Chapter 28.
Newt was no longer standing outside the showers. Thomas hesitated for a moment. He looked around but saw neither Newt nor the girls. He knocked on the door to no response.
He opened the door slowly, and when he was not met with any protests he looked inside.
Newt sat on a bench, dressed in fresh clothes and drying his hair with a towel.
"There you are, Tommy. Took you long enough," he said, his words tinged with a distinct grumpiness.
"What's up with you?" Thomas asked. Newt gave him the unsurprising answer of "nothing".
Thomas didn't feel like prying at the moment. He grabbed a grey towel from a pile on a shelf and went into the adjacent room. In the room, there were three shower-stalls along the wall, a long plastic bench on the other side, a few hooks over the bench, and a large laundry basket in the corner. He was grateful to find a few pairs of clothes folded neatly on the bench. After hanging his towel on the wall and putting his dirty clothes in the laundry basket, Thomas stepped into the shower and made the unpleasant discovery that the water only had one temperature: cold as ice.
He wasted no time in scrubbing off the dirt, drying himself with the towel, and getting dressed. The clothes were simple, if not boring. Grey t-shirt, grey sweatpants, grey socks. The clothes had clearly been worn many times before, there were holes and tears, and they sat loosely as if stretched out.
Thomas found Newt waiting for him in the changing room. His friend walked to the exit of the room, but Thomas told him to wait.
Newt turned to look at him. "What?"
"Come here, I need to tell you something," Thomas said.
Newt frowned but made his way over to Thomas.
"What?" He asked again.
"I don't want anyone to hear us, lean down so I can whisper," Thomas said. He thought it best to assume they were being spied on constantly. They were in a changing-room, meaning probably (hopefully) no cameras, but there could be wiretaps.
Newt tilted his head so Thomas could whisper into his ear without having to stand on his tiptoes.
Thomas told Newt about his meeting with Brenda, how she knew what they'd been talking about on the train. He was as quiet as possible, meaning his words probably wouldn't reach potential listening-devices. Of course, anyone listening in on them would know that they were whispering, as Thomas had literally announced it, but it wouldn't necessarily sound suspicious, it could just be taken as the two of them having something private to discuss. Brenda would obviously assume that Thomas was informing Newt of their meeting, but there wasn't much she could do about it. Thomas was sure she hadn't told anyone about their discussion, they would have been punished for conspiring against The Right Arm if she had, meaning she was the only one with a reason to be suspicious, and she couldn't openly confront them without revealing to the people she was working with that she'd withheld information from them.
When Thomas was done talking he stepped back to see that Newt was… smiling?
"What are you so happy about?" Thomas wondered.
"Well, frankly I'm a bit relieved."
"Relieved?" Thomas failed to see how anything he'd just said was relieving. "How come?"
"I thought... well, didn't you have a crush on her or something?"
"What?!" Thomas exclaimed, feeling himself blush, before regaining his composure. Had Newt thought they had gone away to make out? "First of all, I don't, and second, why do you care so much?"
It was now Newt's turn to go red. "Because she's one of our captors, that'd be Stockholm syndrome, and… Stockholm syndrome is… bad."
"Right," Thomas said, not knowing what else to say, "let's go."
Newt nodded, looking thankful to leave the conversation.
The two Gladers stopped outside the door, not knowing where to go. The only people they saw were people from The Right Arm, who either ignored them completely or sent occasional nervous glances their way. They didn't see the girls anywhere. Thomas guessed they must've been either in one of the two other rooms or in the space on the other side of the large wooden screen.
Let\s check over there, Thomas said, gesturing at the screen. The thing stopped maybe two meters from the wall, and they walked through easily. On the other side of the screen lay the sleeping quarters, with thirty or so bunkbeds in stacks of two or three. It didn't look very safe, especially where the beds were stacked three, as the wooden frames looked as if they would give out any minute and fall to the floor in heaps of splintered wood and lumpy mattresses. Sitting on what looked like the most unstable bed out of them all was none other than Teresa, her feet dangling meters over the floor, maybe so she could make a quick escape if (or rather when) the bed fell apart. She had been talking with Harriet, whom, more sensibly, had chosen to stay on ground level and was leaning against a bedpost as she looked up at Teresa.
"Hey, guys," Teresa said when she saw Thomas and Newt. Harriet turned toward them and gave a sharp nod.
"So, Newt told us Brenda wanted to talk to you," Teresa said.
"She did," Thomas responded.
"She knows what we were talking about on the train," Thomas said telepathically. But something felt wrong, like the message didn't make it through. He repeated the message until it felt like he'd sent it, after trying several times. This took several minutes, during which Harriet and Newt started talking about something. Teresa had remained silent, as if sensing what Thomas was doing.
"What do you reckon we should do?" Teresa wondered. As soon as she had thought those words, a horrible pain hit Thomas, like a sledgehammer to the head. "Ow!" He doubled over, clutching his head instinctively.
Newt was at his side in an instant, asking him what was wrong.
