Текст книги "The Death Cure"

Автор книги: James Dashner

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“I ought to come up there and break your shuck nose,” Minho said. His voice was terrifyingly calm considering the threat in his words. “I’m sick of you acting like everything is peachy-like more than half of our friends didn’t die.”

“I’d love to see that rat nose smashed!” Newt snapped.

The anger in his voice startled Thomas, and he had to wonder what awful thing Newt had been through during Phase Three.

Rat Man rolled his eyes and sighed. “First of all, each of you has been warned of the consequences should you try to harm me. And rest assured, you’re all still being watched. Second, I’m sorry for those you’ve lost-but in the end it’ll have been worth it. What concerns me, though, is that it seems that nothing I say is going to wake you people up to the stakes here. We’re talking about the survival of the human race.”

Minho sucked in a breath as if to begin a rant, but he stopped short, closed his mouth.

Thomas knew that no matter how sincere Rat Man sounded, it had to be a trick. Everything was a trick. Yet nothing good could come of their fighting him at this point-with words or with fists. The thing they needed most for the time being was patience.

“Let’s all just slim it,” Thomas spoke evenly. “Let’s hear him out.”

Frypan spoke up just as Rat Man was about to continue. “Why should we trust you people to… What was it called? The Swipe? After everything you’ve done to us, to our friends-you want to remove the Swipe? I don’t think so. I’d rather stay stupid about my past, thank you very kindly.”

“WICKED is good,” Teresa said out of the blue, as if talking to herself.

“What?” Frypan asked. Everyone turned to look at her.

“WICKED is good,” she repeated, much louder, turning in her seat to meet the others’ gazes. “Of all the things I could’ve written on my arm when I first woke up from my coma, I chose those three words. I keep thinking about it, and there has to be a reason for that. I say we just shut up and do what the man says. We can only understand this with our memories back.”

“I agree!” Aris shouted, much louder than seemed necessary.

Thomas was quiet as the room broke into arguments. Mostly between the Gladers, who sided with Frypan, and the members of Group B, who sided with Teresa. There couldn’t possibly be a worse time for a battle of wills.

“Silence!” Rat Man roared, pounding his fist on the lectern. He waited for everyone to quiet down before he continued. “Look, no one’s going to blame you for the mistrust you feel. You’ve been pushed to your physical limits, watched people die, experienced terror in its purest form. But I promise you, when all is said and done, none of you will look back-”

“What if we don’t want to?” Frypan called out. “What if we don’t want our memories back?”

Thomas turned to look at his friend, relieved. It was exactly what he’d been thinking himself.

Rat Man sighed. “Is it because you really have no interest in remembering, or is it because you don’t trust us?”

“Oh, I can’t imagine why we wouldn’t trust you,” Frypan replied.

“Don’t you realize by now that if we wanted to do something to harm you, we’d just do it?” The man looked down at the lectern, then back up again. “If you don’t want to remove the Swipe, don’t do it. You can stand by and watch the others.”

A choice or a bluff? Thomas couldn’t tell by the man’s tone but nonetheless was surprised by his response.

Again the room was silent, and before anyone else could speak, Rat Man had stepped away off the stage and was walking toward the door at the back of the room. When he reached it, he turned to face them again. “You really want to spend the rest of your lives having no memory of your parents? Your family and friends? You really want to lose the chance to hold on to at least the few good memories you may have had before all this began? Fine with me. But you might never have this opportunity again.”

Thomas considered his decision. It was true that he longed to remember his family. He’d thought about it so many times. But he did know WICKED. And he wasn’t going to let himself fall into another trap. He’d fight to the death before letting those people tinker with his brain again. How could he believe any memory they replaced anyway?

And there was something else bothering him-the flash he’d felt when the Rat Man had first announced that WICKED would remove the Swipe. Besides knowing that he couldn’t just accept anything WICKED called his memories, he was scared. If everything they’d been insisting was true was in fact true, he didn’t want to face his past even if he could. He didn’t understand the person they said he was before. And more, he didn’t like him.

He watched as the Rat Man opened the door and left the room. As soon as he was gone, Thomas leaned in close to Minho and Newt so only his friends could hear him. “There’s no way we do this. No way.”

Minho squeezed Thomas’s shoulder. “Amen. Even if I did trust those shanks, why would I want to remember? Look what it did to Ben and Alby.”

