“Who’s that!” yelled the boy from the bathroom, his voice scratchy and laced with anger. Thomas had to hold in a gasp when he realized it was Gally—he knew that voice already.
Without warning, Chuck suddenly popped his head up toward the window and screamed at the top of his lungs. A loud crash from inside revealed that the trick had worked—and the litany of swearwords following it let them know Gally was none too happy about it. Thomas was struck with an odd mix of horror and embarrassment.
“I’m gonna kill you, shuck-face!” Gally yelled, but Chuck was already off the box and running toward the open Glade. Thomas froze as he heard Gally open the door inside and run out of the bathroom.
Thomas finally snapped out of his daze and took off after his new—and only—friend. He’d just rounded the corner when Gally came screaming out of the Homestead, looking like a ferocious beast on the loose.
He immediately pointed at Thomas. “Come here!” he yelled.
Thomas’s heart sank in surrender. Everything seemed to indicate that he’d be getting a fist in the face. “It wasn’t me, I swear,” he said, though as he stood there, he sized the boy up and realized he shouldn’t be so terrified after all. Gally wasn’t that big—Thomas could actually take him if he had to.
“Wasn’t you?” Gally snarled. He ambled up to Thomas slowly and stopped right in front of him. “Then how do you know there was something you didn’t do?”
Thomas didn’t say anything. He was definitely uncomfortable but not nearly as scared as a few moments earlier.
“I’m not a dong, Greenie,” Gally spat. “I saw Chuck’s fat face in the window.” He pointed again, this time right at Thomas’s chest. “But you better decide right quick who you want as your friends and enemies, hear me? One more trick like that—I don’t care if it’s your sissy idea or not—there’ll be blood spilled. You got that, Newbie?” But before Thomas could answer Gally’d already turned to walk away.
Thomas just wanted this episode over. “Sorry,” he muttered, wincing at how stupid it sounded.
“I know you,” Gally added without looking back. “I saw you in the Changing, and I’m gonna figure out who you are.”
Thomas watched as the bully disappeared back into the Homestead. He couldn’t remember much, but something told him he’d never disliked someone so strongly. He was surprised by how much he truly hated the guy. He really, really hated him. He turned to see Chuck standing there, staring at the ground, clearly embarassed. “Thanks a lot, buddy.”
“Sorry—if I’d known it was Gally, I never would’ve done it, I swear.”
Surprising himself, Thomas laughed. An hour ago, he’d thought he’d never hear such a sound come out of his mouth again.
Chuck looked closely at Thomas and slowly broke into an uneasy grin. “What?”
Thomas shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. The … shank deserved it, and I don’t even know what a shank is. That was awesome.” He felt much better.
A couple of hours later, Thomas was lying in a soft sleeping bag next to Chuck on a bed of grass near the gardens. It was a wide lawn that he hadn’t noticed before, and quite a few of the group chose it as their bedtime spot. Thomas thought that was strange, but apparently there wasn’t enough room inside the Homestead. At least it was warm. Which made him wonder for the millionth time where they were. His mind had a hard time grasping names of places, or remembering countries or rulers, how the world was organized. And none of the kids in the Glade had a clue, either—at least, they weren’t sharing if they did.
He lay in silence for the longest time, looking at the stars and listening to the soft murmurs of various conversations drifting across the Glade. Sleep felt miles away, and he couldn’t shake the despair and hopelessness that coursed through his body and mind—the temporary joy of Chuck’s trick on Gally had long since faded away. It’d been one endless—and strange—day.
It was just so … weird. He remembered lots of little things about life—eating, clothes, studying, playing, general images of the makeup of the world. But any detail that would fill in the picture to create a true and complete memory had been erased somehow. It was like looking at an image through a foot of muddy water. More than anything else, perhaps, he felt … sad.
Chuck interrupted his thoughts. “Well, Greenie, you survived First Day.”
“Barely.” Not now, Chuck, he wanted to say. I’m not in the mood.
Chuck pulled himself up to lean on an elbow, looking at Thomas. “You’ll learn a lot in the next couple of days, start getting used to things. Good that?”
