Chapter 39. Distraction.
Thomas, Newt, Teresa, and Alby let the other boys run ahead while following at a slower pace themselves. It was not due to a lack of wanting to see their friends again, but apprehension, and the shock of being ripped from their moment unexpectedly. Their friends had gotten there much faster than they had anticipated. There had only been a dozen of them earlier that morning, and now —at two— all thirty were there, not just arrived at the Right Arm's base, but at WICKED's door.
It seemed like a good thing; it probably meant that they had another helicopter or two that didn't initially work, but regardless of number, they would have been crowded enough to have no room for guards. Or, he supposed, there might have been guards on the earlier flights. It depended on the number of vehicles and places within them. He didn't think the Right Arm could have managed to hide away too many working helicopters, especially large ones, meaning their friends could not be heavily guarded. Of any soldiers who may have been sent, surely some would stay with the weak people who had remained at the base, unless, of course, they decided to bring them along as well. He dreaded that possibility. The trick with a locked room and gas had worked once before, but the more people, the harder it would be to reenact. A large group containing weak people would move too slowly. Even if they closed off a whole section of the building, they would start to realize that their imprisoned friends were nowhere to be seen. It could result in violence, and while he was mainly worried about the Gladers and the Glenners, he remembered Piper, the old woman who had shown them around the Right Arm base like they were guests there. Something that Rose had said —right before her words had become personal attacks and he'd stopped caring about what she had to say— stuck to his thoughts like the words were still vibrating through his ears. The kid, Jules, who had reminded him of Chuck. 'If he comes running from the forest, are you gonna shoot him down?' She had asked. He did not doubt that some of WICKED's soldiers would have no problem firing at their Right Arm counterparts if the hostages were out of the way, but how far did their moral codes extend? What would be justifiable? He knew that he and his friends at WICKED would not be allowed to help, rather kept at a safe distance. All of them knew it, and they did not want to look on like they were the audience at a cinema, staring through the windows and cameras with their hearts racing from the suspense, unable to effect any outcome. In short: he would have no power to protect the innocent from harm should they arrive. And yet they wanted to know what was happening, if only for the sake of knowing when it was done.
The alarm had stopped. There were shouts, but no gunfire. They got to the staircase, Ben and the others long gone. Newt stopped at the foot of the stairs, the others taking the cue to slow down.
"Before we go up there, I want to thank you. Thanks for being there. I know that I was acting like a prat, and I'm sorry."
"It's cool, man. That's what friends are for," Alby said.
"For acting like prats?" Newt grinned, seemingly back to normal.
"For putting up with your lame shucking jokes," Alby retorted.
"And for being there," Teresa chimed in.
Newt began moving up the staircase. "Thanks."
The crowd by the entrance was buzzing like a flock of bees. Upon first glance, Thomas was wondering why nobody seemed concerned about emptying the area in front of the door when a fight could break out. A split second later he spotted Brenda, apart from the group, but studying it curiously. He felt his lips tugged into a broad smile as the relief filled him. They had gotten there, safe and sound, no fighting required as far as he could see. He ran into the buzzing, feeling as much a part of the hive as anyone else. He saw Gally's head pop up once or twice in the turmoil, and Frypan, and so many others. It was over, finally. For the moment, and from that particular conflict, they had been saved. He had missed having all the people around. He even missed Minho being sarcastic every minute of every day, and he might even tell him that. Where was he, though? He supposed there were taller people that might be hiding him from sight. Minho had been among the first in the Glade besides, and would be known by everyone —of course he would be surrounded. He changed tactics. Minho and Newt were close friends, so if he could find Newt… No good. Newt was easy to find, but the boy shaking hands with him wasn't Minho. Something wasn't right. Rather than look at the Glader in front of him, Newt was looking around the group, searching. He met Thomas' gaze once, and their look served to show each other what they both knew.
Thomas pushed his way through the crowd, trying to get out, his elation sinking back to where it had come from. Brenda looked at him as he got closer. John was standing next to her, disinterested.
"What's going on?" Thomas asked.
