Author's note: Here's the new chapter! The next one will be out on March 4th, so look forward to that.

Chapter 51. Cage

Sunday arrived with a stunning sunset that Thomas was too anxious to appreciate, but anxious enough to pretend to care about. This was not a day for strangeness or anything that could lead to being apprehended by the guards. It was the perfect day for talking about the weather.

"The weather looks nice," Thomas said, sitting down across from Teresa with his breakfast.

She sat away from the others, appearing asleep with her head resting on crossed arms on the table. The image was shattered by one hand playing idly with a spoon.

"Does it, now?" Was the muffled reply.

"You'd see for yourself if your head weren't on the table. Are you alright?"

Teresa shifted, propping her head on a hand. "Sure," she said, pushing her hair behind an ear and revealing sunken, dull eyes that blinked slowly.

"Trouble sleeping?" None of the others looked this exhausted.

"There are some interesting books in this place."

"Definitely. Isn't there a better time for reading, though?"

"By 'some', I meant 'a lot', and I've got work to do."

"You need to go easier on yourself before you fall into a sleep-deprived coma."

"It's important work."

"More important than you?"

Sharpness cut through the blue eyes' tiredness "Yeah."

"No." Thomas sighed. "But how's it going with the Cure? Are you making progress?"

"We haven't cracked it yet. The structure…" She yawned.

"What about the structure?"

"You wouldn't get it." Teresa stirred her oatmeal before swallowing a spoonful. "This is awful. I thought Frypan was in the kitchen."

"He does the lunch-baking on Sundays, I think."

"How can everyone else be terrible at this job?" Teresa despaired as she kept eating.

"Good thing we'll be leaving soon," Thomas said, looking down at his own bowl of stomach-turning grey sludge

"Mm-hm."

"You're coming with us, right? You never said…"

"Eastern Bridge-town on the twenty-fifth. Like you told the chancellor. I'll come with you then."

"Of course. That's when we're leaving," Thomas said, trying to meet her eyes.

Teresa studied her bowl stubbornly. "It would be stupid to go before then. There's a lot of good we can do here."

"Sure," Thomas said for the cameras.

Teresa sighed. "Whatever, Tom. Believe me or don't —but think about Ariadne and Newt. We don't know if their symptoms will return, and what will you do if you've broken ties with WICKED?"

Thomas moved in his seat. What was she trying to say? "It's been weeks. There's nothing wrong with them."

"This kind of research isn't based on weeks."

Thomas scoffed. "You're right. Months, years —let's stay here our whole lives."

"Quiet down," Teresa whispered sharply. "You're being an idiot."

A bubble of incredulity swelled in Thomas' throat. Suppressing the laughter, he nodded as he stood to leave. "Our friends aren't research," he hissed.

Teresa shut her eyes tightly, rubbing her palms against the lids. She looked stricken by a headache, but Thomas didn't care much at the moment.

He sat next to Minho, back turned to Teresa in the other end of the cafeteria.

"Had a good talk, did you?" Minho asked, grinning at Thomas' frown.

Thomas kicked his foot.

"Don't be so glum, Tommy," Newt said. "She'll come through when it's time."

Would she? Thomas couldn't bring himself to distrust her, but knowledge gnawed at the feelings of friendship. Teresa had more memories than the other immunes, the only one who'd kept more than a name and fragments going into the Maze. She had been there with them, known them, or at least some. Fighting to the death —what had she known of the stakes?— she had heard death, protected and been protected from it, with adrenaline erasing whatever she knew. She could not have felt that terror and remained loyal to those causing it. Even if she saw WICKED as the ones who could help people, she couldn't possibly have sided with them. She looked so tired. Paler, too, like the scientists and researchers flitting about like bats through the building. She had their matter-of-fact tone, the insensitivity to their friends. Could it be… No, no —he could not doubt her -not Teresa. His friend who had laughed with him, given him his first kiss, died for him. No, he trusted her to do the right thing.

"The weather's nice," Thomas mumbled pathetically.

"Would be nicer if we were in it," Minho said.

"If only one of us knew how to get outside," Newt sighed dramatically.

"They're not opening the front door for us," Minho pointed out.

"If only there was another way out."

"Are you leading up to something or…" Thomas prompted.

"Yeah," Newt said, indicating no wish to explain.

