The Fever Code

by James Dashner

  On their second night of exploration, they discovered a huge laboratory with foul-smelling vats of steaming liquid, at least two dozen of them. Even in the deepest part of the night, workers in full hazard suits worked among the odd containers, doing all kinds of tests. A few times, Thomas and the others caught sight of what looked like large fish or tentacles moving beneath the steam, breaking the surface of whatever revolting liquid they swam in. The whole thing baffled even Newt, who said he’d been watching the place for months.

  They searched the administrative offices on the third night, even catching a man and woman lingering behind after work hours for some lovey-dovey private time. Alby barely stopped Minho in time from jumping out and scaring the poor couple to death. Thomas almost wished he’d let it happen.

  The fourth and fifth nights were filled with new adventures—more labs, the cafeterias, a giant sports facility that Thomas had never even heard about. They found a hospital room where complicated masklike devices hung over each bed, tubes and wires branching out like the legs of a monstrous spider, studded with all kinds of monitoring equipment. Thomas desperately wanted to stay longer and figure out what the things were for, but Alby got them out of there quick. It was the first time Thomas had really seen him flustered, beads of sweat covering his forehead. Something had struck a nerve.

  It was fun. Exciting. Terrifying. Invigorating. In all the years since WICKED had taken Thomas, he’d never felt so alive. He could feel the bonds of trust growing between them, although he still had no idea where that trust was leading. It was as if the original purpose of their summons had been lost in a burgeoning friendship.

  Alby, Minho, Newt, Teresa.

  Thomas had friends.

  224.10.20 | 12:15 a.m.

  Newt had been promising them that he was saving something special, and he did that annoying zipped-lip sign every time Thomas or Teresa asked him what—pinched fingers swept across his tightly closed mouth. The little light in his eyes showed he enjoyed every second of their torture.

  Regardless of where they were headed on any given night, they always assembled in the basement maintenance room. The dusty old room had become something of a sanctuary for their group. After their third escapade, Newt stopped coming to escort Thomas and Teresa there—they knew their own way—and the exhilaration of sneaking through the dark halls of WICKED only became more enjoyable every time Thomas did it.

  He lightly tapped on Teresa’s door and she opened it immediately. She poked her head out cautiously and looked up and down the hallway to make sure the coast was clear.

  “Okay,” she said the fourth night, as she joined him and closed her door. She couldn’t hide the smile blooming on her face. “What do you think it is tonight?” They started making their way.

  Thomas did Newt’s zipped-lip gesture, and that got him a sharp poke in the ribs.

  “Ow,” he said dryly, and they picked up the pace.

  —

  Minho and Alby were wrestling when they walked into the maintenance room. For a second Thomas thought it was a genuine fight, but then Alby let out a whooping laugh when he pulled a maneuver that flipped Minho onto his back with a grunt.

  “Not this time, sucker!” Alby yelled. He pressed his forearm into Minho’s chest and Newt slapped the floor three times.

  Alby jumped up, arms raised in a victory dance.

  Minho scrambled to his feet as well, dusting himself off. He let loose a few words Thomas used to hear his dad say, then added a very insincere “Good job.” Alby seemed to take it all as a compliment. It meant he’d won.

  “All right, then,” Newt said, stretching his arms over his head and letting out a yawn. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

  “What’s the big surprise tonight?” Thomas asked. “Where’re we going?”

  Newt looked up at the ceiling. “Well, we’ve pretty much been from one end of this place to the other.”

  It was hard for Thomas not to look over at Teresa. The truth was, Newt and his friends had no idea what was hidden right under their feet. Trust or no trust, though, there was no way Thomas and Teresa could share the information about the maze cavern. He was just shocked that with all their exploring, the others hadn’t already discovered it on their own. And there were supposed to be two mazes. How had Newt and his friends not stumbled upon either one of them?

  “Tommy?”

  Thomas realized Newt was staring straight at him, eyebrows raised.

  “Sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “Wandered off there for a second. What’d you say?”

