CHAPTER 28

Dib followed Gaz as they hurried down the stairs and out of the Homestead into the bright light of midafternoon. Neither child said a word for a while. For Dib, things just seemed to be getting worse and worse.

"Hungry, Dib?" Gaz asked when they were outside. Dib couldn't believe the question. "Hungry? I feel like puking after what I just saw—no, I'm not hungry."

Gaz only grinned. "Well, I am, ya shank. Let's go look for some leftovers from lunch. We need to talk."

"Somehow I knew you were going to say something like that." No matter what he did, he was becoming more and more entwined in the dealings of the Glade. And he was growing to expect it.

They made their way directly to the kitchen, where, despite Spuddy's grumbling, they were able to get cheese sandwiches and raw vegetables. Dib couldn't ignore the way the Keeper of the cooks kept giving him a weird look, eyes darting away whenever Dib returned the stare.

Something told him this sort of treatment would now be the norm. For some reason, he was different from everyone else in the Glade. He felt like he'd lived an entire lifetime since awakening from his memory wipe, but he'd only been there a week.

The kids decided to take their lunches to eat outside, and a few minutes later they found themselves at the west wall, looking out at the many work activities going on throughout the Glade, their backs up against a spot of thick ivy. Dib forced himself to eat; the way things were going, he needed to make sure he'd have strength to deal with whatever insane thing came his way next.

"Ever seen that happen before?" Dib asked after a minute or so. Gaz looked at him, her face suddenly somber. "What Letter M just did? No. Never. But then again, no one's ever tried to tell us what they remembered during the Changing. They always refuse. Letter M tried to— must be why he went nuts for a while."

Dib paused in the middle of chewing. Could the people behind the Maze control them somehow? It was a terrifying thought.

"We have to find Torque," Gaz said through a bite of carrot, changing the subject. "Bugger's gone off and hid somewhere. Soon as we're done eating, I need to find him and throw his butt in jail."

"Serious?" Dib couldn't help feeling a shot of pure elation at the thought. He'd be happy to slam the door closed and throw away the key himself.

"That shank threatened to kill you and we have to make bloody sure it never happens again. That shuck- face is gonna pay a heavy price for acting like that—he's lucky we don't Banish him. Remember what I told you about order."

"Yeah." Dib's only concern was that Torque would just hate him all the more for being thrown in jail. I don't care, he thought. I'm not scared of that guy anymore.

"Here's how it'll play out, Dib," Gaz said. "You're with me the rest of today—we need to figure things. Tomorrow, the Slammer. Then you're Zita's, and I want you to stay away from the other shanks for a while. Got it?"

Dib was more than happy to oblige. Being mostly alone sounded like a great idea. "Sounds

beautiful. So Zita's going to train me?"

"That's right—you're a Runner now. Zita'll teach ya. The Maze, the Maps, everything. Lots to learn. I expect you to work your butt off."

Dib was shocked that the idea of entering the Maze again didn't frighten him all that much. He resolved to do just as Gaz said, hoping it would keep his mind off things. Deeper down, he hoped to get out of the Glade as much as possible. Avoiding other people was his new goal in life.

The two sat in silence, finishing their lunches, until Gaz finally got to what she really wanted to talk about. Crumpling her trash into a ball, she turned and looked straight at Dib.

"Dib," she began, "I need you to accept something. We've heard it too many times now to deny it, and it's time to discuss it."

Dib knew what was coming, but was startled. He dreaded the words. "Torque said it. Letter M said it. Iggins said it," Gaz continued, "the Irken, after we took him out of the Box— he said it."

She paused, perhaps expecting Dib to ask what she meant. But Dib already knew. "They all said things were going to change."

Gaz looked away for a moment, then turned back. "That's right. And Torque, Letter M and Iggins claim they saw you in their memories after the Changing—and from what I gather, you weren't plantin' flowers and helpin' old ladies cross the street. According to Torque, there's somethin' rotten enough about ya that he wants to kill ya."

"Gaz, I don't know—" Dib started, but Gaz didn't let him finish. "I know you don't remember anything, Dib! Quit sayin' that—don't ever say it again. None of us remember anything, and we're bloody sick of you reminding us. The point is there's something different about you, and it's time we figured it out."

Dib was overwhelmed by a surge of anger. "Fine, so how do we do it? I want to know who I am just as much as anyone else. Obviously."

