Author's note: Technically I'm posting on Monday since it's after midnight, but I hope it's close enough. My computer was acting up for reasons unknown to me.
Chapter 41. Loss
Thomas sat on the couch half-asleep, reliving his memories like dreams. Gunshots, blood, running. He remembered the boy who'd been hit in the arm, and how his blood had spilled on Thomas. Then the girl, struck square in the chest and collapsing in instant death. Chuck with the knife that had been meant for the poor boy all along. Was everything Thomas' fault for helping WICKED in the past and for cooperating now? Were more people going to die from his choices? The world seemed impossibly bleak until the haze was broken
"What happened back there?" Newt asked. "How did they get in?"
Thomas explained how the overly excited kids had opened the door, and how everybody had started shooting.
"What I don't understand is how they managed it, "Minho said. "The Right Arm put four people in our group, and somehow they managed to hold their own until the rest joined them."
"You were with them. Are you sure you didn't hear anything?" Thomas asked.
"I heard parts of their plan, and it sounded pretty straightforward. Stupid, for sure, but Brenda kept reassuring them. She'd told us about the plan earlier —said she would make sure they went down fast. We just went along with it. Didn't seem like they would stand a chance."
"But they did," Thomas pointed out.
"I still don't get how."
Newt spoke up again. "It was Brenda. She must've done something when they got back after the first round. Sabotaged the defenses or somethin'."
"What makes you so sure it was her?" Thomas asked.
"Who else? John could have acted on his best shucking behavior and they still wouldn't have let him out of sight. Brenda was a trusted employee. She knew about WICKED's defenses. She knew about the plan to use the gas to knock everyone out if something went wrong. What's to say she didn't empty out the container or replace it with something else?"
"The bullets!" Minho said. "Not all of them, but some looked like they bounced off. If she sabotaged whatever you were talking about and replaced some of the ammunition with rubber bullets… It explains a lot, doesn't it?"
"Don't you think anybody would have checked that stuff? So far it had been calm, but the stakes were still high," Thomas argued.
The idea of Brenda doing all that didn't sit right with him. He knew that Brenda wanted to get Jorge back safely, but this supposed sabotage of hers had been very risky. Maybe if she'd had inside help, but who would have wanted to help the Right Arm? He shared this with his friends
"We wanted to help them, dude," Minho pointed out.
"That's different. We were test subjects, and we didn't know anything about them. They weren't even real when we met them the first time. WICKED's employees know who they are. What could anyone gain from starting over with the research under the leadership of people like Vince when WICKED is so close to finding the Cure?"
"We don't know that the Cure is close. They could be lying to us," Newt said.
"If they're already lying to us, what's to stop the higher-ups from lying to their staff if defection is a concern? And I don't think they lied about being close to the Cure anyway."
"Well, aren't you optimistic?" Newt mumbled.
"Yes. It's nice. You should try it sometime."
"How does this matter, anyway? We know tha—" Newt gasped, hand going to the back of his head. "Fine," he said, taking the hand down. He cleared his throat. "We know that something went wrong and that Brenda was involved, with or without help. It's not our problem, and we've got more important things to deal with."
"Don't you want to understand what happened?" Minho asked.
"Not really," Newt shrugged. "I want to find Alby, rescue him if that's needed, and get back to the others without freezing to death on the road."
He was not wrong, though Thomas found it odd that Newt was the one who wanted to move on. Of the two, Minho had always been more pragmatic in that regard.
With the past somewhat dealt with and the future pressing in, they decided to discuss strategy instead.
"We need to be prepared if the Right Arm is still at the base," Minho said. "They seemed happy to get out of the place, but they could be waiting for us. We'll hang around a bit before we go inside, and if someone sees us, we retreat."
"You mean we run and hide in the forest?" Thomas asked.
"Cowards run and hide. Smart people retreat."
"So I'll retreat, but what will you do?"
Minho kicked him in the shin.
"At least he didn't call you a coward," Newt said.
"After we get to safety, we figure it out," Minho concluded. "If they've left already, we'll check for Alby and supplies. If we find them: Great. But either way, we need to be in and out quickly in case someone comes looking for us."
"Wouldn't it be better if we go now, then?" Thomas asked. "Before they go looking there?"
"We can't. We need to rest up in case we need to run, and it's getting late besides. We can sleep in shifts and head out at sunup."
"Once we're out, we should go in the direction of their first base," Thomas said.