"You saw the absences?" Brenda grimaced sympathetically. "Don't worry. The others are fine. I'm assuming, they're still at the main base."
"Then why are you here now?"
"Well, the pilots needed a break, so we took the subjects who had arrived by then here."
"A break? For how long?"
"Not sure. We'll stay here for an hour or so to rest up and then we'll go back."
"How many helicopters did they have?" Teresa asked, having popped up beside Thomas.
"Just the one," Brenda said. "Medium-sized, seven places."
"I thought there would be six," Thomas said. "If twelve had arrived after two flights…"
"No, there are seven places in total. Six passenger places, you're right."
"Wasn't there more than one pilot?"
"It's just the one."
"But you said pilots plural when you said the pilots needed a break."
"I did? We can't all be perfect speakers all the time. I've been running through the forest for hours. I'm in desperate need of a drink."
"A drink as in water, or drink as in alcohol?" Teresa inquired.
Brenda laughed. "Surprise me."
"So everything went fine with the Right Arm?" Thomas asked.
Brenda's smile turned wry. "The Right Arm wasn't the problem, your friends were. They thought we were with the Right Arm. It took some time to get them to listen up so we could contact you guys. They trusted us after seeing Teresa and Harriet, but the signal was so bad I was sure it would never work at first. We told the Right Arm that we tricked them into trusting us, so there would be no problem going alone. It wasn't like they had the soldiers to send backup in the first place, so they were more relieved than anything. I'll need to talk more with Joan about it after I get my water-and-or-booze."
Brenda left, John trailing after her. Thomas had been partly aware of the group quieting down next to him, and once it had his full attention he saw a tall girl explaining what Brenda had before.
With the cheerfulness turned down a notch, the newcomers were shown to the bathrooms to get cleaned up. He had been able to look more closely at the individuals by then. Four from Group A, Gally and Frypan among them, and the remaining fourteen from the other group. He recognized the girl with the Flare, who had been the one explaining what was going on to the others. Vince must've truly believed that his people had taken the building if he let go of who he believed to be his main hostage against Thomas. He remembered when he'd talked to Vince and lied about that girl's name —and then Newt's— to trick him. He himself didn't know what her actual name was, but he doubted she had enjoyed having to be referred to by the fake name for days. Or maybe she had found it amusing. He thought it best to steer clear in case she was angry.
Thomas and Teresa stayed behind as the mass of people left. The blind relief that had seized Thomas earlier and made him feel part of the group had faded upon realizing that the struggle wasn't over, and it was obvious that this moment was for the newly arrived and their lost friends. Thomas had seen the newcomers just days ago, and he hadn't known them for long either. He recognized himself as part of the group, but not for this. Teresa didn't say, but he guessed she felt even more like an outsider than he did. At least he had arrived at the Glade as a normal Greenie and had spent his first days there conscious. At least he hadn't been forced to lie to the other Gladers.
"Maybe we should start a Group C," Teresa joked. "The group for misfits."
He wondered if she had read his mind or the situation.
"We can call ourselves that. The Misfits," Thomas said.
Footsteps stopped him before saying anything else.
"Another Misfit?" Teresa said in a low voice.
It was Newt, returning.
"Maybe not," Teresa said.
"Maybe not what?" Newt asked.
"We were thinking of starting Group C for the people who don't belong," Teresa explained.
"And you don't want me in that group?"
"You're too popular," Teresa said. "I thought you'd be with the others, catching them up on Glader gossip and whatnot."
"I had a headache. The noise was starting to make me angry."
"You can hang out with us," Thomas invited. "We're very quiet."
"That's only 'cause there's just the two of you. But I'm better now, so whatever."
He stood next to Thomas, leaning against the wall. "You know, when we got upstairs I thought we were in the clear. Should've known something was wrong."
"Nothing went wrong. We just didn't know the schedule," Thomas reminded him.
"I don't know. I've got a bad feeling about it. Like something will go wrong."
"Something always goes wrong," Teresa said. "I just want to enjoy the last few hours of peace before it happens. Does that make me a horrible person?"
