Текст книги "The Death Cure"

Автор книги: James Dasher

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

CHAPTER 58

Thomas stepped into a wide lobby with a few couches and chairs, fronted by a large, empty desk. It was different from the ones he’d seen the last time he was there. The furniture was colorful and bright, but it did nothing to perk up the dreary feel of the place.

“I thought we’d spend a few minutes in my office,” Janson said, and pointed down the hallway that branched off to the right off the lobby. They started walking that way. “We’re terribly sorry about what happened in Denver. A shame to lose a city with such potential. All the more reason we need to get this done and get it done quickly.”

“What is it you have to do?” he forced himself to ask.

“We’ll discuss everything in my office. Our lead team is there.”

The device hidden in his backpack weighed heavily on Thomas’s thoughts. Somehow he had to get it planted as soon as possible and get the clock ticking.

“That’s fine,” he said, “but I really need to use the bathroom first.” It was the simplest idea he could come up with. And the only sure way to get a minute alone.

“There’s one just up ahead,” the Rat Man replied.

They turned a corner and continued down an even duller corridor that led to the men’s room.

“I’ll wait out here,” Janson said with a nod toward the door.

Thomas went inside without saying a word. He pulled the device from his backpack and looked around. There was a wooden cabinet for storing toiletries above the sink, and the top of it had a lip just tall enough that Thomas could slip the gadget in and it would be concealed. He flushed the toilet and then turned on the water at the sink. He activated the device as he’d been taught, wincing at the slight beep that sounded, then reached up and deposited it on top of the cabinet. After shutting off the water, he calmed himself while the hand blower ran its course.

Then he stepped back into the hallway.

“All finished?” Janson asked, annoyingly polite.

“All finished,” Thomas replied.

They continued walking, passing a few crookedly hung portraits of Chancellor Paige just like the ones on the posters in Denver.

“Am I ever going to meet the chancellor?” Thomas finally asked, curious about the woman.

“Chancellor Paige is very busy,” Jansen answered. “You have to remember, Thomas—completing the blueprint and finalizing the cure are only the beginning. We’re still organizing the logistics of getting it out to the masses—most of the team is working hard at it as we speak.”

“What makes you so sure this will work? Why just me?”

Janson glanced at him, flashed his rodentlike smile. “I know, Thomas. I believe it with every ounce of my being. And I promise you’ll get the credit you deserve.”

For some reason Thomas thought of Newt just then. “I don’t want any credit.”

“Here we are,” the man replied, ignoring Thomas.

They’d reached an unmarked door and the Rat Man let him inside. Two people—a man and a woman—sat facing a desk. Thomas didn’t recognize them.

The woman wore a dark pants suit and had long red hair, and thin-framed glasses were perched on her nose. The man was bald, angular and skinny, dressed in green scrubs.

“These are my associates,” Janson said, already moving to sit behind the desk. He motioned for Thomas to take the third seat between his two visitors, which he did. “Dr. Wright”—he pointed at the woman—“is our lead Psych, and Dr. Christensen our lead physician. We have a lot to discuss, so you’ll pardon me if I’m short on introductions.”

“Why am I the Final Candidate?” Thomas asked, cutting to the chase.

Janson gathered himself, needlessly moving things around on his desk before sitting back and folding his hands on his lap. “Excellent question. We had a handful of—pardon the term—subjects slated in the beginning to … compete for this honor. Recently it was narrowed to you and Teresa. But she has a way of following orders that you don’t. Your tendency toward freethinking is what ultimately determined that you are the Final Candidate.”

Played to the end, Thomas thought bitterly. His own attempts to rebel had turned out to be exactly what they wanted. Every ounce of his anger was directed at the man sitting in front of him. At the Rat Man. To Thomas, Janson had come to represent WICKED from top to bottom.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he said. He did his best to hide it, but he could hear the fury in his own voice.

Janson seemed unfazed. “Some patience, please. This won’t take long. Keep in mind that collecting the killzone patterns is a delicate operation. We’re dealing with your mind, and the slightest mishap in what you’re thinking or interpreting or perceiving can render the resultant findings worthless.”

“Yes,” Dr. Wright added, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I know A.D. Janson told you about the importance of coming back, and we’re glad you made the decision.” Her voice was soft and pleasant and somehow exuded intelligence.

Dr. Christensen cleared his throat, then spoke, his voice thin and reedy. Thomas immediately disliked him. “I don’t know how you could’ve made any other decision. The whole world’s on the verge of collapse, and you can help save it.”

