The Maze Runner Series Complete Collection (48 page)

Without waiting for a response, he leaned back in his chair and returned his feet to the desktop. Then, opening his book to the spot he’d marked, he resumed reading.

Thomas was truly speechless. He turned away from the man and the desk and leaned against the invisible wall, its hard surface pressing against his back. What had just happened? Surely he was still asleep, dreaming. For some reason, that thought alone seemed to amplify his hunger, and he longingly glanced over at the mound of food. Then he noticed Minho at the door to the dorm room, leaning against its frame with his arms folded.

Thomas jabbed a thumb over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows.

“You met our new friend?” Minho responded, a smirk flashing across his face. “Real piece of work, this guy. I gotta get me one of those shuck suits. Fancy stuff.”

“Am I awake?” Thomas asked.

“You’re awake. Now eat—you look horrible. Almost as bad as Rat Man over there, reading his book.”

Thomas was surprised at how quickly he could set aside the oddness of the guy in the white suit appearing out of nowhere, and the invisible wall. Again that numbness that had become so familiar. After the initial shock, nothing was strange anymore. Anything could become normal. Pushing it all away, he dragged himself over to the food and started eating. Another apple. An orange. A bag of mixed nuts, then a chewy bar of granola and raisins. His body begged for water, but he couldn’t get himself to move quite yet.

“You need to slim it,” Minho said from behind him. “We’ve got shanks puking all over the place ’cause they ate too much. That’s probably enough, dude.”

Thomas stood, relishing the feel of a full stomach. Not missing at all that gnawing beast that had lived inside him for so long. He knew Minho was right—he had to slim it. He nodded at his friend before stepping around him to go get a drink, the whole time wondering what could possibly be in store for them when the man in the white suit was ready to implement “Phase Two of the Trials.”

Whatever
that
meant.

A half hour later, Thomas sat on the floor with the rest of the Gladers, Minho to his right and Newt to his left, all of them facing the invisible wall and the weasel of a man sitting at the desk behind it. His feet were still propped up, his eyes still flickering down the pages of his book. Thomas felt the wonderful return of energy and strength slowly building inside him.

The new kid, Aris, had given him a strange look in the bathroom, as if he wanted to speak telepathically with him but was afraid to do it. Thomas had ignored him, and quickly walked to the sink and guzzled down as much water as he could with his now-full stomach. By the time he finished and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, Aris had left. Now the boy sat over by the wall, staring at the floor. Thomas felt sorry for him—as bad as things were for the Gladers, Aris had it worse. Especially if he’d been as close to the murdered girl he’d mentioned as Thomas was to Teresa.

Minho was the first to break the silence. “I think we’ve all gone psycho like those … what’d they call themselves again? Cranks. The Cranks at the windows. We’re all sitting here waiting for a lecture from Rat Man like this is totally normal. Like we’re at some kind of
school. I can tell you this much—if he had anything good to say, he wouldn’t need a freaking magic wall to protect him from us, now, would he?”

“Just slim it and listen,” Newt said. “Maybe it’s all gonna be over.”

“Yeah, right,” Minho said. “And Frypan’s gonna start having little babies, Winston’ll get rid of his monster acne, and Thomas here’ll actually smile for once.”

Thomas turned to Minho and exaggerated a fake smile. “There, you happy?”

“Dude,” he responded. “You are one ugly shank.”

“If you say so.”

“Shut your bloody holes,” Newt whispered. “I think it’s time.”

Thomas looked over to see that the stranger—Rat Man, as Minho so kindly called him—had put his feet on the floor and placed the book on the desk. He scooted his chair back to get a better view of one of the drawers, then pulled it out and rummaged through things Thomas couldn’t see. Finally, he pulled out a densely packed manila folder full of messy papers, many of them bent and sticking out at odd angles.

“Ah, here it is,” Rat Man said in his nasally voice; then he placed the folder on the desk, opened it up and looked at the boys in front of him. “Thank you for gathering in an orderly manner so I can tell you what I’ve been … instructed to tell you. Please listen carefully.”

“Why do you need that wall!” Minho shouted.

Newt reached around Thomas and punched Minho in the arm. “Shut it!”

