Finally, Newt put his notepad down and stepped out from the semicircle, screaming at people to shut up. Thomas watched on as at first no one seemed to hear or notice Newt at all. Gradually, though, order was restored and everyone sat down.
“Shuck it,” Newt said. “I’ve never seen so many shanks acting like teat-suckin’ babies. We may not look it, but around these parts we’re adults. Act like it, or we’ll disband this bloody Council and start from scratch.” He walked from end to end of the curved row of sitting Keepers, looking each of them in the eye as he spoke. “Are we clear?”
Quiet had swept across the group. Thomas expected more outbursts, but was surprised when everyone nodded their consent, even Gally.
“Good that.” Newt walked back to his chair and sat down, putting the pad in his lap. He scratched out a few lines on the paper, then looked up at Minho. “That’s some pretty serious klunk, brother. Sorry, but you need to talk it up to move it forward.”
Thomas couldn’t help feeling eager to hear the response.
Minho looked exhausted, but he started defending his proposal. “It’s sure easy for you shanks to sit here and talk about something you’re stupid on. I’m the only Runner in this group, and the only other one here who’s even been out in the Maze is Newt.”
Gally interjected: “Not if you count the time I—”
“I don’t!” Minho shouted. “And believe me, you or nobody else has the slightest clue what it’s like to be out there. The only reason you were stung is because you broke the same rule you’re blaming Thomas for. That’s called hypocrisy, you shuck-faced piece of—”
“Enough,” Newt said. “Defend your proposal and be done with it.”
The tension was palpable; Thomas felt like the air in the room had become glass that could shatter at any second. Both Gally and Minho looked as if the taut, red skin of their faces was about to burst—but they finally broke their stare.
“Anyway, listen to me,” Minho continued as he took his seat. “I’ve never seen anything like it. He didn’t panic. He didn’t whine and cry, never seemed scared. Dude, he’d been here for just a few days. Think about what we were all like in the beginning. Huddling in corners, disoriented, crying every hour, not trusting anybody, refusing to do anything. We were all like that, for weeks or months, till we had no choice but to shuck it and live.”
Minho stood back up, pointed at Thomas. “Just a few days after this guy shows up, he steps out in the Maze to save two shanks he hardly knows. All this klunk about him breaking a rule is just beyond stupid. He didn’t get the rules yet. But plenty of people had told him what it’s like in the Maze, especially at night. And he still stepped out there, just as the Door was closing, only caring that two people needed help.” He took a deep breath, seeming to gain strength the more he spoke.
“But that was just the beginning. After that, he saw me give up on Alby, leave him for dead. And I was the veteran—the one with all the experience and knowledge. So when Thomas saw me give up, he shouldn’t have questioned it. But he did. Think about the willpower and strength it took him to push Alby up that wall, inch by inch. It’s psycho. It’s freaking crazy.
“But that wasn’t it. Then came the Grievers. I told Thomas we had to split up and I started the practiced evasive maneuvers, running in the patterns. Thomas, when he should’ve been wettin’ his pants, took control, defied all laws of physics and gravity to get Alby up onto that wall, diverted the Grievers away from him, beat one off, found—”
“We get the point,” Gally snapped. “Tommy here is a lucky shank.”
Minho rounded on him. “No, you worthless shuck, you don’t get it! I’ve been here two years, and I’ve never seen anything like it. For you to say anything …”
Minho paused, rubbing his eyes, groaning in frustration. Thomas realized his own mouth had dropped wide open. His emotions were scattered: appreciation for Minho standing up to everybody on his behalf, disbelief at Gally’s continuous belligerence, fear of what the final decision would be.
“Gally,” Minho said in a calmer voice, “you’re nothing but a sissy who has never, not once, asked to be a Runner or tried out for it. You don’t have the right to talk about things you don’t understand. So shut your mouth.”
Gally stood up again, fuming. “Say one more thing like that and I’ll break your neck, right here in front of everybody.” Spit flew from his mouth as he spoke.