"No, you're onto something," Newt said. "Sittin' around thinking about it will just stress us out. But what is there to do?"
"It's lunchtime, so we could go to the kitchen and come back here," Thomas suggested.
"And we'll be talking about absolute nonsense," Teresa filled in.
"And when it's time for Brenda and John to leave we can make sure that they're ready. That way we'll have done something," Thomas said.
"As long as the nonsense won't be crazy nightmare-scenarios," Newt said.
The entrance hall was nice once the displaced furniture had been put in place. They found that metal curtains could be pushed to the sides of small, high windows, that let in warming sunbeams.
"There's snow outside," Thomas reported, standing on a chair to get a good view. "More than before. It's gotta be freezing for it to be there with a clear sky. Though it looks like the sun will be down before long."
"It's December. Did you know that?" Teresa asked. "I asked someone earlier. Do you remember celebrating Christmas?"
Thomas sat down at the table. "Faintly. I can't seem to remember when I try to, but when I think about Christmas…" The smell of pine, the crinkle of paper. He must have been very small.
"What about in the Glade? Did you pick a day and make that Christmas?" Teresa asked.
Newt shook his head. "In the beginning, we tried to create some sort of celebration day for motivation, but it didn't work. Bad effects on morale. It was better to keep busy all the time."
"You know what?" Teresa said. "The Christmas after we're free, this one or the next, we'll throw a mega-party to make up for all the Christmases we've lost."
The other two agreed that this was an excellent idea, and began discussing how they would gain their freedom before the twenty-fifth, coming up with increasingly ridiculous schemes. It didn't matter if their conversation was being recorded; WICKED knew full well that none of them had any idea where to find the lions they needed as a distraction for the first plot, and it only got crazier from there. It was fun.
An hour later, Brenda appeared, John on her tail. They were zipping up their thick jackets and arranging their equipment.
"I was wondering where you'd gone," Brenda said upon seeing them. "Are you here to demand to come with us?"
"If we did, would you let us?" Teresa asked.
"You're out of luck; we only need two people."
Thomas stood up, about to volunteer.
"Two people whom we've already chosen," Brenda continued.
As if on cue, to figures stepped around the corner, dressed for the cold weather. The first was a girl, vaguely familiar, one of the previous hostages. The other was Alby.
"Alby? No. You can't go," Newt protested, suddenly worried.
"Why not?" Alby looked puzzled.
"It's the Right Arm. I've been there, but you haven't. If something goes wrong…" Newt turned to Brenda. "Let me go instead."
John glowered at him. "We're not taking a Crank with us."
"I'll go," Thomas said. "I know the layout, and the way there and back." That much was true. He wanted to ensure the safety of his captured friends, and if he went instead of Alby, Newt wouldn't have to be worried about his friend.
Now Newt turned on him. "No. You're too important —to WICKED, I mean. You're immune, both of you. I'm expendable. I should go."
"Sorry, Newt, but you're a loose cannon," Brenda said. "And not being immune doesn't mean WICKED has no use for you."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" He grumbled.
"That should probably scare you," Brenda said. "As for Thomas: No, you can't go. Newt was right about you being too important. And before Teresa volunteers…" Brenda looked at Teresa, shaking her head. "Alby and Henrietta will do just fine. Alby will prove to the Right Arm that we succeeded in getting here, and Henrietta was with the hostages before, meaning they trust her. They're the best people now that we won't have the video."
That was the end of the argument it seemed. Brenda went through a checklist, making sure they had water, flashlights, and extra batteries. As she'd said, they weren't bringing the tablet as they had last time, due to the faulty connection.
Newt had taken Alby aside to talk him out of going, but he didn't have any success.
"We're not going there to fight," Alby reasoned. "Their last trip went fine. I'm just there to make sure everything runs smoothly."
"And what if it doesn't? If it's that safe, why can't someone else go instead?"
"I'm not sayin' there's no risk, but I'll be ready if something goes wrong."
Newt was not satisfied with that answer. "Please don't go. For me."