“So you say,” Thomas responded.

“Exactly,” Janson said. “So we say. Everything is ready. But there’s still a little more to tell you so you can understand this decision you’ve made.”

“A little more to tell me?” Thomas repeated. “Isn’t the whole point of the Variables that I don’t know everything? Aren’t you going to throw me in a cage with gorillas or something? Maybe make me walk through a field of land mines? Dump me in the ocean, see if I can swim back to shore?”

“Just tell him the rest,” Dr. Christensen answered.

“The rest?” Thomas asked.

“Yes, Thomas,” Janson said through a sigh. “The rest. After all the Trials, after all the studies, after all the patterns that have been collected and scrutinized, after all the Variables we’ve put you and your friends through, it comes down to this.”

Thomas didn’t say anything. He was barely able to breathe because of a strange anticipation, the simultaneous desires to know and not know.

Janson leaned forward, elbows on desk, a grave look shadowing his face. “One final thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“Thomas, we need your brain.”

CHAPTER 59

Thomas’s heartbeat sped up to rattling thumps in his chest. He knew that the man wasn’t testing him. They’d gone as far as they could in analyzing reactions and brain patterns. Now they’d chosen the person best suited to … take apart in their effort to build the cure.

Suddenly, the Right Arm couldn’t get there fast enough.

“My brain?” he forced himself to repeat.

“Yes,” Dr. Christensen answered. “The Final Candidate holds the missing piece to complete the data for the blueprint. But we had no way to tell until we monitored the patterns against the Variables. Vivisection will give us our final data, your systems functioning properly while we do it. Not that you’ll feel any pain—we’ll heavily sedate you until …”

He didn’t need to finish. His words drifted off into silence and the three WICKED scientists awaited Thomas’s response. But he couldn’t speak. He’d faced death countless times over what he could remember of his life, yet he’d always done so in the desperate hope to survive, doing anything in his power to last one more day. But this was different. He didn’t just have to last through some trial until his rescuers came. This was something he wouldn’t come back from. This was the end if they didn’t come.

He had a random, horrible thought: did Teresa know about this?

It surprised him how deeply the idea hurt.

“Thomas?” Janson asked, breaking Thomas’s train of thought. “I know this must come as quite a shock to you. I need you to understand that this is not a test. This is not a Variable and I’m not lying to you. We think we can complete the blueprint for the cure by analyzing your brain tissue and how, combined with the patterns we’ve collected, its physical makeup allows it to resist the Flare virus’s power. The Trials were all created so we wouldn’t have to just cut everyone open. Our whole aim was to save lives, not waste them.”

“We’ve been collecting and analyzing the patterns for years, and you’ve been the strongest by far in your reactions to the Variables,” Dr. Wright continued. “We’ve known for a long time—and it was the highest priority to keep this from the subjects—that in the end we’d have to choose the best candidate for this last procedure.”

Dr. Christensen went on to outline the process while Thomas listened in numb silence. “You have to be alive but not awake. We’ll sedate you and numb the area of the incision, but there aren’t any nerves in the brain so it’s a relatively painless process. Unfortunately, you won’t recover from our neural explorations—the procedure is fatal. But the results will be invaluable.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” Thomas asked. All he could see was Newt’s final moments. What if Thomas could prevent that horrible death for countless others?

The Psych’s eyes flickered with discomfort. “Then we’ll keep … working at it. But we have every confidence—”

Thomas cut her off, unable to help himself. “But you don’t, do you? You’ve been paying people to steal more immune … subjects”—he said the word with vicious spite—“so you can start all over again.”

No one answered at first. Then Janson said, “We will do whatever it takes to find a cure. With as little loss of life as possible. Nothing else needs to be said on the matter.”

“Why are we even talking?” Thomas asked. “Why not just grab me and tie me down, rip my brain out?”

Dr. Christensen answered. “Because you’re our Final Candidate. You were part of the bridge between our founders and the current staff. We’re trying to show you the respect you deserve. It’s our hope that you’ll make the choice yourself.”

“Thomas, do you need a minute?” Dr. Wright asked. “I know this is difficult, and I assure you we don’t take it lightly. What we’re asking for is a huge sacrifice. Will you donate your brain to science? Will you allow us to put the final pieces of the puzzle together? Take another step toward a cure for the good of the human race?”

Thomas didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t believe the turn of events. After everything, could it be true that they only needed one more death?