  Newt shook his head in admonishment. “Try to keep up, Tommy. Are you ready to see the great outdoors?”

  —

  They climbed up a ladder hidden behind a cinder-block wall, its original purpose mysterious to Thomas. The building had been built way before any organization named WICKED came into being, and the ladder had a sinister feel to it, as if it had been put there without the knowledge of the original planners or owners. Put there to accomplish devious deeds.

  Thomas choked on dust as they climbed rung by rung, up and up and up. Somehow he’d gotten stuck going last, so he had four people above him kicking loose dirt and gravel and anything else that had collected over the years. A couple of nails even dropped down, one of them almost piercing his right eyeball.

  “Could you guys be a little more careful up there?” he whisper-shouted at the group more than once. The only response was a giggle, and he was pretty sure Minho was the guilty one.

  Finally, after climbing what had to be ten floors, they reached a steel landing that was barely big enough to hold the five of them. A heavy metal door, curved and rusted, sat like an ugly tooth in the cement wall to their left. The only thing on the door that didn’t look a hundred years old was a handle, rubbed shiny silver from usage.

  “How many times have you guys done this?” Teresa asked.

  “A dozen?” Alby replied. “Maybe fifteen? I don’t know. You have no idea how nice it is to get some fresh air, though. You’re about to see for yourself. Oh, man, and the sound of the ocean in the distance. Can’t beat it.”

  “I thought the outside world was a wasteland,” Thomas said, butterflies swarming more than ever in his gut. “Radiation and heat and all that? Little things called sun flares?”

  “Not to mention Cranks,” Teresa added. “How do you know there aren’t Cranks out there?”

  “Hey, people,” Minho said, holding a hand up as if to say slow down. “You think we’re morons? Would we have gone out there fifteen times if we’d lost a finger to a Crank every time or had our privates zapped by radiation? Come on, now.”

  Newt waggled his fingers in front of Thomas’s face. “Still got ’em all. And I’m not too worried about down under just yet.” A laugh exploded out of Thomas’s mouth that sent spray everywhere.

  “Sorry,” he said, wiping his lips on his sleeve.

  Alby took over the conversation with a little more sense of reason. “Things are starting to get better out there. Plus, we’re way up north, which wasn’t hit as badly. A couple of times we’ve seen snow in the trees.”

  “Snow?” Teresa repeated, sounding as shocked as if he’d said aliens. “Are you serious?”

  “Yep.”

  “Enough chitchat,” Newt said. “Minho, open her up.”

  “Yes, sir!” Minho barked. He grabbed the handle and pushed it down with a grunt of effort. There was a loud metallic clunk; then the door opened on squealing hinges, swinging outward.

  A stiff breeze blew up the ladder chute as pressurized air escaped the complex, as if rushing to freedom. It ruffled Thomas’s clothes as it crossed over him, giving him a slight chill, and the anticipation of what awaited them spiked so hard that he could barely contain himself. Minho went out first, then Alby. Newt gestured for Teresa to go next, and she did so, but not before throwing one last glance at Thomas. Her eyes said a million things, but he couldn’t decipher any of them.

  “You’re next, Tommy,” Newt said. “T
ry not bangin’ your head, all right?”

  Thomas ducked through the small opening and stepped onto a wide platform of concrete, the air outside crisp and cool. Every memory of the time before WICKED when he was allowed to go outside came rushing back to him, paired with warmth and heat and sweat. It was odd, but fantastic, to feel such a refreshing bite of fresh air—just as Alby had predicted—and to hear the ocean waves crashing on rocky cliffs in the distance.

  “Whatcha think?” Minho asked.

  Thomas looked around, though he couldn’t see much in the darkness. Lights shone down from somewhere above, obscuring his vision even more. All he could make out was the platform, a railing around its edge, and a sea of blackness beyond. The sky showed the faintest pinpricks of stars.

  “Can’t see a whole lot,” Thomas answered after a moment of silence. “But, man, it feels great.”

  “Told ya,” Alby said. Thomas could hear the smile in his voice.