"Telepathy, I think," Thomas mumbled, straightening up. The pain was gone as suddenly as it had struck, leaving only a faint throbbing sensation. He remembered something similar happening earlier. Something about his telepathy with Teresa had stopped working. Maybe WICKED had done it on purpose to make things more difficult for them, like how they had shut it off in The Scorch. He wondered if communicating telepathically with Aris would have the same effect. He was also wondering why Teresa didn't seem affected. But like earlier, he was left feeling exhausted, and he certainly wasn't in the mood for experimenting.
He sat down on the nearest bunkbed, leaning against the headboard and closing his eyes for a moment. He needed to rest, though he didn't feel like sleeping. The mattress sank as someone else sat down next to him, but Thomas didn't open his eyes to see who it was.
The silence was disturbed when someone approached them, footsteps sounding louder and louder. Thomas sat bolt upright, ready to deal with a threat.
He relaxed somewhat when he saw the supposed threat, a hunched over, elderly woman with a kindly face.
"Hi, Piper," Teresa said, smiling at the woman.
The woman -Piper- smiled in return.
"Hello, dears," she said, and then her gaze fell on Thomas and Newt, "I don't believe we've met, boys. I'm Piper."
Thomas and Newt introduced themselves hastily.
"It's nice to meet you. How are you feeling after the trip here?" She asked.
"we're good. A bit shaken up, I guess," Thomas responded, looking next to him, at Newt, who nodded at his statement.
"Yes, I heard what happened with the tunnel. Horrible, though I suppose it was only a matter of time before it happened." She looked down sadly. Thomas wondered if she had lost someone in the accident. Maybe a child, or a grandchild.
"Well, you can take a break from worrying about your safety, you're safe here," Piper assured them.
"That's… nice to hear," Thomas said. It would have been nice to hear, if only he could believe it. They were under the constant threat of being killed, everyone knew it. He wasn't sure if the pretense was for their sake or for her own, but arguing would be impolite regardless.
"Now that you're all here," Piper said, "I can give you a tour of our home."
'Our home'. Not 'our base', or 'our headquarters'. Of course, it was their home, they lived there after all, but Thomas hadn't thought of the place as someone's home.
"As you can see, this is the sleeping quarters. We usually turn all the lights off at ten, but you can stay up for as long as you like."
Piper walked toward the exit and they got up to follow her.
"This area serves as a common room," she said as they went into the large room they had entered first.
"Bathroom and showers," she gestured at the changing room, "office. Infirmary." The latter was behind the door on the far side of the building, that must've been where Sonya was.
"And the kitchen is in one of the other buildings," she finished.
Then she gestured for them to follow her as she walked up to a group of people.
They were young, in their late teens or early twenties. They looked weary, with bags under their eyes and sunken cheeks, but they looked happy enough despite it.
They had been talking to each other, but when Thomas and his friends approached they fell silent.
"Hi," said one of them. A boy, looking like the oldest of the bunch. "I'm Ethan."
He stretched out a hand, and the Gladers and Harriet shook it in turns.
Once the ice was broken, everyone else introduced themselves as well.
There were two boys: Ethan and Jules, and one girl: Rose.
"What's it like at WICKED?" Jules asked once the introductions were over, sounding genuinely curious.
"Well, it's not very nice," Thomas said, purposefully vague.
"I meant, like, details. Rose said they put you in a huge maze with werewolves in it, is that true?"
"We were put in mazes," Harriet said, "but as far as I'm aware there weren't any werewolves."
"I knew it! You lied to me," the kid glared at the girl, who laughed at him in response.
There was something about him that reminded Thomas of Chuck. Maybe it was because he was the youngest of the group, or something about the way he spoke, Thomas didn't want to think about it.
"What's it like here?" He asked, returning the previous question.
The trio shifted uncomfortably and glanced at each other. It was Jules who finally spoke.
"It's a bit scary, but not as much as out there," he gestured vaguely at the exit, "some of the adults say we're gonna have a cure to the virus soon, though."
"Are you not immune?" Teresa asked gently. The boy shook his head, looking down at his shoes.
"None of us are, otherwise they would have taken us, too," Rose said, putting a protective arm around the younger boy. Her tone was bitter, and she eyed the Gladers with an almost disdainful expression. It struck Thomas that she was jealous, jealous that she hadn't been taken as a test subject for a set of trials that were literally wicked. He wanted to glare at the girl. He hadn't wanted to be treated like a lab rat, a variable in a trial. If she knew what he'd gone through…
No use thinking about it, he should be making allies, not enemies.
"Did someone tell you about the plan?" Asked Ethan, to Thomas' relief.
"Not really," Thomas said, hoping he was going to get an explanation that he could compare with the one they'd already gotten.
"Yes they did," Newt said, looking puzzled, "Vince said they'd send us into WICKED's second base so we could let them in."
If the others hadn't been looking at them, Thomas would have stepped on his friend's foot to get him to stop talking. What had he been thinking? Didn't he understand what Thomas was doing?
Ethan's eyes narrowed. Tension filled the air, like a barrier between the two groups.
Jules, maybe not the sharpest knife in the drawer, looked around at everyone in confusion. "What is it?" He asked.
"They were trying to trick us into telling them something," Rose explained, glaring at Thomas.