"And you know how we do that?" Minho prompted.
Thomas got down on the grimy floor and drew on the dirt with his finger. "If WICKED's main base is directly south of the second one, we could use the distances between WICKED's and the Right Arm's bases to find the way from here to the Right Arm's first base. There's an underground train track between the bases, and even if we can't use the track itself, there could be other small villages along the way."
"So we'd know we were on the right path. And we could take shelter, assuming there aren't any villagers around," Minho said.
"And we'd avoid whatever WICKED put on the path we were going to take for the trial," Thomas added.
When there were no protests, he continued. "So, that's our plan, then?"
"He got a 'Good that!' From Minho and a nod from Newt. And so it was decided.
It was a cold night, and Thomas lay curled up to keep in any heat he could. The blanket did little to help, so he focused on the warmth of the sofa he lay on and the jacket-sleeve he used as a pillow. He slept for short moments before waking up, cold and startled. Though his eyes hurt from tiredness, he was glad when it was his turn to keep watch. Newt had taken first watch, sitting next to Thomas on the sofa with the rest of the jacket around him. He was so still that Thomas thought he was sleeping, but as he sat up, his friend's silhouette turned to look at him.
"It's around midnight," Thomas whispered.
"Go back to sleep, Tommy. You need it more than I do," was the reply.
"No, I don't."
"Have you seen your face in a mirror lately?"
"Why? Do I look that bad?"
"The bags under your eyes are so dark I can see them in this light."
Thomas wondered if there was any truth in the statement. He hadn't been actively avoiding his reflection, but he hadn't paid it much attention. He didn't want to know what toll the stress could be taking on him, and he certainly didn't want to see. Would it be funny if he died from a stress-related heart attack? It would at least be ironic.
"You don't look too hot yourself," Thomas said, strictly speaking about weariness.
"I slept earlier this morning."
"And how many hours was that?"
"How long did you sleep?"
"I'm beginning to think you don't want to rest."
"Neither do you, apparently."
"Correct. What's your reason?"
"Last time I slept through the Right Arm taking the facility, and now we're stuck here because of me. If I go to sleep now I'll probably wake up to you shanks being eaten by rabid Cranks. What about you?" The casual way he spoke almost made it funny.
"I keep waking up. It's like there's some sort of nightmare waiting for me every time I close my eyes. Then I wake up and everything's cold and miserable."
"I'll give you the jacket. Then you won't be cold at least," Newt offered.
"I don't want you to be cold either," Thomas protested.
"A compromise, then.
Newt scooted closer and moved the jacket to cover them both. It barely covered their backs, but Thomas felt instantly warm. It was not just the heat of the fabric or even the proximity to another person. The warmth was specific to Newt, and more than a physical sensation. It was like a coat of calm settling over him, brought by the security of having that one person by his side. It was not something he was going to say, but he was completely fine with that. It was in these moments that he felt hope for a future, one in which he would have time to say what he wanted to.
"I don't suppose you'll sleep if I promise not to get killed by a Crank during the night," Thomas said.
"Would you go to sleep if I told you you might not have a nightmare this time?"
"So we're just going to sit here until the morning, then?"
"I guess. There's no point in waking Minho up for his shift, so at least he'll be rested."
"Will I, now?" Minho's voice cut through the silence.
"Did we wake you?" Thomas asked.
"Nah. It was nice of you to whisper and all, but I have literally gotten no sleep all night."
Thomas could see the shape on the other side of the room move, sitting up. Then there was a thud and his friend cursed.
"That's what you get when you take shelter under a table," Thomas said.
"Would you rather I go to you and ruin your moment?"
"And what moment would that be?" Newt asked.
"Fine," Minho said. He crossed the room to sit next to them on the couch. "Move."
Thomas and Newt moved to give Minho room. He sat down next to Thomas with what little distance the seat allowed. The heat radiating off him was not the same as sitting next to Newt, not special, though still a comforting presence.
"We're all going to regret not resting tomorrow, aren't we?" Minho asked.
"For sure. We're going to be so tired," Thomas said.
The first rays of sunshine appeared at eight in the morning. The closest thing to rest Thomas had gotten besides those early snippets of sleep was a form of half-conscious daze that he decided to count as rest. He stood up and stretched. As comforting as his place on the couch had been, his legs were not fans of sitting curled up for hours. His stomach growled angrily, at the same time as he remembered how dry his throat was.
"The Right Arm better have left some food behind for us," he said.
