Six months of preparation had been reduced to nothing more than a half-successful plan.
Night arrived once again in the Right Arm's dormitory. A rather rushed one, in fact. No more than half an hour ago, Bergs had flown over the city near where they were, forcing a sudden lights-out that inevitably brought forward everyone's bedtime. The new Immunes rescued that morning had their hammocks and beds all together on one side, where they felt safer. All except one; Rachel. She slept near Aris, Sonya, and Harriet, tossing and turning around in her hammock like she hadn't known proper sleep in a while. It made sense since, the last time Thomas and Aris saw her, she was half-dead and being used as a vessel for a cure prototype.
Mae's eyes landed on her more times than she would like to admit. She was happy about the faint change in Aris's and Sonya's attitude ever since Rachel had arrived. They weren't livelier, but at least smiled every so often, even if it was only not to worry her and Harriet.
With William's letter in her hands, Mae lay in the dark and listened to everyone's paused breathing; ones forced, and others genuine. The letter to her group, the one she kept in her right pocket, was haunting her sleep. Words and phrases appeared in her mind with William's voice for company, forcing her eyes open to scan her surroundings each time.
It would be a long night of infinite waiting.
She pressed the letter to her chest while watching the reflected moonlight dance around the dormitory's ceiling. Although that wasn't the only light around. A couple of rows to her left, sharing a small table with Henry, George, and Chuck, the torch designated for emergencies only was being used for Newt's unexpected midnight reading. With his left hand, he held the letter, and with his right, he maintained the torch at a fair distance to read the words without blinding himself or others nearby. It had only been a day since that letter had gone from her possession to its rightful owner, and the reaction they all had been expecting finally appeared — obsession.
Newt's eyes didn't detach once from the ink and paper, just like hers the first day she had read her group's, or Aris when he had read his own. It would become unhealthy if it was left alone to unravel. However, with Thomas's 'secret' undergoing 'saving Minho at all costs' plan, she doubted Newt would have another moment to breathe and let his emotions take over him.
It had been six months since he had found the letters in his pocket. Six months since William had left them in his care without Newt even knowing. And he was the last one to read any of them. Through conversations in the Right Arm during their first month, Newt had naturally picked up a few details about Aris's and Group S's, but he had never dared to read them himself. Not even when Sonya, who, as William's letter explained, was his sister, offered to read it with him.
"Newt," said Sonya softly, almost like she was about to tell him a secret. "Thomas is not back yet."
"I know," Newt replied, his eyes leaving the paper, only to look at his sister. "He's planning to go looking for Minho."
Sonya fell silent at this. Not out of shock or surprise, but worry. "Are you going after him?"
"Well, we started this together," said Newt, "may as well end it that way, too."
"I guessed so." Sonya turned to look elsewhere in the darkness, around where Aris, Harriet, and Rachel were sleeping. "I wish I could go with you."
"No, you should stay here," Newt said, leaving the torch on the table, but keeping the letter carefully folded on his lap. "Take care of them. Aris has had enough. He shouldn't lose a friend now."
"What if I lose you?" asked Sonya.
"If there's something I've learned about my time in the Scorch, it's that Tommy has one hell of crazy plans, but they usually work." A snigger left his lips like a shaky breath. "Although, better leave Mae to supervise him. With her, we might just all make it back alive."
Sonya nodded slightly as if convinced by his words, yet turned to look at her brother with fear lurking in her eyes. "What if she doesn't go with you?"
"She'll go," Newt said without an ounce of doubt. "All her group will go." A second passed, but soon, he added, "they need to avenge Liam."
"Just be careful, please."
"I'll be. I promise."
After some minutes of chatter, a long-lasting hug became what could become the last interaction between the two siblings. Sonya walked back to her hammock, double-checking every time she saw fit, which turned out to be almost every two seconds.
Mae took the opportunity to approach Newt, who didn't even try to appear asleep. "Are you sure about this?"