Minho laughed, then raised the palm of his hand and shoved Gally in the face. Thomas half stood as he watched the Glader crash down into his chair, tipping it over backward, cracking it in two pieces. Gally sprawled across the floor, then scrambled to stand up, struggling to get his hands and feet under him. Minho stepped closer and stomped the bottom of his foot down on Gally’s back, driving his body flat to the ground.
Thomas plopped back into his seat, stunned.
“I swear, Gally,” Minho said with a sneer, “don’t ever threaten me again. Don’t ever speak to me again. Ever. If you do, I’ll break your shuck neck, right after I’m done with your arms and legs.”
Newt and Winston were on their feet and grabbing Minho before Thomas even knew what was going on. They pulled him away from Gally, who jumped up, his face a ruddied mask of rage. But he made no move toward Minho; he just stood there with his chest out, heaving ragged breaths.
Finally Gally backed away, half stumbling toward the exit behind him. His eyes darted around the room, lit with a burning hatred. Thomas had the sickening thought that Gally looked like someone about to commit murder. He backed toward the door, reached behind him to grab the handle.
“Things are different now,” he said, spitting on the floor. “You shouldn’t have done that, Minho. You should not have done that.” His maniacal gaze shifted to Newt. “I know you hate me, that you’ve always hated me. You should be Banished for your embarrassing inability to lead this group. You’re shameful, and any one of you who stays here is no better. Things are going to change. This, I promise.”
Thomas’s heart sank. As if things hadn’t been awkward enough already.
Gally yanked the door open and stepped out into the hall, but before anyone could react, he popped his head back in the room. “And you,” he said, glaring at Thomas, “the Greenbean who thinks he’s friggin’ God. Don’t forget I’ve seen you before—I’ve been through the Changing. What these guys decide doesn’t mean jack.”
He paused, looking at each person in the room. When his malicious stare fell back on Thomas, he had one last thing to say. “Whatever you came here for—I swear on my life I’m gonna stop it. Kill you if I have to.”
Then he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
CHAPTER 26
Thomas sat frozen in his chair, a sickness growing in his stomach like an infestation. He’d been through the whole gamut of emotions in the short time since he’d arrived at the Glade. Fear, loneliness, desperation, sadness, even the slightest hint of joy. But this was something new—to hear a person say they hate you enough that they want to kill you.
Gally’s crazy, he told himself. He’s completely insane. But the thought only increased his worries. Insane people could really be capable of anything.
The Council members stood or sat in silence, seemingly as shocked as Thomas at what they’d just seen. Newt and Winston finally let go of Minho; all three of them sullenly walked to their chairs and sat down.
“He’s finally whacked for good,” Minho said, almost in a whisper. Thomas couldn’t tell if he’d meant for the others to hear him.
“Well, you’re not the bloody saint in the room,” Newt said. “What were you thinking? That was a little overboard, don’t ya think?”
Minho squinched up his eyes and pulled his head back, as if he were baffled by Newt’s question. “Don’t give me that garbage. Every one of you loved seeing that slinthead get his dues, and you know it. It’s about time someone stood up to his klunk.”
“He’s on the Council for a reason,” Newt said.
<
br /> “Dude, he threatened to break my neck and kill Thomas! The guy is mentally whacked, and you better send someone right now to throw him in the Slammer. He’s dangerous.”
Thomas couldn’t have agreed more and once again almost broke his order to stay quiet, but stopped himself. He didn’t want to get in any more trouble than he was already in—but he didn’t know how much longer he could last.
“Maybe he had a good point,” Winston said, almost too quietly.
“What?” Minho asked, mirroring Thomas’s thoughts exactly.
Winston looked surprised at the acknowledgment that he’d said anything. His eyes darted around the room before he explained. “Well … he has been through the Changing—Griever stung him in the middle of the day just outside the West Door. That means he has memories, and he said the Greenie looks familiar. Why would he make that up?”
Thomas thought about the Changing, and the fact that it brought back memories. The idea hadn’t occurred to him before, but would it be worth it to get stung by the Grievers, go through that horrible process, just to remember something? He pictured Ben writhing in bed and remembered Alby’s screams. No way, he thought.
