Chapter 44. The Glade.

He sat up too fast and his vision blackened momentarily. What was going on? He couldn't remember how he'd gotten to where he was, or how he'd gone to sleep. He was sure he'd been with someone. Yes. Newt, Minho, Alby —he remembered. And then he remembered again, about Alby and the pilot and walking through the forest until… Until what? He blinked to clear his vision. A throb in his head made him wince. There was a small bump on his head, though he couldn't remember why. Had he hit his head and passed out? Some faint memory told him this was the case. He looked to his left and saw Minho, asleep on a bed next to his. He walked over to his friend, about to shake him awake, when he saw that the arm sticking out from the covers was in a cast. Had they been in a fight? The same vague surety as before confirmed it, though he still couldn't recall the details.

"Minho!"

Dark eyes snapped open. Minho made a pained noise as he tried to sit up."What?" He mumbled, looking at his arm in confusion.

"I think we were in a fight," Thomas said.

"Yeah… And I was falling."

"It's pretty clear where you landed. Are you okay aside from the arm?"

"I think—" Minho stopped. He looked around the room, taking it in. "We're back. Why?" Minho looked at Thomas with astonishment.

"No idea. This has to be the Homestead, though, right?"

"Good," said someone —Newt. He leaned against the doorframe at the other end of the room, looking from Minho to Thomas. "I was starting to think I made it all up." He turned, nearly stumbling as he disappeared down the stairs.

"What was that about?" Minho asked, struggling into a sitting position.

"I don't know. He doesn't seem to know why we're here, either." Minho stood, clutching his arm.

"Shouldn't you rest or something?" Thomas asked. He didn't know what exactly helped heal broken bones, but rest was a universal remedy.

"It's just my arm, shuckface. I can stand. We need to find out what's going on." He spoke through gritted teeth.

Thomas would let him pretend to be fine if that's what he wanted, but first he searched through drawers for anything that could be used as a sling to take the weight off the arm in its awkward position. They were in luck, having woken up in the room used as the main infirmary.

Minho mumbled a sullen 'thanks' before they decided to go downstairs to see if Newt knew anything. He must have been asleep as they had been —the third bed in the room was clearly slept in— but he'd been up longer and might have noticed something.

Light shone into the empty area downstairs. It looked as it had last time they were there, down to the peeling wallpaper and mildewy scent. Though there was something off, come to think of it. Maybe because the place was so empty.

"There should be a door there," Minho pointed with his good hand.

He was right. The door to the kitchen had vanished. Looking around the room he saw that the doorframe to the council room was similarly empty, though the several other doors in the area were present.

"Weird," Thomas said.

They found Newt in the kitchen, standing by the opening as if waiting to scare them, though he was the one who flinched when they entered the room.

"What do you want?" He asked, looking annoyed.

"What's gotten into you?" Minho looked confused.

No response.

"As you may have noticed, we're back in the Maze. Do you know why? We need to know that before we try to leave," Thomas said.

He didn't want to bother his friend if the Flare was what caused his bad mood, but this could be a matter of life and death.

"We're not gettin' out anytime soon," Newt said. "Door won't open. All the bloody doors are locked, except for the infirmary and bathroom, but we're not getting out through there."

"You checked all the doors?"

Newt shrugged. "I forgot which one is the exit, so yeah, I tried 'em all."

"'Forgot'?" Minho looked at his friend in disbelief. "You lived in this shuck place for two years. How could you forget—?"

"Don't," Thomas interrupted him in a low voice. Memory loss was part of the Flare, though this was the first time he noticed it in his friend.

"That's right. Don't." Newt stormed out of the room.

Thomas reached for him instinctively. "Wait."

Newt stopped briefly, but then he yanked his arm out of Thomas' grasp and walked away. Thomas shared a look with Minho as the upstairs door slammed.

It was decided that it would be best to leave their friend be. If he knew something important, he'd probably tell them before long provided they give him some space first. They checked the doors, but it was as they had been told. Thomas tried breaking the small window, but it proved strangely resistant. Giving up, he looked out the window. Everything looked as it had before the sun's disappearance, except…

"Look, the door!" He moved aside to let Minho see.

"At least we won't have to worry about Grievers," Minho said.

"Unless the doors open at night."He couldn't see the other doors, but the western one was definitely closed. The sun was on its way down, so he supposed they would see what happened soon.

"If we can't get out, maybe they can't get in."