Newt scooted closer to the table, leaving Mae enough space to sit down. "That buggin' idiot is probably waiting for us to fall asleep to sneak out. I won't let him go by himself, Mae."
"You have family, Newt."
"So do you, and yet you're going, aren't you?"
Mae pressed her lips into a thin line, repressing the urge to tell off her friend. "Not even William himself knew what my relationship with Harriet was. We could have just been friends."
"Yeah, friends," scoffed Newt. "Just like Liam and me before the Maze, no? Just friends."
With little regard for giving away that he was still awake, George pulled down the blanket covering him up to his shoulder and opened his eyes. He wasn't the only one, though. Most in Group S were restless, and waiting for Thomas to make the first move was becoming a tiring and long wait.
"It's not my fault that your definition of friends is 'two people that want to get married'," said Mae.
A rustle turned many heads in Frypan's direction. Just like Group S, faking to be asleep had turned out to be bothering him. His bed was right next to Chuck's, yet it had become ten times messier than the little boy's bed would ever get.
"You act like it's yours, too," Frypan said while sitting up.
As if the shadows had stepped back to let them through, Rowan and Flor appeared behind George's hammock, giving him a slight scare. Rowan stopped there, taking a seat next to George in his hammock to join in the conversation. However, Flor continued walking past Frypan's bed and to Chuck's.
She stroked his hair with care, brushing it with her fingers, and making sure it didn't fall back on his eyelids. It could be her last time seeing her little brother, and she wanted to grave it in stone. Neither her memory nor WICKED could be trusted, and she wouldn't allow her mind to forget her little brother one more time. She wouldn't forget Chuck.
"Flor, George, if you don't want to come—" Mae began, but she was cut off right away.
"I do," said George decisively. "And Brenda said she'd come, too."
"She will?" Rowan asked, to which he simply nodded. "I guess the more, the merrier."
Mae's eyes fell on Newt's letter as she spoke. "What about you Flor?"
"Chuck's staying," she answered with just as much conviction as George, "but I'm going. I want to make WICKED pay."
"Revenge." Henry sat up on his bed, surprising Frypan and Newt, who hadn't noticed his fake breathing earlier. "That, I like. WICKED has had enough fun watching us suffer for a long time. They have to know how that feels. They have to pay for what they've done."
As if it were a silent agreement, those in Group S glanced at Newt's letter simultaneously, not needing to read a single line to remember each and every word that had been written with such quick and messy handwriting that it almost didn't seem like their friend's handwriting at all.
"For what they did to William."
Dear Newt,
I can't begin to tell you how difficult writing your letter is. Where do I begin? Should I tell you how I feel? Does it even matter?
Of course, I could walk over to you and explain everything. You're just a minute's walk away from me as of the time that I'm writing this letter. But, trust me, as hilarious as this may sound due to the memory wipe, I know myself. I would freeze, and no words would come out. I would probably end up blabbering nonsense, and tell you something like, 'I like you back, but I could infect you, and I would rather kill myself than let it happen, so I'm going away'.
Pretty stupid, right? Trust me, I know perfectly well that I'm being a coward by writing this instead of facing you. Well, I guess I'm only brave when I have a gun in my hands, or when I'm all cranked up. But I don't think I can look you in the eyes while telling you that I'm going away, because I know you'll see through my lies.
I know you'll look at me and say, "so you're giving up on living."
You'd be right, of course, but I don't want to hear it. Not from you, or Aris, and certainly not from anyone in my group. You all have enough as it is, and I doubt things will get any easier.
I've prolonged this for a darn long time, sorry. Actually, the reason behind all this blabbering nonsense is family. I remembered, Newt. Sorry, but I lied about only remembering that one test when I was thirteen. Truth is, I remember much more than that. And I remembered you, just as much as I remembered Sonya.
There's something you should know. You two are siblings.