  “There’s a drainpipe over here,” Newt said, leaning over the railing at the corner of the platform. “Has notches in it, see? Makes it easy to climb down, but it’s a bit of an effort coming back up. A little sweat’ll be good for you, though.”

  “Let’s show them the woods,” Minho said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and see a deer. And maybe it’ll let us pet it.”

  Thomas had the feeling he’d never be sure whether Minho was joking or not. He used the exact same tone—his words tinged with amusement—no matter what came out of his mouth.

  Alby scrambled over the railing and started his descent. Newt had Thomas go second this time. His fingers ached as he gripped the notches in the drainpipe. Luckily, the trip was nowhere near as long as the climb up the ladder inside. When Thomas’s feet finally landed on the soft earth, it felt as if he’d stepped onto an alien planet.

  He stood next to Alby as they waited for the others to join them. There was no snow, but a cool bite to the air hinted it might not be too far away.

  “What’s out there?” Thomas asked, gesturing to the wide-open space that ended in the dark wall of the forest. “Can we really just walk away? Why would we even come back?”

  “Trust me,” Alby responded, “we’ve thought about it. We’ve talked about hoarding a bunch of food and making a run for it. But…the odds, man. Who knows how long we’d last. But even more than that, we’ve got it pretty good on the inside. We’re fed, it’s warm, no Cranks….Still it’s something we think about.” There seemed to be more on his mind that he chose not to share.

  Teresa was the last one to jump the few feet off the bottom of the drainpipe. Thomas saw Alby open his mouth to say something, but before he got a word out, blazing lights ignited from all directions, along with a series of clunks, as if giant switches were being thrown. Thomas shielded his eyes, spun in a circle, but he couldn’t see a thing, blinded by light.

  Squinting, he could gradually make out three dark figures piercing the brightness. They approached, hunched over some sort of handheld weapon, and as they got closer, Thomas could see they wore uniforms and helmets. A fourth man appeared behind them, and as he neared, Thomas’s insides felt like they were melting into something toxic. It was a man Thomas hadn’t seen since his naming day.

  Randall. And it appeared he’d graduated from the green scrubs.

  “You kids really shouldn’t be out here,” he said. He sounded almost sad. “But I don’t think you need me to tell you that. You’re smart enough to have figured it out on your own. It seems we need to teach you a lesson about the dangers of the outside world. Make you appreciate what WICKED does for you just a teeny bit more.” His speech had an odd cadence, as if he were reciting something he’d memorized and practiced beforehand.

  He pointed at Newt. “That one’s not immune—get him back to his room and call a doctor in to test him. Pronto!”

  As one of the guards moved toward Newt, Randall sighed loudly, then waved a hand toward Thomas and the others.

  “Take the rest of them to the Crank pits.”

  224.10.20 | 2:09 a.m.

  Thomas didn’t know when it had started, but he and Teresa were holding hands. They were standing together, sharing their sudden fear of what was about to happen, worrying about their punishment. One of the guards, a woman, stepped up to them.

  “Don’t be scared,” she whispered. “Randall just wants to teach you a quick lesson about the dangers of being out here. It’s for your own good, and you’ll be safe. Just do as we say and it’ll be over soon. Deal?”

  Thomas nodded; the words Crank and pits were still reverberating through his mind. How many times in his life had he heard about Cranks—people with the Flare who were well past the Gone? Who were nothing more than animals consumed by bloodlust?

  What had Randall meant? Where were they being taken?

  “Come on now,” the female guard said to him, reaching out and gently taking his arm. “If you cooperate you’ll be back in your room safe and sound before you know it, with enough time for a quick nap before the wake-up.”

  Teresa was squeezing his hand so hard it hurt. But he nodded and then followed the guard when she started walking away from the drainpipe, leading them along a path that followed the footprint of the WICKED complex. Another guard walked with Alby and Minho, who both looked just as stunned as Thomas felt.

  The third guard stayed at the building, Newt by his side, looking at the ground, his face unreadable. Thomas looked for Randall, but the man was on the phone, several yards from his friend.

