Author's Note: Here's a new chapter. I plan on posting the next one on the fourth of March, and I will hopefully pass the 100k mark with it. Feedback is, as always, greatly appreciated. I hope you like this chapter.
Chapter 36. Small Joys.
"It's not you that I don't trust. It's him, and WICKED," Newt said, twirling his fork around on his plate. "How can you be sure it's not a trick?"
"Because," Thomas said, "they know we won't put up with the shucking mind games. If they tell us it's a lie after we've found the Cure, we'll take it and get out of there. Then we'll find a way to mass-produce it, and we'll cure everybody. WICKED will be furious with us for stealing the cure, and they'll try to sue us for producing their copyrighted product."
"Do you want WICKED to sue us?" Newt looked confused.
"They'll try, but we'll win in court, and then the police will come to arrest them."
"Much as I want to see Rat Man go to jail, why would the police start arresting people?"
Thomas shrugged. "Crimes against humanity, probably. A few homicides, and kidnapping. Point is that we'll be free of them eventually, but they choose how we part ways."
"Free from WICKED… Whatever are we gonna do with all the free time?"
"I guess it depends on how ruined the world is. We could find some nice spot and settle down. We can sustain ourselves, shouldn't be hard after the Glade, especially since we don't need Runners."
"That sounds easy. Peaceful."
Thomas sighed. "It does, but what if we don't need to live like that? If society is still running… I mean, it'll be weakened, but with the Cure, it can be rebuilt. We could live in a city, and go to school, and have lives."
Newt scoffed. "Is that still an option for us? I can barely remember how a society larger than the Glade works, and that's all from before WICKED, years ago— who knows how many? Do you think you could adjust to whatever normal is?"
"The only real place in the world we've seen is the Scorch. If that's any indication, the world is in shambles. First the solar flares, then the virus. But we wouldn't be searching for a cure if there's nobody left to save. Humanity is still going, like it always is, constantly adapting. Right now they're trying to survive just like us. The Cure will give them a new leg to stand on, and freedom will give us one. We'll be on equal footing, all trying to find ourselves as we step out of survival mode. The world will be picking itself up day by day, so it can't be too late for us to do the same."
"Since when were you such an optimist?" Newt asked, but he was smiling ever so slightly.
"Why shouldn't I be? I think we could all use some optimism."
"I guess it strengthens morale."
"Right, and we need that. Who do you think is gonna build the world back up again?"
"You're not wrong. We're young and somewhat capable. Still, I wish it was enough to save the world once."
"If you think about it, saving the world is not a goal you can meet and be done with. It's more of a progress, and everyone's part of it."
"I'm not a fan of our part."
"Neither am I. We just have to—"
"Make the best out of a bad situation? Is that what you were gonna say?"
"Maybe."
"We are, aren't we? Making the best out of it?"
"Yeah. We can't have our friends back yet, but there's food and good company."
"Enjoy it while it lasts, yeah?" Newt smiled sardonically.
"Are you saying that we'll go back to eating stale bread or that you don't want to spend time with me in the future?" Thomas asked
"Not sure about the food, but I'll be mad as a hatter soon enough." Newt tried to keep up the pretense of being unbothered by what he'd said.
"That won't happen. This is the end— for real this time. They will find the missing piece any day now."
Newt shook his head. "I don't know, Tommy. I'll be saying something that makes perfect sense, and everybody reacts like I'm crazy. I don't know if it's me or the Flare. Am I suspicious of Alby because I should be, or is the Flare making me see the bad side of everything? Do you believe him because you're thinking clearly or because his lies were convincing?"
"Isn't there a way to tell? Like a feeling of the Flare taking over?"
"It's not like a wave of nonsense coming from nowhere. It's always there, I can always feel it. It's like an itch inside my head. Sometimes it's just a small annoyance that I can forget if I don't think about it." His hand went to his head as if absently trying to scratch the irritation away. He caught himself halfway there and put his fist back on the table. "Other times it's all I can think about, and sometimes it starts to hurt instead."
"I didn't know that. Is there anything that helps? It spreads faster with brain activity, so maybe…"
"Stop thinking? Try that for yourself and tell me how easy it is."
"There are ways to slow it. There are things like the Bliss."
