The Maze Runner Series Complete Collection

by James Dashner

  The Gladers kept moving, heading toward the faint twinkle of lights coming from the town. Thomas could almost enjoy it now that he wasn’t holding the pack and they’d put the sheet away.

  Finally, when every last trace of dusk had gone, full darkness settled on the land like a black fog.

  CHAPTER 19

  Soon after dark, Thomas heard a girl screaming.

  At first he didn’t know what he was hearing, or if maybe it was just his imagination. With the thumps of dry footsteps, the rustling of the packs, the whispers of conversation between heavy breaths, it was hard to tell. But what had started as almost a buzz inside his head soon became unmistakable. Somewhere ahead of them, maybe all the way in the town but more likely closer, a girl’s screams tore through the night.

  The others had obviously noticed it, too, and soon the Gladers quit running. Once everyone caught their breath, it became easier to hear the disturbing sound.

  It was almost like a cat. An injured, wailing cat. The kind of noise that made your skin crawl and made you press your hands to your ears and pray it went away. There was something unnatural about it, something that chilled Thomas inside and out. The darkness only added to the creepiness. Whoever the source, she still wasn’t very close, but her shrill screeches bounced along like living echoes, trying to smash their unspeakable sounds against the dirt until they ceased to exist in this world.

  “You know what that reminds me of?” Minho asked, his voice a whisper with an edge of fear.

  Thomas knew. “Ben. Alby. Me, I guess? Screaming after the Griever sting?”

  “You got it.”

  “No, no, no,” Frypan moaned. “Don’t tell me we’re gonna have those suckers out here, too. I can’t take it!”

  Newt responded, just a couple of feet to the left of Thomas and Aris. “Doubt it. Remember how moist and gooey their skin was? They’d turn into a big dust ball if they rolled around in this stuff.”

  “Well,” Thomas said, “if WICKED can create Grievers, they can create plenty of other freaks of nature that might be worse. Hate to say it, but that rat-lookin’ guy said things were finally going to get tough.”

  “Once again, Thomas gives us a cheerful pep talk,” Frypan announced; he tried to sound jovial, but it came out more like a spiteful rub.

  “Just saying it how it is.”

  Frypan huffed. “I know. And how it is sucks big-time.”

  “What now?” Thomas asked.

  “I think we should take a break,” Minho said. “Fill our little tummies and drink up. Then we should book it for as long as we can stand it while the sun is still down. Maybe get a couple hours’ sleep before dawn.”

  “And the psycho screaming lady out there?” Frypan asked.

  “Sounds like she’s plenty busy with her own troubles.”

  For some reason that statement terrified Thomas. Maybe the others, too, because no one said a word as they slipped the packs off their shoulders, sat down and began eating.

  “Man, I wish she’d shut up.” It was about the fifth time Aris had said that as they ran along in the darker-than-dark night. The poor girl, somewhere out there, getting closer all the while, was still crying her fretful, high-pitched wails.

  Their meal had been quiet and somber, the talk drifting toward what the Rat Man had said about the Variables and how their responses to them were all that mattered. About creating a “blueprint,” about finding the “killzone” patterns. No one had any answers, of course, only meaningless speculations. It was odd, Thomas thought. They now knew they were being tested somehow, put through WICKED’s trials. In some ways it felt like they should behave differently because of this, and yet they just kept going, fighting, surviving until they could get the promised cure. And that was what they’d keep doing; Thomas was sure of it.

  It had taken a while for his legs and joints to loosen up once Minho got everyone moving again. Above them, the moon was a sliver, barely providing any more light than the stars. But you didn’t need to see much to run along flat and barren land. Plus, unless it was his imagination, they were actually starting to reach the lights from the town. He could see that they flickered now, which meant they were probably fires. Which made sense—the odds of having electricity in this wasteland hovered around zero.

