Chapter 42. Vengeance.
Thomas stood up, almost stumbling as he moved back —away from the corpse. Alby's last words rang through his head, echoing: Thomas, Thomas.
"Thomas!" It was Minho, marching towards him, pulling the man from the Right Arm by the collar. He stopped, looking past him at his fallen friend. "Is he dead?" He asked in a steely voice.
Thomas found himself at a loss for words, but his face must have made it plain.
Minho nodded, then thrust a gun at Thomas. "Keep an eye on this guy," he said, giving their captive a shove towards him.
Thomas looked at the man. He was short, with a thin, nervous face and pale eyes that would frequently glance over to where Newt and Minho were kneeling by their friend, before returning to a spot on the floor.
"Look," Thomas told him, feeling himself get increasingly annoyed.
"What?" The eyes fixed on Thomas, wide with terror.
"Look at what you did. Don't turn away like he's not there."
"I didn't do this! I never wanted to hurt nobody. I—I swear!"
"I don't care what you wanted. Alby is still dead." The words felt strange as he said them.
"I didn't do it! It was Vince. You saw how he was —crazy! If I'd known…"
"You knew. I didn't see you do anything about it."
"But John…"
Thomas was looking down at the gun and saw a dark stain. He shifted the weapon to his other hand and saw a smear of blood where he had held it. Had Minho taken it from John's body during the fight?
"He stood up to Vince. He was brave." A traitor, perhaps, but he had done something right in the end at least. "Why weren't you? The two of you could have taken Vince down."
"He would have killed me!"
"We would have felt sad for you, then. Now you'll die as a pathetic coward."
Thomas lifted the weapon. He felt cold on the inside. Sorrow and anger howled in a numbing chill much worse than the freezing weather outside. What did he care about mercy?
"P-please," the man stammered. "You can't— I have a son! He needs me!"
"What could he possibly need you for?" Thomas removed the safety on the gun. He hadn't planned to do this, but why shouldn't he punish the last of the three men who had come to capture them?
"No! Please! He's only a child!" The man's sobs could only be described as hysterical. "My boy. My Jules. I'm the only one left. I can't leave him. Please."
The spark of recognition ignited Thomas' sensibility and brought it back to life. He looked at the gun, then at the man who had fallen to his knees in incoherent pleading. What was he doing? He put the safety back and put the gun into his pocket. He had almost killed this man who wasn't posing a threat to anyone. He would have done it, and knowing that made him feel sick.
He looked over at his friends —Why hadn't they stopped him?— but they seemed to be in a heated discussion.
Thomas looked down at the man, ashamed.
"I won't kill you. I didn't mean it. Please, you can stop crying."
"Thank you!" The man got to his feet, wiping at his eyes. "Thank you. I'm sorry."
Maybe the man could have stopped Vince before it was too late, or maybe he would have left another child orphaned. Events had already happened as they had, and there was no point in causing pain for another innocent person. That poor kid seemed to have gone along with life as best he could, and Thomas had almost added to his struggle.
"We won't kill you, but we can't let you run back to the Right Arm and tell them where we are."
The man nodded quickly. "Of course. You can take the helicopter. You get to go where you want and I can be on my way. I won't know where you are."
"We don't know how to fly a helicopter." Thomas did not think flying a helicopter was something one should attempt without proper study, and he couldn't recall flying in something other than a berg.
"It's not that hard. There're instruction manuals lying around somewhere —I'm sure of it. Or I can show you what to do. Or-"
"You know how to fly it?"
"I'm a pilot. That's why Vince brought me along."
Thomas thought for a minute before making his decision.
"How about you give me and my friends a ride? You can drop us off where we tell you to and then you can fly home to your kid."
"Of course! I promise I won't try anything. We can all walk away happy."
The man looked nervous, but he didn't look like he was lying. He had no reason to care where the Gladers went, and this bargain would benefit him as much as them. This was assuming he was who he seemed. Staying vigilant and letting time tell should suffice.