"And?"

Newt rolled his eyes. "What do ya think? No, just follow me." He got up, brushing the breadcrumbs off his shirt.

"Good that," said Minho, shrugging.

"I don't know if we're supposed to—" Thomas fretted, peering into the small, dark passageway.

"What are we gonna do, Shuckface? Escape?" Minho asked, amused by Thomas' concern.

"They didn't say we couldn't be here," Newt pointed out. "They said we could be basically wherever."

Thomas was seized by the hand and pulled into his friend's limping run.

They stopped by the bottom rungs of a ladder. Minho went first, going slowly to be steady with his injured arm.

"They thought we were going to escape," Newt said quietly.

"What do you mean?" Thomas asked.

"What —oh. I was just rememberin' when we were here last time. Not just the three of us, though." Newt shook his head. "We just wanted to get some bloody air. They weren't happy finding us, though."

"I can imagine."

"They took you —the immunes— to the Crank pit."

The words sent a chill up Thomas' spine, and he leaned closer to Newt. "What's that?"

"Just told ya I didn't go there, Shank. Nobody liked talking about the place."

Thomas looked up at the light shining through the opening. The air was very cold. "So, just a pit, filled with Cranks? You don't think…"

"That they're still there?" Newt shrugged. "It was ages ago."

"At least there's a cure now," Thomas said, at a lack of literally anything else to say.

If there were Cranks imprisoned outside, they'd be close to where the Cure had been found. The same cure Thomas intended to take off with. He shivered in the winter breeze.

Minho waited for them on the concrete platform they'd climbed up onto, sitting with an arm around his knees, looking out at the woods.

"Looks different in the day," Newt noted.

"So what, we spent our childhoods sitting around looking at the darkness?" Minho asked.

"We usually climbed down." Newt pointed to the edge of the platform, where a thick pipe stuck up from the wall.

"Well, I'm not climbing that."

Thomas sat down next to his friend. "It's a nice view from here."

"It'd be a lot nicer without you blocking it. You shanks can go if you want."

"You wanna go?" Thomas asked Newt.

The older boy shrugged. "Do you?"

Thomas shrugged back.

"Good that," Minho said.

The untouched snow crunched under their shoes as they walked along the side of the building.

"It's different in the day," Newt said.

"Yeah, you said that."

"Not just the way the trees look."

"Explain."

"Going out here before the Glade, we were like rebels, or rats, getting a taste of freedom before someone came along to shoo us back inside. And now… I don't bloody know. Are we allowed out here?"

"I sure hope so. You sounded pretty sure earlier," Thomas said. This was not the time to get into trouble. Was this a huge mistake? "Maybe we shouldn't be out here."

"Do you think they'll throw us in jail for taking a walk?"

"If they could justify it." Thomas changed directions, moving closer to the trees. "But it's different in the day. If we wanted to go out there…"

"We'd die from the cold. We're not even wearing jackets"

"But nobody could stop us, technically."

They walked around, sticking to the edge of the forest.

"Nice out here," Thomas said. "Quiet, but not quiet like inside. Less electricity-noise."

"And the echoing. Don't forget that bit." Newt sighed. "I'd say I'm gonna miss it…"

"But you won't."

Newt laughed. "I'll miss it about as much as the Flare."

Thomas smiled, thinking about what was now in the past. This was their future: walking where they wanted to, for as long as they pleased. They were almost free.

A distant scream made Thomas flinch. "Did you hear that?"

"Yeah."

Their eyes met, and both knew what they were going to do.

Turning the corner of the building, a door was revealed to them on the other side of a small staircase, leading down to a cellar of some kind.

They stood leaning against the wall, listening for something else.

Maybe it had been— No, there it was again.

"They don't actually… torture people down here, right?" Thomas whispered. "I suppose, if it fit their purpose… but…"

Newt had a hand on the handle, and looked to Thomas for confirmation.

Thomas nodded reluctantly.

The space was dark, with air twice as stale as in the rest of the building. They left the door open by a crack as they crept downstairs. Silence curdled in the sickly warmth.

Newt's voice entered Thomas' mind. "Is there a light switch somewhere?"

Thomas put a hand to the cement, feeling for a switch and fearing he would be met by blood running down the wall. When he did feel the protrusion from the smooth surface, he hesitated. Someone was in the room with them, waiting to pop out from the darkness.

