl from his past. He thought
back to those brief moments when she'd opened her eyes right after
being pulled out of the Box.
They'd been blue, richer in color than the eyes of any other person he
could remember seeing before. He tried to picture those eyes on her
now as he looked at her slumbering face, melding the two images in his
mind. Her black hair, her perfect white skin, her full lips.... As he
stared at her, he realized once more how truly beautiful she was.


Tom, we're the last ones. It'll end soon. It has to.
The words echoed in his mind, touched his eardrums--he could hear them.
Yet they didn't sound like they were coming from the room, from
outside his body. They were literally, in every way, inside his mind.
Tom, don't freak out on me.
He put his hands up to his ears, squeezed his eyes shut. It was too
strange; he couldn't bring his rational mind to accept what was
happening.
My memory's fading already, Tom. I won't remember much when I wake up.
We can pass the Trials. It has to end. They sent me as a trigger.
Thomas couldn't take it anymore. Ignoring Newt's questions, he
stumbled to the door and yanked it open, stepped into the hall, ran.
Down the stairs, out the front door, he ran. But it did nothing to
shut her up.
Everything is going to change, she said.
He wanted to scream, run until he could run no more. He made it to the
East Door and sprinted through it, out of the Glade. Kept going,
through corridor after corridor, deep into the heart of the Maze,
rules or no rules. But he still couldn't escape the voice.
It was you and me, Tom. We did this to them. To us.


He was somewhere very close to sleep when a voice spoke in his head,
a pretty, feminine voice that sounded as if it came from a fairy
goddess trapped in his skull. The next morning, when everything
started going crazy, he'd wonder if the voice had been real or part of
a dream. But he heard it all the same, and remembered every word:
Tom, I just triggered the Ending.


"She's awake!" Chuck yelled. "The girl's awake!"
Thomas's insides twisted; he leaned against the concrete wall of the
Map Room. The girl. The girl who spoke in his head. He wanted to run
before it happened again, before she spoke to him in his mind.
But it was too late.
Tom, I don't know any of these people. Come get me! It's all fading....
I'm forgetting everything but you.... I have to tell you things! But
it's all fading….
He couldn't understand how she did it, how she was inside his head.
Teresa paused, then said something that made no sense.
The Maze is a code, Tom. The Maze is a code.