A fight had been brewing in the background as Thomas had been rearranging their plan. What started as an irrelevant annoyance of raised voices that he paid no mind to had become shouting too loud to ignore. Annoyed at his friends for fighting at such inconvenient times, Thomas strode over to break it up.
Shouting was apparently not enough for Newt. He punched Minho in the face. Minho was just as surprised as Thomas, but he ran at his friend, ready to give as good as he got. Thomas stepped between his friends and was grateful that Minho stopped before crashing into him.
"What is with you two?" Thomas asked, looking from one to the other with all the disapproval he could convey. "We don't need anyone else getting hurt. Do you think Alby would want you to fight like some shuck kids?"
"Minho is acting like a shuck kid," Newt said.
"Only 'cause you are," Minho snapped. "He's dead! Why won't you understand? Alby is dead, you crazy—" Minho stopped himself with visible effort, but his friend had no such intentions.
"He's not. It's WICKED playing their bloody game. It always is, and we always fall for it. Maybe because we listen to stupid shanks like you."
"Newt, look at him," Minho said. The fight had left him, and he was just sad. Blood dripped from where the punch had split his lip. "He can't be alive and you know it."
Newt tried to step around Thomas, but he could not be allowed to reach Minho.
"Get out of the way, Tommy!"
"No way. Calm down."
Newt did not push past him, but he was glaring at Minho with the same rage as before.
"Tell him, Thomas," Minho urged. "He won't listen to me."
"He's not as dumb as you, Minho. He knows what's goin' on. Don't you, Tommy?" Newt asked.
"Look, we can't know anything for sure. Maybe it's WICKED, or maybe it isn't. We don't have the time to fight about it, so stop, both of you."
Neither of his friends were pleased with his neutrality. Thomas had no idea why he'd said what he had, but he was not going to stay on this issue.
"The guy over there is a pilot. He'll fly us out of here, so we better get everything ready before someone else gets here," Thomas said. He gestured for the man to come over and headed for the exit.
Minho grabbed his arm. "We need to talk now."
"Why? So you can try to convince him of your wrong ideas?" Newt asked.
"He's not gonna pit me against you if that's what you're worried about," Thomas said. "Can you go make sure the helicopter's ready? Take the pilot with you."
"Sure. I'll keep an eye on him," Newt said unenthusiastically.
The door slammed shut and Minho stood before him with his arms crossed.
"Why did you lie? You saw Alby. This wasn't staged."
"I know that, but what was I supposed to do?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe tell the truth? Newt's like this because of the Flare, and when the craziness subsides he'll understand."
"Because it went over so well when you told him. How's your lip?"
Minho's lip had swelled up, looking quite painful, but Minho didn't seem to care.
"He wouldn't punch you," he said. "You're ugly enough as it is. Besides, you know how much he trusts you."
"And what if he didn't believe me anyway? It's the Flare, like you say, so we should avoid setting him off."
"By lying to him?"
"I didn't lie. We don't know that WICKED has no part in this. He'll come to his senses soon enough and realize that he was wrong."
"And what if he goes on believing Alby's alive? Would you let him think that forever?"
"Of course not. If he doesn't figure it out, I'll tell him after he gets the Cure."
"He would want you to be honest."
"This is about life or death. None of us understand the Flare. We don't know what will happen if we gang up on him with the truth. Maybe we'd convince him, but I'd rather be safe than sorry."
Minho sighed. "Let's just avoid the topic. But I'm not gonna lie if it's brought up."
Like before, Minho's energy seemed to drain out of him and he stared forlornly into the distance.
"Are you okay?" Thomas asked.
"My friend is lying dead on the floor," Minho responded. He stayed silent for a minute before continuing. "It was bad enough the first time. Then I found him here alive, and we had less than an hour to reconnect before I had to leave him again. I didn't think he'd be here after the attack, but he was, and I thought we had him back for good. Then Vince comes along to take him away again, and this time I know he won't come back."
