Author's note:
Chapter thirty is finally here, and I apologize for the time it took. I can't promise to update more often, but I'll try. I suggest you follow the story if you can and want to, so you can see when I update. Please tell me in a review if there's anything I can improve upon.
Chapter 30. Escape.
"Are you sure you know what to say?"
"Yes. 'They're sorry, but they couldn't wait any longer. They're telling WICKED that the group got attacked by cranks and the three of them managed to get away, find the train-station, take a train, and find WICKED from there. You can tell me the plan and send me in with Sonya, but you have to do it within a day or they'll tell WICKED what you're up to.' Is that good enough for you?"
"It's great."
"And you have your old clothes so they won't think it's suspicious?"
"Snagged them from the laundry basket. We'll get changed and leave immediately."
"And you know the way?"
"We'll have to follow the train tracks. We can't see them from here, so we'll just head in the direction the train was going and hope for the best. Newt, Teresa, let's go. See you tomorrow, Harriet."
After Harriet had wished them good luck, they went to the changing room —where Thomas had hidden their old clothes— and got changed.
"Are you done?" Teresa asked from the shower-room.
"Affirmative," Thomas replied, and Teresa came out.
Their old clothes —camouflage pants and jacket and a bulletproof vest over long-sleeved shirts and sweatpants— were now clean (though still uncomfortably damp from washing), which would have seemed suspicious to WICKED, but thankfully they wouldn't have to lie to them about where they'd come from, which meant the three of them wouldn't have to roll around on the cold ground to get their clothes dirty.
"Are you ready?" Thomas asked.
"Yes," Teresa said. Newt nodded.
"Good, then we get out of here as quietly as possible and run like we're being chased by Grievers."
Moving through the building was slow, scary work. They didn't want to take their shoes off, which meant one heavy step could give them away, and they could be discovered at any time.
Thomas had to keep reminding himself that it was the middle of the night, and everyone was probably asleep. Nobody had cared that the captives were staying up late, and nobody had heard them discussing strategy. Even if there were recording devices, they hadn't said anything incriminating that wasn't included in the cover-story Harriet would provide.
And then, after what somehow seemed like both a microsecond and a year, they stood in front of the door.
Thomas' hand was sweaty, the doorhandle slippery under his grasp, and he pulled it down slowly, fearing discovery if even the faintest sound was made.
But what if the door was locked? What then? If it had been locked by a key, hidden away somewhere safe…
The door opened. A gust of cold air entered the room, piercing Thomas' bare hand with tiny daggers of ice.
The door made no sound, and neither did Teresa when she passed through it, weightless like a shadow uniting with the darkness outside.
Newt almost tripped over the threshold when it was his turn to go, but he managed to steady himself without much trouble or noise. Thomas went last, closing the door with the same care as he'd opened it.
They had done it. They were out, and now they would be on their way to WICKED. The only problem was that they didn't know the way. And that they couldn't see anything. And the cold. And—
"What are you doing out here?"
A flashlight was pointed at them suddenly, and Thomas could see the person holding it.
Rose.
"I'm waiting," she persisted. A small knife gleamed in her hand.
Thomas hadn't seen her go outside, but, when he thought about it, neither could he recall seeing her for a while.
"Look, Rose." Teresa took a step toward her, empty hands held up to show she was unarmed.
"We're not trying to escape from the Right Arm, or betray them in any way—"
"Really? It looks to me as if you're doing exactly that."
"We're not. We just don't have the time to be waiting around uselessly. We're initiating the plan now."
"It's all because of him, isn't it?" Rose pointed at Newt. "You don't care that you could mess up everything and end up with no cure for anyone. You're risking the lives of everyone just for him."
"Maybe we are," Thomas said, "can you really blame us? Wouldn't you do the same for the people you care about?"
"The people I care about are either dead or dying because WICKED wasted so much time on nothing. Or maybe that was just you ruining it by not thinking logically or knowing when it's too late."
Thomas was about to say something angry and probably hurtful, but Teresa responded quicker.
"It's not like we're just running off without thinking. We thought it all through and decided that the goal can be accomplished while we save a few days. And we're not just thinking about our own friends. We're thinking about you, the people here, everyone. You must realize what a few extra days could mean for us all."