Teresa stood to his right, leaning against the massive stone wall.
She looked so different now, awake and alert--standing. Wearing a
long-sleeved white shirt, blue jeans, and brown shoes, she
looked--impossibly--even more striking than when he'd seen her in the
coma. Black hair framed the fair skin of her face, with eyes the blue
of pure flame.
"Tom, do you really not remember me?" Her voice was soft, a contrast
from the crazed, hard sound he'd heard from her after she first
arrived, when she'd delivered the message that everything was going to
change.
"You mean ... you remember me?" he asked, embarrassed at the squeak that
escaped on the last word.
"Yes. No. Maybe." She threw her arms up in disgust. "I can't explain it."
Thomas opened his mouth, then closed it without saying anything.
"I remember remembering," she muttered, sitting down with a heavy
sigh; she pulled her legs up to wrap her arms around her knees.
"Feelings. Emotions. Like I have all these shelves in my head, labeled
for memories and faces, but they're empty. As if everything before
this is just on the other side of a white curtain. Including you."
"But how do you know me?" He felt like the walls were spinning around him.
Teresa turned toward him. "I don't know. Something about before we
came to the Maze. Something about us. It's mostly empty, like I said."
"You know about the Maze? Who told you? You just woke up."
"I ... It's all very confusing right now." She held a hand out. "But I
know you're my friend."
Almost in a daze, Thomas pulled the blanket completely off and leaned
forward to shake her hand. "I like how you call me Tom." As soon as it
came out, he was sure he couldn't have possibly said anything dumber.
Teresa rolled her eyes. "That's your name, isn't it?"
"Yeah, but most people call me Thomas. Well, except Newt--he calls me
Tommy. Tom makes me feel ... like I'm at home or something. Even though
I don't know what home is." He let out a bitter laugh. "Are we messed
up or what?"
She smiled for the first time, and he almost had to look away, as if
something that nice didn't belong in such a glum and gray place, as if
he had no right to look at her expression.
"Yeah, we're messed up," she said. "And I'm scared."
"So am I, trust me." Which was definitely the understatement of the day.
A long moment passed, both of them looking toward the ground.
"What's ...," he began, not sure how to ask it. "How ... did you talk to
me inside my mind?"
Teresa shook her head. No idea--I can just do it, she thought to him.
Then she spoke aloud again. "It's like if you tried to ride a bicycle
here--if they had one. I bet you could do it without thinking. But do
you remember learning to ride one?"
"No. I mean ... I remember riding one, but not learning." He paused,
feeling a wave of sadness. "Or who taught me."
"Well," she said, her eyes flickering as if she was embarrassed by his
sudden gloom. "Anyway ... it's kind of like that."
"Really clears things up."
Teresa shrugged. "You didn't tell anyone, did you? They'd think we're crazy."
"Well ... when it first happened, I did. But I think Newt just thinks I
was stressed out or something." Thomas felt fidgety, like he'd go nuts
if he didn't move. He stood up, started pacing in front of her. "We
need to figure things out. That weird note you had about being the
last person to ever come here, your coma, the fact you can talk to me
telepathically. Any ideas?"
Teresa followed him with her eyes as he walked back and forth. "Save
your breath and quit asking. All I have are faint impressions--that you
and I were important, that we were used somehow. That we're smart.
That we came here for a reason. I know I triggered the Ending,
whatever that means." She groaned, her face reddening. "My memories
are as useless as yours."
Thomas knelt down in front of her. "No, they're not. I mean, the fact
that you knew my memory had been wiped without asking me--and this
other stuff. You're way ahead of me and everybody else."
Their eyes met for a long time; it looked like her mind was spinning,
trying to make sense of it all.
I just don't know, she said in his mind.
"There you go again," Thomas said aloud, though he was relieved that
her trick didn't really freak him out anymore. "How do you do that?"
"I just do, and I bet you can, too."
"Well, can't say I'm too anxious to try." He sat back down and pulled
his legs up, much like she had done. "You said something to me--in my
head--right before you found me over here. You said 'The Maze is a
code.' What did you mean?"
She shook her head slightly. "When I first woke up, it was like I'd
entered an insane asylum--these strange guys hovering over my bed, the
world tipping around me, memories swirling in my brain. I tried to
reach out and grasp a few, and that was one of them. I can't really
remember why I said it."
"Was there anything else?"
"Actually, yeah." She pulled up the sleeve of her left arm, exposing
her bicep. Small letters were written across the skin in thin black
ink.
"What's that?" he asked, leaning in for a better look.
"Read it yourself."
"The letters were messy, but he could make them out when he got close enough.
WICKED is good
Thomas's heart beat faster. "I've seen that word--wicked." He searched
his mind for what the phrase could possibly mean. "On the little
creatures that live here. The beetle blades."
"What are those?" she asked.
"Just little lizardlike machines that spy on us for the Creators--the
people who sent us here."
Teresa considered that for a moment, looking off into space. Then she
focused on her arm. "I can't remember why I wrote this," she said as
she wet her thumb and started rubbing off the words. "But don't let me
forget--it has to mean something."
"The three words ran through Thomas's mind over and over. "When did
you write it?"
"When I woke up. They had a pen and notepad next to the bed. In the
commotion I wrote it down."
Thomas was baffled by this girl--first the connection he'd felt to her
from the very beginning, then the mind-speaking, now this. "Everything
about you is weird. You know that, right?"
"Judging by your little hiding spot, I'd say you're not so normal
yourself. Like living in the woods, do ya?"
Thomas tried to scowl, then smiled. He felt pathetic, and embarrassed
about hiding. "Well, you look familiar to me and you claim we're
friends. Guess I'll trust you."
He held out his hand for another shake, and she took it, holding on
for a long time. A chill swept through Thomas that was surprisingly
pleasant.
"All I want is to get back home," she said, finally letting go of his
hand. "Just like the rest of you."
"Thomas's heart sank as he snapped back to reality and remembered how
grim the world had become. "Yeah, well, things pretty much suck right
about now. The sun disappeared and the sky's gone gray, they didn't
send us the weekly supplies--looks like things are going to end one way
or another."
But before Teresa could answer, Newt was running out of the woods.
"How in the ...," he said as he pulled up in front of them. Alby and a
few others were right behind him. Newt looked at Teresa. "How'd you
get here? Med-jack said you were there one second and buggin' gone the
next."
Teresa stood up, surprising Thomas with her confidence. "Guess he
forgot to tell the little part about me kicking him in the groin and
climbing out the window."
Thomas almost laughed as Newt turned to an older boy standing nearby,
whose face had turned bright red.
"Congrats, Jeff," Newt said. "You're officially the first guy here to
get your butt beat by a girl."
Teresa didn't stop. "Keep talking like that and you'll be next."
Newt turned back to face them, but his face showed anything but fear.
He stood, silently, just staring at them. Thomas stared back,
wondering what was going through the older boy's head.
Alby stepped up. "I'm sick of this." He pointed at Thomas's chest,
almost tapping it. "I wanna know who you are, who this shank girl is,
and how you guys know each other."
Thomas almost wilted. "Alby, I swear--"
"She came straight to you after waking up, shuck-face!"
Anger surged inside Thomas--and worry that Alby would go off like Ben
had. "So what? I know her, she knows me--or at least, we used to. That
doesn't mean anything! I can't remember anything. Neither can she."