Newt nodded. “We need to make a bloody move soon. And when we do, I’m going to knock a few heads to make myself feel better.”

Thomas agreed but knew they had to be careful. “Not too soon, though,” he said. “We can’t screw this up-we need to look for our best chance.” It had been so long since Thomas had felt it, he was surprised when a sense of strength began to trickle through him. He was reunited with his friends and this was the end of the Trials-for good. One way or another, they were done doing what WICKED wanted.

They stood up and, as a group, made their way to the door. But as Thomas put his hand on the knob to pull it open, he stopped. What he was hearing made his heart sink. The rest of the group was still talking, and most of the others had decided to get their memories back.***

Rat Man was waiting outside the auditorium. He led them down several turns of the windowless hallway until they finally reached a large steel door. It was heavily bolted and looked to be sealed against outside air. Their white-clad leader placed a key card next to a square recess in the steel, and after a few clicks, the large slab of metal slid open with a grinding sound that reminded Thomas of the Doors in the Glade.

Then there was another door; once the group had filed into a small vestibule, the Rat Man closed the first door and, with the same card, unlocked the second. On the other side was a big room that looked like nothing special-same tile floors and beige walls as the hallway. Lots of cabinets and counters. And several beds lined the back wall, each with a menacing, foreign-looking contraption of shiny metal and plastic tubes in the shape of a mask hanging over it. Thomas couldn’t imagine letting someone place that thing on his face.

Rat Man gestured toward the beds. “This is how we’re going to remove the Swipe from your brains,” Rat Man announced. “Don’t worry, I know these devices look frightening, but the procedure won’t hurt nearly as much as you might think.”

“Nearly as much?” Frypan repeated. “I don’t like the sound of that. So it does hurt, is what you’re really saying.”

“Of course you’ll experience minor discomfort-it is a surgery,” Rat Man said as he walked over to a large machine to the left of the beds. It had dozens of blinking lights and buttons and screens. “We’ll be removing a small device from the part of your brain devoted to long-term memory. But it’s not as bad as it might sound, I promise.” He started pressing buttons and a buzzing hum filled the room.

“Wait a second,” Teresa said. “Is this going to take away whatever’s in there that lets you control us, too?”

The image of Teresa inside that shed in the Scorch came to Thomas. And of Alby writhing in bed back at the Homestead. Of Gally killing Chuck. They were all under WICKED’s control. For the slightest moment Thomas doubted his decision-could he really allow himself to remain at their mercy? Should he just let them do the operation? But then the doubt vanished-this was about mistrust. He refused to give in.

Teresa continued. “And what about…” She faltered, looked at Thomas.

He knew what she was thinking. Their ability to talk telepathically. Not to mention what came with it-that odd sense of each other when things were working, almost as if they were sharing brains somehow. Thomas suddenly loved the idea of losing that forever. Maybe the emptiness of having Teresa not there would disappear too.

Teresa recovered and continued. “Is everything going to be out of there? Everything? ”

Rat Man nodded. “Everything except the tiny device that allows us to map your killzone patterns. And you didn’t have to say what you’re thinking because I can see it in your eyes-no, you and Thomas and Aris won’t be able to do your little trick anymore. We did turn it off temporarily, but now it’ll be gone forever. However, you’ll have your long-term memory restored, and we won’t be able to manipulate your minds. It’s a package deal, I’m afraid. Take it or leave it.”

The others in the room shuffled about, whispered questions to each other. A million things had to be flying through everyone’s heads. There was so much to think about; there were so many implications. So many reasons to be angry at WICKED. But the fight seemed to have drained from the group, replaced by an eagerness to get it all over with.

“That’s a no-brainer,” Frypan said. “Get it? No-brainer?” The only response he got was a groan or two.

“Okay, I think we’re just about ready,” Rat Man announced. “One last thing, though. Something I need to tell you before you regain your memories. It’ll be better to hear it from me than to… remember the testing.”

“What’re you talking about?” Harriett asked.

Rat Man clasped his hands behind his back, his expression suddenly grave. “Some of you are immune to the Flare. But… some of you aren’t. I’m going to go through the list-please do your best to take it calmly.”

CHAPTER 6

The room lapsed into silence, broken only by the hum of machinery and a very faint beeping sound. Thomas knew he was immune-at least, he’d been told he was-but he didn’t know about anyone else, had actually forgotten about it. The sickening fear he’d felt when he’d first found out came flooding back.