"I need you to open your mind. Be honest if anything—anything at all—seems familiar." "Nothing—" Dib started, but stopped. So much had happened since arriving, he'd almost forgotten how familiar the Glade had felt to him that first night, sleeping next to Keef. How comfortable and at home he'd felt. A far cry from the terror he should've experienced. "I can see your wheels spinnin'," Gaz said, quietly. "Talk." Dib hesitated, scared of the consequences of what he was about to say. But he was tired of keeping secrets. "Well ... I can't put my finger on anything specific." He spoke slowly, carefully. "But I did feel like I'd been here before when I first got here." He looked at Gaz, hoping to see some sort of recognition in her eyes. "Anyone else go through that?"

But Gaz's face was blank. She simply rolled her eyes. "Uh, no, Dib. Most of us spent a week klunkin' our pants and bawlin' our eyes out."

"Yeah, well." Dib paused, upset and suddenly embarrassed. What did it all mean? Was he different from everyone else somehow? Was something wrong with him? "It all seemed familiar to me, and I knew I wanted to be a Runner."

"That's bloody interesting." Gaz examined him for a second, not hiding her obvious suspicion. "Well, keep lookin' for it. Strain your mind, spend your free time wanderin' your thoughts, and think about this place. Delve inside that brain of yours, and seek it out. Try, for all our sakes."

"I will." Dib closed his eyes, started searching the darkness of his mind.

"Not now, you dumb shuck." Gaz laughed. "I just meant do it from now on. Free time, meals, goin' to sleep at night, as you walk around, train, work. Tell me anything that seems even remotely familiar. Got it?"

"Yeah, got it." Dib couldn't help worrying that he'd thrown up some red flags for Gaz, and that the younger girl was just hiding her concern.

"Good that," Gaz said, looking almost too agreeable. "To begin, we better go see someone." "Who?" Dib asked, but knew the answer as soon as he spoke. Dread filled him again. "The Irken. I want you to look at him till your eyes bleed, see if somethin' gets triggered in that shuck brain of yours." Gaz gathered her lunch trash and stood up. "Then I want you to tell me every single word Letter M said to you."

Dib sighed, then got to his feet. "Okay." He didn't know if he could bring himself to tell the complete truth about Letter M's accusations, not to mention how he felt about the Irken. It looked like he wasn't done keeping secrets after all.

They walked back toward the Homestead, where the Irken still lay in a coma. Dib couldn't stifle his worry about what Gaz was thinking. He'd opened himself up, and he really liked Gaz. Gaz had really start to feel familiar the more he spent time with her. He almost viewed her as a little sister… a scary little sister. If Gaz turned on him now, Dib didn't know if he could handle it.

"If all else fails," Gaz said, interrupting Dib's thoughts, "we'll send ya to the Grievers—get ya stung so you can go through the Changing. We need your memories."

Dib barked a sarcastic laugh at the idea, but Gaz wasn't smiling. The Irken seemed to be sleeping peacefully, like he'd wake up at any minute. Dib had almost expected the skeletal remnant of a person—someone on the verge of death. But his chest rose and fell with even breaths; his skin was full of color.

One of the Med-jacks was there, the girl—Dib couldn't remember her name—dropping distilled water into the comatose Irken's mouth a few drips at a time. A plate and bowl on the bedside table had the remains of his lunch—mashed potatoes and soup. They were doing everything possible to keep him alive and healthy.

"Hey, Gretchen," Gaz said, sounding comfortable, like she'd stopped by to visit many times before. "He surviving?"

"Yeah," Gretchen answered. "He's doing fine, though he talks in his sleep all the time. We think he'll come out of it soon."

Dib felt his hackles rise. For some reason, he'd never really considered the possibility that the Irken might wake up and be okay. That he might talk to people. He had no idea why that suddenly made him so nervous.

"Have you been writin' down every word he says?" Gaz asked. Gretchen nodded. "Most of it's impossible to understand. But yeah, when we can." Gaz pointed at a notepad on the nightstand. "Give me an example." "Well, the same thing he said when we pulled him out of the Box, about things changing. Other stuff about the Creators and how 'it all has to end.' And, uh ..." Gretchen looked at Dib as if she didn't want to continue in his company.

"It's okay—he can hear whatever I hear," Gaz assured her. "Well ... I can't make it all out, but ..." Gretchen looked at Dib again. "He keeps saying his name over and over."

Dib almost fell down at this. Would the references to him never end? How did he know this Irken? It was like a maddening itch inside his skull that wouldn't go away.