The two guards nodded, then walked away, Teresa in tow. It hurt
Thomas even more to see how willingly she went. And he couldn't
believe how sad he felt--he wanted to keep talking to her. But I just
met her, he thought. I don't even know her. Yet he knew that wasn't
true. He already felt a closeness that could only have come from
knowing her before the memory-wiped existence of the Glade.
Come see me, she said in his mind.
He didn't know how to do it, how to talk to her like that. But he tried anyway.
I will. At least you'll be safe in there.
She didn't respond.
Teresa?
Nothing.


Thomas pulled up outside the small jail and caught his breath.
"Teresa?" he finally asked through the barred window of the lightless
cell.
Her face popped up on the other side, startling him.
He let out a small yelp before he could stop it--it took him a second
to recover his wits. "You can be downright spooky, ya know?"
"That's very sweet," she said. "Thanks." In the darkness her blue eyes
seemed to glow like a cat's.
"You're welcome," he answered, ignoring her sarcasm. "Listen, I've
been thinking." He paused to gather his thoughts.
"More than I can say for that Alby schmuck," she muttered.
Thomas agreed, but was anxious to say what he'd come to say. "There's
gotta be a way out of this place--we just have to push it, stay out in
the Maze longer. And what you wrote on your arm, and what you said
about a code, it all has to mean something, right?" It has to, he
thought. He couldn't help feeling some hope.
"Yeah, I've been thinking the same thing. But first--can't you get me
out of here?" Her hands appeared, gripping the bars of the window.
Thomas felt the ridiculous urge to reach out and touch them.
"Well, Newt said maybe tomorrow." Thomas was just glad he'd gotten
that much of a concession. "You'll have to make it through the night
in there. It might actually be the safest place in the Glade."
"Thanks for asking him. Should be fun sleeping on this cold floor."
She motioned behind her with a thumb. "Though I guess a Griever can't
squeeze through this window, so I'll be happy, right?"
The mention of Grievers surprised him--he didn't remember talking about
them to her yet. "Teresa, are you sure you've forgotten everything?"
She thought a second. "It's weird--I guess I do remember some stuff.
Unless I just heard people talking while I was in the coma."
"Well, I guess it doesn't matter right now. I just wanted to see you
before I went inside for the night." But he didn't want to leave; he
almost wished he could get thrown in the Slammer with her. He grinned
inside--he could only imagine Newt's response to that request.
"Tom?" Teresa said.
Thomas realized he was staring off in a daze. "Oh, sorry. Yeah?"
Her hands slipped back inside, disappeared. All he could see were her
eyes, the pale glow of her white skin. "I don't know if I can do
this--stay in this jail all night."
Thomas felt an incredible sadness. He wanted to steal Newt's keys and
help her escape. But he knew that was a ridiculous idea. She'd just
have to suffer and make do. He stared into those glowing eyes. "At
least it won't get completely dark--looks like we're stuck with this
twilight junk twenty-four hours a day now."
"Yeah...." She looked past him at the Homestead, then focused on him
again. "I'm a tough girl--I'll be okay."
"Thomas felt horrible leaving her there, but he knew he had no choice.
"I'll make sure they let you out first thing tomorrow, okay?"
She smiled, making him feel better. "That's a promise, right?"
"Promise." Thomas tapped his right temple. "And if you get lonely, you
can talk to me with your ... trick all you want. I'll try to answer
back." He'd accepted it now, almost wanted it. He just hoped he could
figure out how to talk back, so they could have a conversation.
You'll get it soon, Teresa said in his mind.
"I wish." He stood there, really not wanting to leave. At all.
"You better go," she said. "I don't want your brutal murder on my conscience."
Thomas managed his own smile at that. "All right. See you tomorrow."


"Tom, I was thinking about what you told me I said. That the Maze is a
code. Being holed up in here does wonders for making the brain do what
it was made for."
"What do you think it means?" Intensely interested, he tried to block
out the shouts and chatter rumbling through the Glade as others found
out about the Map Room being burned.
"Well, the walls move every day, right?"
"Yeah." He could tell she was really on to something.
"And Minho said they think there's a pattern, right?"
"Right." Gears were starting to shift into place inside Thomas's head
as well, almost as if a prior memory was beginning to break loose.
"Well, I can't remember why I said that to you about the code. I know
when I was coming out of the coma all sorts of thoughts and memories
swirled through my head like crazy, almost as if I could feel someone
emptying my mind, sucking them out. And I felt like I needed to say
that thing about the code before I lost it. So there must be an
important reason."
Thomas almost didn't hear her--he was thinking harder than he had in a
while. "They always compare each section's Map to the one from the day
before, and the day before that, and the day before that, day by day,
each Runner just analyzing their own Section. What if they're supposed
to compare the Maps to other sections ..." He trailed off, feeling like
he was on the cusp of something.
Teresa seemed to ignore him, doing her own theorizing. "The first
thing the word code makes me think of is letters. Letters in the
alphabet. Maybe the Maze is trying to spell something."
Everything came together so quickly in Thomas's mind, he almost heard
an audible click, as if the pieces all snapped into place at once.
"You're right--you're right! But the Runners have been looking at it
wrong this whole time. They've been analyzing it the wrong way!"
Teresa gripped the bars now, her knuckles white, her face pressed
against the iron rods. "What? What're you talking about?"
Thomas grabbed the two bars outside of where she held on, moved close
enough to smell her--a surprisingly pleasant scent of sweat and flowers