Just like me and Aris, WICKED divided you and never let you meet. I was a sort of messenger between you two whenever I could, but there weren't many chances since I was always out killing people for the darn missions and trials.
It may sound like an excuse, but I'm OK with how I'll go. I don't want to die in WICKED's hands. Being with Brenda and other Cranks doesn't really sound so bad. Although, perhaps it's just the Bliss losing its effects. Maybe I'm already going cranky. Who knows?
I'm just happy that you'll never see it. I'd rather have you remember me as I am now, even if I'm nothing more than a confused and scared kid.
It's OK. We always knew we wouldn't have much time together, anyway. Death never scared me as much as the thought that I might cause yours. It's like I freeze in place. I can't think, I can't move. Sometimes, I wish you would come over and hug the fear out of me like you've always done, even when you couldn't remember who I was. But I won't let your life get any messier. I'm sorry that I'll break our promise, but I can't bring myself to even wonder how becoming a Crank could affect you. Doesn't matter if we'll never be 'the first Cranks to ever get married'. I need you to be safe. Although I may not have much time left, you still have a long life ahead of you. Enjoy it, Newt, for the both of us.
Love you, Blondie.
— Li
Teresa walked hurriedly along the corridor, not minding the people or the guard that she had been assigned to that day, constantly following her. She had a destination, and, though she wasn't late, each minute felt like an hour of walking.
Everything was the same. Same white walls, white-tiled floor, and many windows that let her see the city outside, at least the one protected behind the walls. She kept going straight, reading the usual signs on her way; the only detail that made WICKED's building have some differentiations with a maze. It wasn't intentional, of course, though, despite her little time in the Glade, her work in the Mind Control Malfunction experiment had completely ruined the little tolerance she had towards it.
"Are you ready?" Those words were Ava Paige's greetings. "It'll be fine."
With a curt nod of her head, Teresa looked back at the front and didn't reply. The meeting in mere minutes would decide the fate of Non-Immunes and Immunes alike, just like the Cranks. If they didn't convince the investors, the war would take over. Group S wouldn't be formed this time by scared Non-Immune children. They would be prepared and mentally hijacked Immunes with no choice but to follow orders.
She was anything but ready.
And, just as expected, the meeting wasn't going as planned. The investors began with their worries over the people inside the walls — the last trace of hope for humanity's continued survival in their country — which became lesser and lesser each day. It was soon followed by their worries over the sealed walls that had gone from mandatory checks on the people to denying all entry.
"Because things are changing. And not for the better. Infection rates were up to 300%. Fortunately, we might be on the verge of a breakthrough." Ava Paige took a step to the side, letting Minho's photo lit up on the screen. "This is Subject A7. He spent over two years in the Maze Trials. The antibodies produced in response have been the strongest we've ever seen. We're extracting a new serum as we speak. And with your support, we'd like to begin human trials."
Doctor Paige's words did not convince the investors, as Teresa would have liked to. She wanted them to forget any other option. The cure was all they had to concentrate on. Although Minho being the best subject of them all would become a complication.
"Frankly, we are all beginning to wonder if—" one of the investors hadn't finished her sentence yet, when another spoke over her rudely.
"If our resources couldn't be better spent elsewhere."
A man that so far had been standing at the opposite side of the screen cleared his throat, gaining everybody's attention. "As it's been said, I admire the hope Doctor Page has in her field. However, my research, as of late, has been proven successful." The screen changed again, this time to show somebody else's photo. William. "This is Soldier S5; a non-Immune that could, until recently, go against mind control. He's been under close vigilance for over ten years, and thanks to his brain patterns, we developed a new mind control device. One that even the most strong-willed could never go against."
"Doctor Earl, if I'm correct, your last Trial to prove the device's effectiveness was to force Soldier S5 to jump off a Maze Trial wall," said Ava Paige.