"Now you're the crazy one. I'd rather have the Flare than a drug addiction."
"You wouldn't be addicted to it. Besides, I'm sure there are other ways."
"And where would I get it from? WICKED? Remember when they gave me those pills that turned out to speed up the Flare? I'll handle the pain for as long as I can."
Thomas sighed. He didn't want his friend to suffer, but… "You can do it. I know you can. And you won't have to for long, I'm sure of it." He reached over the table and took Newt's hand. "I'm here for you, don't forget that."
"Thank you," Newt said. Thomas could feel his friend's hand relax, and he saw it on his face, too. He could feel it in himself, a small knot of worry in his gut resolving.
Newt inhaled deeply, before saying: "I trust you, Tommy, more than I trust myself right now. Take me to Alby. I want to talk to him."
"Oh. I mean… of course," Thomas said. He realized that he was still holding Newt's hand and let go, straightening himself in his seat. His hand felt empty, and he picked up his fork, although it was unpleasantly cold. "After dinner-breakfast though, right?"
"Yeah, of course." Newt looked down at his plate as if he'd just remembered it was there and gave a bark of laughter. It was a pleasant sound, the kind of sound that made the corners of Thomas' mouth go upwards and his stomach flutter.
They finished the meal in high spirits, and Thomas wished the moment would be frozen in time to last forever.
As they stood up to leave, Thomas remembered something he didn't feel had been properly addressed. "You know it's not just Alby out there, Right?"
"You… mentioned them, yes." Newt's smile faltered.
It was one thing for Thomas to meet the Gladers living in the facility. He only knew a few of them by name, and several of them had been taken from the Maze before he got there. Newt had been there since day one, and probably knew most of them well. If he had a hard time accepting Alby's survival, Thomas doubted he'd enjoy having people he'd believed dead for months or years rush to him all at once.
"Are you sure you want to—?" Thomas began.
"Yes."
"I could just ask Alby to come here."
"It's fine. I'll have you with me, won't I?"
"You don't have to ask."
"I wasn't. You're not going anywhere." This time it was Newt who grabbed Thomas by the arm. "Now let's go before I change my bloody mind."
Thomas felt Newt's tight grip on his wrist through his shirtsleeve. Whether it was to ensure that Thomas would stay by his side, or for moral support, he had no idea, nor did he particularly care or mind.
By the time they could hear the noise coming from the Big Room, they had yet to encounter anybody, Glader or other.
Thomas slowed down, expecting Newt to stop to gather his courage, but his friend marched into the room without hesitation.
Rather than cease, the conversation changed to a cacophony of greetings and other expressions of happiness. Newt's grip on his arm tightened, and Thomas was about to yell at the Gladers to back off. He was prevented by his surprise as Newt let go. Thomas watched him stand still for a second, before finally approaching the crowd, returning their greetings.
It went by in a faster and more organized manner than Thomas had expected. Each of the boys would have a brief exchange and then step aside. They must have noticed —as Thomas had— Alby, remaining seated at the table and clearly waiting.
After a final high five, Newt went to talk to Alby. He passed Thomas on his way and gave him a small smile. Thomas wasn't sure what he was supposed to do until he saw Teresa waving at him. He sat next to her on the bench beside the one Alby sat at.
"Did anything interesting happen while I was away?" Thomas asked her, quietly as to not disturb the other two, but loudly enough that they wouldn't think he was eavesdropping.
"Shh. I'm trying to listen," she whispered.
Thomas decided that it wasn't his fault that Teresa was being a bad influence and making him listen in on someone else's conversation.
He looked at the table in front of him, sneaking glances when he felt the need to.
"Are you back to chew me out for not being dead?" Alby asked tiredly.
"I'm here to apologize. I was being a bloody idiot. Of course it's you."
"It must've been some shucking surprise," Alby said, humor creeping into his voice.
"So you're not mad or anythin'? I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
"Don't get sappy, ya shank," Alby said. "Of course I'm not mad. I'm just glad to see you again."
"Now who's bein' sappy?"
"Who gives a klunk? Come here." Alby stood up, stepping around the table so he could reach his friend. They hugged fiercely, like long lost brothers.
"I thought I'd lost you for good," Newt said.
"And I thought they sent you off to your death."