Thomas gestured through the door at Teresa. "We can trust her. Every
time I've talked to her, it's something about trying to get out of
here. She was sent here just like the rest of us--it's stupid to think
she's responsible for any of this."
Newt grunted. "Then what the bloody shuck did she mean by sayin' she
triggered something?"
Thomas shrugged, refusing to admit that Newt had a good point. There
had to be an explanation. "Who knows--her mind was doing all kinds of
weird stuff when she woke up. Maybe we all went through that in the
Box, talking gibberish before we came totally awake. Just let her
out."
Newt and Minho exchanged a long look.
"Come on," Thomas insisted. "What's she gonna do, run around and stab
every Glader to death? Come on."
Minho sighed. "Fine. Just let the stupid girl out."
"I'm not stupid!" Teresa shouted, her voice muffled by the walls. "And
I can hear every word you morons are saying!"


Teresa walked out of the small building, glowering at Newt as she
passed him. She gave a just-as-unpleasant glance toward Minho, then
stopped to stand right next to Thomas. Her arm brushed against his;
tingles shot across his skin, and he felt mortally embarrassed.
"All right, talk," Minho said. "What's so important?"
Thomas looked at Teresa, wondering how to say it.
"What?" she said. "You talk--they obviously think I'm a serial killer."
"Yeah, you look so dangerous," Thomas muttered, but he turned his
attention to Newt and Minho. "Okay, when Teresa was first coming out
of her deep sleep, she had memories flashing through her mind. She,
um"--he just barely stopped himself from saying she'd said it inside
his mind--"she told me later that she remembers that the Maze is a
code. That maybe instead of solving it to find a way out, it's trying
to send us a message."


But Teresa, sitting next to him, was a study in concentration, her
tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth as she traced lines up and
down, side to side. She seemed way more confident that they were
definitely on to something.


She smiled and folded her arms. "If you're going to decipher a hidden
code from a complex set of different mazes, I'm pretty sure you need a
girl's brain running the show." Her grin turned into a smirk.


We're making progress--found a couple more words already. But none of
it makes sense yet.
Thomas's first instinct was to ignore her, to deny once again that
someone had the ability to enter his mind, invade his privacy. But he
wanted to talk to her.
Can you hear me? he asked, picturing the words in his mind, mentally
throwing them out to her in some way he could never have explained.
Concentrating, he said it again. Can you hear me?
Yes! she replied. Really clearly the second time you said it.
Thomas was shocked. So shocked he almost quit running. It had worked!

Wonder why we can do this, he called out with his mind. The mental
effort of speaking to her was already straining--he felt a headache
forming like a bulge in his brain.
Maybe we were lovers, Teresa said.
Thomas tripped and crashed to the ground. Smiling sheepishly at Minho,
who'd turned to look without slowing, Thomas got back up and caught up
to him. What? he finally asked.
He sensed a laugh from her, a watery image full of color. This is so
bizarre, she said. It's like you're a stranger, but I know you're not.
Thomas felt a pleasant chill even though he was sweating. Sorry to
break it to you, but we are strangers. I just met you, remember?
Don't be stupid, Tom. I think someone altered our brains, put
something in there so we could do this telepathy thing. Before we came
here. Which makes me think we already knew each other.
It was something he'd wondered about, and he thought she was probably
right. Hoped it, anyway--he was really starting to like her. Brains
altered? he asked. How?
I don't know--some memory I can't quite grasp. I think we did something big.
Thomas thought about how he'd always felt a connection to her, ever
since she arrived in the Glade. He wanted to dig a little more and see
what she said. What are you talking about?
Wish I knew. I'm just trying to bounce ideas off you to see if it
sparks anything in your mind.
Thomas thought about what Gally, Ben and Alby had said about him--their
suspicions that he was against them somehow, was someone not to trust.
He thought about what Teresa had said to him, too, the very first
time--that he and she had somehow done all of this to them.
This code has to mean something, she added. And the thing I wrote on
my arm--WICKED is good.
Maybe it won't matter, he answered. Maybe we'll find an exit. You never know.
Thomas squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds as he ran, trying to
concentrate. A pocket of air seemed to float in his chest every time
they spoke, a swelling that half annoyed and half thrilled him. His
eyes popped back open when he realized she could maybe read his
thoughts even when he wasn't trying to communicate. He waited for a
response, but none came.
You still there? he asked.
Yeah, but this always gives me a headache.
Thomas was relieved to hear he wasn't the only one. My head hurts, too.
Okay, she said. See you later.
No, wait! He didn't want her to leave; she was helping the time pass.
Making the running easier somehow.
Bye, Tom. I'll let you know if we figure anything out.
Teresa--what about the thing you wrote on your arm?
Several seconds passed. No reply.
Teresa?
She was gone. Thomas felt as if that bubble of air in his chest had
burst, releasing toxins into his body. His stomach hurt, and the
thought of running the rest of the day suddenly depressed him.