“Winston, did you see what just happened?” Frypan asked, looking incredulous. “Gally’s psycho. You can’t put too much stock in his rambling nonsense. What, you think Thomas here is a Griever in disguise?”
Council rules or no Council rules, Thomas had finally had enough. He couldn’t stay silent another second.
“Can I say something now?” he asked, frustration raising the volume of his voice. “I’m sick of you guys talking about me like I’m not here.”
Newt glanced up at him and nodded. “Go ahead. This bloody meetin’ can’t be much more screwed up.”
Thomas quickly gathered his thoughts, grasping for the right words inside the swirling cloud of frustration, confusion and anger in his mind. “I don’t know why Gally hates me. I don’t care. He seems psychotic to me. As for who I really am, you all know just as much as I do. But if I remember correctly, we’re here because of what I did out in the Maze, not because some idiot thinks I’m evil.”
Someone snickered and Thomas quit talking, hoping he’d gotten his point across.
Newt nodded, looking satisfied. “Good that. Let’s get this meeting over with and worry about Gally later.”
“We can’t vote without all the members here,” Winston insisted. “Unless they’re really sick, like Alby.”
“For the love, Winston,” Newt replied. “I’d say Gally’s a wee bit ill today, too, so we continue without him. Thomas, defend yourself and then we’ll take the vote on what we should do with you.”
Thomas realized his hands were squeezed up into fists on his lap. He relaxed them and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. Then he began, not sure of what he’d say before the words came out.
“I didn’t do anything wrong. All I know is I saw two people struggling to get inside these walls and they couldn’t make it. To ignore that because of some stupid rule seemed selfish, cowardly, and … well, stupid. If you want to throw me in jail for trying to save someone’s life, then go ahead. Next time I promise I’ll point at them and laugh, then go eat some of Frypan’s dinner.”
Thomas wasn’t trying to be funny. He was just dumbfounded that the whole thing could even be an issue.
“Here’s my recommendation,” Newt said. “You broke our bloody Number One Rule, so you get one day in the Slammer. That’s your punishment. I also recommend we elect you as a Runner, effective the second this meeting’s over. You’ve proven more in one night than most trainees do in weeks. As for you being the buggin’ Keeper, forget it.” He looked over at Minho. “Gally was right on that count—stupid idea.”
The comment hurt Thomas’s feelings, even though he couldn’t disagree. He looked to Minho for his reaction.
The Keeper didn’t seem surprised, but argued all the same. “Why? He’s the best we have—I swear it. The best should be the Keeper.”
“Fine,” Newt responded. “If that’s true, we’ll make the change later. Give it a month and see if he proves himself.”
Minho shrugged. “Good that.”
Thomas quietly sighed in relief. He still wanted to be a Runner—which surprised him, considering what he’d just gone through out in the Maze—but becoming the Keeper right away sounded ridiculous.
Newt glanced around the room. “Okay, we had several recommendations, so let’s give it a go-round—”
“Oh, come on,” Frypan said. “Just vote. I vote for yours.”
“Me too,” Minho said.
Everyone else chimed in their approval, filling Thomas with relief and a sense of pride. Winston was the only one to say no.
Newt looked at him. “We don’t need your vote, but tell us what’s bonkin’ around your brain.”
Winston gazed at Thomas carefully, then back to Newt. “It’s fine with me, but we shouldn’t totally ignore what Gally said. Something about it—I don’t think he just made it up. And it’s true that ever since Thomas got here, everything’s been shucked and screwy.”
“Fair enough,” Newt said. “Everyone put some thought into it—maybe when we get right nice and bored we can have another Gathering to talk about it. Good that?”
Winston nodded.
Thomas groaned at how invisible he’d become. “I love how you guys are just talking about me like I’m not here.”
“Look, Tommy,” Newt said. “We just elected you as a buggin’ Runner. Quit your cryin’ and get out of here. Minho has a lot of training to give you.”