Thomas would rather take his chances with the Grievers than be trapped in the Homestead. Was it too much to ask to have a window that could be opened to let in some fresh air? The Glade wasn't really outside, what with the fake sky, but it was at least made to feel like it, and it was certainly better than this cramped, dusty room.

They sat down in the council room as they tried to come up with a possible explanation.

"Maybe we're being punished," Minho speculated. "We did something to make WICKED mad and now we get to sit here and think about what we've done."

"And what would it be that we did? We've done our best to cooperate with those shuckfaces." He was certain that they were being watched. They couldn't let anything slip. He shot Minho a meaningful look that he thankfully seemed to understand.

"Maybe it's a new trial, then."

"It's possible. They could have a trial for just the three of us. Or there could be a bunch of them for smaller groups," Thomas suggested. "Or maybe the others are having a trial and they're letting us rest for a while."

"That doesn't sound like WICKED. They probably decided to stick us in here so we could watch Newt go crazy."

"Don't say that. They know we won't forgive them if that happens."

"Thank you, Thomas."

He spun around and saw Rat Man, sitting on a chair looking as if he'd been there all along. A bulky weapon hung from his belt, touching the floor.

"That was a bit hurtful, you know," he said to Minho. "I thought we made it clear we were only trying to help."

Thomas bit back a laugh. "I'm guessing you're here to explain whatever deadly new challenge you're throwing at us," he said instead.

"If we're being blunt. I thought we'd given you sufficient rest, though you still seem tired," Rat Man said.

Tired of WICKED, certainly.

"So sorry if we're tired," Minho said sarcastically. "I mean, I only fell off a cliff. Didn't even die."

"Because we saved you. Some gratitude would be nice. Now, will one of you get Newt so I can get started on that explanation? None of us have time to waste, least of all you three."

"I would go get him," said Minho. "But somebody didn't slow the Flare down like they said they would and now he's mad at us for some reason."

Thomas was sure the Rat Man was about to snap, but he merely clenched his fists as his face twitched a bit. It would have been funny had they not been at WICKED's mercy. He knew that they could make things worse for the Gladers.

"That won't be a problem if you just shut up and listen for once."

Thomas got up, headed for the room upstairs.

"No need," Rat Man sat back down, and as he did, Thomas heard the door open and feet take creaking steps down the stairs. He was about to ask how he'd known, but then he saw Newt come into the room, moving stiffly as a doll. His eyes were full of rage. Thomas watched as he sat down on a chair, the control's tension leaving him as he did.

"Don't do that again," Thomas said calmly to Rat Man.

He will ask me what will happen then, and I will say that our cooperation will end even though we both know I have no real choice.

Rat Man had more pressing things on his mind than taunts, though.

"As you've guessed, this is part of your final trial, but —I'm happy to say— the end is near. This is the final sprint."

"And then you'll have the Cure?" Thomas asked.

"We've made a cure already." Rat Man smiled as he let it sink in, but Thomas did not return the smile. There was more to come.

"It looks like you need it. Tell me, Newt, how are you holding up?"

"You did this. You've made it worse!" Newt advanced on the Rat Man but was stopped by a familiar invisible barrier. He kicked at it once before returning to his seat.

"You didn't have to do that," Thomas said to the assistant director, "mess with his head or whatever you did. We don't need any extra motivation for getting the Cure if that's what this is."

"We didn't do much, really. Your friend has handled things remarkably well, but don't let that deceive you. The human brain can only take so much before it snaps."

"I haven't snapped," Newt protested. "I won't. I'm not past the Gone. Whatever you do to me, I won't go crazy!"

"You don't have to. We'll give you the Cure right now." He went over to the wall and pressed his hand against the wall.

The wall split open like one of the Maze's doors. The room had expanded considerably with this new addition, though most of it was covered by long white curtains. What they did see was a shelf hanging on the right side. The shelf had nine sections arranged in a three times three square. Each section had a test tube attached to it, marked from one to nine and filled with a blueish liquid.

"The Cure!" Rat Man gestured at the shelf. "And to prove it, let's try it out."He pulled down a curtain on the other side of the room, revealing a young woman.

Thomas recognized her as one of WICKED's guards, though she was dressed casually now, and she was crying. She moved slowly to take a metallic cup from a small table and raised it to her lips. She drank deeply, all the while sobbing.

"Why is she crying?" Thomas asked, watching as she set the cup down.

"There is a cure, but there's something else, too."