Thomas looked away, not wanting to intrude on their moment.
They sat down, both of them looking significantly happier than they had before their conversation. Alby looked over at Thomas and Teresa. "I know you two were listening in. You're not exactly subtle."
"Correction: Tom is the actual worst at being subtle, and is in fact so bad at it that I got sabotaged just by being near him." Teresa clarified, much to Thomas' dismay.
Thomas mumbled an apology.
"It's fine," Newt said.
"Yeah. Newt probably saved you shanks from certain death twice a day during the variables. I wouldn't want to waste all that by killing you now."
"How dumb do you think we are?" Thomas asked. "Also, when you say it like that, would you kill us if Newt didn't care?"
"Nah. You didn't see our secret handshake, so it's cool."
"You guys have a secret handshake?" Teresa asked, sounding jealous. Newt and Alby smiled mysteriously at them, not giving anything away.
"I want a secret handshake." Teresa decided. "Tom, we are going to create one."
"A secret handshake in a crowded room?" Thomas asked skeptically.
"Later then."
"You guys have your creepy mind-talking trick. What would ya need a handshake for?" Alby questioned.
"I'd nearly forgotten about that," Newt said, frowning.
"The telepathy is unreliable at best," Thomas said. "It's barely worked after the simulation."
Teresa nodded her agreement. "It's like a phone signal out in the forest. I wonder if it…" She trailed off, scrunching her face together in deep concentration.
Thomas cried out as a searing pain erupted in his head. He heard something —maybe his name— but it was distorted nearly beyond recognition, with each syllable bringing a fresh wave of agony.
He felt hands on him, warm and cold, as the pain faded into a mild ache.
"I'm fine," Thomas said to the concerned faces of his friends. He looked around and saw that everybody in the room was staring at him. "I'm fine," he repeated loudly.
"What happened?" Asked Newt, standing behind Thomas gripping his shoulder.
"The telepathy— I'm so sorry," Teresa said, looking absolutely mortified.
"It's not your fault," Thomas assured. "Did you feel it, too?"
"Pain? No. It usually hurts a bit because of the strain, but nowhere near that bad. Do you think it's because you received the message?"
"I guess we could try the other way around, if you're willing to risk it," Thomas suggested none too happily.
"No," Newt said decisively. Rather than return to his seat opposite them, he sat on the empty spot on the bench between Thomas and Teresa. "That's enough of the magic tricks for now."
"You can always ask one of the scientists," Alby suggested. "They talk a lot about your telepathy, so they must have some idea of what's going on."
Thomas was relieved. He had never liked being able to speak to others through his head, and he didn't want to risk more pain for himself or Teresa.
"If we're not going to talk about telepathy," Teresa said, "I want information."
"Information? We told you what happened here earlier," Alby reminded her.
"I was thinking a bit earlier than yesterday. I want to know what happened to you after the Maze. I mean, I know how you got out, but then what?"
"Are you always this curious?" Alby glowered. "And what if I don't wanna tell you?"
"Yes. Nothing wrong with curiosity, is there?"
Alby looked ready to protest, but Teresa wouldn't let him. "No. No there isn't. How about we take a vote? All for hearing your story…" she raised her hand. Thomas followed suit, as did a somewhat guilty-looking Newt.
"Three against one. Democracy commands you to spill the beans," Teresa said cheerfully.
Alby looked even more unhappy, but he inhaled deeply and began talking.
"I don't remember much of south-WICKED. I was there for a few days with the others who'd been taken from the Maze. The scientists ran tests and mumbled to each other and wouldn't give us a good explanation. One day they lined us up and shoved us through this weird… shiny thing, and we were here."
"A Flat Trans?" Thomas asked.
Alby shot him a nasty look. The unspoken 'don't interrupt me'.
"The new scientists sat us down and told us about the Flare, and the immunes and non-immunes. They said they were looking for a cure using the Maze as a test. I think they tried their best to be nice. I suppose they were, compared to the others. They got half of those weak-willed shanks convinced after a while, in any case. They kept us updated on the main group. Where you were and who died —stuff like that. Not a lot of details, though. I almost forgot; we met the other group. We weren't exactly surprised at that point, but the Gladers were happy to meet the Glenners. Or Icers. That depended on who you asked. They had two years and they couldn't decide what to call themselves."