Teresa? he said in his mind, closing his eyes, as if that would do the
trick. Where are you? Did you figure anything out?
After a long pause, he almost gave up, thinking it didn't work.
Huh? Tom, did you say something?
Yeah, he said, excited he'd made contact again. Can you hear me? Am I
doing this thing right?
Sometimes it's choppy, but it's working. Kinda freaky, huh?
Thomas thought about that--actually, he was sort of getting used to it.
It's not so bad. Are you guys still in the basement? I saw Newt but
then he disappeared again.
Still here. Newt had three or four Gladers help us trace the Maps. I
think we have the code all figured out.
Thomas's heart leaped into his throat. Serious?
Get down here.
I'm coming. He was already moving as he said it, somehow not feeling
so exhausted anymore.


Thomas ended up in the large living room on the bottom floor of the
Homestead with the same people he'd slept with two nights before.
Silence settled over the room quickly, though he didn't know if it was
because people were actually asleep or just scared, quietly hoping
against hope the Grievers didn't come again. Unlike two nights ago,
Teresa was allowed to stay in the building with the rest of the
Gladers. She was near him, curled up in two blankets. Somehow, he
could sense that she was sleeping. Actually sleeping.


Teresa.
She didn't answer at first, but then her voice popped into his
thoughts as clearly as if she were sitting next to him. That was
really stupid, Tom. Really, really stupid.
Had to do it, he answered.
I pretty much hated you the last couple days. You should've seen
yourself. Your skin, your veins...
You hated me? He was thrilled she'd cared so much about him.
She paused. That's just my way of saying I would've killed you if you'd died.
Thomas felt a burst of warmth in his chest, reached up and actually
touched it, surprised at himself. Well ... thanks. I guess.
So, how much do you remember?
He paused. Enough. What you said about the two of us and what we did to them...
It was true?
We did some bad things, Teresa. He sensed frustration from her, like
she had a million questions and no idea where to start.
Did you learn anything to help us get out of here? she asked, as if
she didn't want to know what part she'd had in all of this. A purpose
for the code?
Thomas paused, not really wanting to talk about it yet--not before he
really gathered his thoughts. Their only chance for escape might be a
death wish. Maybe, he finally said, but it won't be easy. We need a
Gathering. I'll ask for you to be there--I don't have the energy to say
it all twice.
Neither one of them said anything for a while, a sense of hopelessness
wafting between their minds.
Teresa?
Yeah?
The Maze can't be solved.
She paused for a long time before answering. I think we all know that now.
Thomas hated the pain in her voice--he could feel it in his mind. Don't
worry; the Creators meant for us to escape, though. I have a plan. He
wanted to give her some hope, no matter how scarce.
Oh, really.
Yeah. It's terrible, and some of us might die. Sound promising?
Big-time. What is it?
We have to--
Before he could finish, Newt walked into the room, cutting him off.
I'll tell you later, Thomas quickly finished.
Hurry! she said, then was gone.


Thomas shook his head. "No, you don't get it. They're weeding us out,
seeing if we'll give up, finding the best of us. Throwing variables at
us, trying to make us quit. Testing our ability to hope and fight.
Sending Teresa here and shutting everything down was only the last
part, one more ... final analysis. Now it's time for the last test. To
escape.


"But I remember enough. The Creators are testing us. The Maze was
never meant to be solved. It's all been a trial. They want the
winners--or survivors--to do something important." He trailed off,
already confused at what order he should tell things in.


"Every single one of us was taken when we were really young. I don't
remember how or why--just glimpses and feelings that things had changed
in the world, that something really bad happened. I have no idea what.
The Creators stole us, and I think they felt justified in doing it.
Somehow they figured out that we have above-average intelligence, and
that's why they chose us. I don't know, most of this is sketchy and
doesn't matter that much anyway.
"I can't remember anything about my family or what happened to them.
But after we were taken, we spent the next few years learning in
special schools, living somewhat normal lives until they were finally
able to finance and build the Maze. All our names are just stupid
nicknames they made up--like Alby for Albert Einstein, Newt for Isaac
Newton, and me--Thomas. As in Edison."