Rat Man continued as if he hadn’t heard the outburst. “You’re all still here because of an uncanny will to survive despite the odds, among … other reasons. About sixty people were sent to live in the Glade. Well,
your
Glade, anyway. Another sixty in Group B, but for now we’ll forget them.”

The man’s eyes flickered to Aris, then went back to slowly scanning the crowd. Thomas didn’t know if anyone else had noticed, but he had no doubt that there’d been a hint of familiarity in that quick look. What did it mean …?

“Out of all those people, only a fraction survived to be here today. I’m assuming you’ve figured this out by now, but many of the things that happen to you are solely for the purpose of judging and analyzing your
responses
. And yet it’s not really an experiment as much as it is … constructing a blueprint. Stimulating the killzone and collecting the resultant patterns. Putting them all together to achieve the greatest breakthrough in the history of science and medicine.

“These situations inflicted upon you are called the Variables, and each one has been meticulously thought out. I’ll explain more soon. And though I can’t tell you everything at this time, it’s vital that you know this much: these trials you’re going through are for a very important cause. Continue to respond well to the Variables, continue to survive, and you’ll be rewarded with the knowledge that you’ve played a part in saving the human race. And yourselves, of course.”

Rat Man paused, apparently for effect. Thomas looked over at Minho and raised his eyebrows.

“This dude’s shucked in the head,” Minho whispered. “How would escaping a freaking maze save the human race?”

“I represent a group called WICKED,” Rat Man continued. “I know it sounds menacing, but it stands for World In Catastrophe, Killzone Experiment Department. Nothing menacing about it, despite what you may think. We exist for one purpose and one purpose only: to save the world from catastrophe. You here in this room are a vital part of what
we plan to do. We have resources never known to any group of any kind in the history of civilization. Nearly unlimited money, unlimited human capital and technology advanced beyond even the most clever man’s wants and wishes.

“As you make your way through the Trials, you have seen and will continue to see evidence of this technology and the resources behind it. If I can tell you anything today, it is that you should never, ever believe your eyes. Or your mind, for that matter. This is why we did the demonstration with the hanging bodies and the bricked-up windows. All I will say is that sometimes what you see is not real, and sometimes what you do
not
see
is
real. We can manipulate your brains and nerve receptacles when necessary. I know this all sounds confusing and a little scary, perhaps.”

Thomas thought the man couldn’t have possibly made a greater understatement. And the word
killzone
kept bouncing around his head. His scarcely revived memories couldn’t quite grasp what it meant, but he’d first seen it on the metal plaque back in the Maze, the one that had spelled out the words that made up WICKED’s acronym.

The man slowly passed his eyes over every Glader in the room. His upper lip shone with sweat. “The Maze was a part of the Trials. Not one Variable was thrown at you that didn’t serve a purpose for our collection of killzone patterns. Your escape was part of the Trials. Your battle against the Grievers. The murder of the boy Chuck. The supposed rescue and subsequent trip in the bus. All of it. Part of the Trials.”

Anger swelled in Thomas’s chest at the mention of Chuck. He’d half risen to his feet before he knew what had come over him; Newt pulled him back down to the floor.

As if spurred by this, Rat Man quickly stood up from his chair,
sending it back against the wall behind him. Then he placed his hands on the desk and leaned toward the Gladers.

“All
of it has been part of the Trials, you understand? Phase One, to be exact. And we are still dangerously short of what we need. So we’ve had to up the ante, and now it’s time for Phase Two. It’s time for things to get difficult.”

The room lapsed into silence. Thomas knew he should be upset by the absurd notion that up to this point things had been easy for them. The idea should’ve terrified him. Not to mention the stuff about manipulating their brains. But instead, he was so intensely curious to find out what the man was going to tell them, the words had merely washed across his mind.

Rat Man waited for an eternity, then slowly lowered himself back into the chair and scooted forward to sit behind the desk once more. “You may think, or it may seem, that we’re merely testing your ability to survive. On the surface, the Maze Trial could be mistakenly classified that way. But I assure you—this is not merely about survival and the will to live. That’s only part of this experiment. The bigger picture is something you won’t understand until the very end.