The Right Arm was coming. Newt’s image seared across his mind.

“I need to be alone,” he finally got out. “Please.” For the first time, a part of him actually wanted to give in, let them do this. Even if there was only a small chance that it would work.

“You’ll be doing the right thing,” Dr. Christensen said. “And don’t worry. You’re not going to feel an ounce of pain.”

Thomas didn’t want to hear another word. “I just need some time alone before all this begins.”

“Fair enough,” Janson said, standing up. “We’ll accompany you to the medical facilities and get you in a private room for a while. Though we need to get things started soon.”

Thomas leaned forward and put his head in his hands, staring at the floor. The plan he’d concocted with the Right Arm suddenly seemed foolish beyond measure. Even if he could escape this group—even if he wanted to now—how would he survive until his friends arrived?

“Thomas?” Dr. Wright asked, reaching out to put a hand on his back. “Are you okay? Do you have any more questions?”

Thomas sat up, brushed her hand away. “Just … let’s go where you said.”

The air suddenly seemed to go out of Janson’s office and Thomas’s chest tightened. He stood and walked to the door, opened it and stepped out into the hallway. It was all too much.

CHAPTER 60

Thomas followed the doctors, but his mind was racing. He didn’t know what to do. There was no way to communicate with the Right Arm, and he’d lost his ability to speak inside Teresa’s—or Aris’s—mind.

They turned a couple of corners, and the zigzagging made Thomas think of the Maze. He almost wished he were back there—things were so much simpler then.

“There’s a room right up here on the left,” Janson explained. “I already put a typing pad in there if you’d like to leave any messages for your friends. I’ll figure out a way to deliver them.”

“I’ll make sure you get something to eat, also,” Dr. Wright called from behind.

Their politeness annoyed Thomas. He remembered stories of killers being put to death in the old days. They always got a last meal, too. As fancy as they wanted it.

“I want steak,” he said, stopping to look at her. “And shrimp. And lobster. And pancakes. And a candy bar.”

“I’m sorry—you’ll have to settle for a couple of sandwiches.”

Thomas sighed. “Figures.”

Thomas sat in a soft chair, staring at the typing pad on the small table in front of him. He had no intention of writing a note to anyone, but he didn’t know what else to do. The situation had proven to be way more complicated than he could’ve imagined. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but the notion that they’d dissect him alive had never crossed his mind. He’d figured whatever they did, he could just play along until the Right Arm showed up.

But there wouldn’t be any coming back from playing along now.

He finally typed goodbye messages to Minho and Brenda just in case he ended up dead; then he rested his head in his arms until the food arrived. He ate slowly, then rested again. He could only hope his friends showed up in time. Either way, he certainly wouldn’t leave this room until he absolutely had to.

He dozed as he waited, the minutes stretching on.

A knock at the door startled him awake.

“Thomas?” came the muffled voice of Janson. “We really need to get things started.”

The words lit a fire of panic in Thomas. “I’m … not ready yet.” He knew he sounded ridiculous.

After a long pause, Janson said, “I’m afraid we don’t have much of a choice.”

“But …,” Thomas began, but before he could pull his thoughts together, the door opened and Janson stepped inside.

“Thomas—waiting will only make it worse. We need to go.”

Thomas didn’t know what to do. He was surprised that they’d been so calm with him so far. He realized he’d pushed it to the limit and he’d run out of time. He took a deep breath.

“Let’s get it over with.”

The Rat Man smiled. “Follow me.”

Janson led Thomas to a prep room with a wheeled bed surrounded by all kinds of monitors and several nurses. Dr. Christensen was there, dressed from head to toe in scrubs, a surgical mask already in place on his face. Thomas could only see his eyes, but he looked eager to get started.

“So that’s it?” Thomas asked. A surge of panic raced through his gut, and it felt as if something were trying to chew through his chest. “Time to cut me open?”

“I’m sorry,” the doctor answered. “But we need to begin.”

The Rat Man was just about to speak again when a blaring alarm erupted throughout the building.

Thomas’s heart lurched and relief flooded his system. It had to be the Right Arm.

The door swung open and Thomas turned just in time to see a frantic-looking woman announce, “A Berg arrived with a delivery, but it was a trick to get people inside—they’re trying to take over the main building this very second.”

Janson’s response almost stopped Thomas’s heart.

“Looks like we need to hurry and get this procedure started. Christensen, put him under.”

