Author's note: Happy 2021! (hopefully)

Chapter 50. Progression

Time blurred, with the passings of Christmas and New Years the only markers to go by. It wasn't because WICKED was trying to keep them from knowing. Thomas was busy with planning, researching, and appearing normal, all at the same time. Whenever he wasn't busy, an inordinate portion of his time was spent pacing back and forth, trying to string all the pieces together. Who knew what? Who needed to know more? What could be relied upon?

Newt, Minho, Harriet, and Sonya were the only ones who got to know everything Thomas planned. He had indicated the city of Sunhaven discreetly to Minho, and Newt had informed Sonya, who informed Harriet. Not because the others couldn't be trusted, but because it was too risky to say the name even in a whisper, and somebody on the outside would have caught on to their repeated non-verbal communication. The other four had known to keep quiet about it, though they were less happy about it than Thomas. Harriet especially was very uncomfortable keeping information from the Glenners, but she understood as well as Thomas what their situation was. They should assume anything said out loud was heard by WICKED.

Reports from the group helping out with studying the Cure were alarming. Though the researchers were thus far unable to replicate certain components of the formula, it was not expected to take much longer to figure out. The predicted time —two more weeks— set up their deadline. They would be out well before then.

Between breakfast and lunch, Thomas would be in the library with Gally. Once they were done with maps, they tried to piece together recent history and politics. Rather, Thomas read, and Gally would join occasionally when he wasn't pushing bookshelves around the room or whatever he did. He had offered to drive them to safety and mostly read about different vehicles. The idea was that they would steal a berg.

After lunch, he would be in lab 16 —aka the telepathy lab. Teresa was not with him, but the others from the old group were. The experiments were sparser, gentler than those with the earlier scientists, and they actually had results. Thomas could sometimes send and receive messages from the others, though it seemed to be easier over short distances, and when there was no metal nearby. The new connections were weaker than the old, and it was evident by the grumbles and mumbles in the lab that the researchers wanted to know why. Thomas' connection with Teresa had been the strongest, but it had somehow broken —yet another mystery.

Sometimes the chancellor would visit the lab to check on the progress and make sure everything was alright with the 'guests'. On one such occasion —a week from the present— Thomas had introduced the idea of moving out of the facility. He'd said that the Gladers and Glenners not in the telepathy group didn't have much to do hanging around the building. They couldn't leave people from the group behind, so they were stuck in their discontent until the experiments were done. Frankly, they all had some unpleasantness behind them and could use some normalcy. Therefore, they would all remain another month, and then move away to Eastern Bridge-town, where they would start their lives out in the world.

Paige was disappointed, but said it was fair. Thomas offered to help out with the research if necessary at some point in the future and was met with more cheer. It was good to set up components of future plans early on, and they might need an in to the facility, one day. He made sure to sound vague and hesitant, for the sake of appearance. Not too eager; after all, why would he want anything to do with WICKED's experiments? If he decided to use this, he'd pretend to be a whole lot more altruistic than he was, and use that as an excuse to give in to the request for help. Him offering aid made sense in the moment, at least, playing nice so he could get out.

They had the official departing date and destination. This one wasn't meant to be very convincing. They had their planned 'secret' escape to Lilia City in a few days. This was meant to sound genuine, with the help of guards and a chosen route to the hangar, where a berg would be waiting for them.

That was the gist of it, without all the complications of guards and the Cure. Going all at once, in a big group —good or bad? It could bring attention to them, but wouldn't a group of three also be odd to spot walking around in the early morning? Easier to catch, too. They wouldn't know what was happening to the others. If WICKED got hostages… one would be bad, but more than one would be terrible. If they got ahold of half the group, there would be that many people to get killed off one at a time to force the return of the Cure. So should they move as one group or as many to avoid capture?

He weighed the pros and cons of each option, thoughts following the rhythm of his footsteps. That 'clack, clack' of walking on linoleum was something he became increasingly aware of, until it overpowered his reasoning. Mind gone annoyingly blank, Thomas turned to his friends for ideas.

Some of the experiments had involved talking telepathically to more than one person at the same time, but nobody had succeeded in doing so. The usual way of unusual communication would do fine, though. He asked Minho and Newt what they thought one at a time. They had not resorted to pacing, and were standing by the wall next to door of the Gladers' room. Thomas stayed a little closer to them in his pacing, to shorten the distance and get the message through easier.

The two gave the same answer, and their reasons for it. They made sense, but did they make enough sense? Minho was glaring at him like 'speak to me normally or not at all', so Thomas asked Newt.

"Are you sure it's not better to go in a bigger group? If a guard spots two different small groups, they'll get suspicious."

"And how'd you think they'll react to seeing all of us at once? If we know where the guards will be, we can make sure to only be seen by the right ones. We'll just say we're up early and helping out with the delivery."

