CHAPTER 26

Dib 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.

'Torque'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 Dib at what they'd just seen. Gaz and Flan finally let go of Zita; all three of them sullenly walked to their chairs and sat down.

"He's finally whacked for good," Zita said, almost in a whisper. Dib couldn't tell if she'd meant for the others to hear her.

"Well, you're not the bloody saint in the room," Gaz said. "What were you thinking? That was a little overboard, don't ya think?"

Zita squinched up her eyes and pulled her head back, as if she were baffled by Gaz'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," Gaz said. "Dude, he threatened to break my neck and kill Dib! The guy is mentally whacked, and you better send someone right now to throw him in the Slammer. He's dangerous."

Dib 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," Flan said, almost too quietly. "What?" Zita asked, mirroring Dib's thoughts exactly. Flan 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?"

Dib 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 Iggins writhing in bed and remembered Letter M's screams. No way, he thought.

"Flan, did you see what just happened?" Spuddy asked, looking incredulous. "Torque's psycho. You can't put too much stock in his rambling nonsense. What, you think Dib here is a Griever in disguise?" Council rules or no Council rules, Dib 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."

Gaz glanced up at him and nodded. "Go ahead. This bloody meetin' can't be much more screwed up."

Dib 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 Torque 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 Dib quit talking, hoping he'd gotten his point across. Gaz nodded, looking satisfied. "Good that. Let's get this meeting over with and worry about Torque later."

"We can't vote without all the members here," Flan insisted. "Unless they're really sick, like Letter M."

"For the love, Flan," Gaz replied. "I'd say Torque's a wee bit ill today, too, so we continue without him. Dib, defend yourself and then we'll take the vote on what we should do with you."

Dib 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 Spuddy's dinner."

Dib wasn't trying to be funny. He was just dumbfounded that the whole thing could even be an issue.

"Here's my recommendation," Gaz 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 Zita. "Torque was right on that count—stupid idea."

The comment hurt Dib's feelings, even though he couldn't disagree. He looked to Zita for her 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," Gaz responded. "If that's true, we'll make the change later. Give it a month and see if he proves himself."

Zita shrugged. "Good that." Dib 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.

Gaz glanced around the room. "Okay, we had several recommendations, so let's give it a go-round —"

"Oh, come on," Spuddy said. "Just vote. I vote for yours." "Me too," Zita said. Everyone else chimed in their approval, filling Dib with relief and a sense of pride. Flan was the only one to say no.

Gaz looked at him. "We don't need your vote, but tell us what's bonkin' around your brain." Flan gazed at Dib carefully, then back to Gaz. "It's fine with me, but we shouldn't totally ignore what Torque said. Something about it—I don't think he just made it up. And it's true that ever since Dib got here, everything's been shucked and screwy."

"Fair enough," Gaz 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?"

Flan nodded. Dib groaned at how invisible he'd become. "I love how you guys are just talking about me like I'm not here."

"Look, Dib," Gaz said. "We just elected you as a buggin' Runner. Quit your cryin' and get out of here. Zita has a lot of training to give you."

It hadn't really hit Dib 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," Gaz answered. "The wake-up till sunset." One day, Dib thought. That won't be so bad. The meeting was dismissed and everyone except Gaz and Zita left the room in a hurry. Gaz hadn't moved from her chair, where she sat jotting notes. "Well, that was good times," she murmured. Zita walked over and playfully punched Dib in the arm. "It's all this shank's fault." Dib punched her back. "Keeper? You want me to be Keeper? You're nuttier than Torque by a long shot."

Zita faked an evil grin. "Worked, didn't it? Aim high, hit low. Thank me later." Dib 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. Keef stood there, looking like he'd just been chased by a Griever. Dib felt the grin fade from his face.

"What's wrong?" Gaz asked, standing up. The tone of his voice only heightened Dib's concern. Keef was wringing his hands. "Med-jacks sent me." "Why?" "I guess Letter M's thrashing around and acting all crazy, telling them he needs to talk to somebody." Gaz made for the door, but Keef held up his hand. "Um ... he doesn't want you." "What do you mean?" Keef pointed at Dib. "He keeps asking for him."