There was a tense silence as Rose processed the information.
"How do I know you're not just running away?"
"Because the Right Arm has our friends. Do you think we'd just abandon them?" Thomas asked.
"You could be doing just that, for all I know. And even if you're going where you're supposed to be, what's to stop you from telling WICKED all about us?"
Teresa sighed. "Just hear me out, please. We can't tell you that we won't tell WICKED about the Right Arm, because that is exactly what we're going to do."
Rose stepped back, surprised, then she remembered herself and scowled at Teresa, pointing the knife at her. Thomas was equally surprised that Teresa had told Rose, but now it was too late to take back. Surely Teresa must have a plan
"We hate WICKED as much as you do, but they are close to finding the cure, and the Right Arm is not. They might think they have found a way, but the world can't afford for us to give up and start over from square one."
"'Close' are they? That's what they told my mom five years ago, and she got infected because of it. Those bastards are evil and I don't trust them or anyone on their side."
Teresa made to put her hand on Rose's shoulder, starting to say something comforting, but Rose waved the knife threateningly at her.
"Back off," she spat. "All of you, go back inside. If you behave, I might decide not to tell on you."
"Rose, please," Teresa said, "don't you understand-"
Rose yanked Teresa towards her in a swift movement, and before anyone had time to react, she was pressing the knife against Teresa's throat.
"Inside. Now."
"Alright, we're going," Thomas said, inching towards the building, "there's no need for anything rash."
With that, he leaped at the two girls, grabbing the knife by the blade.
The knife was not as sharp as it could have been, but nonetheless, it cut through his skin like it was made of butter. Every fiber of his being told him to let go, but he kept trying to pull the knife away from Teresa. Rose had been caught off guard, and by the time she reacted it was too late. Teresa elbowed her in the nose and jumped out of the way. Thomas let go of the blade as soon as Teresa was out of the way, letting Rose stumble backward from Teresa's blow.
The flashlight fell from Rose's hand, landing so that it shone on her.
She looked wild; her hair was in her face, sticking to the blood pouring out of her nose in a steady stream. Her dark eyes were narrowed and hateful.
She came at Thomas, about to stab him in the face.
Thomas readied himself to dodge the knife and tackle Rose, but a blurred figure flung itself at her, taking her down to the ground with it. Although Thomas' eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he couldn't make out much more than silhouettes
The fight ended quickly, with Newt —because of course, it was Newt— winning. He wrenched the weapon out of Rose's hand with enough force to break it, had she been unlucky.
He then stood up, taking her with him, and held the knife against her throat, as she had done to Teresa.
He pressed the knife dangerously hard to her throat, and soon a few droplets of blood dripped from the already bloodied blade.
"Newt, be careful," Teresa said, sounding fearful.
Thomas felt equally afraid. He didn't have to see Newt's face to know it looked murderous, he could hear it in his breathing, and he thought for a moment that he might actually kill Rose.
But nobody was more scared than Rose. Thomas could see her eyes were wide with terror, and he heard her rapid breathing. She tried to push at the arm holding the blade, but it would not budge. She whimpered as the knife pressed against her throat, and tears from pain and fear gleamed in her eyes.
"Newt, stop," Thomas said, "you're going to kill her if you don't stop. I know you don't want to do that."
Newt didn't stop. Thomas was afraid he was beyond listening even to him.
But then he relaxed, ever so slightly. Thomas put a hand on the arm holding the knife and pulled it away from Rose carefully.
The girl sat down heavily in the snow, clearly in shock, and when Teresa crouched next to her to examine the wound, she didn't protest.
Newt had seemingly snapped out of his rage, his face changing from anger, to shock, to disgust. The knife fell from his trembling hand and landed in a pile of snow.
Thomas picked up the flashlight —which still shone upward— and looked over it briefly. It was not a normal flashlight, as it turned out. It was a cell, about a decimeter long and half as broad, bigger than the newer models Thomas could remember seeing, but he could remember the basic functions that applied to most cells. He swept his finger over the slippery surface over the light and it disappeared, clearly his memory wasn't perfect. He swept the other way, and the light returned, in a broader, brighter ray.