Thomas wasn't sure what to say, but he tried. "I'm sorry. I didn't know him as well as you did, so I can't understand, but I'm sad he's dead."
"So am I. He deserved better than being shot by someone like Vince."
"It was a brave death, at least."
"What do you mean?"
"Vince would have shot Newt, but Alby took the bullet for him. Didn't you see?"
"No. But it's good that it went that way -if it had to happen at all. He wouldn't have minded dying as much if it was to protect a friend, not that he wanted to die in the first place."
Thomas nodded, before something dawned on him, something he'd forgotten. "What do we do with his body?"
"We can't bury him, if that's what you mean," Minho said, looking sadder than before. "We don't have time to dig a huge hole in the ground, and if we burned him the smoke would tell anyone nearby where we are. Even if we could do something, Newt wouldn't let us since you let him go on believing Alby's still alive."
"Maybe we could ask the pilot to return after flying us back to WICKED," Thomas suggested.
Minho made a sniffling sound that was probably supposed to be a scoff. "And you think he'd actually do that? You think he'll even take us to WICKED?"
"It seems like he just wants to go home to his son. If we watch him he won't have the guts to try anything."
"Or maybe he's pretending that he has a kid so we'll pity him. It seemed to work well enough on you."
"So you saw?"
"It was clear what you were going to do until he started blabbing about his son."
"Hang on. You would have let me kill the guy?"
"If he hadn't put up a fight, we could all have gone for Vince before he could do anything. If you'd asked me to kill him, I would have."
"He wasn't lying, though. I met his son when I was here the first time. The kid looks enough like him from what I remember. The thought of taking some poor kid's parent away when we don't have to… Doesn't it make you feel bad?"
"It should. I don't know why it doesn't. Maybe later." Minho shrugged. "If we make it to WICKED's facility, we could look for Alby's mom. Do you think she'd come here to bury him?"
"If she was allowed to, then probably. Alby didn't like her much, but I don't think it was mutual. It might be too close to the Right Arm to be safe, though. We can't count on WICKED's help."
"It's not like we have any choice," Minho said unhappily. "We could at least find something to cover him."
They walked by the body in their search for something to put over it. Though his eyes were closed, Alby looked far from peacefully slumbering. Thomas did not want to think about what prey all the blood might attract, or how the body would look in a few days.
"We had some sheets from the house," Thomas said. "If we could find them—"
"We can't use those," Minho said.
Thomas' question of 'why?' Was answered as he looked back at Alby again. He hadn't noted what Newt had pressed against the wound, but he could see it now. Minho was right in that they could not be used.
They had to settle for some shabby cloths from the sleeping area that nobody had bothered to take. A red stain blossomed on the fabric as it touched the wound and they had to put another over it. They only had enough to cover the wound and Alby's face. Once done they stood beholding the pathetic effort. Thomas glanced at Minho and saw silent tears run down his face. He had stayed calm for as long as he could, but this sight was too much for him. Thomas embraced his friend and let him sob into his shoulder for a moment. Thomas felt the burning behind his own eyes but managed to hold his own tears at bay.
"We need to go. We can't stay here," Minho said, his voice shaky but determined.
They left the Right Arm's base and the three corpses within. One friend, one foe, and one uncertainty. Once Thomas closed the door behind him, the building became their tomb.
A helicopter was awkwardly parked outside. Thomas wasn't sure if he'd ever seen one before, and couldn't be sure whether it was supposed to be this big or if it was normal. Their new pilot sat in the driver's seat, checking something by the looks of it. Newt was next to him, making sure he didn't try to escape.
"How's it going?" Thomas asked as they got closer.
"Everything looks fine and ready to go," the pilot responded.
Newt had turned to them and was frowning. "What's wrong, Minho?"
"It's nothing," Minho said, forcing a small grin to his face. "You weren't about to leave Thomas and me behind, were you?"