"Over here," Thomas said. "Should we do this?"

Newt put a hand on Thomas' over the light switch. "If there are Cranks here, I'd rather see them."

They turned on the light.

There were Cranks in the cellar. Five, six, seven in total, blinking at the light, except for one who lay still on a dirty blanket. Another lost interest in the newcomers and returned to gnawing her fingers angrily. Pity came long before fear, making Thomas more uneasy than relieved about the bars trapping the hunched figures. Newt breathed in sharply beside him, taking his hand away from Thomas'. With a blank expression, he drew nearer the Cranks, reaching for the bars with trance-like sluggishness. That was when the fear struck Thomas. He moved to his friend's side to pull him away before one of the infected leapt at close, he saw the glassy wall in front of the bars.

One man put down his book, approaching them. He put his hand between the bars, pressing it to the glass where Newt was on the other side. The man cocked his head, then started laughing. The sound didn't come from the wall, but from a loudspeaker behind them, projecting the harsh laughter in a terrifying way. The man pounded the wall with his hands, shaking with laughter. Another one joined in. A woman went to pull him back but was elbowed in the jaw. The man turned to her seriously.

"Don't ruin the performance!" He exclaimed.

"Don't start with this, Pete," the woman muttered, holding her face.

Pete turned back to grin at Thomas and Newt. "Don't be scared. Look, we're in a cage! Everyone loves a zoo!"

"We should go," Newt mumbled.

Thomas agreed, beginning to back away.

"Don't go!" Pete screamed desperately. "I'm safe. I can't get to you." He banged his fists on the glass with an urgent expression. Sometimes he missed the gaps and slammed his hands into the bars. His face was unchanged as his skin broke and bled. The woman pulled him back, and this time he let her set him on the floor, where he covered his face and shook silently.

"Get out," the woman snapped at them. "Go, go."

They turned back, nearly running for the stairs until a figure appeared at the top.

Ava Paige walked down the stairs, looking incredulous "Thomas! Newt! What on earth are you doing down here?" She stepped to the side and ushered them past her.

They willingly went up the stairs, saying not a word. There was a click from the room, which turned dark, and the chancellor came out, closing the door.

"Why were the two of you walking around the Crank—" Paige bit her lip. "The holding cells for the infected?"

"We didn't mean to do that," Thomas said.

Newt rolled his eyes at him. "That's the best you can do?"

"We were out for some fresh air, and then we heard a scream," Thomas said.

Paige nodded. "And you went to where the screaming came from. Of course." Her fists were clenched tightly at her sides. She noticed Thomas noticing and relaxed. "Well, it is much too cold out here, and I dare say you've seen enough for one day."

Thomas and Newt followed Ava Paige to the nearest door, embarrassed and a bit shaken up. Now they knew that there were infected people locked in the basement. Were they former employees? What was done with them now? Had they been put there for the sake of testing the Cure or simply to be out of sight?

They walked past the place they'd exited the building, where Minho still sat. The chancellor didn't see him, but he looked down at them with wide eyes. Apparently deciding his friends were not in any serious trouble, Minho grinned and waved at them.

Paige paused with her hand on the door-handle. "That room was supposed to be locked."

"We're very sorry," Newt said.

Thomas nodded in agreement.

"Oh, no. You're not in trouble," Paige said. "If anyone is, it's the security team in that sector. You shouldn't have been exposed to those … those people."

"It's alright," Thomas said, trying to keep the cringing on the inside. "You had a great wall back there. A great cage. They couldn't get to us."

"Obviously. I meant, you know, seeing them, hearing them —the sound system shouldn't have been on in the first place. And with all you've seen… I hope you are not upset."

"Um, no," Thomas said. Why did she care all of a sudden? "Newt?"

"Yeah, it was… fine." He said, adding telepathically "Real bloody disturbing's what it was."

"It's just something we all have to live with, until we've worked out the Cure-formula -out there in the world. You could extend your stay, of course."

"Extend our stay in the place with the Cranks? What do you say?" Thomas asked Newt.

His friend hid a smile from the chancellor. "What is she trying to say?"

"We'll be alright," Thomas said. "We've seen a lot, so I think we can handle normal life."