He hadn't expected to see as much blood as he did. The snow was crimson, and Thomas' own hands were bleeding, which he had forgotten. He had assumed the wetness on his hands was snow, but now that he could see it, he felt it. The cuts —though not very deep— stung, and blood oozed.
Thomas put the cell in the breast pocket of his jacket so it would shine through and scooped up a handful of snow to numb his hands.
"We need to get out of here," Thomas said, "we'll have to take her with us. And we have to get rid of the blood in the snow."
He knelt on the ground and began shoveling the snow to the side with his hands. If they got it out of the way, maybe covered it up with more snow…
"Oh no, the snow," Teresa said, "they'll see our footsteps in the snow."
"We can't go back now. We will have to get there before they catch up to us," Thomas said.
He stood up, looking down at his handiwork (or rather, footwork, as he had kicked fresh snow over the small pile, figuring it would be difficult to hide blood with bleeding hands). He couldn't see any of the bloodied snow, and neither would anyone else unless the upper layer thawed.
Rose's absence would obviously be noted, but they might believe she went willingly, though definitely not if they saw blood on the ground.
Thomas looked around to make sure everything was ready. He had Rose's cell and knife. The blood was gone. Rose stood, looking frightened, with a cloth tied around her wound. Her nose had stopped bleeding, and the worst of the blood had been cleaned up. She wasn't protesting or trying to escape, thankfully. Teresa had a tight grip on her arm and looked ready to go. Newt looked resolute.
Thomas took off in a run, going along the side of the building and continued to the side. The others followed close behind.
He could see the entrance to the collapsed tunnel, nothing more than a pile of dirt and rubble. Wait… was that…? As they got closer he could see it clearly. There was a body lying on the ground.
That woman, the one whose husband had died in the tunnel. Jenny.
Thomas swallowed hard and turned to the right. They were trying to follow the train tracks. They couldn't actually see said train tracks, but their best bet would be to go in the direction they seemed to lead. It was a bad plan at best. Thomas regretted not looking more thoroughly for a map, or trying to get the information from someone.
But they had someone. Surely, Rose knew something.
"Rose!" Thomas called, "which way should we go?"
"It's straight ahead and then right when we see the old mines," she called back.
Thomas was surprised that she had answered him directly. There was a possibility that she was trying to trick them, but they couldn't do much to make sure it was the right way except for going there.
After running for an hour (according to Thomas' watch) the landscape had gone back to forest. Birches and spruces grew thick and roots ran across the ground like wooden veins. It hardly helped that they were in near-complete darkness, lit only by the one flashlight they had. There was barely any snow in the forest, a small relief. The footprints they had left before were of little importance, as they ran in the most probable direction anyway.
They had slowed to a jog, as much out of tiredness as concern for their safety.
"How much further is it?" Teresa asked between heavy breaths.
"We'll be at the mines in maybe two hours. I'm not sure how long it'll take to get to WICKED from there."
They didn't stop moving. They would speed up their jog to a run or slow it to a walk, but they never stopped.
Needless to say, it was exhausting, and the only thing that allowed Thomas to continue was his fear of getting caught, of being stopped when they were so close.
They turned right when they saw the mines, which, for the record, were three hours away, rather than two.
The sky had turned a shade lighter. The soon would be up soon, and the people from the Right Arm would rise with it. They would come looking for them, trying to catch up before the Gladers got away.
They had to get to WICKED'S base before it was too late, but their energy seemingly disappeared along with the darkness.
They walked for a while, but soon enough they could not even manage that.
They stopped at a small stream, chancing a drink of water.
Thomas sat down on the frozen grass. Just five minutes, he told himself, then I can keep going.
He checked the cell to see how much battery it had. It was around eighty percent, which meant it would last for at least two more days' worth of usage.
In a fit of curiosity, Thomas decided to turn on the screen. There might be something useful on it, and if not, he wanted to see if it had any of the apps and games he remembered.
He swiped with two fingers, from the middle to each side, but a purple lock-symbol flashed on the screen, before disappearing a few seconds later.
"Hey, Rose, what's the password?"
