CHAPTER 41

"I'll be back," Dib said, turning to go. His stomach was full of acid. "I gotta find Gaz, see if any of the Maps survived."

"Wait!" Zim yelled. "Get me out of here!" But there was no time, and Dib felt awful about it. "I can't—I'll be back, I promise." He turned before he could protest and set off at a sprint for the Map Room and its foggy black cloud of smoke. Needles of pain pricked his insides. If Zim was right, and they'd been that close to figuring out some kind of clue to get out of there, only to see it literally lost in flames ... It was so upsetting it hurt.

The first thing Dib saw when he ran up was a group of Gladers huddled just outside the large steel door, still ajar, its outer edge blackened with soot. But as he got closer, he realized they were surrounding something on the ground, all of them looking down at it. He spotted Gaz, kneeling there in the middle, leaning over a body.

Zita was standing behind her, looking distraught and dirty, and spotted Dib first. "Where'd you go?" she asked.

"To talk to Zim—what happened?" He waited anxiously for the next dump of bad news. Zita's forehead creased in anger. "Our Map Room was set on fire and you ran off to talk to your shuck alien boyfriend? What's wrong with you?"

Dib knew the rebuke should've stung, but his mind was too preoccupied. "I didn't think it mattered anymore—if you haven't figured out the Maps by now ..."

Zita looked disgusted, the pale light and fog of smoke making her face seem almost sinister. "Yeah, this'd be a great freaking time to give up. What the—"

"I'm sorry—just tell me what happened." Dib leaned over the shoulder of a skinny boy standing in front of him to get a look at the body on the ground.

It was Letter M, flat on his back, a huge gash on his forehead. Blood seeped down both sides of his head, some into his eyes, crusting there. Gaz was cleaning it with a wet rag, gingerly, asking questions in a whisper too low to hear. Dib, concerned for Letter M despite his recent ill-tempered ways, turned back to Zita and repeated his question.

"Flan found him out here, half dead, the Map Room blazing. Some shanks got in there and put it out, but way too late. All the trunks are burned to a freaking crisp. I suspected Letter M at first, but whoever did it slammed his shuck head against the table—you can see where. It's nasty."

"Who do you think did it?" Dib was hesitant to tell her about the possible discovery he and Zim had made. With no Maps, the point was moot.

"Maybe Torque before he showed up in the Homestead and went psycho? Maybe the Grievers? I don't know, and I don't care. Doesn't matter."

Dib was surprised at the sudden change of heart. "Now who's the one giving up?" Zita's head snapped up so quickly, Dib took a step backward. There was a flash of anger there, but it quickly melted into an odd expression of surprise or confusion. "That's not what I meant, shank."

Dib narrowed his eyes in curiosity. "What did—" "Just shut your hole for now." Zita put her fingers to her lips, her eyes darting around to see if anyone was looking at her. "Just shut your hole. You'll find out soon enough."

Dib took a deep breath and thought. If he expected the other kids to be honest, he should be honest too. He decided he'd better share about the possible Maze code, Maps or no Maps. "Zita, I need to tell you and Gaz something. And we need to let Zim out—he's probably starving and we could use his help."

"That stupid Irken is the last thing I'm worried about." Dib ignored the insult. "Just give us a few minutes—we have an idea. Maybe it'll still work if enough Runners remember their Maps."

This seemed to get Zita's full attention—but again, there was that same strange look, as if Dib was missing something very obvious. "An idea? What?"

"Just come over to the Slammer with me. You and Gaz." Zita thought for a second. "Gaz!" she called out. "Yeah?" Gaz stood up, refolding her bloody rag to find a clean spot. Dib couldn't help noticing that every inch was drenched in red.

Zita pointed down at Letter M. "Let the Med-jacks take care of him. We need to talk." Gaz gave her a questioning look, then handed the rag to the closest Glader. "Go find Gretchen—tell her we got worse problems than guys with buggin' splinters." When the kid ran off to do as he was told, Gaz stepped away from Letter M. "Talk about what?"

Zita nodded at Dib, but didn't say anything. "Just come with me," Dib said. Then he turned and headed for the Slammer without waiting for a response.

"Let him out." Dib stood by the cell door, arms folded. "Let him out, and then we'll talk. Trust me— you wanna hear it."

Gaz was covered in soot and dirt, her hair matted with sweat. She certainly didn't seem to be in a very good mood. "Dib, this is—"

"Please. Just open it—let him out. Please." He wouldn't give up this time. Zita stood in front of the door with her hands on her hips. "How can we trust him?" she asked. "Soon as he woke up, the whole place fell to pieces. He even admitted he triggered something."

"She's got a point," Gaz said. Dib gestured through the door at Zim. "We can trust him. Every time I've talked to him, it's something about trying to get out of here. He was sent here just like the rest of us—it's stupid to think he's responsible for any of this."

Gaz grunted. "Then what the bloody shuck did he mean by sayin' he triggered something?" Dib shrugged, refusing to admit that Gaz had a good point. There had to be an explanation. "Who knows—his mind was doing all kinds of weird stuff when he woke up. Maybe we all went through that in the Box, talking gibberish before we came totally awake. Just let him out."

Gaz and Zita exchanged a long look. "Come on," Dib insisted. "What's he gonna do, run around and stab every Glader to death? Come on."

Zita sighed. "Fine. Just let the stupid Irken out."

"I'm not stupid!" Zim shouted, his voice muffled by the walls. "And I can hear every word you morons are saying!"

Gaz's eyes widened. "Real sweet Irken you picked up, Dib." "Just hurry," Dib said. "I'm sure we have a lot to do before the Grievers come back tonight—if they don't come during the day."

Gaz grunted and stepped up to the Slammer, pulling her keys out as she did so. A few clinks later the door swung wide open. "Come on."

Zim walked out of the small building, glowering at Gaz as he passed her. He gave a just-as-unpleasant glance toward Zita, then stopped to stand right next to Dib. His arm brushed against his; tingles shot across his skin, and he felt mortally embarrassed.

"All right, talk," Zita said. "What's so important?" Dib looked at Zim, wondering how to say it. "What?" he said. "You talk—they obviously think I'm a serial killer." "Yeah, you look so dangerous," Dib muttered, but he turned his attention to Gaz and Zita. "Okay, when Zim was first coming out of his deep sleep, he had memories flashing through his mind. He, um"—he just barely stopped himself from saying he'd said it inside his mind—"he told me later that he remembers that the Maze is a code. That maybe instead of solving it to find a way out, it's trying to send us a message."

"A code?" Zita asked. "How's it a code?" Dib shook his head, wishing he could answer. "I don't know for sure—you're way more familiar with the Maps than I am. But I have a theory. That's why I was hoping you guys could remember some of them."

Zita glanced at Gaz, her eyebrows raised in question. Gaz nodded. "What?" Dib asked, fed up with them keeping information from him. "You guys keep acting like you have a secret."

Zita rubbed her eyes with both hands, took a deep breath. "We hid the Maps, Dib." At first it didn't compute. "Huh?" Zita pointed at the Homestead. "We hid the freaking Maps in the weapons room, put dummies in their place. Because of Letter M's warning. And because of the so-called Ending your boyfriend triggered."

Dib was so excited to hear this news he temporarily forgot how awful things had become. He remembered Zita acting suspicious the day before, saying she had a special assignment. Dib looked over at Gaz, who nodded.

"They're all safe and sound," Zita said. "Every last one of those suckers. So if you have a theory, get talking."

"Take me to them," Dib said, itching to have a look. "Okay, let's go."