"If they left it for us, it's probably poisoned," Newt pointed out.
"Just leave me to dream."
"We'll find out soon enough. There's no point sticking around here," Minho said.
They left their shelter without ceremony. The morning wasn't as cold or dark as the last one, but then they'd had the advantage of running for their lives. Thomas had forgotten how cold it was out in the street. They weren't running this time, but walking at a steady pace and on constant lookout. They made it to the base without disturbance and decided to wait outside for a few minutes in case something happened. Minho went around the building to try to climb up to the high windows while Thomas and Newt kept watch by the front door.
"Remember last time we were here?" Newt asked.
"How could I forget?"
"How are your hands?"
Thomas looked down at them. The bandages were dirty over his cold palms. He undid the knot on his left hand and unwound the fabric. The skin beneath fit right in with the rest of his hands, which had reddened in the cold.
"Newt stared in disbelief. "The wounds looked deep. How could they heal so quickly?" He took the hand and ran a finger across the palm. "No pain or anything?"
"Maybe WICKED should have focused on healing wounds. They're clearly a lot better at it than at curing the Flare," Thomas said.
"I wonder where we'd be then," Newt said, dropping the hand.
Thomas removed the bandage from his other hand and found only a faint line on it. "Probably somewhere warmer." He tossed the bandages aside with some satisfaction.
"You look awfully happy about littering," Newt said.
"I'm throwing away the bandages where I got the wounds. It's poetic, or some klunk like that."
At that moment, Minho stepped around the corner. "I couldn't see anyone in the big area," he reported.
"No use in stalling," Thomas said, walking to the door.
He opened it slowly, ready for an attack. The door was open wide and nothing happened. They went inside, pulling the door back into place without closing it. Minho had been right in saying that the common room was empty, though someone could be hiding in one of the other rooms. They checked the rooms in order. Office, bathroom. Nothing. It looked like they were in the clear, though they still had the sleeping area to check. Thomas went first through the opening in the wall, and relaxed when he didn't see anybody.
"So, you came," someone said.
Thomas almost fell backward. He put his fists up to defend himself before he recognized Alby.
"You're not gonna punch me, are ya?" The older boy asked.
"If you sneak up on me again, I just might. It's good to see you, though."
"Good that, Greenie" He patted Thomas on the back and walked past him. "Is someone with you?"
Alby was happier to see Newt and Minho, but he cared mostly about getting some answers.
He frowned when they told him about the attack on the facility.
"How many got away? Are the other Gladers safe?"
"Everyone except for the soldiers went to the Flat Trans to evacuate. The Gladers and Glenners were all there as far as I know, and your mom was there, too."
"It's so weird that you have a mom," Minho said. "One that's alive and nearby, I mean."
"A mom that sold her kid to WICKED, how shucking fantastic it is to be around her." It was clear that Alby did not want to discuss it.
He went on to explain his side of yesterday. Brenda had taken him and the other girl from the facility aside and told them to stay at the Right Arm's base, where they should expect company soon. It had not been clear to them what was going to happen or what excuse Brenda had made to the people of the base, but they had stayed behind as the soldiers left with the captives, and then as the rest left a few hours later. The girl had left after a while to find out what happened and hadn't returned. She had taken half of the supplies the two had hidden away and should have been fine out in the forest, although she may well have fallen into the Right Arm's hands.
Alby shared his findings, consisting of two loaves of bread, a bottle to carry water, and a few pieces of warm clothing. Knowing food might be hard to come by later, they kept one bread-loaf and ate the other. The food would not last them a day, but it felt good to have something to fill their packs. Although their hungers were not satisfied, they could drink as much as they wished. Alby was filled in on the plan, and was agreeable enough. Thomas had hoped he would have more knowledge of the area, but they didn't learn much from what Alby knew. He'd seen the train track on a map and could remember at least three small villages along it, though he didn't know if they lay on the portion of the road between the first and second bases.
"We know there's a forest in this area, at least, so we should be able to find shelter," Thomas was saying. "But if the rest of the way is different—" He stopped, his attention catching onto something else.
"What is that? The wind?" He asked. He knew little about the weather conditions here. Could it be a sudden snowstorm?
"Minho shot to his feet. "That's not the wind, shuckface. It sounds like the helicopters we got here in."
"He's right," Alby said. "We need to get out of here."
"We can't go out the exit. They'll see us," Thomas said. "Can we use the windows?"