She scoffed at him. "I'm not telling you."
"Why? Do you have secret information on it?"
"No, of course not."
"Then why can't I see what's on the cell?"
"Fine. You can see for yourself that there's nothing on it. The password is pineapple."
Thomas swiped at the screen again, and when the lock appeared, he repeated the password to it.
The screen split and Thomas unfolded it to full size. The thin screen was around fifteen centimeters on each side.
Thomas was delighted to recognize several of the items on the cell. He wished he had more time, but if everything went well he would have plenty of time to play solitaire later. Instead, he looked for anything that could help them. There wasn't an app that would show their location, nor any pieces of information written anywhere. He went through the pictures as a last resort. Some of the first were of a younger Rose together with a fair-haired woman who could only be her mother. There were pictures of snowfall, and animals, and more recent pictures of Rose together with Ethan and Jules.
Rose had been observing him as he looked through her cell, but it wasn't until he went through the pictures that she started to look uneasy.
"That's enough," she said. She tried to yank it from Thomas' grasp. "That's private."
She was right, but Thomas considered the possibility to find useful information that could save the world to override Rose's right to privacy. Said girl tried once again to take the screen, but in the struggle that ensued, she managed to do the opposite of what she wanted. She accidentally changed to a different picture. She froze when she saw what she'd done, and then picked up a nearby rock, intending to break the cell, but she was stopped, and Thomas saw the photo of a map.
Over there was the small town that the Right Arm resided in. There were the mines. He could also see the small square drawn sloppily in the middle of an empty field, titled WICKED. It was not located east of the mines.
"What was your plan? To get us lost in the forest?" Thomas stood up, showing Newt and Teresa the map.
"N-no," Rose stuttered.
"Really? Because we wanted to go here" Thomas pointed at the WICKED-building on the map, "but you led us here," he moved his finger to the other side of the map. According to landmarks they'd passed, they had been moving east and a little south.
"We have to go right now," Teresa said, "it's already eight o'clock, they'll be out in the forest by now."
Just as Thomas got ready to take off, Rose sat down on the ground, arms crossed.
"Come on, we're going," Teresa said in frustration.
Rose shook her head, trying to look tough, but failing to conceal her fear.
"If you don't get up right now we'll tie you to a tree and leave you here in the middle of nowhere," Thomas threatened.
Rose swallowed hard, but didn't stand.
"You don't have any rope," she said.
"We could beat you unconscious and leave you for a bear to find," Newt offered, stepping closer to Rose.
She paled and stood up immediately.
"Fine! Let's go, then. It's not as if you're gonna get very far."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Thomas folded the cell and pocketed it, then he started running and the others followed suit.
"You idiots really thought they would leave you free to escape? They put trackers in your food. They'll be here any second."
Was she bluffing? She must be, surely. She hadn't done anything but lie and try to slow them down, this was no different. And if she was actually telling the truth, well then, what better motivation to run for all they were worth?
They ran back the way they'd come, not slowing down, and not caring about constantly getting whipped in the face by plants.
The sun had risen low in the sky, illuminating the roots that would have tripped them before.
They ran for minutes or hours or days. It was impossible to tell which because they all seemed the same at that time.
The only thing that stayed crystal clear was the path. Thomas knew where they were, and where they were going. They would return to the mines and run northeast from there. It shouldn't take too long after that —two hours at most— and then they would be safe, albeit only for a short while.
They were getting close to the mines. Thomas recognized the enormous boulder that they had run past hours before.
That was when he heard them.
He stopped dead at the sound of voices. The others had stopped, too, and he knew they could hear the voices from the other side of a large bush. Teresa had put her hand over Rose's mouth to keep her from giving their location away.
Thomas couldn't hear specific words, but he knew that the people they belonged to were from the Right Arm, and they would be discovered soon unless they came up with a plan.
Maybe if they backtracked until they were well hidden, and then ran around the people looking for them. They would expect the Gladers to go to WICKED's base, though, so they would have to take a path that wouldn't be expected. If they ran north and went to their destination from that angle, they would be less likely to have any unfortunate encounters.
Thomas was mouthing at the others to go back the way they'd come, but it was too late.
