Author's note:
So, I managed to update the story within a week. yay.
and also, I noticed that it's been three months since I posted the first chapter, which I think is kind of cool.
anyway, here's chapter 8, enjoy.
Chapter 8. Nightmare.
Thomas wasn't a stranger to nightmares. He usually dreaded falling asleep, because most nights he would be plagued by his memories. As much as he expected what he would see, there was no way to prepare.
The safety he'd felt when falling asleep was completely gone as Thomas found himself back in the Glade
He willed himself to wake up, but instead, he started walking. He didn't know why he just did. It was as if someone was controlling his body.
As he walked he saw bodies. They were everywhere, covered in blood in a way that made them unidentifiable.
The Glade was completely silent, Thomas couldn't even hear the sound of his own footsteps. He wondered if this was what it felt like to be deaf.
Suddenly he bumped into something, though he was sure it hadn't been there moments before. He looked up with a sense of dread, a feeling which intensified as he found himself staring into a pair of eyes. The dark eyes had the unfocused stare of a dead person.
Thomas tried not to scream, but a small whimper escaped him as he tried to back away.
He felt something on his arm, a hand. It was cold but firm, and it held Thomas like a shackle made of ice.
He tried to yank his arm away, but the grip only tightened. That, combined with the cold, made Thomas' arm feel numb, and he could feel it spread through the rest of him.
He stood like a statue, frozen with cold and fear, and for some reason, guilt.
He was still looking into the person's eyes, but he managed to pry his gaze away enough to study the rest of the face.
He registered dark skin and hard features, and with a start, he realized who he was looking at. Alby.
His face held no expression and looked just as dead as his eyes. The only thing indicating life was the fact that he was holding Thomas' arm, and of course, he was standing up.
Then he opened his mouth to speak.
"Why did you let me do it, Thomas?" Alby asked, his voice monotone, his eyes still lifeless.
"W-what?" Thomas stammered, though he knew perfectly well what Alby meant.
"You could have stopped it," Alby continued, his voice still not giving away any emotions.
"N-no," was all Thomas managed to get out. He wanted to explain that there was no time, that he'd realized too late what was happening when Alby had sacrificed himself to the grievers.
"It's your fault," Alby told him.
Was it? Could he have stopped it? Part of Thomas knew that the answer was no, but there was something with Alby's voice that tried to convince him that he was telling the truth, and he believed Alby for just a moment.
"YOUR FAULT!" Alby repeated, significantly louder. It was unnerving how his voice was still emotionless, even as he shouted.
Then cuts appeared all over Alby's face as if the grievers were tearing him apart once more. Except there were no grievers this time. Blood started flooding down his face, which would have soaked his clothes had it not been for the slashes on the rest of his body that had already turned the material crimson.
Thomas' arm was drenched too. He wanted to get rid of the blood, he would have done anything to make the warm wetness go away, but he was still unable to get rid of Alby's grip.
"My blood is on your hands," Alby said, more blood spilling out of his mouth as he spoke.
Thomas wanted to scream. He would have if it wasn't for the lump forming in his throat
He thought the lump was caused by the fear and guilt he was feeling, but he realized that it wasn't that as it got bigger and bigger. He couldn't breathe, he coughed and clawed at his throat with his free hand. To his relief, the coughing worked, but the relief was exchanged with pure terror as dark blood streamed from his mouth.
He could feel more blood coming and he was choking again. He doubled over and coughed and spat with a feeling of sheer desperation.
He stood like that for what felt like forever, sure he was going to die, then Alby started shaking his arm for some reason, though he could barely feel it. It felt so distant. Actually, everything was feeling distant. His vision started turning dark.
He couldn't see anything. He wasn't coughing up any more blood. He could only feel one thing, someone shaking his arm.
He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again he was almost blinded by fluorescent light. He blinked a few times to make his eyes adjust to the brightness. As he did so, he realized that he had been dreaming, though he still felt horrified, and he was drenched in sweat.
Not until he could see again did he notice that someone was leaning over him. He realized quickly that it was Newt. He must've been the one who shook him awake.
"Are you okay Tommy?" He asked, looking concerned.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Thomas said, his voice hoarse from just waking up.
