CHAPTER 37

Dib was speechless. Everything would be different now. No sun, no supplies, no protection from the Grievers. Zim had been right from the beginning—everything had changed. Dib felt as if his breath had solidified, lodged itself in his throat.

Letter M pointed at the Irken. "I want him locked up. Now. Billy! Jackson! Put him in the Slammer, and ignore every word that comes out of his shuck mouth."

Zim didn't react, but Dib did enough for the both of them. "What're you talking about? Letter M, you can't—" He stopped when Letter M's fiery eyes shot such a look of anger at him he felt his heart stutter. "But ... how could you possibly blame him for the walls not closing?"

Gaz stepped up, lightly placed a hand on Letter M's chest and pushed him back. "How could we not, Dib? He bloody admitted it himself."

Dib turned to look at Zim, paled at the sadness in his maroon eyes. It felt like something had reached through his chest and squeezed his heart.

"Just be glad you ain't goin' with him, Dib," Letter M said; he gave both of them one last glare before leaving. Dib had never wanted so badly to punch someone.

Billy and Jackson came forward and grabbed Zim by both arms, started escorting him away. Before they could enter the trees, though, Gaz stopped them. "Stay with him. I don't care what happens, no one's gonna touch this Irken. Swear your lives on it."

The two guards nodded, then walked away, Zim in tow. It hurt Dib even more to see how willingly he went. And he couldn't believe how sad he felt—he wanted to keep talking to him. But I just met him, he thought. I don't even know him. Yet he knew that wasn't true. He already felt a closeness that could only have come from knowing him before the memory-wiped existence of the Glade.

Come see me, he said in his mind. He didn't know how to do it, how to talk to him like that. But he tried anyway. I will. At least you'll be safe in there. He didn't respond. Zim? Nothing.

The next thirty minutes were an eruption of mass confusion.

Though there had been no discernible change in the light since the sun and blue sky hadn't appeared that morning, it still felt like a darkness spread over the Glade. As Gaz and Letter M gathered the Keepers and put them in charge of making assignments and getting their groups inside the Homestead within the hour, Dib felt like nothing more than a spectator, not sure how he could help.

The Builders—without their leader, Torque, who was still missing—were ordered to put up barricades at each open Door; they obeyed, although Dib knew there wasn't enough time and there weren't materials to do much good. It almost seemed to him as if the Keepers wanted people busy, wanted to delay the inevitable panic attacks. Dib helped as the Builders gathered every loose item they could find and piled them in the gaps, nailing things together as best they could. It looked ugly and pathetic and scared him to death—no way that'd keep the Grievers out.

As Dib worked, he caught glimpses of the other jobs going on across the Glade. Every flashlight in the compound was gathered and distributed to as many people as possible; Gaz said she planned for everyone to sleep in the Homestead that night, and that they'd kill the lights, except for emergencies. Spuddy's task was to take all the nonperishable food out of the kitchen and store it in the Homestead, in case they got trapped there—Dib could only imagine how horrible that'd be. Others were gathering supplies and tools; Dib saw Zita carrying weapons from the basement to the main building. Letter M had made it clear they could take no chances: they'd make the Homestead their fortress, and must do whatever it took to defend it.

Dib finally snuck away from the Builders and helped Zita, carrying up boxes of knives and barbwire-wrapped clubs. Then Zita said she had a special assignment from Gaz, and more or less told Dib to get lost, refusing to answer any of his questions.

This hurt Dib's feelings, but he left anyway, really wanting to talk to Gaz about something else. He finally found her, crossing the Glade on her way to the Blood House. "Gaz!" he called out, running to catch up. "You have to listen to me." Gaz stopped so suddenly Dib almost ran into her. The younger girl turned to give Dib such an annoyed look he thought twice about saying anything.

"Make it quick," Gaz said. Dib almost balked, not sure how to say what he was thinking. "You've gotta let the Irken go. Zim." He knew that he could only help, that he might still remember something valuable.

"Ah, glad to know you guys are buddies now." Gaz started walking off. "Don't waste my time, Dib."

Dib grabbed her arm. "Listen to me! There's something about him—I think he and I were sent here to help end this whole thing."

"Yeah—end it by lettin' the bloody Grievers waltz in here and kill us? I've heard some sucky plans in my day, Greenie, but that's got 'em all beat."

Dib groaned, wanting Gaz to know how frustrated he felt. "No, I don't think that's what it means —the walls not closing."

Gaz folded her arms; she looked exasperated. "Greenie, what're you yappin' about?" Ever since Dib had seen the words on the wall of the Maze—world in catastrophe, killzone experiment department—he'd been thinking about them. He knew if there was anyone who would believe him, it would be Gaz. "I think ... I think we're here as part of some weird experiment, or test, or something like that. But it's supposed to end somehow. We can't live here forever—whoever sent us here wants it to end. One way or another." Dib was relieved to get it off his chest.

Gaz rubbed her eyes. "And that's supposed to convince me that everything's jolly—that I should let the Irken go? Because he came and everything is suddenly do-or-die?"