Thomas recognized Ethan, and that jerk John, and he could remember seeing the third man, though he didn't know his name.
The three of them had stepped around the bush and stared at the Glader for one silent second.
Teresa was the first to react. She shoved Rose at the newcomers. Ethan caught her and started asking her questions, as the other two lunged at the three Gladers.
They ran before they were caught, not back, but to the right. North. They were less likely to encounter other search parties that way. They wouldn't want to escape one group just to run into the arms of another. If they could escape this group, in the first place.
The Gladers were fast, but so were their pursuers. One moment the gap between them grew, the next it shrunk.
After a while, something hissed through the air, past Thomas' arm. A bullet, he realised. They were being shot at now.
"Ethan! Put the gun away!" The unnamed man shouted, "you could kill one of them!"
"We don't need the Crank, though. If I shot him, maybe the others would stop," Thomas heard Ethan say.
"No! We're not killing anybody," the man protested.
There were no more shots being fired after that, but that didn't end their troubles.
After running for a long while, Teresa tripped over a root and fell.
They were going to get her now. Thomas stopped. Maybe they could fight their enemies off.
"No! Don't stop! Keep going!" Teresa shouted.
Thomas resumed his running, not knowing what to do but obey. He knew they wouldn't hurt her. They needed her, after all. He felt ashamed for just leaving her, but what better option was there?
He kept going. He was fuelled by adrenaline and not much else. He hadn't eaten or drunk for many hours, and it had been over a day since he last slept. He would probably collapse into a miserable heap when he stopped running, but he was willing to pay that price if only he made it to safety.
He had to keep constant watch off the ground in front of him. If he tripped it would all be over, and the hours of running would have been for nothing. The only thought he allowed himself to focus on was the path. He would be a lousy runner if he failed because he lost his way. He wanted to check the map again, but he couldn't take his eyes off the ground, so he would just have to trust his memory.
They were close —only a few minutes away— when Newt went down with a yell. Thomas hadn't seen what had happened, but it hardly mattered. It was not the same as when Teressa had been taken. She was an immune, a valuable resource. Newt was a Crank (or not far off at least), and he didn't matter to the Right Arm's plans beyond being used as a hostage.
That man had seized Newt. He forced him up from the ground and pressed the tip of a knife to his throat. The threat seemed unnecessary, as Newt didn't put up a fight like he normally would have. At first, Thomas thought he was biding his time to break free when least expected, but he seemed to be genuinely devoid of energy.
Thomas rushed over to help but was cut off by the other man. John, that horrible, ugly jerk who had threatened to kill Newt before on the train, and now blocked Thomas' way.
He tried to get around the man, but he was blocked each time.
He tried to punch the man, but the few blows that weren't blocked had no visible effect.
John didn't try to grab him or even fight him. He was just toying with Thomas.
"Take him back to the others, I'll get the last brat," John said to his colleague.
As soon as the other man was out of sight, John said: "the cell, hand it over."
Thomas stopped fighting, confused.
"There's a tracker in it, you brat! Hand it over."
Thomas removed the cell from his pocket reluctantly, and John grabbed it immediately and tossed it over his shoulder. Thomas stared at him in surprise. So Rose had lied again, then. The tracker hadn't been inside anything except his own pocket.
John shoved him. "Run, you stupid kid! Go!"
Thomas stayed where he was. Was this some sort of trick? It didn't matter, he couldn't leave Newt.
"What are you waiting for?"
"I won't let you hurt my friends," Thomas said.
"Nobody is going to hurt your stupid friends! Go now!"
And Thomas did go. He ran the rest of the way, no more than ten minutes. His thoughts were blurry and heavy, and he was much too tired to consider the possibility of a lie. His friends were safe. He would save them all.
The forest suddenly gave way for a large field. Empty save for one building, which was white and much smaller than WICKED's other base.
He ran out onto the wet grass, heedless of hidden traps. There wasn't a fence, nothing stopping him from reaching the front door. He sat down against the wall and sagged with relief. He had made it. He might have laughed, but his whole body felt too heavy to move.
Thomas didn't mind. He allowed the darkness to wash over him and take him away.