“Um, yeah, good that, I guess. Where’d all these weird words and phrases come from, anyway?” It seemed like they’d taken some other language and melded it with his own.
Chuck flopped back down with a heavy flump. “I don’t know—I’ve only been here a month, remember?”
Thomas wondered about Chuck, whether he knew more than he let on. He was a quirky kid, funny, and he seemed innocent, but who was to say? Really he was just as mysterious as everything else in the Glade.
A few minutes passed, and Thomas felt the long day finally catch up to him, the leaded edge of sleep crossing over his mind. But—like a fist had shoved it in his brain and let go—a thought popped into his head. One that he didn’t expect, and he wasn’t sure from where it came.
Suddenly, the Glade, the walls, the Maze—it all seemed … familiar. Comfortable. A warmth of calmness spread through his chest, and for the first time since he’d found himself there, he didn’t feel like the Glade was the worst place in the universe. He stilled, felt his eyes widen, his breathing stop for a long moment. What just happened? he thought. What changed? Ironically, the feeling that things would be okay made him slightly uneasy.
Not quite understanding how, he knew what he needed to do. He didn’t get it. The feeling—the epiphany—was a strange one, foreign and familiar at the same time. But it felt … right.
“I want to be one of those guys that goes out there,” he said aloud, not knowing if Chuck was still awake. “Inside the Maze.”
“Huh?” was the response from Chuck. Thomas could hear a tinge of annoyance in his voice.
“Runners,” Thomas said, wishing he knew where this was coming from. “Whatever they’re doing out there, I want in.”
“You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Chuck grumbled, and rolled over. “Go to sleep.”
Thomas felt a new surge of confidence, even though he truly didn’t know what he was talking about. “I want to be a Runner.”
Chuck turned back and got up on his elbow. “You can forget that little thought right now.”
Thomas wondered at Chuck’s reaction, but pressed on. “Don’t try to—”
“Thomas. Newbie. My new friend. Forget it.”
“I’ll tell Alby tomorrow.” A Runner, Thomas thought. I don’t even know what that means. Have I gone completely insane?
Chuck lay down with a laugh. “You’re a piece of klunk. Go to sleep.”
But Thomas couldn’t quit. “Something out there—it feels familiar.”
“Go … to … sleep.”
Then it hit Thomas—he felt like several pieces of a puzzle had been put together. He didn’t know what the ultimate picture would be, but his next words almost felt like they were coming from someone else. “Chuck, I … I think I’ve been here before.”
He heard his friend sit up, heard the intake of breath. But Thomas rolled over and refused to say another word, worried he’d mess up this new sense of being encouraged, eradicate the reassuring calm that filled his heart.
Sleep came much more easily than he’d expected.
CHAPTER 6
Someone shook Thomas awake. His eyes snapped open to see a too-close face staring down at him, everything around them still shadowed by the darkness of early morning. He opened his mouth to speak but a cold hand clamped down on it, gripping it shut. Panic flared until he saw who it was.
“Shh, Greenie. Don’t wanna be wakin�
�� Chuckie, now, do we?”
It was Newt—the guy who seemed to be second in command; the air reeked of his morning breath.
Though Thomas was surprised, any alarm melted away immediately. He couldn’t help being curious, wondering what this boy wanted with him. Thomas nodded, doing his best to say yes with his eyes, until Newt finally took his hand away, then leaned back on his heels.
“Come on, Greenie,” the tall boy whispered as he stood. He reached down and helped Thomas to his feet—he was so strong it felt like he could rip Thomas’s arm off. “Supposed to show ya somethin’ before the wake-up.”
Any lingering haze of sleep had already vanished from Thomas’s mind. “Okay,” he said simply, ready to follow. He knew he should hold some suspicion, having no reason to trust anyone yet, but the curiosity won out. He quickly leaned over and slipped on his shoes. “Where are we going?”
“Just follow me. And stay close.”
They snuck their way through the tightly strewn pack of sleeping bodies, Thomas almost tripping several times. He stepped on someone’s hand, earning a sharp cry of pain in return, then a punch on the calf.