Alby hesitated. "Look, it'll take too much time to find someone else. But really, you're overthinking this. Nothing will happen. We'll be back in the morning. You're still my second-in-command, so you get to boss the Gladers around until I get back."
Alby smiled. Newt clearly didn't find anything funny about it, though he seemed to have realized there was no point in arguing further. "Slinthead," he said to Alby as he hugged him goodbye.
Thomas stood with Newt and Teresa, watching as the four people stepped out into the snowy darkness. They stared out the windows until the blurry silhouettes disappeared into the forest, and stayed there for a while. They didn't say much after that. The cheerfulness had disappeared entirely.
As they carried their empty plates back to the kitchen, they were intercepted by Mike, who wanted to take blood samples from Thomas. The other two waited outside the test-room as Thomas was drained of blood again by the same group of scientists as last time.
"Is my blood any different from yesterday?" Thomas asked impatiently, rubbing his sore elbow.
"It might be. I'll have to look at it more closely," Mike said. "You can go now. Tell Teresa that she can help with the testing if she wants. She seemed interested in the research."
Thomas opened the door and found Newt and Teresa still outside, discussing something. Thomas told her that she could help if she wanted to, and she went in excitedly, telling the two others not to wait for her.
Thomas and Newt walked slowly, not headed in any particular direction.
"What were you two talking about?" Thomas asked.
"I was apologizing to her for the way I acted earlier," Newt explained. "She said it's fine."
Thomas wondered if she'd told him about her memories. Probably not, though she must have wanted to. Though timing was mostly down to coincidence and rarely provided perfect moments, he hoped Teresa would get one of them to explain herself to everyone and lighten the load on her shoulders.
They ended up outside their room and decided to go inside rather than keep drifting through the corridors like ghosts.
Sitting down on one of the beds, Newt looked at Thomas. "I need to apologize to you, too," he said.
Thomas sat on a chair, nodding to show he was listening.
"I've been lashing out at you, not being fair… You act like it's fine, but I know it isn't."
"It's not," Thomas admitted. "It's my fault, too, for worrying too much, but it still hurt when you told me to go away. And I don't like it when you accuse me of being in a relationship with Teresa when I've made it clear that I'm not."
Newt nodded his understanding. "It's not your fault to any extent, just so you know. I'm the one who's being mean. I really like you, and having you around. I've no idea why you care so much about me, but it makes me feel good, and I really appreciate it. I know that, even when the Flare… Oh, the bloody Flare. That's no excuse. I know it's wrong even when my mind's fuzzy and angry, and I can't muster the self-control to stop myself from saying something hurtful. I always tell myself that it won't happen again —that I will control myself next time— but then I'm there and I forget and it's all I can do to stick to just mean words. It's getting harder to control, and if I'm not strong enough to do it now… I want to apologize for what I'll say then, and I don't want you to listen to what I'll tell you."
"I'm notoriously bad at listening, as you'll remember from the maze incident," Thomas joked half-heartedly. "Look, I don't expect you to be able to control yourself all the time when the Flare is raging around inside you. The reason it hurt is that I'm never sure what's a lie and what's real bitterness you have. I know how the Flare is supposed to act, but I can't understand how it actually is for obvious reasons."
"The Flare is sort of like having insects flying around inside your head. They're always buzzing, sometimes biting, and when it gets too much it makes you so frustrated that you just wanna tear something to shucking pieces. Then you see your friend, who just wants to make sure you're alright, and you know somewhere that you should be grateful but you're too angry to think of anything positive, so you find the tiniest possible reason to be angry and run with it. I don't remember what I was thinking last night -maybe it was that I wanted to be alone- but it had nothing to do with you because I could never dislike you."
"I think I get it. So when you insinuate that Teresa and I are an item, what is it that makes you say that?"
Newt looked at the floor, reddening. "Maybe… jealousy?"