"Just get inside," Newt said.
There were two seats on the right of the pilot. Thomas took the seat next to Newt, who sat in the middle. Minho squeezed past Thomas' seat to the area behind it, which had a few seats on the sides and an area for storage in the middle. There was no barrier between the front and back of the vehicle.
"It was a new model, released right before the Sun Flares," their pilot said. "Built for space and comfort."
Thomas could have said that sitting in this cramped space would not be comfortable for very long, but he didn't. "Do you know where to take us?" He asked instead.
The pilot tapped a display that drew up a map. "I can take you here," he pointed. "If I get any closer the helicopter might be detected, and we shouldn't risk getting shot out of the sky. It shouldn't take more than two hours to reach WICKED's facility from there."
"Sounds good," Thomas said. "Can you—"
"No, it does not sound good," Newt interrupted. "You need to get as far away from them as possible."
"Why?" Thomas asked. What was this coming from?
"The deal you made with WICKED, remember?"
"We'll cooperate if we get as much information as they can give and they don't kill anyone?"
"I thought you didn't believe Alby's dead," Minho said.
"He's not, but they want us to think he is. And it's not just him. You said a girl got shot during the attack on the second facility, and if she didn't die she's in the Right Arm's power. Same goes for the one who was with Alby and left. Who knows what the Right Arm will do with them? If we go back to WICKED as if nothing happened, the deal is pointless and they can do whatever they want."
"Just because we can't prove WICKED had nothing to do with that doesn't mean they did it. And what about the Cure?" Thomas said.
A sudden 'beep' startled them out of their debate. A tablet by the pilot turned on, displaying a message. Luke, please respond. We are sending backup.
Thomas snatched the tablet out of the pilot's reach. "What do they mean by backup? Who messaged you?"
"You weren't trying to lead us into a trap, were you, Luke?" Newt asked, the threat evident in his tone.
The man, yet again terrified, stuttered out something about the second helicopter and needing to get away fast.
"Then fly," Minho told him. "Go towards WICKED."
The helicopter took off smoothly, but Newt was seething with rage.
"Why won't you listen to me? I told you. It's all part of their game. They send us somewhere and we think we're alone, but there they are with their beetle blades and secret agents and bloody mind control."
Minho looked at him with disbelief. "Yeah, I'm sure Vince was acting."
"No, he wasn't acting. That much we know," Thomas said. "He was mad from taking that so-called medicine."
"The one that WICKED sent him," Newt said.
"It could have been a precaution. They knew the Right Arm was in the area so they sent us a secret weapon to destabilize their leader so we could get away if they caught us. If we didn't get caught, we'd realize it was a fake and there wouldn't be too much harm done."
"It was their plan, not a precaution," Newt protested. "Vince knew they would give it to him, and he trusted them. We realized something was wrong so fast 'cause we didn't trust WICKED. Vince was getting worse but they told him he was making stuff up and he believed it."
"He did say they lied to him when we told him," Thomas remembered. "And if WICKED had someone nearby to keep the lie going and influence his decisions, they could have used the Right arm as they wanted."
"Jorge stayed with Vince and Brenda went with us. She did have help sabotaging the defenses, if there were any at all. She told us to go here and we did. We're still in the trial, so will you please fly in the other direction?"
The pilot began stuttering again out of his newly discovered fear of the boy next to him.
"You're with WICKED, too, aren't ya? Of course. Maybe we should just kill you and take our chances on foot."
Thomas elbowed his friend before he said something else that would startle the pilot into crashing the helicopter.
"Sorry," Newt said insincerely.
"Seriously, dude. Slim it," Minho said. "If you were in your right mind, you'd understand you're spouting nonsense. There's no way anyone could have planned all of this out."
"Just think about it."
"Honestly, Minho, I think there's some truth in this theory," Thomas said.
"No, you heard some dumb idea and now you're thinking about how to prove it. If you hadn't heard about it first, you wouldn't think about what happened and get the same answer."