“Sun flares have ravaged many parts of the earth. Also, a disease unlike any before known to man has been ravaging the earth’s people—a disease called the Flare. For the first time, the governments of all nations—the surviving ones—are working together. They’ve combined forces to create WICKED—a group meant to fight the new problems of this world. You are a big part of that fight. And you’ll have every incentive to work with us, because, sad to say, each one of you has already caught the virus.”

He quickly held up his hands to cut off the rumblings that started. “Now, now! No need to worry—the Flare takes a while to set in and
show symptoms. But at the end of these Trials, the
cure
will be your reward, and you’ll never see the … debilitating effects. Not many can afford the cure, you know.”

Thomas’s hand instinctively went up to his throat, as if a soreness there were the first indicator that he’d caught the Flare. He remembered all too well what the woman on the rescue bus had told him after the Maze. About how the Flare destroyed your brain, slowly driving you insane and stripping you of the capacity to feel basic human emotions like compassion or empathy. About how it turned you into less than an animal.

He thought of the Cranks he’d seen through the dorm windows, and he suddenly wanted to run to the bathroom and scrub his hands and mouth clean. The guy was right—they had all the incentive they needed to make it through this next phase.

“But enough of this history lesson and time-wasting,” Rat Man continued. “We know you now. All of you. It doesn’t matter what I say or what’s behind the mission of WICKED. You’ll all do whatever it takes. Of this we have no doubt. And by doing what we ask, you’ll save yourselves by getting the very cure so many people desperately want.”

Thomas heard Minho groan next to him and worried about him throwing out another one of his smart-aleck remarks. Thomas shushed him before he could do it.

Rat Man looked down at the messy stack of papers lying in the open folder, picked up a loose piece of it, then turned it over, barely glancing at its contents. He cleared his throat. “Phase Two. The Scorch Trials. It officially begins tomorrow morning at six o’clock. You’ll enter this room, and in the wall behind me you will find a Flat Trans. To your eyes the Flat Trans will appear as a shimmering wall of gray. Each of you must step through it by five minutes after the hour. So again, it opens at six o’clock and closes five minutes after that. Do you understand?”

Thomas stared at Rat Man, transfixed. It almost felt as if he were watching a recording—as if the stranger weren’t really there. The other Gladers must’ve felt the same, because no one answered the simple question. What was a Flat Trans, anyway?

“I’m quite certain you can all
hear,”
Rat Man said. “Do … you … under … stand?”

Thomas nodded; a few boys around him murmured quiet yeahs and yeses.

“Good.” Rat Man absently picked up another piece of paper and turned it over. “At that point, the Scorch Trials will have begun. The rules are very simple. Find your way to open air, then head due north for one hundred miles. Make it to the safe haven within two weeks’ time and you’ll have completed Phase Two. At that point, and only at that point, you’ll be cured of the Flare. That’s exactly two weeks—starting the second you step through the Trans. If you don’t make it, eventually you’ll end up dead.”

The room should’ve erupted into arguments, questions, panic. But no one said a word. Thomas felt as if his tongue had dried up into an old, crusty root.

Rat Man quickly slammed the folder shut, bending its contents even more than before, then put it away in the drawer from which he’d retrieved it. He stood, stepped to the side and pushed the chair underneath the desk. Finally, he folded his hands in front of him and returned his attention to the Gladers.

“It’s simple, really,” he said, his tone so matter-of-fact one would think he’d just given them instructions on how to turn on the showers in the bathroom. “There are no rules. There are no guidelines. You have few supplies, and there’s nothing to help you along the way. Go through the Flat Trans at the time indicated. Find open air. Go one hundred miles, directly north, to the safe haven. Make it or die.”

The last word seemed to finally snap everyone out of their stupor, all of them speaking up at once. “What’s a Flat Trans?”

“How’d we catch the Flare?”

“How long till we see symptoms?”

“What’s at the end of the hundred miles?”

“What happened to the dead bodies?”

Question after question, a chorus of them, all melding into one roar of confusion. As for Thomas, he didn’t bother. The stranger wasn’t going to tell them anything. Couldn’t they all see that?