Jealousy made sense, though Thomas didn't know the subject of it. Was it of Thomas, Teresa, or simply of having had something that could have become a relationship? He wanted very much to know, but he had to wait because if he asked Newt, he might say that he envied the relationship Teresa had had with Thomas, that he wanted to have that with him. After all, other people thought Newt liked him, and he'd had a similar bad attitude towards Brenda before. And if he said that, Thomas would have to reveal what he felt. He'd already decided that he shouldn't say anything while Newt had the Flare, and lying would make things far worse. It was still tempting. It would be so easy to ask. Time was frozen, waiting for him to decide whether to ask the simple question that could be asked in two little words.
"What now?" He asked, ignoring the painful feeling in his chest as he threw his chance away.
"Just so we're clear: you're not mad at me?"
"Not even a little bit," Thomas promised. "What I am is sort of bored. What do you wanna do?"
"We could play a video game," Newt suggested.
"Not now. I'm sure the tv's crowded, and I don't feel like it."
"How about going to the gym? It's productive and takes your mind off things."
"That's perfect," Thomas decided.
Though Thomas was not in the mood to be part of a crowd, he didn't expect the gym to be empty in the middle of the afternoon. He didn't mind the three other people using the room when he got there, partly because he knew them. Harriet, Sonya, and their friend Ximena were over by the weights and looked up as he and Newt entered.
"Hi, Newt. Thomas," Sonya greeted.
"I take it you're feeling better, then?" Newt asked his sister.
She smiled. "As good as before getting put in a coma by a Crank and then some other people and being dragged across the country," she said.
Newt looked unsure whether or not to laugh at that, and instead made for the treadmills.
"They were looking for you," Harriet told him.
He turned back around "Who?"
"The Gladers. They seemed to think you were going to show up and make an announcement."
Newt looked confused.
"Right, 'cause you're their leader while Alby's away," Thomas recalled.
"He'll only be gone a few hours. What's the point of making a fuss about it?" Newt asked.
"A lot can happen in a few hours," Harriet said. "Trust me when I say that people are crazy."
"And order. Don't forget about order," Thomas teased.
Newt glowered but decided not to argue against his own words turned against him. "Fine. There's a process where the leader can step down and name a replacement. Congrats, Tommy. You're it."
"Well then, my first act as leader shall be to abdicate and make you leader again. I haven't even met all of the Gladers, and if Alby comes back to me as his second-in-command he'll be pissed."
"Probably. You wouldn't make a good second-in-command, just like I don't make a good leader."
"Maybe you should team up then," Sonya suggested. "There needs to be a balance. Like how I make plans and Harriet can make sure they're carried out."
"That sounds like Alby and me," Newt said, "but working with Tommy would be different."
Thomas imagined being the leader of the Gladers with Newt as second-in-command and didn't mind the thought of it.
Newt looked at him as he continued. "You can come up with ideas well enough, and make them work. I've just got to be there to make sure you don't go through with the dumb stuff, like sacrificing yourself to Grievers. And I'm great at pep talks. Well, better than Minho, anyway. 'Be careful. Don't die.' As if we couldn't figure that out, Shuckface." He smiled fondly at the memory despite himself, before he froze. "Why are we even talking about this? Alby'll be back by breakfast tomorrow." He shook his head and left the conversation.
The exercise felt good in the I-am-absolutely-exhausted-but-I've-forgotten-all-my-problems way. Thomas ran next to Newt for a while until his friend left to do something else. Every few minutes he would make the machine go faster, to give himself a challenge. Closing his eyes he felt a sense of freedom, as if he wasn't running in place inside of a room, as if his thundering footsteps against the treadmill connected with stone rather than plastic. But that reminded him of the Maze. Running from the Grievers, then towards them, and then out. Out to those people they'd thought were the creators. And Gally. And then Chuck… Thomas opened his eyes. He was in the gym at the WICKED-facility, far away from the Maze. Newt was behind him, talking to his sister over by the weights. Thomas increased his speed to battle the uneasiness his memories had brought. He stared at his feet, focusing only on making them move fast enough. He was soon out of breath, his limbs aching, and he only stopped once he was sure he couldn't continue. He felt good, almost happy, and the only thing he wanted was some water.