  He wasn’t sure when it happened exactly, but suddenly the cluster of buildings they were running toward seemed a lot closer. And there were a lot more of them than he or anyone else had thought. Taller, too. Wider. Spread out and organized in rows and in an orderly fashion. For all they knew, the place might’ve once been a major city, devastated by whatever had happened to the area. Could sun flares really inflict that much damage? Or had other things caused it during the aftermath?

  Thomas was starting to think they’d actually reach the first buildings sometime the next day.

  Even though they didn’t need the cover of their sheet at the moment, Aris still jogged right next to him, and Thomas felt like talking. “Tell me more about your whole Maze thing.”

  Aris’s breaths were even; he seemed to be in just as good shape as Thomas. “My whole Maze thing? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’ve never really told us the details. What was it like for you? How long were you there? How’d you get out?”

  Aris answered over the soft crunch, crunch, crunch of their footsteps on the desert ground. “I’ve talked with some of your friends, and it sounds like a lot of it was exactly the same. Just … girls instead of guys. Some of them had been there for two years, the rest had shown up one at a time, once a month. Then came Rachel, then me the next day, in a coma. I barely remember anything, just those last few crazy days after I finally woke up.”

  He went on to explain what had happened, and so much of it matched what Thomas and the Gladers had been through, it was just plain bizarre. Almost impossible to believe. Aris came out of his coma, said something about the Ending, the walls quit shutting at night, their Box stopped coming, they figured out the Maze had a code, on and on and on until the escape. Which went down almost the same as the Gladers’ terrifying experience, except less of the girl group died—if they were tough like Teresa, this didn’t surprise Thomas in the least.

  In the end, once Aris and his group were in the final chamber, a girl named Beth—who’d disappeared days earlier, just like Gally had—killed Rachel, right before rescuers came in and whisked them away to the gym Aris had mentioned before. Then the rescuers took him to the place where the Gladers had finally discovered him—what had been Teresa’s room.

  If that was what had happened. Who knew how things worked anymore, after seeing what could happen at the Cliff and the Flat Trans that had taken them to the tunnel. Not to mention the bricked-up walls and the name change on Aris’s door.

  It all gave Thomas a big fat headache.

  When he tried to think of Group B and imagine their roles—how he and Aris were basically switched, and how Aris was actually Teresa’s counterpart—it twisted his mind. The fact that Chuck had been killed in the end instead of him … that was the only major difference that stood out in the parallels. Were the setups meant to instigate certain conflicts or provoke reactions for WICKED’s studies?

  “It’s all kind of freaky, huh?” Aris asked after letting Thomas digest his story for a while.

  “I don’t know what the word for it is. But it blows me away how the two groups went through these trippy parallel experiments. Or tests, trials, whatever they were. I mean, if they’re testing our responses, I guess it makes sense that we were put through the same thing. Weird, though.”

  Right when Thomas stopped speaking the girl in the distance let out a shriek even louder than her now-regular cries of pain and he felt a fresh rush of horror.

  “I think I know,” Aris said, so quietly Thomas wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly.

  “Huh?”

  “I think I know. Why there were two groups. Are two groups.”

  Thomas looked over at him, could barely see the su
rprising look of calm on his face. “You do? What then?”

  Aris still didn’t seem very winded. “Well, actually I have two ideas. One is I think these people—WICKED, whoever they are—are trying to weed out the best of both groups to use us somehow. Maybe even breed us or something like that.”

  “What?” Thomas was so surprised he almost forgot about the screaming. He couldn’t believe anyone would be so sick. “Breed us? Come on.”

  “After going through the Maze and what we just saw happen in that tunnel, you think breeding is far-fetched? Give me a break.”

  “Good that.” Thomas had to admit that the kid had a point. “Okay, so what was your other theory?” As he asked it Thomas could feel the weariness brought on by the run settling in; his throat felt like someone had poured a glassful of sand down his gullet.