CHAPTER 61

Thomas’s chest constricted and his throat seemed to swell. Everything was on the line, but he was frozen.

Janson barked orders. “Dr. Christensen, quickly. Who knows what these people are up to, but we can’t waste a second now. I’ll go tell operating personnel to stand their ground, no matter what.”

“Wait,” Thomas finally croaked. “I don’t know if I can do this.” The words felt empty—he knew they wouldn’t stop at this point.

Janson’s face burned red. Instead of answering Thomas, he turned to the doctor. “Do whatever it takes to open this kid up.”

Just as Thomas opened his mouth to speak, something sharp pricked his arm, sending jolts of heat through his body, and he went limp, collapsing onto the gurney. From his neck down he was numb, and terror flared inside him. Dr. Christensen leaned over him and passed a spent syringe to a nurse.

“I’m really sorry, Thomas. We have to do this.”

The doctor and a nurse pushed him farther onto the bed, hoisting his legs up so that he lay flat on his back. Thomas could move his head slightly from side to side, but that was all. The sudden turn of events overwhelmed him as he realized the implications. He was about to die. Unless somehow the Right Arm got to him immediately, he was going to die.

Janson stepped into his view. Nodding approvingly, the Rat Man patted the doctor on the shoulder. “Get it done.” Then he turned and disappeared; Thomas could hear someone shouting in the hallway before the door closed.

“I just need to run a few tests,” Dr. Christensen explained. “Then we’ll get you into the operating room.” He turned to fiddle with some instruments behind him.

It felt like the man spoke to him from a hundred miles away. Thomas lay helpless, his mind spinning as the doctor took blood, measured his skull. The man worked in silence, barely blinking. But the beads of sweat on his forehead showed that he was racing against who-knew-what. Did he have an hour to get this done? Several hours?

Thomas closed his eyes. He wondered if the weapons-disabling device had done its job. Wondered if anyone would find him. Then he realized, did he even want them to? Was it really possible that WICKED almost had a cure? He forced himself to breathe evenly, focus on trying to move his limbs. But nothing happened.

The doctor suddenly straightened and grinned at Thomas. “I believe we’re ready. We’ll wheel you to the operating room now.”

The man walked through the door and Thomas’s gurney was pushed into the hallway. Unable to move, he lay staring up at the lights in the ceiling flashing by as he rolled down the corridor. He finally had to close his eyes.

They’d put him to sleep. The world would fade. And he’d be dead.

He snapped his eyes open again. Closed them. His heart pounded; his hands grew sweaty and he realized he was gripping the sheets on the gurney in two balled fists. Movement was coming back, slowly. Eyes open again. The lights zooming by. Another turn, then another. Despair threatened to squeeze the life out of Thomas before the doctors could do it.

“I …,” he started to say, but nothing else came out.

“What?” Christensen asked, peering down at him.

Thomas struggled to speak, but before he could force any words out a thunderous boom rattled the hallway and the doctor tripped, his weight pushing the gurney forward as he scrambled to stop himself from falling. The bed shot to the right and crashed into the wall, then rebounded and spun until it hit the other side. Thomas tried to move, but he was still paralyzed, helpless. He thought of Chuck and Newt, and a sadness like none he’d ever known seized his heart.

Someone screamed from the direction of the explosion. Shouts followed; then everything grew silent again, and the doctor was up on his feet, hurrying to the gurney, straightening it out, pushing it again, banging through a set of swinging doors. A host of people dressed in scrubs awaited them in a white operating room.

Christensen started barking orders. “We have to hurry! Everyone, get to your places. Lisa, get him fully sedated. Now!”

A short lady responded. “We haven’t done all the prep—”

“It doesn’t matter! As far as we know the whole building’s gonna burn down.”

He placed the gurney next to an operating table; several sets of hands were lifting Thomas and moving him over before the gurney even came to a complete stop. He settled on his back, strained to take in the beehive buzz of doctors and nurses, at least nine or ten of them. He felt a prick in his arm, glanced down to see the short lady inserting an IV into his vein. All the while the only movement he could manage was in his hands.

Lights were placed in position just above him. Other things were stuck into his body in various places; monitors started beeping; there was the hum of a machine; people talking over other people; the room was filled with the scurry of movement, like an orchestrated dance.

And the lights, so bright. The room spinning, though he lay perfectly still. The rising terror of what they were doing to him. Knowing it was ending, right here, right now.

“I hope it works,” he finally managed to get out.

A few seconds later, the drugs finally took him and it all went away.