"Those are no good, but there's another exit," Alby said. "Through the office. Follow me."
They ran for the office. Thomas had been in there once before, talking to Brenda, but he didn't recall an exit.
The door to the office was thrown open, and there was, indeed, an exit, which would let them out on another side of the building than the main door. Minho tried the handle.
"The shuck thing is locked!" He said. He kicked at it and threw himself on it with all his force, but it was no good.
"It opened before. I know it did!" Alby said, more confused than anything.
"It doesn't matter. It won't budge," Thomas said. "We'll have to risk the main exit. Maybe we can outrun them, shake them off in the forest."
They ran again, having no other choice. Thomas' thoughts were screaming at him that they'd made a mistake. They should have hidden, gone out earlier, but there was no time. He led the group at full speed, hoping it would not be too late. His hopes were for nothing.
He stopped dead as people came inside. There were two, and he recognized one as John. Why had he thought that traitor might be trustworthy? He and the short man next to him were holding guns. They pointed the weapons, which were, unfortunately, not large enough to slow them down. They stepped just inside the exit, blocking it. If the Gladers ran back to the office to barricade themselves in there, would the men start shooting? Maybe if they were distracted they would let their guards down, but those guns could be fired quickly, hitting anyone fatally even if the intention was to take them alive. That was something useful, at least. They wanted the Gladers alive. They would be careful. He could use that. But what about Newt? They wouldn't take a non-immune, much less an infected one. Thomas made sure to move in front of his friend as they slowly backed away. They put their hands up, moving slowly to the left as they pretended to move backwards. He didn't expect to succeed, but if they got out of range, perhaps…
"Thomas!" A man called out.
Thomas stopped in his tracks. He turned to the office, where the voice had come from. Vince stepped out of it, pointing a gun at him. There was a smile on his face.
"I'm happy to see you! I wanted to make sure I told you to help us. Because it seems like you betrayed us. Like you tried to fight against us." Thomas expected the smile to become a scowl, but it didn't. It made him uneasy.
"Back away, all four of you," Vince gestured with the gun. "I don't want you to run away."
"They stepped backwards, to the other end of the building.
"Faster! No tricks!" Vince said.
They begrudgingly walked faster. Vince was trying to back them into the sleeping area, where they would have no exits except for the small one that Vince and his men would block. If they slowed near the entrance to the room, maybe Vince would be close enough to take down. No good, the other two were inside, standing at a safe distance and ready to shoot. A distraction was the only chance they had of escape.
"Wasn't it a bit stupid of you to trust me?" Thomas taunted.
The strange smile twitched. "I thought you were a nice boy. That's what they said. But you're a liar."
"Who are 'they'?" Thomas asked, confused.
"You just lie about everything, liar. You said that you would help us get what we need to find the Cure. Liar. You said you didn't want the boy with you on the mission, but you don't even know the girl. You even lied about their names, liar. But I know all the names." He pointed the gun at Minho. "Minho." He pointed at the others in turn. "Alby. Thomas. Newt." He kept the weapon directed at Newt. "That's your real name. I said I would kill you if Thomas betrayed me. We don't need a Crank."
"You'll have to kill us first," Thomas said. Minho and Alby made sounds of assent as the three of them moved in front of their friend.
John spoke, giving Vince a strange look. "Vince, you said we wouldn't hurt them."
"Vince rolled his eyes. "I won't kill him. If he gives me more of WICKED's medicine. I ran out last night. I just need a bit more, until the Cure is ready." The smile dropped, and the desperation became apparent on his face.
"You don't want that," Newt said, stepping out from behind the others. "It's not a medicine. It makes the virus spread faster."
"You're a Crank. You're lying! You're trying to trick me!"
"Vince's eyes flashed with fury and he fired two shots in Newt's direction. He missed terribly, and would have done so even if Alby hadn't pulled Newt aside.
"Vince looked furious, but didn't try to fire again.
"It's true," Thomas said. "You have to know that. Can't you feel the Flare getting worse?"
"So WICKED lied to me, too?" Vince said, almost softly. "You can't trust anyone these days." He chuckled. "I'll show them. Liars, everyone. You know what, Thomas? I don't need you, or your friends here. There are others. You will die here, liars."
Just as Thomas was going to dive to the floor to dodge the bullets, John interfered again.
"Vince, stop it! They're just kids. We need any immunes we can find. You know that. Put the gun down and we'll take care of it"
The other man nodded, relieved that he didn't have to stand up to his boss.