"You were in an experiment back then. It's different now. And normal… I just want you to be prepared for what that means. You've been quite sheltered with us."

"The shelter we shared with bloodthirsty monsters?" Newt said telepathically.

"I suppose it's not our place to decide anymore," said the chancellor. Something in her coat pocket made a clear beeping noise, and she looked down brushing her hand over it but changing her mind and opening the door. They went into the warmth, Paige bidding farewell with a displeased tone.

Thomas tried to lay low for the rest of the day, but staying out of trouble was much harder when he was trying.

At lunch, he accidentally spilled water on a guard.

He was too distracted to be useful in the day's telepathy research, not understanding simple instructions like: 'hold that magnet next to your head'. He worried one of the scientists would ask about his unusual manner, but made it through the session at long last.

When going to meet up with the others, they went through one of Newt's 'short-cuts', which might have actually been faster, but they passed the guard from lunch. The guy felt obvious glee lecturing them about going so close to the weapons storage. He wanted to bring them to his superior and have them locked up for 'making threatening moves' and 'possibly intending to incite violence'. Thomas grew cold, zoning out the guard and trying to figure out how to get the rest of the group to not do anything stupid with everyone able to communicate telepathically gone. Maybe if he tried Teresa… Would she even do anything? Then a second guard came along, and the issue was resolved.

The night was the most crucial part of the day. The Gladers sat up late in their room. The place only held the illusion of privacy. WICKED knew they were up, sweaty, ashen, solemn with nerves.

"Let them see," Thomas thought. "As long as they don't barge in."

Newt turned to him. Thomas may have accidentally been speaking, like telepathic loud thinking. "You good, mate?" He asked.

"Better than ever," Thomas said, giving an ironic thumbs up.

"Good that," Newt said, resuming his attempt to distract a few Gladers from their anxiety.

Thomas wondered if it was his duty to do the same, trying to improve morale and whatnot, but he could barely keep himself calm. He wanted to run. To go out into the corridor and just run around at full speed, past guards, Grievers, and chancellors, scouring every passageway of the building until he could clear a path for their escape. Then they would run into the night, together, free. That was what he wanted: freedom. Freedom was too far away.

At one in the morning, when he lay in bed, all the flaws of their plan had their time to shine, swirling around like partially melted potions ingredients in the cauldron of his mind.

He had wanted them to act normally, but nobody had hid their excitement very well, and he'd just given up. Had that ruined their plan? Would the guards storm in to throw them in one of those underground cells with the infected?

Two in the morning, still awake.

Teresa didn't want to come —but why? She had more memories than the rest of them, but there was no way that could make her side with WICKED. Probably. They couldn't leave her behind to deal with Ava Paige's anger. She couldn't want that either. Would she try to prevent them all from escaping? He would have to speak with Teresa again, because things were not adding up.

Three AM, the time of their 'escape'. If the other Gladers were looking at his back impatiently and confused, he hoped they would not make a fuss. There: he turned, showing his open eyes -now they knew he was aware of the time. Emma and her guard friends might be pacing about at their posts. He'd made it clear they should wait for them. It was fine. As long as WICKED had no reason to do anything. They were lying in bed, innocent as can be, and would stay that way for the rest of the night, as planned. He would sort it out in the morning, as planned. He should be thinking useful thoughts or resting, but continued having useless thoughts and being tired.

WICKED had Cranks locked up in dirty cages with no protection from each other or themselves. When the Cure formula was fixed, and there was enough of the Cure to distribute it, those people would get it, if only to function as subjects of the current experiments. However, if Thomas took the Cure, they would be left there, to the agonising process he had witnessed in his friend. There would be no time to free them all, and they might be dangerous travel companions, but it still felt wrong to leave them behind. Whatever extra time was added by the restarted research and production might not be enough. It wouldn't be enough for many people. It hadn't been his business before, but if he was taking the Cure, didn't that make him responsible? On the other hand, it wasn't as if WICKED would do things justly. They were probably intending to do something mean with the Cure, like demanding huge sums of money for whoever didn't want to lose their mind. However bad he was —if he were bad at all— WICKED would always be worse.

WICKED would always be worse, and that was why they were going down. They always knew more, but that did not make their knowledge accurate or immune to Thomas' misinformation.