"What are you saying?" Frypan asked. "That we're freakin' orphans
raised by scientists?"
"Yes," Thomas said, hoping his expression didn't give away just how
depressed he felt. "Supposedly we're really smart and they're studying
every move we make, analyzing us. Seeing who'd give up and who
wouldn't. Seeing who'd survive it all. No wonder we have so many
beetle blade spies running around this place. Plus, some of us have
had things ... altered in our brains."


"Like I said, they wanted to test us, see how we'd react to what they
call the Variables, and to a problem that has no solution. See if we
could work together--build a community, even. Everything was provided
for us, and the problem was laid out as one of the most common puzzles
known to civilization--a maze. All this added up to making us think
there had to be a solution, just encouraging us to work all the harder
while at the same time magnifying our discouragement at not finding
one." He paused to look around, making sure they were all listening.
"What I'm saying is, there is no solution."
Chatter broke out, questions overlapping each other.
Thomas held his hands up again, wishing he could just zap his thoughts
into everyone else's brains. "See? Your reaction proves my point. Most
people would've given up by now. But I think we're different. We
couldn't accept that a problem can't be solved--especially when it's
something as simple as a maze. And we've kept fighting no matter how
hopeless it's gotten."


"Whatever the reason, it makes me sick! All of this--the Grievers, the
walls moving, the Cliff--they're just elements of a stupid test. We're
being used and manipulated. The Creators wanted to keep our minds
working toward a solution that was never there. Same thing goes for
Teresa being sent here, her being used to trigger the Ending--whatever
that means--the place being shut down, gray skies, on and on and on.
They're throwing crazy things at us to see our response, test our
will. See if we'll turn on each other. In the end, they want the
survivors for something important."
Frypan stood up. "And killing people? That's a nice little part of their plan?"
Thomas felt a moment of fear, worried that the Keepers might take out
their anger on him for knowing so much. And it was only about to get
worse. "Yes, Frypan, killing people. The only reason the Grievers are
doing it one by one is so we don't all die before it ends the way it's
supposed to. Survival of the fittest. Only the best of us will
escape."


"The code?" Frypan repeated, his voice lighting up with a trace of
hope. "What about it?"
Thomas looked at him, paused for effect. "It was hidden in the wall
movements of the Maze for a reason. I should know--I was there when the
Creators did it."


"Teresa and I are ... different," he continued. "We were part of the
Maze Trials from the very beginning--but against our will, I swear it."
Minho was the one to speak up now. "Thomas, what're you talking about?"
"Teresa and I were used by the Creators. If you had your full memories
back, you'd probably want to kill us. But I had to tell you this
myself to show you we can be trusted now. So you'll believe me when I
tell you the only way we can get out of here."
Thomas quickly scanned the faces of the Keepers, wondering one last
time if he should say it, if they would understand. But he knew he had
to. He had to.
Thomas took a deep breath, then said it. "Teresa and I helped design
the Maze. We helped create the whole thing."
Everyone seemed too stunned to respond. Blank faces stared back at him
once again. Thomas figured they either didn't understand or didn't
believe him.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Newt finally asked. "You're a bloody
sixteen-year-old. How could you have created the Maze?"
Thomas couldn't help doubting it a little himself--but he knew what
he'd remembered. As crazy as it was, he knew it for the truth. "We
were ... smart. And I think it might be part of the Variables. But most
importantly, Teresa and I have a ... gift that made us very valuable as
they designed and built this place." He stopped, knowing it must all
sound absurd.
"Speak!" Newt yelled. "Spit it out!"
"We're telepathic! We can talk to each other in our freaking heads!"
Saying it out loud almost made him feel ashamed, as if he'd just
admitted he was a thief.


"It's true, and I'm sorry," Thomas continued. "But I can tell you
this--I'm in the same boat with you now. Teresa and I were sent here
just like anyone else, and we can die just as easily. But the Creators
have seen enough--it's time for the final test. I guess I needed the
Changing to add the final pieces of the puzzle. Anyway, I wanted you
to know the truth, to know there's a chance we can do this."
Newt shook his head back and forth, staring at the ground. Then he
looked up, took in the other Keepers. "The Creators--those shanks did
this to us, not Tommy and Teresa. The Creators. And they'll be sorry."


