CHAPTER 45

By Dib's watch, it was midmorning when he and Zita stepped through the West Door back into the Glade. Dib was so tired he wanted to lie down right there and take a nap. They'd been in the Maze for roughly twenty-four hours.

Surprisingly, despite the dead light and everything falling apart, the day in the Glade appeared to be proceeding business as usual—farming, gardening, cleaning. It didn't take long for some of the kids to notice them standing there. Gaz was notified and she came running.

"You're the first to come back," she said as she walked up to them. "What happened?" The childlike look of hope on her face broke Dib's heart—she obviously thought they'd found something important. "Tell me you've got good news."

Zita's eyes were dead, staring at a spot somewhere in the gray distance. "Nothing," she said. "The Maze is a big freaking joke."

Gaz looked at Dib, confused. "What's she talking about?"

"She's just discouraged," Dib said with a weary shrug. "We didn't find anything different. The walls haven't moved, no exits, nothing. Did the Grievers come last night?"

Gaz paused, darkness passing over her face. Finally, she nodded. "Yeah. They took Alex." Dib didn't know the name, and felt guilty for feeling nothing.

Just one person again, he thought. Maybe Torque was right.

Gaz was about to say something else when Zita freaked out, startling Dib. "I'm sick of this!" Zita spat in the ivy, veins popping out of her neck. "I'm sick of it! It's over! It's all over!" She took off her backpack and threw it on the ground. "There's no exit, never was, never will be. We're all shucked."

Dib watched, his throat dry, as Zita stomped off toward the Homestead. It worried him—if Zita gave up, they were all in big trouble.

Gaz didn't say a word. She left Dib standing there, now in his own daze. Despair hung in the air like the smoke from the Map Room, thick and acrid.

The other Runners returned within the hour, and from what Dib heard, none of them had found anything and they'd eventually given up as well. Glum faces were everywhere throughout the Glade, and most of the workers had abandoned their daily jobs.

Dib knew that the code of the Maze was their only hope now. It had to reveal something. It had to. And after aimlessly wandering the Glade to hear the other Runners' stories, he snapped out of his funk.

Zim? he said in his mind, closing his eyes, as if that would do the trick. Where are you? Did you figure anything out?

After a long pause, he almost gave up, thinking it didn't work. Huh? Dib, did you say something?

Yeah, he said, excited he'd made contact again. Can you hear me? Am I doing this thing right?

Sometimes it's choppy, but it's working. Kinda freaky, huh?

Dib thought about that—actually, he was sort of getting used to it. It's not so bad. Are you guys still in the basement? I saw Gaz but then she disappeared again.

Still here. Gaz had three or four Gladers help us trace the Maps. I think we have the code all figured out.

Dib's heart leaped into his throat. Serious?

Get down here.

I'm coming. He was already moving as he said it, somehow not feeling so exhausted anymore.

Gaz let him in.

"Zita still hasn't shown up," she said as they walked down the stairs to the basement. "Sometimes she turns into a buggin' hothead."

Dib was surprised Zita was wasting time sulking, especially with the code possibilities. He pushed the thought aside as he entered the room. Several Gladers he didn't know were gathered around the table, standing; they all looked exhausted, their eyes sunken. Piles of Maps lay scattered all over the place, including the floor. It looked as if a tornado had touched down right in the middle of the room.

Zim was leaning against a stack of shelves, reading a single sheet of paper. He glanced up when he entered, but then returned his gaze to whatever it was he held. This saddened him a little—he'd hoped he'd be happy to see him—but then he felt really stupid for even having the thought. He was obviously busy figuring out the code.

You have to see this, Zim said to him just as Gaz dismissed her helpers—they clomped up the wooden stairs, a couple of them grumbling about doing all that work for nothing.

Dib started, for a brief moment worried that Gaz could tell what was going on. Don't talk in my head while Gaz's around. I don't want her knowing about our ... gift.

"Come check this out," Zim said aloud, barely hiding the smirk that flashed across his face.

"I'll get down on my knees and kiss your bloody feet if you can figure it out," Gaz said. Dib walked over to Zim, eager to see what they'd come up with. He held out the paper, eyebrows raised.

"No doubt this is right," he said. "Just don't have a clue what it means." Dib took the paper and scanned it quickly. There were numbered circles running down the left side, one to six. Next to each one was a word written in big blocky letters.

FLOAT CATCH BLEED DEATH STIFF PUSH That was it. Six words. Disappointment washed over Dib—he'd been sure the purpose of the code would be obvious once they had it figured out. He looked up at Zim with a sunken heart. "That's all? Are you sure they're in the right order?"

He took the paper back from him. "The Maze has been repeating those words for months—we finally quit when that became clear. Each time, after the word PUSH, it goes a full week without showing any letter at all, and then it starts over again with FLOAT. So we figured that's the first word, and that's the order."

Dib folded his arms and leaned against the shelves next to Zim. Without thinking about it, he'd memorized the six words, welded them to his mind. Float. Catch. Bleed. Death. Stiff. Push. That didn't sound good.

"Cheerful, don't ya think?" Gaz said, mirroring his thoughts exactly. "Yeah," Dib replied with a frustrated groan. "We need to get Zita down here—maybe she knows something we don't. If we just had more clues—" He froze, hit by a dizzy spell; he would've fallen to the floor if he hadn't had the shelves to lean on. An idea had just occurred to him. A horrible, terrible, awful idea. The worst idea in the history of horrible, terrible, awful ideas.

But instinct told him he was right. That it was something he had to do. "Dib?" Gaz asked, stepping closer with a look of concern creasing her forehead. "What's wrong with you? Your face just went white as a ghost."

Dib shook his head, composing himself. "Oh ... nothing, sorry. My eyes are hurting—I think I need some sleep." He rubbed his temples for effect.

Are you okay? Zim asked in his mind. He looked to see that he was as worried as Gaz, which made him feel good.

Yeah. Seriously, I'm tired. I just need some rest.

"Well," Gaz said, reaching out to squeeze Dib's shoulder. "You spent all bloody night out in the Maze—go take a nap."

Dib looked at Zim, then at Gaz. He wanted to share his idea, but decided against it. Instead, he just nodded and headed for the stairs.

All the same, Dib now had a plan. As bad as it was, he had a plan. They needed more clues about the code. They needed memories. So he was going to get stung by a Griever. Go through the Changing. On purpose.