"No!" Thomas said hastily, "what I meant is that we were told that we were going to WICKED's base, but not how we're supposed to get there in the first place." Rose and Ethan, eyed him distrustfully. Jules shrugged in disinterest.
"I'm sure you'll be told the details soon enough, anyway," Ethan said, coldly.
The other youths turned away from the Gladers and went back to their old conversation. Thomas looked at his friends, but they didn't seem sure about what to do either.
Piper had left sometime during their conversation and was nowhere to be seen.
They ended up back in the sleeping quarters, where there was nobody to send angry glances at them every ten seconds.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to turn them against us," Newt said once they were out of earshot, "I wasn't thinking clearly."
"It's okay," Thomas said tiredly.
"No, it's not, we needed to befriend them and I messed up, I should have just let you guys do the talking."
Teresa cleared her throat meaningfully. Someone could be listening in on them, after all, and shouting their plans for anyone to hear was probably not the best idea. Newt grimaced, realizing his mistake, but he didn't say anything, probably in fear of saying something he shouldn't.
Thomas racked his brain for a way to fix the mess. He told himself over and over that they hadn't lost, it was merely that a complication had arisen.
Maybe if they gave the other youths some time for their anger to cool off, they could approach them and give some kind of explanation. They were not stupid, they couldn't tell them the whole thing was a misunderstanding. But maybe if they could reason with them, get them to see the Gladers' side.
If they accepted an apology, they should act as friendly as possible. They should avoid topics such as WICKED, The Right Arm, and their role in everything. They needed to build trust.
They would just have to wait.
Brenda eventually came and told them dinner was ready.
Prior to that, Thomas had stood silently thinking, Teresa and Harriet had been chatting in low voices, and Newt looked to have been sulking.
They followed Brenda into the main area, where everyone else sat, already eating. Most sat on the floor, as there weren't enough chairs.
A large, steaming pot of soup had been placed on one of the two tables in the room, along with a water-jug, cups, bowls, and cutlery.
After grabbing some food, Thomas led his friends over to the group of teens, figuring now was as good a time as any to reconcile
"Oh, it's you again," Rose said, sneering, "what do you want this time?"
"I want to apologize," Thomas said, "I wanted to see if what you said lined up with what we were already told. It was a mistake, and I understand now how it would look to you. But it's not because we don't trust you, it's just that everyone was always lying to us at WICKED, and I wanted to make sure The Right Arm would be honest."
This was not strictly the truth, but Thomas was not above exaggerating to gain sympathy in this form of situation.
Rose and Ethan were still looking apprehensive, but Jules smiled.
"Come on guys, let's give them another chance," he said to his friends
"On one condition," Rose said, "when you do your thing and the cure is made, you have to make sure we get some."
"Is one of you infected?"
Ethan laughed dryly. "You really are sheltered, aren't ya? I'm pretty sure everyone in the world except you Munies is already infected in some shape or form. Now can you do this for us or not?"
Thomas didn't answer at first. What was he supposed to say? That he would try but that he couldn't be sure. Not with the way they were looking at him, hopefully, almost hungrily, believing he could save them. He didn't want to take their hope away like that.
"Yes," was what he ended up answering. He expected to regret saying it, but he didn't.
"Thank you," Jules said, looking ready to hug him.
Thomas should have felt guilty for giving the boy false hope, but he didn't. He decided that the hope would not be misguided. Of course, he would follow through on his promise. He was going to get the cure for Newt, and the girl in group B, the one who wasn't immune. Now these three. Just five people, no problem. He could do it.
But he realized something then. No, not really realized, he knew it already, he just hadn't wanted to think about it. There were plenty of people who needed the cure, millions of them. Good people. Children and parents and siblings and friends, all of them living one day at a time, without any hope for the future, which they knew would only bring pain and sorrow and death. Why shouldn't he help them, too? What made them any different from the people he'd chosen to save, other than that he didn't know them?
He couldn't begin to imagine the effort and resources it would take to cure only five people. How much hadn't it already taken to get as far as they'd come now? And what about when they discovered the cure, once they knew how to create it. Would it become any easier then? What if they didn't have enough material? Enough people to transport and hand it out to people? Some people would have to be prioritized over others, especially if they had limited resources.
They needed to find the damn cure, and they needed to do it soon. Stress and frustration washed over him like a tsunami. If it hadn't been for that stupid Right Arm they would be close to completing the trial by now. They wouldn't be captured and split up. The plan to take over the WICKED-base would cause delays. There was no telling how close Vince and his associates would come to completing it, how many casualties there'd be, or how easily his imprisoned friends would get away from their captors. And if The Right Arm succeeded, well, he simply could not let that happen. Didn't they see that they were standing in the way of a solution?
The Right Arm thought they were the good guys, the righteous rebels who stood against the evil masterminds of WICKED, and if they won, they would easily solve everything and save the world.
In reality, they were nothing more than scared citizens in need of hope and protection, like the people he'd seen here, or fools like Vince, their power-hungry madman of a leader.
And here he was, sitting on the floor of an old school building, trying to appease three misguided teenagers while he waited for further instruction.
Waiting for them to make their move. Then it would be his turn, and he would come one step closer to checkmate.