“For an experiment to provide accurate results,” the Rat Man explained, “one needs a control group. We did our best to keep the virus from you as long as we could. But it’s airborne and highly contagious.”

He paused, taking in everyone’s gazes.

“Just bloody get on with it,” Newt said. “We all figured we had the buggin’ disease anyway. You’re not breaking our hearts.”

“Yeah,” Sonya added. “Cut the drama and tell us already.”

Thomas noticed Teresa fidgeting next to him. Had she already been told something, also? He figured that she had to be immune like him-that WICKED wouldn’t have chosen them for their special roles otherwise.

Rat Man cleared his throat. “Okay, then. Most of you are immune and have helped us gather invaluable data. Only two of you are considered Candidates now, but we’ll go into that later. Let’s get to the list. The following people are not immune. Newt…”

Something like a jolt hit Thomas in the chest. He doubled over and stared at the floor. Rat Man called out a few more names, but none Thomas knew-he barely heard them over the dizzying buzz that seemed to fill his ears and fog his mind. He was surprised at his own reaction, hadn’t realized just how much Newt meant to him until he heard the declaration. A thought occurred to him-earlier the Rat Man had said that the control subjects were like the glue that kept the project’s data together, made it all coherent and relevant.

The Glue. That was the title given to Newt-the tattoo that was etched in his skin even now, like a black scar.

“Tommy, slim yourself.”

Thomas looked up to see Newt standing there with his arms folded and a forced grin on his face. Thomas straightened back up. “Slim myself? That old shank just said you’re not immune to the Flare. How can you-”

“I’m not worried about the bloody Flare, man. I never thought I’d still be alive at this buggin’ point-and living hasn’t exactly been so great anyway.”

Thomas couldn’t tell if his friend was serious or just trying to seem tough. But the creepy grin still hadn’t left Newt’s face, so Thomas forced a smile onto his own. “If you’re cool with slowly going crazy and wanting to eat small children, then I guess we won’t cry for you.” Words had never felt so empty before.

“Good that,” Newt responded; the smile disappeared, though.

Thomas finally turned his attention to the rest of the people in the room, his head still dizzy with thoughts. One of the Gladers-a kid named Jackson who he’d never gotten to know very well-was staring into space with blank eyes, and another was trying to hide his tears. One of the girls of Group B had red, puffy eyes-a couple of her friends were huddled around her, trying to console her.

“I wanted to get that out of the way,” Rat Man said. “Mainly so I could tell you myself and remind you that the whole point of this operation has been to build toward a cure. Most of you not immune are in the early stages of the Flare, and I have every confidence that you’ll be taken care of before it goes too far. But the Trials required your participation.”

“And what if you don’t figure things out?” Minho asked.

Rat Man ignored him. He walked over to the closest bed, then reached up and put a hand on the odd metallic device hanging from the ceiling. “This is something we’re very proud of here-a feat of scientific and medical engineering. It’s called a Retractor, and it will be performing this procedure. It’ll be placed on your face-and I promise you’ll still look just as pretty when everything is done. Small wires within the device will descend and enter your ear canals. From there they will remove the machinery in your brain. Our doctors and nurses will give you a sedative to calm your nerves and something to dull the discomfort.”

He paused to glance around the room. “You will fall into a trancelike state as the nerves repair themselves and your memories return, similar to what some of you went through during what you called the Changing back in the Maze. But not nearly as bad, I promise. Much of that was for the purpose of stimulating brain patterns. We have several more rooms like this one, and a whole team of doctors waiting to get started. Now, I’m sure you have a million questions, but most of them will be answered by your own memories, so I’m going to wait until after the procedure for any more Q and A.”

The Rat Man paused, then finished, “Give me just a few moments to make sure the medical teams are ready. You can take this time to make your decisions.”

He crossed the room, the swish-swishing of his white pants the only sound cutting the silence, and disappeared through the first steel door, closing it behind him. Then the room erupted with noise as everyone started talking at once.

Teresa came over to Thomas, and Minho was right behind her. He leaned in close to be heard over the buzz of frantic conversations. “You shanks know more and remember more than anybody else. Teresa, I’ve never made a secret of it-I don’t like you. But I want to hear what you think anyway.”