"What do we do if one group gets stopped?"

"If they can't talk their way out… One or two guards should be easy to take down. We can use telepathy to call for for backup if we need it."

"But what if…?"

"What was that last part?"

"No, I didn't say anything."

"If you want to move as one group, just say it. But remember that there are over sixty of us."

Thomas knew that they couldn't realistically move even half that many people through a corridor quickly, and wasn't sure why or what he was arguing. There were just so many choices, and if he picked a wrong one…

"Tommy, enough with the bloody pacing!" Newt said. It was strange to hear his actual voice again.

"I'm thinking."

"Can't you do that tomorrow? It's late."

"There's a lot to think about."

"Sure, we've got to work out how to go through with it —starting our lives in the real world— but there's time left. And we told Frypan we'd help with the supplies tomorrow morning."

"You two can go in. I'll come later."

Minho yawned, looking at the door wistfully. "So we'll meet you out here in the morning, then?"

Thomas rolled his eyes, but was only halfway joking when he said: "Maybe you will."

Minho shrugged and joined the other Gladers in the room.

Newt shook his head at Thomas. "Up to you if ya wanna feel like klunk in the morning."

"Good that."

Thomas' reason to stay in place was not what it might have seemed. He did need to think, to plan their escape route and all the rest, but the current blankness in his head would have made it a waste of time to sacrifice rest. In truth, he was waiting. He had seen guards pass by during the day, heard their slow steps when he lay awake at night, and was now hoping for company. He'd worked out what to say, and what to look for in an answer. There was no need for trust or reliable allies, but he couldn't be too obvious.

Then a guard turned up, and who could it be other than Emma, who he hadn't seen since the last trial? Her eyes widened as they settled on him, and the planned greeting to make somebody stop for a chat was gone from Thomas' thoughts. Luckily, she stopped. He wondered how much she knew of the trial, having been present but separated. What had it been like to be suddenly struck by a transvice?

"I haven't seen you since the trial," Thomas started when she did not. "How have you been doing?"

"Better than you, I imagine."

"Well, I'm good."

She nodded. "Good to hear. They let me look at some of the footage and… yeah, it got pretty intense."

"So you saw it as it was going on, or—?"

"Afterwards. It would have ruined part of the experiment if I'd had any distractions."

"Why?"

"I was a control subject. That's why I got to look at stuff later. Half my friends would have killed to see it, but…"

"It was more glamorous when you signed up?" Thomas guessed, sounding more bitter than he'd meant to.

"I didn't actually sign up… or know I was in the trial." She sighed. "The chancellor promised my moms I'd be first on the list for a Cure once it got sorted out, and they didn't really know what our jobs would be in the experiment, so…"

Thomas had believed, on some level, that Emma's grief had been fabricated, or that something had been. He'd wanted to believe.

"So you sat there for two days, and there was nothing? They didn't let you know anything that whole time?" He asked to make sure of how guilty he should feel for not thinking much about her.

She shifted from one foot to the other, looking down. "Nope. That business with the transvice... Well, I'm sorry you and Newt had to go through that, but on my part…" She shrugged. "Thanks?"

"Weird thing to be thanked for. If I'd known what was going on, and that we were in a simulation, I would have tried to help sooner."

"It's fine. They found the Cure, so it was all worth it, right?"

"Of course, although it's a shame they had to do everything they did to get there. I mean, just seems like they could have done it differently. I'm not an expert, but still." Thomas smiled in a way that was hopefully more casual than it felt.

Emma's eyes flicked over to a corner for a microsecond. There was nothing there as far as Thomas could tell, but if there were any cameras, he guessed that was where the most dangerous one was.

"I'm sure they know best," she said. "But yes, I'm glad it's over."

"Are you staying here once you have the Cure?" Thomas asked.

"I've always dreamed of going out into the real world, but I wouldn't know where to. Everyone I know is here."

"We'll be leaving soon. Who knows, maybe you could go with us."

"Maybe."

She wanted to get out. That much was obvious. She didn't want to anger her employers, though.

"At least they're fixing the place up," Thomas said.

"That's true."

"I haven't seen much outside of the library, but I know Gally just finished repairing the poetry section."

"Do you like poetry?"

Thomas tilted his head, innocently turning away from the camera, and winked at her. "I'm not sure. Haven't read any. What would you recommend?"

Emma frowned. Now she knew something was up. "Maybe… E. M. Benson's collection. Blue book with a gold bird on it. I'd been meaning to reread it once the library got settled."

"I don't wanna steal it from you. I'll be there tomorrow, so I could take a look at it, if that's alright. You can take it after that."

"Of course. Will you be done by four?"