  “Kind of the opposite,” Aris responded. “That instead of wanting survivors from both groups, they only want one group to live through to the end. So they’re either weeding out people from the guys and the girls, or an entire group altogether. Either way, it’s the only explanation I can think of.”

  Thomas thought about what he’d said for quite some time before responding. “But what about the stuff the Rat Man said? That they’re testing our responses, building some kind of blueprint? Maybe it’s an experiment. Maybe they don’t plan for any of us to survive. Maybe they’re studying our brains and our reactions and our genes and everything else. When it’s all done, we’ll be dead and they’ll have lots of reports to read.”

  “Hmm,” Aris grunted, considering. “Possibly. I keep trying to figure out why they had one member of the opposite sex in each group.”

  “Maybe to see what kind of fights or problems it would cause. Study people’s reactions—it’s kind of a unique situation.” Thomas almost wanted to laugh. “I love how we’re talking about this—like we’re deciding when we need to stop for a klunk.”

  Aris actually did laugh, a dry chuckle that made Thomas feel better—actually made him like the new kid even more. “Man, don’t say that. I’ve had to go for at least an hour.”

  It was Thomas’s turn to snicker, and right on cue, like he’d heard Aris calling for it, Minho yelled out for everyone to stop.

  “Potty break,” he said with his hands on his hips as he caught his breath. “Bury your klunk and don’t do it too close. We’ll rest for fifteen, then we’ll just walk awhile. I know you shanks can’t keep up with Runners like me and Thomas.”

  Thomas tuned out—he didn’t need directions on how to use the bathroom—and turned to get a look at where they’d stopped. He took a deep, full breath, and when he relaxed his eyes caught on something. A dark shadow of a shape a few hundred yards in front of them, but not directly in the path of their journey. A square of darkness against the faint glow of the town up ahead. It stood out so distinctly he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it until now.

  “Hey!” he yelled, pointing toward it. “Looks like a little building up there, just a few minutes away, to the right some. You guys see it?”

  “Yeah, I see it,” Minho responded, walking up to stand next to him. “Wonder what it is.”

  Before Thomas could respond, two things happened almost simultaneously.

  First, the haunted screams of the mystery girl stopped, instantly, cut short as if a door had closed on her. Then, stepping out from behind the dark building up ahead, the figure of a girl appeared, long hair flowing from her shadowed head like black silk.

  CHAPTER 20

  Thomas couldn’t help it. His first instinct was to hope it was her, call out to her. To hope that against all odds she was there, just a few hundred yards away, waiting for him.

  Teresa?

  Nothing.

  Teresa? Teresa!

  Nothing. The abscess left when she disappeared was still in his head—like an empty pool. But … it could be her. Might be her. Maybe something had happened to their ability to communicate.

  Once the girl had stepped out from behind the building, or more likely from inside the building, she just stood there. Despite being obscured completely by shadow, something about her stance made it obvious she was facing them, staring at them with arms folded.

  “You think that’s Teresa?” Newt asked, as if he’d read Thomas’s mind.

  Thomas nodded before he knew what he was doing. He quickly looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Didn’t seem so. “No clue,” he finally said.

  “You think she was the one screaming?” Frypan asked. “It stopped right when she walked out.”

  Minho grunted. “Better bet is she was the one torturing somebody. Probably killed her and put her out of her misery when she saw us coming.” Then for some reason he clapped his hands once. “Okay, then, who wants to go meet this nice young lady?”

  How Minho could be so lighthearted at times like this just baffled Thomas. “I’ll do it,” he said, way too loudly. He didn’t want to make it obvious that he hoped it was Teresa.

  “I was just kidding, shuck-face,” Minho said. “Let’s all go over there. She could have an army of psycho girl ninjas hiding in that shack of hers.”

  “Psycho girl ninjas?” Newt repeated, his voice showing he was surprised, if not annoyed, by Minho’s attitude.

  “Yeah. Let’s go.” Minho started walking forward.