It hadn’t really hit Thomas until then. He was going to be a Runner, explore the Maze. Despite everything, he felt a shiver of excitement; he was sure they could avoid getting trapped out there at night again. Maybe he’d had his one and only turn of bad luck. “What about my punishment?”
“Tomorrow,” Newt answered. “The wake-up till sunset.”
One day, Thomas thought. That won’t be so bad.
The meeting was dismissed and everyone except Newt and Minho left the room in a hurry. Newt hadn’t moved from his chair, where he sat jotting notes. “Well, that was good times,” he murmured.
Minho walked over and playfully punched Thomas in the arm. “It’s all this shank’s fault.”
Thomas punched him back. “Keeper? You want me to be Keeper? You’re nuttier than Gally by a long shot.”
Minho faked an evil grin. “Worked, didn’t it? Aim high, hit low. Thank me later.”
Thomas couldn’t help smiling at the Keeper’s clever ways. A knock on the opened door grabbed his attention—he turned to see who it was. Chuck stood there, looking like he’d just been chased by a Griever. Thomas felt the grin fade from his face.
“What’s wrong?” Newt asked, standing up. The tone of his voice only heightened Thomas’s concern.
Chuck was wringing his hands. “Med-jacks sent me.”
“Why?”
“I guess Alby’s thrashing around and acting all crazy, telling them he needs to talk to somebody.”
Newt made for the door, but Chuck held up his hand. “Um … he doesn’t want you.”
“What do you mean?”
Chuck pointed at Thomas. “He keeps asking for him.”
CHAPTER 27
For the second time that day, Thomas was shocked into silence.
“Well, come on,” Newt said to Thomas as he grabbed his arm. “No way I’m not going with ya.”
Thomas followed him, with Chuck right behind, as they left the Council room and went down the hall toward a narrow, spiraling staircase that he hadn’t noticed before. Newt took the first step, then gave Chuck a cold glare. “You. Stay.”
For once, Chuck simply nodded and said nothing. Thomas figured that something about Alby’s behavior had the kid’s nerves on edge.
“Lighten up,” Thomas said to Chuck as Newt headed up the staircase. “They just elected me a Runner, so you’re buddies with a stud now.” He was trying to make a joke, trying to
deny that he was terrified to see Alby. What if he made accusations like Ben had? Or worse?
“Yeah, right,” Chuck whispered, staring at the wooden steps in a daze.
With a shrug Thomas began climbing the stairs. Sweat slicked his palms, and he felt a drop trickle down his temple. He did not want to go up there.
Newt, all grim and solemn, was waiting for Thomas at the top of the stairwell. They stood at the opposite end of the long, dark hallway from the usual staircase, the one Thomas had climbed on his very first day to see Ben. The memory made him queasy; he hoped Alby was completely healed from the ordeal so he didn’t have to witness something like that again—the sickly skin, the veins, the thrashing. But he expected the worst, and braced himself.
He followed Newt to the second door on the right and watched as the older boy knocked lightly; a moan sounded in reply. Newt pushed open the door, the slight creak once again reminding Thomas of some vague childhood memory of haunted-house movies. There it was again—the smallest glimpse at his past. He could remember movies, but not the actors’ faces or with whom he’d watched them. He could remember theaters, but not what any specific one looked like. It was impossible to explain how that felt, even to himself.
Newt had stepped into the room and was motioning for Thomas to follow. As he entered, he prepared himself for the horror that might await. But when his eyes lifted, all he saw was a very weak-looking teenage boy lying in his bed, eyes closed.
“Is he asleep?” Thomas whispered, trying to avoid the real question that had popped in his mind: He’s not dead, is he?
“I don’t know,” Newt said quietly. He walked over and sat in a wooden chair next to the bed. Thomas took a seat on the other side.
“Alby,” Newt whispered. Then more loudly: “Alby. Chuck said you wanted to talk to Tommy.”
Alby’s eyes fluttered open—bloodshot orbs that glistened in the light. He looked at Newt, then across at Thomas. With a groan he shifted in the bed and sat up, his back against the headboard. “Yeah,” he muttered, a scratchy croak.
The Maze Runner Series Complete Collection Page 15