“Sorry,” he whispered, ignoring a dirty look from Newt.
Once they left the lawn area and stepped onto the hard gray stone of the courtyard floor, Newt broke into a run, heading for the western wall. Thomas hesitated at first, wondering why he needed to run, but snapped out of it quickly and followed at the same pace.
The light was dim, but any obstructions loomed as darker shadows and he was able to make his way quickly along. He stopped when Newt did, right next to the massive wall towering above them like a skyscraper—another random image that floated in the murky pool of his memory wipe. Thomas noticed small red lights flashing here and there along the wall’s face, moving about, stopping, turning off and on.
“What are those?” he whispered as loudly as he dared, wondering if his voice sounded as shaky as he felt. The twinkling red glow of the lights held an undercurrent of warning.
Newt stood just a couple of feet in front of the thick curtain of ivy on the wall. “When you bloody need to know, you’ll know, Greenie.”
“Well, it’s kind of stupid to send me to a place where nothing makes sense and not answer my questions.” Thomas paused, surprised at himself. “Shank,” he added, throwing all the sarcasm he could into the syllable.
Newt broke out in a laugh, but quickly cut it off. “I like you, Greenie. Now shut it and let me show ya somethin’.”
Newt stepped forward and dug his hands into the thick ivy, spreading several vines away from the wall to reveal a dust-frosted window, a square about two feet wide. It was dark at the moment, as if it had been painted black.
“What’re we looking for?” Thomas whispered.
“Hold your undies, boy. One’ll be comin’ along soon enough.”
A minute passed, then two. Several more. Thomas fidgeted on his feet, wondering how Newt could stand there, perfectly patient and still, staring into nothing but darkness.
Then it changed.
Glimmers of an eerie light shone through the window; it cast a wavering spectrum of colors on Newt’s body and face, as if he stood next to a lighted swimming pool. Thomas grew perfectly still, squinting, trying to make out what was on the other side. A thick lump grew in his throat. What is that? he thought.
“Out there’s the Maze,” Newt whispered, eyes wide as if in a trance. “Everything we do—our whole life, Greenie—revolves around the Maze. Every lovin’ second of every lovin’ day we spend in honor of the Maze, tryin’ to solve somethin’ that’s not shown us it has a bloody solution, ya know? And we want to show ya why it’s not to be messed with. Show ya why them buggin’ walls close shut every night. Show ya why you should never, never find your butt out there.”
Newt stepped back, still holding on to the ivy vines. He gestured for Thomas to take his place and look through the window.
Thomas did, leaning forward until his nose touched the cool surface of the glass. It took a second for his eyes to focus on the moving object on the other side, to look past the grime and dust and see what Newt wanted him to see. And when he did, he felt his breath catch in his throat, like an icy wind had blown down there and frozen the air solid.
A large, bulbous creature the size of a cow but with no distinct shape twisted and seethed along the ground in the corridor outside. It climbed the opposite wall, then leaped at the thick-glassed window with a loud thump. Thomas shrieked before he could stop himself, jerked away from the window—but the thing bounced backward, leaving the glass undamaged.
Thomas sucked in two huge breaths and leaned in once again. It was too dark to make out clearly, but odd lights flashed from an unknown source, revealing blurs of silver spikes and glistening flesh. Wicked instrument-tipped appendages protruded from its body like arms: a saw blade, a set of shears, long rods whose purpose could only be guessed.
The creature was a horrific mix of animal and machine, and seemed to realize it was being observed, seemed to know what lay inside the walls of the Glade, seemed to want to get inside and feast on human flesh. Thomas felt an icy terror blossom in his chest, expand like a tumor, making it hard to breathe. Even with the memory wipe, he felt sure he’d never seen something so truly awful.
He stepped back, the courage he’d felt the previous evening melting away.
“What is that thing?” he asked. Something shivered in his gut, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to eat again.
“Grievers, we call ’em,” Newt answered. “Nasty bugger, eh? Just be glad the Grievers only come out at night. Be thankful for these walls.”