Frustrated, worried, tired of his thoughts, he called out to Teresa.
Can you hear me?
Yeah, she replied. Where are you?
By the Box.
I'll come in a minute.
Thomas realized how badly he needed her company. Good. I'll tell you
the plan; I think it's on.
What is it?
Thomas leaned back on the bench and put his right foot up on his knee,
wondering how Teresa would react to what he was going to say. We gotta
go through the Griever Hole. Use that code to shut the Grievers down
and open a door out of here.
A pause. I figured it was something like that.
Thomas thought for a second, then added, Unless you've got any better ideas?
No. It's gonna be awful.
He punched his right fist against his other hand, even though he knew
she couldn't see him. We can do this.
Doubtful.
Well, we have to try.
Another pause, this one longer. He could feel her resolve. You're right.
I think we're leaving tonight. Just come out here and we can talk more about it.
I'll be there in a few minutes.

Sooner than Thomas expected, Teresa had found him and was sitting next
to him, her body pressed against his despite plenty of room on the
bench. She reached out and took his hand. He squeezed back, so hard he
knew it must've hurt.
"Tell me," she said.
Thomas did, reciting every word he'd told the Keepers, hating how
Teresa's eyes filled with worry--and terror. "The plan was easy to talk
about," he said after he'd told her everything. "But Newt thinks we
should go tonight. It doesn't sound so good now." It especially
terrified him to think about Chuck and Teresa out there--he'd faced the
Grievers down already and knew all too well what it was like. He
wanted to be able to protect his friends from the horrible experience,
but he knew he couldn't.
"We can do it," she said in a quiet voice.
Hearing her say that only made him worry more. "Holy crap, I'm scared."
"Holy crap, you're human. You should be scared."
Thomas didn't respond, and for a long time they just sat there,
holding hands, no words spoken, in their minds or aloud. He felt the
slightest hint of peace, as fleeting as it was, and tried to enjoy it
for however long it might last.


Chuck was in charge of filling water bottles and getting them out to
everyone. Teresa helped him, and Thomas asked her to sugarcoat the
trip as much as she could, even if she had to flat-out lie, which was
mostly the case. Chuck had tried to act brave from the time he first
found out they were going for it, but his sweaty skin and dazed eyes
revealed the truth.


Teresa had grabbed a stick and was peeling off the bark. "But we need
backup in case something happens to us."
"Definitely. Minho and Newt know the code words--we'll tell them they
have to get them punched into the computer if we ... well, you know."
Thomas didn't want to think about all the bad things that might
happen.
"Not much to the plan, then." Teresa yawned, as if life were completely normal.
"Not much at all. Fight the Grievers, punch in the code, escape
through the door. Then we deal with the Creators--whatever it takes."
"Six code words, who knows how many Grievers." Teresa broke the stick
in half. "What do you think WICKED stands for, anyway?"
Thomas felt like he'd been hit in the stomach. For some reason,
hearing the word at that moment, from someone else, knocked something
loose in his mind and it clicked. He was stunned he hadn't made the
connection sooner. "That sign I saw out in the Maze--remember? The
metal one with words stamped on it?" Thomas's heart had started to
race with excitement.
Teresa crinkled her forehead in confusion for a second, but then a
light seemed to blink on behind her eyes. "Whoa. World In Catastrophe:
Killzone Experiment Department. WICKED. WICKED is good--what I wrote on
my arm. What does that even mean?"
"No idea. Which is why I'm scared to death that what we're about to do
is a whole pile of stupid. Could be a bloodbath."
"Everyone knows what they're getting into." Teresa reached out and
took his hand. "Nothing to lose, remember?"
Thomas remembered, but for some reason Teresa's words fell flat--they
didn't have much hope in them. "Nothing to lose," he repeated.


Thomas found Minho and Teresa talking to each other near the left side
of the Door, going over the hastily made plans to enter the escape
code once they got into the Hole.
"You shanks ready?" Minho asked when they came up. "Thomas, this was
all your idea, so it better work. If not, I'll kill ya before the
Grievers can."
"Thanks," Thomas said. But he couldn't shake the twisting feeling in
his gut. What if somehow he was wrong? What if the memories he'd had
were false ones? Planted somehow? The thought terrified him, and he
pushed it aside. There was no going back.
He looked at Teresa, who shifted from foot to foot, wringing her
hands. "You okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine," she answered with a small smile, clearly not fine at all.
"Just anxious to get it over with."
"Amen, sister," Minho said. He looked the calmest to Thomas, the most
confident, the least scared. Thomas envied him.