Thomas was just as curious to hear Teresa’s opinion. He nodded at his former friend and waited for her to speak. There was still a small part of him that foolishly expected her to finally speak out against doing what WICKED wanted.

“We should do it,” Teresa said, and it didn’t surprise Thomas at all. The hope inside him died for good. “It feels like the right thing to me. We need our memories back so we can be smart about things. Decide what to do next.”

Thomas’s mind was spinning, trying to put it all together. “Teresa, I know you’re not stupid. But I also know you’re in love with WICKED. I’m not sure what you’re up to, but I’m not buying it.”

“Me neither,” Minho said. “They can manipulate us, play with our shuck brains, dude! How would we even know if they’re giving us back our own memories or shoving new ones inside us?”

Teresa let out a sigh. “You guys are missing the whole point! If they can control us, if they can do whatever they want with us, make us do anything, then why would they even bother with this whole charade of giving us a choice? Plus, he said they’d also be taking out the part that lets them control us. It feels legit to me.”

“Well, I never trusted you anyway,” Minho said, shaking his head slowly. “And certainly not them. I’m with Thomas.”

“What about Aris?” Newt had been so quiet, Thomas hadn’t even noticed that he’d walked up behind him with Frypan. “Didn’t you say he was with you guys before you came to the Maze? What does he think?”

Thomas scanned the room until he found Aris talking to some of his friends from Group B. He’d been hanging out with them since Thomas had arrived, which Thomas figured made sense-Aris had gone through his own Maze experience with that group. But Thomas could never forgive the boy for the part he’d played in helping Teresa back in the Scorch, luring him to the chamber in the mountains and forcing him inside.

“I’ll go ask him,” Teresa said.

Thomas and his friends watched as she walked over, and she and her group started whispering furiously to each other.

“I hate that chick,” Minho finally said.

“Come on, she’s not so bad,” Frypan offered.

Minho rolled his eyes. “If she’s doing it, I’m not.”

“Me neither,” Newt agreed. “And I’m the one who supposedly has the bloody Flare, so I have more stake in it than anybody. But I’m not falling for one more trick.”

Thomas had already settled on that. “Let’s just hear what she says. Here she comes.”

Her talk with Aris had been short. “He sounded even more sure than us. They’re all for it.”

“Well, that settles it for me,” Minho answered. “If Aris and Teresa are for it, I’m against it.”

Thomas couldn’t have said it better himself. Every instinct he had told him Minho was right, but he didn’t voice his opinion aloud. He watched Teresa’s face instead. She turned and looked at Thomas. It was a look he knew so well-she expected him to side with her. But the difference was that now he was suspicious about why she wanted it so badly.

He stared at her, forcing his own expression to remain blank-and Teresa’s face fell.

“Suit yourselves.” She shook her head, then turned and walked away.

Despite everything that had happened, Thomas’s heart lurched in his chest as she retreated across the room.

“Ah, man,” Frypan’s voice cut in, jarring Thomas back. “We can’t let them put those things on our face, can we? I’d just be happy back in my kitchen in the Homestead, I swear I would.”

“You forget about the Grievers?” Newt asked.

Frypan paused a second, then said, “They never messed with me in the kitchen, now, did they?”

“Yeah, well, we’ll just have to find you a new place to cook.” Newt grabbed Thomas and Minho by the arms and led them away from the group. “I’ve heard enough bloody arguments. I’m not getting on one of those beds.”

Minho reached over and squeezed Newt’s shoulder. “Me neither.”

“Same here,” Thomas said. Then he finally voiced what had been building inside him for weeks. “We’ll stick around, play along and act nice,” he whispered. “But as soon as we get a chance, we’re going to fight our way out of this place.”

CHAPTER 7

Rat Man returned before Newt or Minho could respond. But judging by the looks on their faces, Thomas was sure they were on board. One hundred percent.

More people were piling into the room, and Thomas turned his attention to what was going on. Everyone who’d joined them was dressed in a one-piece, somewhat loose-fitting green suit with WICKED written across the chest. It struck Thomas suddenly how thoroughly every detail of this game-this experiment -had been thought out. Could it be that the very name they’d used for their organization had been one of the Variables from the beginning? A word with obvious menace, yet an entity they were told was good? It was probably just another poke to see how their brains reacted, what they felt.

It was all a guessing game. Had been from the very beginning.