"You're just looking for ways to prove me wrong!" Newt said.
"I'm being skeptical. If you think you're a reliable source of logic right now, that just proves why we can't believe whatever you say."
"I know when the Flare takes over and when it doesn't."
"And what about now?"
"I feel it, but it's not in my thoughts." He looked at Thomas, then back at Minho. "Please. This is for your own safety. You can't go back and wait for WICKED to finally kill you."
"And what about you?" Thomas asked. "If we don't go through with the Trial there won't be a cure."
"It's too late for me, even if they find the bloody thing. I'll go back to WICKED and help the others escape. Alby told me to protect the Gladers while he's away. I'll get them out, find Alby, and get him out, too. I don't mind dying if I can do that first."
"You wouldn't find Alby, so you don't get to die," Minho said. "You say Alby told you to keep the Gladers safe, well, you're a Glader. We're going back."
Newt looked at the two of them with the same pleading eyes that had asked Thomas to seal his fate once before. The horrible memories flashed through his head, but if there was one thing to be learned from that look, it was that it was a sign of sincerity, and more importantly sanity. He wasn't completely correct, but it seemed highly likely that Vince had been driven mad intentionally. There would be no point in giving the fake medicine to people who would figure it out quickly and get mad over it if there was no other motive involved. Directly or not, WICKED's actions had cost Alby his life.
"Newt, I believe you," Thomas said. "I don't know how intricate WICKED's plans are, but it's more than they are letting on, and they've broken our deal. But—" he raised his voice as Minho began to protest, "I agree with Minho. We have to go back. All of us."
"Not me, though. Right?" The pilot asked timidly. Thomas had almost forgotten about him.
"No, not you," he said, annoyed. "We —Newt, Minho, and I— are going back to WICKED. We'll pretend as if we don't suspect anything, but we tell the others what's up and look for more information. We wait until they find the Cure, and then we take it. We go somewhere, make some allies —whatever we need to do. Then we get rid of WICKED for good. We'll leave them shattered and forgotten."
Thomas looked at his friends, both considering what he'd said.
"It should work for you both. We go back and find the Cure, like Minho wants. If we pretend not to know about anything, WICKED will be more careful not to let anyone get hurt when we're close enough to blame them, so Newt won't have to worry either."
"And the last bit's for you," Newt said.
"Don't tell me I'm the only one who wants revenge. I'm just saying what everyone wants."
"That's true. I'll follow you, leader."
"Am I the leader?" Thomas questioned.
"Your plan, your command," Minho said. "We'll be your right hands."
"No one has two right hands, that's bloody ridiculous," Newt said.
"As long as nobody is a right arm, I don't mind," Thomas said.
"Speaking of right arms, what do we do about them?" Minho asked.
Thomas looked at their pilot, considering. "I don't think they'll cause much trouble without Vince. They want to find the Cure, but if we steal the formula from WICKED we could let them produce it. It's not like they're friends with WICKED. What do you say, Luke? Want to bring them down?"
"I… I feel bad for what WICKED has done to you, but I don't want to put my son at risk."
"If he was immune, WICKED would have taken him from you and put him in a maze to see if he'd survive. Do you want people like that running around destroying families? I understand that you don't want to die and leave him alone, but the Right Arm has plenty of fighters."
"I could talk to them, see if they'd be willing to help," Luke said hesitantly.
Thomas wasn't sure it would be a good idea to team up with the Right Arm. He didn't like them much after what they had done, and neither would anyone else. They were responsible for the death of one of the Glenners, which he could not let himself forget. But it wasn't as if he had plenty of allies to choose from. He could make sure the bad people in the group got what they deserved afterwards. Now he had at least a potential ally, and he could turn down in the future if he needed to. It was a start. Newt and Minho looked at him with encouragement, and he knew he'd done the right thing. They'd won no victories, reached no goal —but they had a plan. This was their first step in the fight against WICKED.