"And they got out of their Maze before we did," Newt commented.
"We didn't take that long deciding," Alby protested.
Newt shook his head mournfully. "All those debates. I think that was the start of our rivalry with Gally."
"I wouldn't call it a rivalry. He might." Alby said.
"Last I saw him he'd mostly forgotten. Best not to bring it up once he gets here."
"We're buddies with Gally now? I knew the world had gone sideways but…"
"He did save me from a Crank once, so I'd say benefit of the doubt."
"If you say so," Alby sighed.
"About what they told you," Newt said slowly, after a few moments of silence. "They explained the simulation, right?"
"The simulated variables, yeah. They wouldn't say much about it, only that you were in a simulation where you escaped, and that you ended up on an island after the Right Arm attacked."
"So you don't know…" He trailed off.
"I told him," Thomas said.
Newt nodded. "I'm sorry, Alby."
"Don't apologize. I understand. But it won't happen again," Alby said. "We'll find the Cure this time."
Thomas remembered what Alby had said before, about the Cure being impossible and him being willing to take Newt out when the Flare began to take over. He knew from looking at Alby that he'd forgotten all about it. Thomas hadn't believed that Alby would let his friend give up before, but he was glad to be sure. And if they had him on their side, they would have all the Gladers. It would certainly be helpful if nobody disrupted the research by trying to run away from WICKED.
Alby was filled in on the details of the 'simulated variables' as he called them, with the three others alternating in speaking. They hadn't gotten far, however, before they were interrupted.
"Thomas, Teresa. We'd like to run a few tests, if you'd follow me." It was Mike, the young doctor Thomas had met earlier.
Teresa looked at Thomas as if asking how to respond. He shrugged.
"What kind of tests?" He asked.
"We need to check your blood and your brain patterns," Mike explained.
"Sure." Thomas got up.
He looked at the others and saw that Newt was eyeing the doctor with the utmost suspicion. He glanced at Alby, and the older boy nodded.
"See ya later," Newt said to Thomas and Teresa.
"Bye," Thomas said.
They went into a new room, which looked like a high-tech doctor's room, with one wall taken up by a multitude of screens. Inside waited a few other people, all looking eager.
Thomas and Teresa were sat in wooden chairs facing away from each other and told to be as still as possible. Of course, upon hearing that, Thomas thought about how uncomfortable the chair was. Oh, great —his nose was itching.
He winced as something cold touched his scalp. He caught a glance of a man holding a stack of tiny metal discs and knew out of familiarity that they would be used to scan his brain. The discs were placed on different places to get the best view, and when Thomas thought they were done he asked: "Can you see my brain now?" He wished he could look at the screens, which would be much more interesting than the bare wall.
"Don't talk," said the man who was standing behind him. "But yes, the computer is building up the pattern. You know how we're trying to find the Cure by now, don't you? You can give a thumbs up or something, just don't move your head."
Thomas gave a thumbs down. Rat Man had told him before the trial, but it was always best to ask different people the same question.
"You immunes have a certain enzyme produced in your brains, which picks apart the harmful particles of the Flare so that your immune systems can destroy them. That's why you have the Flare but don't get affected. And you can't infect others because the contagious particles are the harmful ones which you destroy. The remains of the Flare is just a thin layer on your brain that doesn't do anything as far as we can tell. From what we've observed, new particles don't enter your brains after that, you could say that layer is preventing it."
Thomas liked the explanation. It was much better than the one Rat Man had given.
The man continued. "Of course, we need to get ahold of the enzyme and replicate it. We've tried to extract it by scraping it off the walls of blood vessels in the brain, where the enzyme is lodged, but it has never worked, and it is much too risky to attempt many times. It is for the sake of humanity, but the immune patients are humans too. Instead, we've looked into how the enzyme is produced. It seems to be created in moderate amounts from normal emotional responses, and with heightened emotions… you get the idea. The enzyme seems to have some form of attachment to the cells of the brain, almost like a magnetism. With how we've seen your brain-movements, the attachment is weak enough that the enzyme can be moved. The theory is that if there's enough of it, it will be pushed far enough away from the brain cells that it will be taken up by the blood flow, where we will be able to sample it by simply taking some blood."