"I should be done before lunch. Maybe we could meet in the cafeteria and I'll hand it over."

"Sure. At twelve?"

"See you then," Thomas confirmed.

He stayed for another thirty minutes, pacing the corridor slowly, longing for sleep. He'd made some progress, and felt deserving of a break. He hadn't decided what message to put in this poetry book precisely, but he'd come up with something later.

Waking up at the unmerciful hour of not-even-four-AM was unpleasant to say the least, but in the time it took to reach the hangar, Thomas was more alert than most in their small group. It might not have felt that way at the moment, but it was good that the weekly food supplies arrived when they did, when there were fewer people around. Frypan, who had found the delivery schedule in the kitchen, was leading them. He had volunteered to help out a few times before and knew the way, though he was not walking as much as stumbling sleepily in what was hopefully the right direction.

Thomas would not be taking this path in their escape, but a route passing by the lab storing the Cure. Still, he added the new information to his memory, filling out a mental map. He'd seen an actual map of this section, but really seeing it made for a more reliable understanding. This particular route was a kind of main corridor, the most guarded but also the one with most side-corridors to slip into.

Unlike in most places, the fluorescent lighting was at full power, rather than dimmed, stinging tired eyes. It made his friends look colourless and sickly. Minho's face was a particularly grey shade.

"You okay?" Thomas asked him.

"What's it to you, Shuckface?"

"Ya don't look too hot," Newt joined in.

"Still hotter than you," Minho grumbled.

"No, you look about to die or something," Thomas said. "Sure you don't wanna go back to the room?"

Minho just scoffed. His healing arm was bothering him more than he wanted to let on. This made it hard to determine how bad it was, and what state it would be in by the time they escaped.

"You should rest while you can. We all need to be ready next week," Thomas said.

Minho flinched, still uncomfortable with telepathy, and the look he gave Thomas was withering.

The warehouse looked much as it had in the simulation, although this time they weren't being chased. A berg stood in the middle of the building. Two women —one in a guard-uniform, the other in casual clothes— stepped out of the opening, carrying crates of carrots. The guard frowned as she saw them, but the other woman smiled, waving.

"Frypan! These your friends?" She asked.

He nodded. "Yeah."

Crates and bags were strapped to the walls by the entrance of the berg. It took some time to get them all loose and carried out. It took a lot to feed over a hundred people in one week, but the amount of supplies seemed exaggerated. Then he tripped on the ramp, dropping the sack in his hand. It made a squishy sound, and when he picked it up, red liquid was slowly seeping through the brown fabric, just enough to drip onto the ground.

"That's going to the labs," said Susie, Frypan's friend from the kitchen. She took the sack from Thomas and handed it to the guard, who walked away with it. So maybe it wasn't just food. He didn't want to think about what it had actually been.

Once it was all unloaded, Susie pressed a button near the entrance, and the ramp was retracted, the door closed. Part of Thomas was aching to slam down that button, open the berg, grab the others and fly away. There were no guards around, only Susie, who could be taken as a hostage. But he couldn't leave behind the others, still sleeping in their rooms. Not that he knew how to operate a berg or even open the warehouse's exit. It was just as well they should wait, prove themselves trustworthy. The next food delivery, they would steal the berg. Susie or whoever else was there would be either lured away or captured, and the guard would either be on their side or up against some bad odds.

The kitchen was an unfortunate distance from the warehouse, taking a good few minutes for every length. They didn't go through the main corridor, but a narrow, dark one. A few windows would let some light in, but the sun was not up yet. They encountered a single guard, who looked as tired as Frypan. They could use this path, if it could be reached easily. He'd have to check the maps again.

He waited until lunch to take out the creased map from his pocket, making audible complaints about how huge and complicated the place was. It looked like the kitchen corridor could work. One group of Glenners, going from their room by the wide passageway to that small one, branching to the right…

"You had something for me?" Someone asked loudly. Emma.

"Huh? Oh, yeah!" Thomas handed her the blue book.

"Did you like it?" She asked.

"It was interesting. I made some notes. Maybe we could discuss it sometime."

She nodded in satisfaction and went over to a table with a few young-looking guards.

He'd flipped through the book back in the library, marking some lines with a pencil and writing a few words. The real message was in a poem about flying. Next to it, he'd written: 'Corridors. Monday. 3 morning. Guard all week. Wait for us'. Putting it down was risky, but he trusted her to erase the message. It would not look different from the other, meaningless notes if they were all blurs. Arranging for a specific guard duty on a single day would look weird -better to take the whole week.

If Emma tried to get her friends in on the escape plan, it would be easy for information to end up with someone who would tell the chancellor. He looked at the other guards, wondering who would betray them.