"No, you're missing the point. I don't think he has anything to do with us being here. He's just a pawn —they sent him here as our last tool or hint or whatever to help us get out." Dib took a deep breath. "And I think they sent me, too. Just because he was the trigger for the Ending doesn't make him bad."

Gaz looked toward the Slammer. "You know what, I don't buggin' care right now. He can handle one night in there—if anything, he'll be safer than us."

Dib nodded, sensing a compromise. "Okay, we get through tonight, somehow. Tomorrow, when we have a whole day of safety, we can figure out what to do with him. Figure out what we're supposed to do."

Gaz snorted. "Dib, what's gonna make tomorrow any different? It's been two bloody years, ya know."

Dib had an overwhelming feeling that all of these changes were a spur, a catalyst for the endgame. "Because now we have to solve it. We'll be forced to. We can't live that way anymore, day to day, thinking that what matters most is getting back to the Glade before the Doors close, snug and safe."

Gaz thought a minute as she stood there, the bustle of the Glader preparations surrounding both of them. "Dig deeper. Stay out there while the walls move."

"Exactly," Dib said. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. And maybe we could barricade or blow up the entrance to the Griever Hole. Buy time to analyze the Maze."

"Letter M's the one who won't let the Irken out," Gaz said with a nod toward the Homestead. "That guy's not too high on you two shanks. But right now we just gotta slim ourselves and get to the wake-up."

Dib nodded. "We can fight 'em off." "Done it before, haven't you, Hercules?" Without smiling or even waiting for a response, Gaz walked away, yelling at people to finish up and get inside the Homestead.

Dib was happy with the conversation—it had gone about as well as he could've possibly hoped. He decided to hurry and talk to Zim before it was too late. As he sprinted for the Slammer on the back side of the Homestead, he watched as Gladers started moving inside, most of them with arms full of one thing or another.

Dib pulled up outside the small jail and caught his breath. "Zim?" he finally asked through the barred window of the lightless cell.

His green face popped up on the other side, startling him. He let out a small yelp before he could stop it—it took him a second to recover his wits. "You can be downright spooky, ya know?"

"That's very sweet," he said. "Thanks." In the darkness his hot pink eyes seemed to glow like a cat's. "You're welcome," Dib answered, ignoring his sarcasm. "Listen, I've been thinking." He paused to gather his thoughts.

"More than I can say for that Letter M schmuck," Zim muttered. Dib agreed, but was anxious to say what he'd come to say. "There's gotta be a way out of this place—we just have to push it, stay out in the Maze longer. And what you wrote on your arm, and what you said about a code, it all has to mean something, right?" It has to, he thought. He couldn't help feeling some hope.

"Yeah, I've been thinking the same thing. But first—can't you get me out of here?" His hands appeared, gripping the bars of the window. Dib felt the ridiculous urge to reach out and touch them.

"Well, Gaz said maybe tomorrow." Dib was just glad he'd gotten that much of a concession. "You'll have to make it through the night in there. It might actually be the safest place in the Glade."

"Thanks for asking her. Should be fun sleeping on this cold floor." He motioned behind him with a thumb. "Though I guess a Griever can't squeeze through this window, so I'll be happy, right?"

The mention of Grievers surprised Dib—he didn't remember talking about them to him yet. "Zim, are you sure you've forgotten everything?"

He thought a second. "It's weird—I guess I do remember some stuff. Unless I just heard people talking while I was in the coma."

"Well, I guess it doesn't matter right now. I just wanted to see you before I went inside for the night." But he didn't want to leave; he almost wished he could get thrown in the Slammer with him. He grinned inside—he could only imagine Gaz's response to that request.

"Dib?" Zim said. Dib realized he was staring off in a daze. "Oh, sorry. Yeah?" Zim's hands slipped back inside, disappeared. All he could see were his eyes, the pale glow of his green skin. "I don't know if I can do this—stay in this jail all night."

Dib felt an incredible sadness. He wanted to steal Gaz's keys and help him escape. But he knew that was a ridiculous idea. He'd just have to suffer and make do. He stared into those glowing eyes. "At least it won't get completely dark—looks like we're stuck with this twilight junk twenty-four hours a day now."

"Yeah..." He looked past him at the Homestead, then focused on him again. "I'm a tough Irken—I'll be okay."

Dib felt horrible leaving him there, but he knew he had no choice. "I'll make sure they let you out first thing tomorrow, okay?"

He smiled, making him feel better. "That's a promise, right?" "Promise." Dib tapped his right temple. "And if you get lonely, you can talk to me with your ... trick all you want. I'll try to answer back." He'd accepted it now, almost wanted it. He just hoped he could figure out how to talk back, so they could have a conversation.

You'll get it soon, Zim said in his mind. "I wish." He stood there, really not wanting to leave. At all. "You better go," the Irken said. "I don't want your brutal murder on my conscience." Dib managed his own smile at that. "All right. See you tomorrow." And before he could change his mind, he slipped away, heading around the corner toward the front door of the Homestead, just as the last couple of Gladers were entering, Gaz shooing them in like errant chickens. Dib stepped inside as well, followed by Gaz, who closed the door behind him.

Just before it latched shut, Dib thought he heard the first eerie moan of the Grievers, coming from somewhere deep in the Maze.

The night had begun.