  Thomas lost sight of them as they turned a corner, but he couldn’t shake what Randall had said about Newt—that he wasn’t immune. It didn’t hit Thomas until that moment just how enormous the implications of that were. And then, why was Newt here if he wasn’t a Munie?

  Teresa’s voice tore him from his thoughts.

  “Can’t you tell us where we’re going?” she asked. “What are the Crank pits?” The little group continued walking, following the path. The lady didn’t answer, nor did the guard escorting Alby and Minho, just a few steps behind. The sounds of the ocean and the smell of salt and pine filled the silence.

  “Answer her,” Thomas said. “Please. We didn’t do anything wrong—we were just exploring. What are we, prisoners?”

  This also was met with silence.

  “Say something!” Teresa yelled.

  Their guard whirled to face them. “You think I like this?” she snapped. Then she looked around like someone caught stealing. She lowered her voice. “I’m sorry. Really. Just do as you’re told—it makes things a lot easier. All we’re going to do is help you to realize why it’s better to stay inside.”

  After that ominous statement, she turned and continued leading them along the exterior of the building. No one said another word.

  —

  They came to a road. To the right, it wound through some fields, then disappeared into the forest looming in the distance. To the left, it intersected with the WICKED complex itself and turned into a steep ramp that descended beneath the building. Without hesitating, the guard stepped onto the asphalt and turned left, toward the darkness of the tunnel thirty feet in front of them.

  Thomas looked up as he followed her. Saw the tall granite walls of the WICKED facility, the faint scattering of stars in the dark sky above that. He’d been hoping so badly to see the moon.

  The road dipped down, and soon they were beneath the building, in a wide tunnel with no lights. Someone must have turned them off, because there was no way they’d normally keep this place unlit.

  He heard a sound that made him pause midstep. It was haunting, a human sound between a cry and a moan. Maybe not so human. Goose bumps prickled across his skin, and he felt a shudder of horror go through his chest.

  It was so dark he could barely see the outline of their guard when she stopped and turned to face them. She pulled out a flashlight and flicked it on, shined it in their faces, then to her left. It revealed a rickety iron gate, a chain and padlock wrapped around its bars to keep it closed.
Without saying anything, the other guard left Alby and Minho and walked over, pulled out a key, then unlocked the padlock. The loud rattle of the chain being unwrapped echoed through the tunnel.

  The man dropped the chain to the ground and opened the gate.

  “In you go,” he said. “This is only meant to give you a scare—they won’t be able to actually harm you. I promise.”

  “What’s in there?” Thomas asked.

  “Cranks,” the female guard answered in a kind tone completely incongruous with the word itself. “Sometimes we need to remind you just how awful this disease is.”

  “They won’t hurt you,” the man said again. His voice was solemn. “They’ll scare the pants off you, but they won’t hurt you.”

  “Come on, guys,” Minho said, marching past the guard. “Let’s see what’s inside this hellhole.”

  Thomas didn’t want to. Every nightmare he’d ever had was welling up inside him. Teresa’s bravery shook him out of it. She went through the gate, then Alby. Thomas followed.

  224.10.20 | 2:28 a.m.

  The darkness was the scariest part. Even though the guard continued to shine her light behind them, it seemed the beam was lost in a black fog. They walked, small step by small step, across crunchy gravel, down a narrow path lined on both sides with the iron railings of a fence. The bars, rising from the ground, were spaced about five inches apart; two long bars ran along the top and bottom. If there was anything on the other side of the fence, Thomas couldn’t make it out.

  “This is spooky,” Minho spoke quietly, though it seemed loud in the still darkness. “Alby, hold my hand.”

  “Dude, chill” was Alby’s response.

  Their feet scraped against the gravel, causing an echo that almost sounded like whispers. Thomas felt claustrophobia edging in, the farther they went. It took everything he had not to turn around and run back. They kept on.

  Soon they came to a brick wall, the fence on both sides leading right up to it. A dead end. This only fanned the flames of Thomas’s panic.