That evening, Thomas and Newt walked through the newer section of the building, around the kitchen. Thomas would often switch up his pacing with normal walking, thinking while taking note of how corridors connected. Sometimes he did it without needing to plan or explore, just thinking about something irrelevant. Sometimes he had company, and usually this company was Newt. They would talk as they turned the dusty corners of dim corridors.

"Have you seen Joan around?" Thomas asked.

"No. Why?"

"She should know about Alby."

"Oh. But wouldn't she know already? They must've told her, or she would have figured it out."

"Not the whole story, though."

"You're right, she must be wonderin'. Don't reckon she'll feel better, but at least she'd know he died a hero," Newt said, not catching on to what Thomas meant.

Thomas felt ashamed. He'd wanted to let Joan know about WICKED's role in the death of her son, to enlist her help, thinking first afterwards about having the decency of telling her how he had died, and only as a disguise for his true intention. He hadn't thought about her grief, only her anger as she was turned against her employers.

"We can ask after her in the lab tomorrow. Those people probably know her," Thomas said.

"Do that. I'll tell the group where you've gone if they send you to her."

"The others in the telepathy group can do that. You'd probably be better at talking to Joan than I would be."

Newt raised an eyebrow, and said in a tone like Thomas was missing the obvious: "Really?"

"Um, yeah?" What was he missing? Something important? "I mean, you were friends from the beginning of the first trial."

Newt sighed. "And before that."

"So why—?"

"Because, Tommy," he said in a strained voice. "It's my bloody fault he died."

"You can't seriously… It was Vince who shot him." "And WICKED who let Vince come after us," he added telepathically.

"He was aiming at me. Alby saved my sorry neck again. How can I…? If I'd stopped him…" Newt shook his head. "I told him not to go with Brenda in the first place."

"It was his choice —all of it," Thomas said. "He wanted you to live. You would have done the same for him. If a murderer jumped around that corner over there, you'd try to save me, and I'd try to save you."

"I wouldn't let you," Newt said, glaring at said corner. "I've cheated death enough."

"Don't stop now. We're all cheating death until we die. It depends on who stands where, and we can't control that."

Newt scoffed. "When'd you get so—"

"Wise?"

"Cheesy."

"Can you agree anyway?"

Newt shrugged. "Can't find a reason not to. Doesn't make it less terrible."

"It'll always be terrible. Doesn't mean we can't feel better." And they would at least have some revenge, other than Vince.

They talked about Alby, their memories of him. Newt did most of the talking, recounting stories from the Glade and before.

"He was like a brother," Newt said as they were nearing the Gladers' room. "Everyone's like family, in a way, even the ones ya can't stand, but he was special. And he wanted us to protect the rest of them."

"We will. Whatever's next for us, we'll keep them safe. They're our friends, our… family."

The word was strange, but true. What else could they be? There was only one case where it didn't quite fit.

The door was before them, their family waiting inside, or sleeping, considering the time.

Thomas stopped walking. "What about… the two of us? Is that what you think —family?"

Newt had been reaching for the handle, but his hand hesitated and fell to his side. He turned to Thomas. "Don't you want that?"

Thomas swallowed. His face felt warm and he didn't know what to say. All he managed was a small shake of the head. Newt frowned, but not in an unhappy way. More curious. He took a step closer. His eyes gleamed. So did his lips.

Thomas wanted desperately to move nearer. He would have. An unwelcome chill ran down his spine, as he remembered that they were under constant surveillance. Some dusty security guard was watching them, or would watch at some point. The surveillance team had probably made bets about who would get together, out of boredom or to be distracted from a dreadful existence. Somebody was leaning closer to a screen, waiting to see what would happen. He wanted to ignore the thought, but it was stuck in his brain. When Newt leaned in, Thomas stepped back, even though it hurt to do it.

Newt backed away. "Sorry," he mumbled, red in the face. "I thought… Didn't mean to…"

"No, it's fine," Thomas said quickly. What had he done? He'd wanted to protect their right to privacy, but all he'd done was scare Newt away. Would it be a good idea to explain? He couldn't sound too critical of WICKED… No, Newt was turning away from him, would reach the door any second. Thomas didn't care what WICKED would think of what he said. They weren't the ones he cared about.

"Wait." He reached out, though Newt was too far away to touch.

He did stop, turning back confused.

It was then that Thomas remembered he didn't have to speak aloud. "Not here, with them watching. But, I do want to."

His hand was still extended, and Newt took it, smiling warmly. "In seven days, then."

Thomas pressed his hand.

They let go, went into the room where the others were waiting. A few people were snoring. Minho waved with his good arm. Thomas could have been even more angry at WICKED, and would be soon enough, but all he could feel at the moment was a giddy warmth. The time until their escape had seemed endless, and had made him anxious just imagining it, but now he was sure it would all be fine.