The theory sounded much too theoretical for Thomas' liking, as did the assumption that an infected person would be fine after taking in the enzyme once. If the enzyme could not be taken from the brain, why should it be easier to get through the blood? And if they couldn't replicate it, the immunes would be kept around forever to supply their blood.
The man must have sensed his doubts. "I know how it sounds, but all the research points towards it, and trust me, we've done a lot of research. We're close now. I know we are," he insisted.
Thomas let himself be convinced, told himself that it would all be fine soon as they took a sample of his blood.
Thomas and Teresa were finally allowed to move around. Mike mentioned something about them being free to leave, but the scientists were too wrapped up in conversation and the pictures of the brain patterns to pay the two of them any more attention. Teresa wanted to stick around for a few minutes, and Thomas waited until she'd had her fill of information. It wasn't that he was not interested himself, but he felt too tired to focus on the discussion. He'd felt like that since the attempt at telepathy earlier, and he was sure that was not a coincidence. It would have to wait. All the fuss over the new brain patterns could be a good sign, and it was in any case too important to interrupt.
"It's fascinating, don't you think?" Teresa asked on the way back to their friends. "The way that they even figured it out in the first place. I mean it's based on theory, but everything seems to line up so far."
"It's cool to see how far medical knowledge has come, but the stakes are too high to appreciate the research for that."
"It's a pity."
"Yeah, the Flare is so inconsiderate. Why can't it just, I don't know, not kill people?"
Teresa laughed. "That would be great."
"At least you can study it after we find the Cure, right?"
"Actually, I was thinking of looking into telepathy if I ever get the chance."
"Really?"
"Yeah. It would be very useful. We know that ways of communication were damaged during the Solar Flares, but if I can find a way to develop this… Think of all the good it can do."
"Then everybody can have voices in their heads!" Thomas joked.
Teresa looked at him with disapproval.
"Don't get me wrong, I think you should go for it. Maybe you could ask Aris to help you, since you have the telepathic link or whatever it is."
"What about you? Don't you want to know more about it?"
"Not at the moment at least. I just want to be rid of these shucking labs and all these endless corridors."
"I should probably feel the same way, but…"
"You don't?"
"There's something comforting about this environment, like it's the place I belong. Maybe not with WICKED —God knows I'm never going to have Rat Man as a colleague— but something like it."
"I'm sure there are plenty of unethical research companies out there."
Teresa shoved him.
"And maybe one or two ethical ones," he added.
Newt and Alby had left the Big Room, and it was by some asking around that Thomas and Teresa found their way to a room near the control center. They could hear it before getting close. It was the noise of way too many people in one place. True enough; the room was not small, but it was in no way designed to accommodate all the people in it. It seemed that the majority of both groups had gathered in what looked like a rec-room. Most of them were gathered around a small tv, and they were clearly the reason for all the noise.
Getting closer, Thomas could see that it was some form of video game with two players fighting each other. After pushing his way through the crowd he saw that Newt and Alby were the ones fighting to the death on the screen, both looking very keen on winning. The others were alternately cheering and booing depending on who they rooted for.
Thomas was captivated by the chaos. He sat down near Newt and let the sound envelop him. As his friend got in a good punch, he joined the roar of cheers. It was simple. He didn't have to think, only watch and hear and shout. It was fun.
Newt lost the match, but nobody cared. They all took turns playing. There was no particular order, but it somehow worked perfectly. Thomas played against Newt, Harriet, and a few others he didn't know. He lost most of the games, but he wasn't deterred.
Somebody came along and said that lunch was ready. Thomas looked at the clock hanging on the wall and saw that it was already one in the afternoon. How strange, it hadn't even been nine o'clock last time he'd checked.
There was some grumbling as the last match was finished and the game was turned off, but not from Thomas. He kept the comforting buzz within him as he left for the kitchen with his friends. It was odd how something so mundane could bring him such joy, though he suspected it was because it was so mundane. He could have just as easily been hanging out with a bunch of friends after school, putting off the thought of an upcoming exam together with a video game and not realising they'd been playing for hours. Of course, Thomas wasn't going to stay up all night studying, he had to go through horrible experiments to save the world. Still beats a math test, he thought to himself.