The curtains on either side of the girl revealed two women, one of whom looked very similar to her. The young guard beat at the invisible walls separating her from them, but it was no use. The woman that looked like her put a hand against the barrier, smiling sadly. Both she and the woman on the other side had drinks of their own.

"We get it. It's poison or something. You don't have to prove it," Thomas said.

"Don't worry so, Thomas. They both agreed to this."

"They agreed to be poisoned?"

"Their daughter gets the Cure in exchange. If you went into the world, I'm sure you'd find many people willing to do the same sacrifice."

The daughter had clearly not been in on this deal. The barrier surrounding her closed in all sound, but he could see she was screaming as her parents each took a swig from their cups.

The poison worked quickly but gently as far as poisons went. The two women looked as if they were drifting off to sleep, sinking slowly to the ground, eyes closed.

"A merciful way to go, but have no doubt that they are dead." Rat Man said. "Now, I think you know what you have to do."

"Find the Cure," Thomas said.

"Or else," Minho added.

"One bottle has what Emma here drank, and the other eight… You can go about this any way you want, though there is one simple rule."

The final curtain fell down. On the wall between the shelf and the people hung three large, interconnected hourglasses.

"The hourglasses spin and the sand will fall from one to the next. However, every time the sand goes from one glass to another, some will fall out. As long as there is sand running through the hourglass, you have time, but after that, the liquids vaporize. Don't try any tricks to contain it, because I assure you it will fail in an unpleasant way. I wouldn't worry, though; You get three days to figure it out from when the hourglass is turned."

"And if we fail?" Minho asked.

"I think you know what happens when you can't cure a virus. And if you don't, you'd get to see up close."

"So you'd leave us locked in here forever?"

"Not forever, but let's just say that the door won't open for all three of you, should you fail."

Thomas understood. They would stay there as Newt passed the Gone, unable to stop it. Before long it would become a matter of killing or being killed.

"What's the point in us killing each other if you already have the Cure?" He wondered.

"We need more of the enzyme in order to analyze and replicate it. We want you to succeed, of course, but our second plan should work just as well. It's up to you what happens."

"Yes, it doesn't matter if we live or die," Minho mumbled.

Rat Man regarded him sourly. "We're not as heartless as you think, boy." He took the weapon from his belt and held it up for them to see. "A transvice. When activated, it has the power to dissolve its victim. It's painless, to the best of my knowledge, and it leaves no blood or body to bury. This one has been modified further, though. The person struck by it will be forgotten. All memories of them will fade from the minds of even their closest friends."

"That's ridiculous," Minho said. "You're lying."

"You of all people should believe me, but it's alright. I have proof." Rat Man produced a cell from his pocket and unfolded it, holding up the larger screen. "Your little skirmish with a group of Cranks out in the forest."

Thomas remembered the fight as he saw it play out, until the point where he was struck in the head. They had put up a fight, but they had not won it. Thomas unconscious, Minho clutching his broken arm after tumbling down the cliff, Newt surrounded by Cranks. That was when a ray of unnatural white light appeared from the corner of the video. Soldiers wearing WICKED's logo on their uniforms rushed forth, directing the light at the Cranks. It sheered through them as if they were air, and air was all that remained as they came into contact with the light. The video turned dark.

"And if that wasn't proof enough…" Rat Man started a second video, this one with only Minho in it.

No, he was not alone. Minho in the video was pointing a transvice at a vaguely familiar boy.

"What? I don't remember. No, now I do, but…" Minho shook his head.

"This was before the simulation, during your third trial."

Minho was obviously being controlled in the video; his eyes moved rapidly as if he didn't understand why he was holding the weapon. The other boy looked at him with terror but didn't seem able to move either. Minho flinched as his past self held down the trigger of the transvice and the boy disappeared.

"You don't remember him anymore, but he came to the Glade about a year into the trial. He survived the Maze and the Scorch, but he wasn't immune. Some non-immunes can be useful, but this was the only thing he was good for, poor Jackson." Rat Man read from the cell as if he couldn't remember either.

"You can't kill people just 'cause you can't use them!" Minho shouted. "I don't care if that dumb gun works. I'd rather have someone strangle me with their shucking hands before I used that thing!"

"Who was he, then, if you're so upset about his death?"

"He…. He," Minho bit his lip in frustration, clearly unable to remember the name.

Thomas couldn't remember it either, nor could he remember his face.

"He was… A Slicer?"

"Jackson was a Bagger," Rat Man said with a small smile that reminded Thomas why he hated him. "As you can see, it's quite effective." He hung it on a hook next to the shelf with the test tubes. "Is there anything else?"