"Thanks, Gretchen," Gaz said in what sounded to Dib like an obvious dismissal. "Get us a report of all that, okay?"

"Will do." The Med-jack nodded at both of them and left the room. "Pull up a chair," Gaz said as she sat on the edge of the bed. Dib, relieved that Gaz still hadn't erupted into accusations, grabbed the one from the desk and placed it right next to where the Irken's head lay; he sat down, leaning forward to look at his face.

"Anything ring a bell?" Gaz asked. "Anything at all?" Dib didn't respond, kept looking, willing his mind to break down the memory barrier and seek out this Irken from his past. He thought back to those brief moments when he'd opened his eyes right after being pulled out of the Box.

They'd been maroon, richer in color than the eyes of any other person he could remember seeing before. He tried to picture those eyes on him now as he looked at his slumbering face, melding the two images in his mind. His black antennae, his perfect green skin, his full lips... As he stared at him, he realized once more how truly beautiful he was.

Stronger recognition briefly tickled the back of his mind—a flutter of wings in a dark corner, unseen but there all the same. It lasted only an instant before vanishing into the abyss of his other captured memories. But he had felt something.

"I do know him," he whispered, leaning back in his chair. It felt good to finally admit it out loud. Gaz stood up. "What? Who is he?" "No idea. But something clicked—I know him from somewhere." Dib rubbed his eyes, frustrated that he couldn't solidify the link.

"Well, keep bloody thinking—don't lose it. Concentrate." "I'm trying, so shut up." Dib closed his eyes, searched the darkness of his thoughts, seeking his face in that emptiness. Who was he? The irony of the question struck him—he didn't even know who he himself was.

He leaned forward in his chair and took a deep breath, then looked at Gaz, shaking his head in surrender. "I just don't—"

Zim. Dib jolted up from the chair, knocked it backward, spun in a circle, searching. He had heard ... "What's wrong?" Gaz asked. "Did ya remember somethin'?" Dib ignored her, looked around the room in confusion, knowing he'd heard a voice, then back at the Irken.

"I ..." He sat back down, leaned forward, staring at the Irken's face. "Gaz, did you just say something before I stood up?"

"No." Of course not. "Oh. I just thought I heard something ... I don't know. Maybe it was in my head. Did ... he say anything?"

"Him?" Gaz asked, her eyes lit up. "No. Why? What did you hear?" Dib was scared to admit it. "I ... I swear I heard a name. Zim." "Zim? No, I didn't hear that. Must've sprung loose from your bloody memory blocks! That's his

name, Dib. Zim. Has to be."

Dib felt ... odd—an uncomfortable feeling, like something supernatural had just occurred. "It was ... I swear I heard it. But in my mind, man. I can't explain it."

Dib. This time he jumped from the chair and scrambled as far from the bed as possible, knocking over the lamp on the table; it landed with the crash of broken glass. A voice. A boy's voice. Whispery, scratchy, confident. He'd heard it. He knew he'd heard it.

"What's bloody wrong with you?" Gaz asked. Dib's heart was racing. He felt the thumps in his skull. Acid boiled in his stomach. "He's ... he's freakin' talking to me. In my head. He just said my name!"

"What?" "I swear!" The world spun around him, pressed in, crushing his mind. "I'm ... hearing his voice in my head—or something ... it's not really a voice..."

"Dib, sit your butt down. What are you bloody talking about?" "Gaz, I'm serious. It's ... not really a voice ... but it is." Dib, we're the last ones. It'll end soon. It has to. The words echoed in his mind, touched his eardrums—he could hear them. Yet they didn't sound like they were coming from the room, from outside his body. They were literally, in every way, inside his mind.

Dib, don't freak out on me. He put his hands up to his ears, squeezed his eyes shut. It was too strange; he couldn't bring his rational mind to accept what was happening.

My memory's fading already, Dib. I won't remember much when I wake up. We can pass the Trials. It has to end. They sent me as a trigger.

Dib couldn't take it anymore. Ignoring Gaz's questions, he stumbled to the door and yanked it open, stepped into the hall, ran. Down the stairs, out the front door, he ran. But it did nothing to shut him up.

Everything is going to change, he said. He wanted to scream, run until he could run no more. He made it to the East Door and sprinted through it, out of the Glade. Kept going, through corridor after corridor, deep into the heart of the Maze, rules or no rules. But he still couldn't escape the voice.

It was you and me, Dib. We did this to them. To us.