We have to stay close together, he told Teresa. Let them do the
fighting--we have to get through that Hole. He felt like a coward, but
he knew that any fighting--and any deaths--would be in vain if they
didn't get that code punched, the door to the Creators opened.
I know, she replied. Stick together.
"Ready!" Minho yelled next to Thomas, raising his barbwire-wrapped
club into the air with one hand, a long silver knife in the other. He
pointed the knife at the horde of Grievers; a flash glinted off the
blade. "Now!"
The Keeper ran forward without waiting for a response. Newt went after
him, right on his heels, and then the rest of the Gladers followed, a
tight pack of roaring boys charging ahead to a bloody battle, weapons
raised. Thomas held Teresa's hand, let them all go past, felt them
bump him, smelled their sweat, sensed their terror, waiting for the
perfect opportunity to make his own dash.
Just as the first sounds of boys crashing into Grievers filled the
air--pierced with screams and roars of machinery and wood clacking
against steel--Chuck ran past Thomas, who quickly reached out and
grabbed his arm.
Chuck stumbled backward, then looked up at Thomas, his eyes so full of
fright Thomas felt something shatter in his heart. In that split
second, he'd made a decision.
"Chuck, you're with me and Teresa." He said it forcefully, with
authority, leaving no room for doubt.
Chuck looked ahead at the engaged battle. "But ..." He trailed off, and
Thomas knew the boy relished the idea though he was ashamed to admit
it.
Thomas quickly tried to save his dignity. "We need your help in the
Griever Hole, in case one of those things is in there waiting for us."
Chuck nodded quickly--too quickly. Again, Thomas felt the pang of
sadness in his heart, felt the urge to get Chuck home safely stronger
than he'd ever felt it before.
"Okay, then," Thomas said. "Hold Teresa's other hand. Let's go."


"Okay," Teresa said--Thomas knew she was too smart to waste time
arguing about it. She stepped up to the keyboard and screen, then
started typing.
Wait! Thomas called to her mind. Are you sure you know the words?
She turned to him and scowled. "I'm not an idiot, Tom. Yes, I'm
perfectly capable of remembering--"


Chuck had scooted away from the Grievers, bumping into Teresa--she held
him tightly, squeezing him in a fierce hug.
"You did it, Chuck," Teresa said. "We were so worried about the stupid
code words, we didn't think to look around for something to push--the
last word, the last piece of the puzzle."
Thomas laughed again, in disbelief that such a thing could be possible
so soon after what they'd gone through. "She's right, Chuck--you saved
us, man! I told you we needed you!" Thomas scrambled to his feet and
joined the other two in a group hug, almost delirious. "Chuck's a
shucking hero!"


Teresa was there, put her hand on his shoulder. He shook it away.
"I promised him!" he screamed, realizing even as he did so that his
voice was laced with something wrong. Almost insanity. "I promised I'd
save him, take him home! I promised him!"
Teresa didn't respond, only nodded, her eyes cast to the ground.


Looked up at Teresa and her enormous blue eyes, heavy with
sadness--just as much for him as for Chuck, he was sure of it.
She reached down, grabbed his hand, helped him stand. Once he was up,
she didn't let go, and neither did he. He squeezed, tried to say what
he felt by doing so.


After the briefest hesitation, the Gladers followed, almost stomping
each other in their rush to get out of the chamber, as far away from
the Grievers and the Maze as possible. Thomas, his hand still gripping
Teresa's, ran with them, bunched up in the back of the group. They had
no choice but to leave Chuck's body behind.


Murmurs of conversation floated through the room, but to Thomas they
seemed to come from another world. He stared at the crossed wooden
boards of the bed above him, feeling the pull of sleep. But wanting to
talk to Teresa, he fought it off.
How's your room? he asked in his mind. Wish you were in here.
Oh, yeah? she replied. With all those stinky boys? Think not.
Guess you're right. I think Minho's farted three times in the last
minute. Thomas knew it was a lame attempt at a joke, but it was the
best he could do.
He sensed her laughing, wished he could do the same. There was a long
pause. I'm really sorry about Chuck, she finally said.
Thomas felt a sharp pang and closed his eyes as he sank deeper into
the misery of the night. He could be so annoying, he said. He paused,
thought of that night when Chuck had scared the crap out of Gally in
the bathroom. But it hurts. Feels like I lost a brother.
I know.
I promised--
Stop, Tom.
What? He wanted Teresa to make him feel better, say something magic
to make the pain go away.
Stop with the promise stuff. Half of us made it. We all would've died
if we'd stayed in the Maze.
But Chuck didn't make it, Thomas said. Guilt racked him because he
knew for a certainty he would trade any one of the Gladers in that
room for Chuck.
He died saving you, Teresa said. He made the choice himself. Just
don't ever waste it.
Thomas felt tears swell under his eyelids; one escaped and trickled
down his right temple, into his hair. A full minute passed without any
words between them. Then he said, Teresa?
Yeah?
Thomas was scared to share his thoughts, but did. I wanna remember
you. Remember us. Ya know, before.
Me too.
Seems like we... He didn't know how to say it after all.
I know.
Wonder what tomorrow'll be like.
We'll find out in a few hours.
Yeah. Well, good night. He wanted to say more, much more. But nothing came.
Good night, she said, just as the lights went out.
Thomas rolled over, glad it was dark so no one could see the look that
had settled across his face.
It wasn't a smile, exactly. Not quite a happy expression. But almost.
And for now, almost was good enough.