  Thomas acted on a sudden and unexpected instinct. “No!” He lowered his voice. “No. You guys stay here—I’ll go talk to her. Maybe it’s a trap or something. We’d be idiots to all go over there and fall right into it.”

  “And you’re not an idiot for going by yourself?” Minho asked.

  “Well, we can’t just walk on by without checking it out. I’ll go. If something happens or gets suspicious, I’ll call for help.”

  Minho paused for a long moment. “All right. Go. Our brave little shank.” He whacked Thomas on the back with his open palm and it stung.

  “This is bloody stupid,” Newt interrupted, stepping forward. “I’ll go with him.”

  “No!” Thomas snapped. “Just … let me do this. Something tells me we need to be careful. If I cry like a baby, come save me.” And before anyone could argue, he took off at a fast walk toward the girl and her building.

  He closed the distance quickly. His shoes crunched against the gritty dirt and rocks, breaking the silence. He sniffed the raw smells of the desert mixed with a distant scent of something burning, and as he stared at the silhouette of the girl next to the building, he suddenly knew for sure. Maybe it was the shape of her head or body. Maybe it was her stance, the way she held her folded arms crooked to one side, her hip jutting the other direction. But he knew.

  It was her.

  It was Teresa.

  When he reached a point just a few feet from her, right before the faint light would finally reveal her face, she turned around and went through an open door, disappearing inside the small building. It was a rectangle, a slightly tilted roof tenting in the middle, longways. As far as he could tell, it had no windows. Large black cubes were hanging from the corners—speakers, perhaps. Maybe the sound had been broadcast, been a fake. That would explain why they could hear it from so far away.

  The door, a big slab of wood, stood all the way open and rested against the wall. It was even darker inside than out.

  Thomas moved. He walked through the door, realizing even as he did so how reckless and stupid it might be. But it was her. No matter what had happened, no matter the explanation for her disappearance and refusal to speak with him through their thoughts, he knew she wouldn’t hurt him. No way.

  The air was noticeably cooler inside, almost moist. It felt wonderful. Three steps in, he stopped and listened in the complete darkness. He could hear her breathing.

  “Teresa?” he asked aloud, pushing away the temptation to ask for her in his mind again. “Teresa, what’s going on?”

  She didn’t respond, but he heard a short intake of breath, followed by a halting sniff, as if she were crying but trying to hide it from hi
m.

  “Teresa, please. I don’t know what’s happened or what they did to you, but I’m here now. This is crazy. Just talk to—”

  He cut off when a light blazed to life with a quick flare that then dulled to a small flame. His eyes naturally went straight to it, to the hand holding a match. He watched as it dropped, slowly, carefully, to light a candle resting on a small table. When it caught, and the hand flicked the match until it went out, Thomas finally looked up and saw her. Saw that he’d been right after all. But the short and almost overpowering thrill of seeing Teresa alive was soon cut short, replaced by confusion and pain.

  She was clean, every part of her. He’d expected her to be filthy like he must be after all this time in the dusty desert. He’d expected her clothes to be ratty and torn. He’d expected greasy hair and a smudged and sunburned face. But instead she wore fresh clothes; her clean hair cascaded to her shoulders. Nothing marred the pale skin of her face or arms. She was more beautiful than he’d ever seen her in the Maze, than any memories he could pull from the murky goop of what he’d recovered after the Changing.

  But her eyes sparkled with tears; her lower lip trembled with fear; her hands shook at her sides. He saw recognition in her eyes, saw that she hadn’t forgotten him again, but behind that there was pure and absolute terror.

  “Teresa,” he whispered, knotting up inside. “What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t respond, but her eyes flickered to the side, then back to him. A couple of tears trickled out, slipping down her cheeks, then falling to the floor. Her lips trembled even more, and her chest lurched with what could only be a stifled sob.

  Thomas stepped forward, put his hands out to her.

  “No!” she screamed. “Get away from me!”