Thomas swallowed, wondering how he could ever go out there. His desire to become a Runner had taken a major blow. But he had to do it. Somehow he knew he had to do it. It was such an odd thing to feel, especially after what he’d just seen.
Newt looked at the window absently. “Now you know what bloody lurks in the Maze, my friend. Now you know this isn’t joke time. You’ve been sent to the Glade, Greenie, and we’ll be expectin’ ya to survive and help us do what we’ve been sent here to do.”
“And what’s that?” Thomas asked, even though he was terrified to hear the answer.
Newt turned to look him dead in the eye. The first traces of dawn had crept up on them, and Thomas could see every detail of Newt’s face, his skin tight, his brow creased.
“Find our way out, Greenie,” Newt said. “Solve the buggin’ Maze and find our way home.”
A couple of hours later, the doors having reopened, rumbling and grumbling and shaking the ground until they were finished, Thomas sat at a worn, tilted picnic table outside the Homestead. All he could think about was the Grievers, what their purpose could be, what they did out there during the night. What it would be like to be attacked by something so terrible.
He tried to get the image out of his head, move on to something else. The Runners. They’d just left without saying a word to anybody, bolting into the Maze at full speed and disappearing around corners. He pictured them in his mind as he picked at his eggs and bacon with a fork, speaking to no one, not even Chuck, who ate silently next to him. The poor guy had exhausted himself trying to start a conversation with Thomas, who’d refused to respond. All he wanted was to be left alone.
He just didn’t get it; his brain was on overload trying to compute the sheer impossibility of the situation. How could a maze, with walls so massive and tall, be so big that dozens of kids hadn’t been able to solve it after who knew how long trying? How could such a structure exist? And more importantly, why? What could possibly be the purpose of such a thing? Why were they all there? How long had they been there?
Try as he might to avoid it, his mind still kept wandering back to the image of the vicious Griever. Its phantom brother seemed to leap at him every time he blinked or rubbed his eyes.
Thomas knew he was a smart kid—he somehow felt it in his bones. But nothing about this place made any sense. Except for one thing. He wa
s supposed to be a Runner. Why did he feel that so strongly? And even now, after seeing what lived in the maze?
A tap on his shoulder jarred him from his thoughts; he looked up to see Alby standing behind him, arms folded.
“Ain’t you lookin’ fresh?” Alby said. “Get a nice view out the window this morning?”
Thomas stood, hoping the time for answers had come—or maybe hoping for a distraction from his gloomy thoughts. “Enough to make me want to learn about this place,” he said, hoping to avoid provoking the temper he’d seen flare in this guy the day before.
Alby nodded. “Me and you, shank. The Tour begins now.” He started to move but then stopped, holding up a finger. “Ain’t no questions till the end, you get me? Ain’t got time to jaw with you all day.”
“But …” Thomas stopped when Alby’s eyebrows shot up. Why did the guy have to be such a jerk? “But tell me everything—I wanna know everything.” He’d decided the night before not to tell anyone else how strangely familiar the place seemed, the odd feeling that he’d been there before—that he could remember things about it. Sharing that seemed like a very bad idea.
“I’ll tell ya what I wanna tell ya, Greenie. Let’s go.”
“Can I come?” Chuck asked from the table.
Alby reached down and tweaked the boy’s ear.
“Ow!” Chuck shrieked.
“Ain’t you got a job, slinthead?” Alby asked. “Lots of sloppin’ to do?”
Chuck rolled his eyes, then looked at Thomas. “Have fun.”
“I’ll try.” He suddenly felt sorry for Chuck, wished people would treat the kid better. But there was nothing he could do about it—it was time to go.
He walked away with Alby, hoping the Tour had officially begun.
CHAPTER 7
They started at the Box, which was closed at the moment—double doors of metal lying flat on the ground, covered in white paint, faded and cracked. The day had brightened considerably, the shadows stretching in the opposite direction from what Thomas had seen yesterday. He still hadn’t spotted the sun, but it looked like it was about to pop over the eastern wall at any minute.
The Maze Runner Series Complete Collection Page 4