"No. I am going to kill them. That's what I know. Stop lying to me!" Vince yelled.
Quick as a striking snake, he pulled the trigger. The bullet struck John in the stomach. Before he could scream, he was shot again, once in the leg and once in the throat. The man collapsed.
The Gladers scattered. If Vince was confused and didn't know who to hit, maybe they had a chance. Vince looked from one person to another, his creepy grin back as he contemplated whose life to take next. Thomas saw the pause as an opportunity and pounced. He slammed into the man, one hand at his throat and the other pushing the gun away. Vince was much heavier, but he wasn't prepared. He hit the ground with Thomas on top of him, pushing one knee into his large gut. In his surprise, Vince's hold on the gun had gone lax, and Thomas had wrested it from him. The weapon fit perfectly in his hand. With one hand pressed into Vince's throat, he only had his right arm to take aim and shoot, but it was close enough to manage easily. Vince struggled, trying to push Thomas off. Thomas should shoot before it was too late.
"Stay still," he warned. "Be still or I'll shoot."
Vince stopped fighting. He looked up at Thomas, tears pooling in his eyes.
"Please. I didn't mean to. I— I don't want to die," he begged. "Please. You can't kill me. I know things. Things about WICKED."
That got Thomas' attention. "What kind of information?"
Another mistake. Vince swung to the side, grabbing the gun as he threw Thomas off. Newt helped Thomas to his feet and they backed away from Vince. The mad man glowered at Thomas. Then his face twisted into a smirk as he pointed the gun away from Thomas, at Newt. His friend had gone to help Alby, who was fighting against the other man.
Thomas cried out, but he was too far away. Newt didn't see it in time. Alby saw it. And he wasn't too far away to act. He tackled his friend to the ground, but there was an unmistakable sound of a bullet finding its mark. Alby cried out in agony as blood began to stream out of his chest.
Thomas ran at Vince again, taking the gun away with newly discovered strength and tossing it aside. He punched the man in the nose, once then twice and more than that. There were broken bones, blood, and rage.
"Thomas!" Minho called out. His voice was a croak, but Thomas heard it clearly. He turned to see that his friend stood pressing the other man into the wall. He had a gun that he threw to Thomas.
He couldn't remember killing Vince. He recalled the feeling of savage righteousness as he dealt Vince the same fatal wound he'd inflicted on Alby. He didn't remember what Vince looked like as he died. Perhaps he hadn't seen. As soon as he'd done it, he'd rushed to Alby's side. Newt was already beside his dying friend. Alby was alive, but it was obvious to Thomas that he would not stay that way for long. The older boy was gasping for breath, bleeding out even as Newt pressed something against the wound. Thomas didn't know what to do. He couldn't prevent Alby's death. He sat by his side and tried to hear his dying words and remember.
"Hurts," Alby wheezed. "Stop." He tried to push away the arms pressing the blood-soaked cloth to the wound, but his strength had left him.
"I'm sorry," Newt said. "I know it's not real, but… It just looks so…"
'Not real'? Thomas hadn't thought of that. Maybe because it seemed unlikely. When Alby's death had been an illusion previously, nobody had touched what looked like his bloody remains. What illusion could fool them into believing this blood? He didn't just see it, he could smell it, and if he touched it he was sure it would feel like blood, too. And this had been Vince's work. How could his actions have been manipulated by WICKED? No, this was real, almost definitely.
Alby said as much. "Real. This… is real," he choked out.
"Don't worry, Alby. I know they're making you say it," Newt said.
Still, he had to understand on some level. If he truly believed it wasn't real, why was he trying to stop the bleeding?
"No. Listen." Every syllable seemed to bring the dying boy more pain. "The… The Gladers… Protect… lead. And… Newt…"
His eyes flicked to Thomas, staring him right in the eyes, pleading. "Thomas…"
Thomas waited for him to continue. What had he meant? He had always disliked Thomas. Had he told Newt to stay away from him? No, he'd wanted something from Thomas. He wanted Newt to protect the Gladers, so maybe he wanted Thomas to have Newt's back. Maybe he was asking Thomas to find the Cure before it was too late. Thomas nodded, showing that he understood even though he couldn't know for sure that he did. He didn't know if this brought Alby any relief, or if he was past the point of comprehension. Those dark eyes were fixed on his until they weren't. Thomas saw the exact moment the life left the Gladers' leader