"And it was successful," he replied. "I believe we could benefit from working together, Doctor Paige. If Subject A7's antibodies are the strongest you've ever seen, that means the other Immunes are of no use to you. With the new mind control device, we could have an army of mindless soldiers Immune to the Flare."
Mindless soldiers. The trigger words snapped Teresa out of her terror. She claimed everyone's attention with her defence of the Immunes, and the true meaning behind Doctor Earl's research. The army wasn't to keep the civilization safe from Cranks. Just like Group S, it was meant to kill anybody who could become a threat. Children would be forced to kill people. Again.
"How many of you have lost someone to the virus?" she asked, tired of the indifferent looks she was receiving from the investors.
"A niece," the woman replied. "Anna."
"I'm sorry we weren't able to help her," said Teresa, breathing in and out to remind herself where she was and what she had to do. "But imagine if we were able to live with the virus. To survive it. Imagine being able to tell Anna that you could give her the chance to live a normal life. We've never been this close to a cure. And we've sacrificed a lot to get this far. An army would just increase our losses and worsen our sacrifices. Please, don't let those that we've already made be for nothing. The infected deserve a chance at life as much as anybody else."
In the end, the meeting ended with a temporary success for the cure's research. They were all dismissed in no time and allowed to go back to their respective jobs. However, Teresa didn't go back to the laboratory where she had been working for the past six months.
There was a place she had to be, and for that one, she was late.
The doors to the solitary confinement room opened as soon as she stepped in, allowing her to walk inside the most protected room in all WICKED. Ironically, it was also the most unprotected. There were no cameras or microphones since they were useless in a room with hardly forty minutes of lights a day, and what had once become an endless recording of singing and humming.
Abraham waited patiently for her, tapping his foot at the rhythm of the recording of William's humming. It had been a month since they had seen it, though she doubted anybody could forget it. Certainly not when only a few months before he had been told that he wasn't just any brainwashed WICKED's guard, he was an Immune with two children; one of which starred in that nightmare of a recording.
"Hey, Teresa, you're here earlier than expected," he greeted, making her lips curve up slightly without even her realising. "Did that prick give you trouble again?"
"He wants to create another Group S but with Immunes," she replied, her soft smile falling as she talked. "I managed to delay it a few more months. But it won't take long before we're back at square one."
"It's difficult to find a way out without having half WICKED finding out, and your friends are not going to make it any easier," Abraham said, turning his head to look at her, though, to Teresa, she saw nothing more than a black helmet. It had been a while since she had seen the blue eyes that Aris and William had inherited, and perhaps it was for the better. She wanted no intrusive thoughts to meddle in such important discussions. "Really, we gave them such simple clues. How did they mess up?"
"The carriages are all the same, and not even we knew the number exactly, only the range where it was. There were technically two carriages in which he could have been. I guess they just had bad luck," said Teresa, feeling a need to defend her friends, who she knew would already be blaming themselves enough as it was.
"I feel bad for them, but now they'll come here to try and be heroes, and that means more work for us." He rubbed his neck tiredly, letting out a sigh as his helmet turned to stare back at the plain wall. "About my kid, William, um, he…"
"Don't worry," Teresa replied, not needing to hear the question to know Abraham's worry. "He's in sublevel four. Doctor Earl couldn't rush his recovery as much as he expected."
"I'm just worried about his leg," he said, fixing up his suit out of his own nerves. "The wobbly thing protected him from the fall, but his leg still got quite the nasty hit. You think he'll be able to run around when we get the kids out of here?"
"Doctor Earl forbade me from meeting him." Teresa's hands balled into fists, but she decided to ignore it as she crossed her arms over her chest. "He said that I had tampered with the Variables… He was so ready to let William die. But now he wants him alive. He wants me to watch William get out of the walls, knowing one day he won't come back. That he might get infected… again."
Teresa couldn't see Abraham's expression at all, but she could swear he had just batted his eyelashes in pure astonishment as he turned his head to look at her. "I think I heard you wrong… What do you mean, 'again'?"