"Sure you are," Newt said sarcastically, "you were whimpering and thrashing until I woke you up." He was standing normally now, with his arms crossed.
"Just a nightmare," Thomas muttered as he sat up. To his embarrassment, he found that everyone was looking at him.
"Really, it's nothing," he told them while trying to prevent the heat that was rising to his face.
He wondered how long he'd slept. He was feeling relatively rested, despite the nightmare. He moved to check his watch, only to realize that he wasn't wearing it. He didn't remember taking it off either, which probably meant it had been taken. Come to think of it, he didn't recall having it the day before, so maybe he hadn't had a watch at all.
"What time is it?" He asked. It couldn't have been that early, since no one appeared to be sleeping, unless he had accidentally woken them of course.
"Probably around seven in the morning, though we can't be sure, since those shuck-faces didn't bother to put up a clock," Minho informed him.
Thomas wondered if the people at WICKED had made that decision on purpose, to make them all disoriented. It could be 7 am, it could also be 7 pm. He decided it would be best not to dwell on that.
On second thought, maybe he should have dwelled on it. That might have been better than the awkward silence that ensued.
Thomas wasn't sure why he felt embarrassed about having a nightmare, after all, everyone in the room suffered from them too, but he still had to fight a blush from appearing on his face.
"So, what do we do now?" Asked Frypan in an attempt to end the silence. Thomas felt relieved, now he had something to think about other than his dream. He stood up so everyone could see and hear him properly
"We need to find group B, see where they stand in the situation," Thomas said thoughtfully, "do you know anything about that?" He asked Aris. He remembered that Aris had told him that the girls hated him, but he hoped he had some idea.
"I talked to Sonya and Harriet earlier. They're obviously upset about the simulation thing, but they still want to help WICKED," Aris explained.
Thomas hadn't spent much time with group B, but he wasn't surprised by what he heard. He was glad that they weren't making plans for escape, but he would have to talk to them before they could agree to do anything. It wouldn't likely take much convincing to make them give WICKED the same deal. Hopefully, he'd get to talk to them soon. After all, it would be harder to get WICKED to accept their deal if the other group was already co-operating without conditions.
"Oh, and we need to find Brenda, too," Thomas added as an afterthought.
"Why?" Newt asked.
"What do you mean 'why'?"
"I mean, how do we know if we can trust her? it wouldn't be the first time she's tricked us."
"She didn't want to trick us," Thomas protested.
"Well, she did it anyway, and if she was just as clueless as us, then why isn't she here with us?" Newt snapped.
Thomas wanted to protest, but he couldn't find a good answer. why was she somewhere else? He couldn't imagine her going behind their backs, but the Gladers were not a very trusting group.
"That's right," Newt said, "you only trust her because you have a crush on her."
Thomas took a step back in shock, his face a dark shade of red. He wanted to say that he didn't trust her because of some crush, he also wanted to deny said crush. Unfortunately, the only sound he made was some incoherent stuttering.
He expected Newt to use that as proof that he'd been correct, but instead, he put his face in his hands.
"Sorry, Tommy," he said, voice somewhat muffled by his hands, "I didn't mean that."
"It's okay, I know you didn't mean it," Thomas assured him. He was relieved that it was over, and he did know Newt hadn't meant it, but the words still stung. The worst part was that there must've been some kind of truth in what he'd said, even if the words weren't really his. Did he really think that Thomas trusted Brenda blindly because he liked her? Did the others think that, too? What if they were right? Thomas didn't like her that way, but they were still friends. He liked talking to her, and he trusted her. What if that was a mistake?
He tried not to put too much thought into the poisonous words of the flare. If it turned out she was truly on their side, mistrusting her could ruin their friendship.
He knew he would have to get used to arguments like this if they didn't find the cure soon. It was only a matter of time before it would spiral out of control.
Thomas felt exhausted all of a sudden. He considered sitting down on his bunk bed again, and possibly take a nap, but before he could, the door opened.
"Morning kids," said a tall guard with a voice that was more cheerful than you'd expect from someone that looked so intimidating, "it's breakfast time, and as a warm-up for today, you have to find the cafeteria by yourselves."