Dinner would have been a somber affair had it not been for Teresa, eager to share what she had learned from helping to analyze Thomas' blood sample. She said that the blood itself hadn't changed, but the brain scans from before indicated it would only be a matter of time. Both the hope of being so close and the frustration of being so close distracted him from the thought of Minho, Alby, and the others. He celebrated the piece of good news with his friends as best he could, saying that maybe they wouldn't have to redo the failed trial, which, after all, they had heard no mention of. He spread the cheer as best he could, making an effort to speak to the people who looked nervous. As worried as he was himself, it was worse for them; the least he could do was help distract them.
After dinner, a small group of them went to the room with the tv in it and played video games for an hour or two, before tiring of it. Thomas then went to the room that more or less belonged to him and Newt at this point, followed by said occupant of the room and Teresa.
"When do you reckon they'll be back?" Newt asked. He was sitting at the small table, his head resting on his arms, though he looked more bored than tired.
"Brenda said six people per round, so that's two more. Six hours for all of them to get to the second base after the break, and then four or so to get here," Teresa said, looking down at them from the top bunk, equally bored.
"What are we supposed to do for ten hours?" Newt complained.
"It doesn't have to be ten hours from now," Thomas reasoned. He, too, sat at the table, tapping his foot against the floor. "We don't know how long their pilot needs to rest. They could have started up five hours ago or maybe they'll start in five hours…"
"Yes, Tommy. Thanks for being uplifting," Newt raised his head to look at the clock on the wall. "If they're not here by this time in the morning I'll bloody well go after them myself."
"That plan is so good that I want to go with you," Thomas remarked, though he did intend on going with Newt if he was sneaking out. If it seemed like a bad idea in twelve hours, he could try to delay it then, because that was a problem for tomorrow.
"Count me in. It'll be like the good old two days ago," Teresa said.
"Has it really been only two days since we got here?" Thomas asked. It made some sense if he thought about it, but time had been particularly blurred lately.
"It seems so much longer, doesn't it?" She pondered.
"And two weeks ago we were still in the simulation," Newt added.
"If WICKED doesn't slow down we'll probably be running around on the moon in another two weeks," Thomas said.
"Might be a bit oxygen-less, but at the very least—"
"No WICKED," Thomas filled in. "Assuming they're not hiding somewhere on the dark side of the moon."
"'Oops. The connection is breaking up. We can't hear you, WICKED.' And then we build a city on the moon," Teresa said.
"There are no food sources on the moon," Thomas pointed out.
"Haven't you heard that the entire thing is made out of cheese?"
"And that's what we would build our city from? Cheese?"
"It would be easy to work with," Teresa reasoned.
"And what would we do with criminals?" Newt asked. "They could just chew their way out of jail."
"That's part of the plan. We'd put them in blocks of cheese so big that if they tried eating through it all they would die from cheese-poisoning. Or we could blast them into space."
Newt scoffed. "You're insane." He stood up, looking at the door with intent.
"Where are you going?" Thomas asked.
Newt shrugged. "I'm gonna go down to the Gladers, see how they're doing. I'm not their leader, but I should make sure they're doing alright."
"Of course." Thomas got up to go with him, but Newt held up a hand.
"You don't have to go with me. You two should try to get some rest, and I don't think you'll find any down there."
"What about you?" Thomas asked. "Shouldn't you sleep? Especially after staying up last night; you must be exhausted."
Newt shrugged again. "See ya tomorrow."
Thomas and Teresa found nothing to discuss after Newt had left, and spent their time reading instead. Thomas dozed off quickly, but woke up after a few hours' fitful sleep, knowing instantly that he would not be getting any more of it at that time. Getting up, he saw that Teresa was sleeping. He was glad that at least she was able to. Checking his watch, he saw that, funnily enough, he'd once again woken up at three in the morning. Like last time, he decided to head out of the room. Not to seek anybody out, but to wait by the entrance. They would be there soon enough, and this time he would be there to count the people before he gave himself false hope. He would wait patiently by the door until it was over, because it would be over one way or the other. He didn't know if this end would entail being thrown a new task right away, but he was sure that it would be preferable to the waiting.