"What about the others?" Thomas asked. "The Gladers and the Glenners. Where are they? Do they know about us?"

"They're resting from the ordeal with the Right Arm, I'd imagine. We can tell them about your trial here. We can even let them watch from the cameras if that's what you want."

"Of course that's what we want. If we're gonna be watched anyway, it's just as well that they get to see what's going on," Minho said.

Thomas, on the other hand, could think of a very good reason not to want that. He looked at Newt, waiting to see if he'd say anything. It was his choice, after all, though he didn't seem to be paying attention to them at the moment.

"Newt?"

He didn't look as if he'd heard.

"No," Thomas said. "Tell them where we are but don't show them."

Minho nodded, realizing. Alby had wanted Newt to lead the Gladers, but what would the Gladers think if they saw him at the brink of insanity? Even if his friend didn't want to be anybody's leader, he probably wouldn't want anyone to see him in that state."Yes or no?" Rat Man asked. "You're sending mixed messages here."

"No," Minho said.

"Any other questions?"

"Only one. You've obviously put a lot of effort into all this, but could you really not be bothered to give us a clean change of clothes?" Minho gestured at one of the numerous grass stains on his shirt.

Thomas could agree that it would've been nice to have clothes that didn't reek of sweat and forest.

"Nice job on the blood, though," Newt said. Thomas was surprised he'd been listening. He certainly hadn't looked like he was. "It even smells real."

Rat Man looked at him with shock for a second before he pulled himself together. Oh no. Why would he say that? They weren't supposed to let WICKED know they had suspicions about their involvement in Alby's murder, or fake murder, according to certain people. Thomas waited tensely for the Rat Man's response.

"Yes, I wouldn't like having blood on my sleeves either, but there is a sink in the bathroom," he said. He was pretending not to have picked anything up from what he'd heard, but Thomas could see the poorly masked concern. "If that's all…" In the blink of an eye, he was gone, as suddenly as if he'd been hit by the transvice.

Worry filled him, but Thomas was glad that the conversation was over. He wouldn't have to deal with this now. His thoughts returned to the situation at hand when he heard a small creak and saw that the peculiar hourglass had turned slightly. Deeply purple sand poured down, making him feel pressed for time already. He reached out gingerly to see if the invisible wall was gone and felt nothing but air. He advanced on the shelf, Minho close behind. He took out the test tube in the middle —the one with a five drawn in small dots on a metal plate— carefully removing it from the wire that held it in place. Though the liquid had a hint of color, it moved like water. The tube was filled nearly to the brim, though the container was far from large. He wondered how much of the cure was needed for it to take effect. If they were to distinguish between poison and cure, they would have to use some of the liquid for testing. WICKED expected them to do that, so surely there would be more than needed. It dawned on him that there was one person who would know. He crossed the room for the guard, who remained where she'd first appeared. The bodies were still there, and she still cried.

"I'm really sorry," Thomas told her, "but I need to ask you something important."

She didn't react whatsoever, as if she hadn't heard. Could she hear him? He put his hand out, and sure enough, there was something there. He knocked on the see-through wall, but nothing happened. He would have to wait until she looked up and saw him. Then they could communicate through gestures.

"You! He's talking to you." Newt hadn't caught on to the sound-barrier. Not the physical one either —he seemed surprised when he walked into it. He slammed his fist against the wall.

"She can't hear us. We'll just have to figure things out on our own," Minho said. "I don't think she knows which one is the cure, in any case."

"She would know how much of the cure is needed for it to work," Thomas said. "But we have to assume it should be fine to use a bit of it for testing."

"How do we test it?" Minho asked.

"We'll mix it up with stuff and compare the results, I guess. Unless you have a better idea."

"Maybe boil it?"

"We'll try that first," Thomas said.

He took five other tubes and left the remaining three for Minho to carry. He didn't know if the glass would break if dropped, and he did not want to find out.

"Newt, could you stay here with her? Just wait until she looks up and try to find out if she knows something."

He knew how brain activity affected the Flare and thought it best to keep his friend away from it as much as he could, and this simple job was still helpful.

"Fine," Newt said.

Thomas cast a final glance back as he left the room. At the hourglass and the sand in it showing how their time was slipping away. At the transvice hanging on the wall with all the menace of a weapon not yet fired. At Newt, whose life he had to save before it was too late. But he could do it. He knew he could. After all, this was supposed to be his specialty. Failure was not an option, and so he dispelled the idea of it from his thoughts.