Each doctor-Thomas assumed they were doctors, like Rat Man had said-took a place next to one of the beds. They fidgeted with the masks that hung from the ceiling, adjusting the tubes, tinkering with knobs and switches Thomas couldn’t see.

“We’ve already assigned each of you a bed,” Rat Man said, looking down at papers on a clipboard he’d brought back with him. “Those staying in this room are…” He rattled off a few names, including Sonya and Aris, but not Thomas or any of the Gladers. “If I didn’t call your name, please follow me.”

The whole situation had taken on a bizarre taint, too casual and run-of-the-mill for the seriousness of what was going on. Like gangsters yelling out roll call before they slaughtered a group of weeping traitors. Thomas didn’t know what to do but go along until the right moment presented itself.

He and the others silently followed Rat Man out of the room and down another long, windowless hallway before stopping at another door. Their guide read from his list again, and Frypan and Newt were included this time.

“I’m not doing it,” Newt announced. “You said we could choose and that’s my bloody decision.” He exchanged an angry look with Thomas that seemed to say they better do something soon or he’d go crazy.

“That’s fine,” Rat Man replied. “You’ll change your mind soon enough. Stay with me until we’ve finished distributing everyone else.”

“What about you, Frypan?” Thomas asked, trying to hide his surprise at how easily the Rat Man had relented with Newt.

The cook suddenly looked sheepish. “I… think I’m going to let them do it.”

Thomas was shocked.

“Are you crazy?” Minho asked.

Frypan shook his head, bearing himself up a little defensively. “I want to remember. Make your own choice; let me make mine.”

“Let’s move along,” Rat Man said.

Frypan disappeared into the room, hurrying, probably to avoid any more arguments. Thomas knew he had to let it go-for now, he could only worry about himself and finding a way out. Hopefully he could rescue everyone else once he did.

Rat Man didn’t call for Minho, Teresa and Thomas until they were standing at the final door, along with Harriet and two other girls from Group B. So far Newt had been the only one to say no to the procedure.

“No thanks,” Minho said when Rat Man gestured for everyone to enter the room. “But I appreciate the invitation. You guys have a good time in there.” He gave a mock wave.

“I’m not doing it, either,” Thomas announced. He was beginning to feel the rush of anticipation. They had to take a chance soon, try something.

Rat Man stared at Thomas for a long time, his face unreadable.

“You okay, there, Mr. Rat Man?” Minho asked.

“My name is Assistant Director Janson,” he replied, his voice low and strained, as if it was hard work to stay calm. His eyes never left Thomas. “Learn to show respect for your elders.”

“You quit treating people like animals and maybe I’ll consider it,” Minho said. “And why are you goggling at Thomas?”

Rat Man-Janson-finally turned his gaze to Minho. “Because there are many things to consider.” He paused, stood straighter. “But very well. We said you could choose for yourselves, and we’ll stand by that. Everyone come inside and we’ll get things started with those willing to participate.”

Again, Thomas felt a shiver pass through his body. Their moment was coming. He knew it. And by the expression on Minho’s face, he knew it, too. They gave each other a slight nod and followed Rat Man into the room.

It looked exactly like the first one, with six beds, the hanging masks, all of it. The machine that evidently ran everything was already humming and chirping. A person dressed in the same green clothes as the doctors in the first room stood next to each bed.

Thomas looked around and sucked in a breath. Standing next to a bed at the very end of the row, dressed in green, was Brenda. She looked way younger than everyone else, her brown hair and face cleaner than he’d ever seen them back in the Scorch. She gave him a quick shake of her head and shifted her gaze to Rat Man; then, before Thomas knew what was happening, she was running across the room. She grabbed Thomas and pulled him into a hug. He squeezed back, completely in shock, but he didn’t want to let go.

“Brenda, what are you doing!” Janson yelled at her. “Get back to your post!”

She pressed her lips against Thomas’s ear, and then she was whispering, so quietly he could barely hear her, “Don’t trust them. Do not trust them. Only me and Chancellor Paige, Thomas. Ever. No one else.”

“Brenda!” the Rat Man practically screamed.

Then she was letting go, stepping away. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m just glad to see he made it through Phase Three. I forgot myself.” She walked back to her post and turned to face them once again, her face blank.

Janson scolded her. “We hardly have time for such things.”

Thomas couldn’t look away from her, didn’t know what to think or feel. He already didn’t trust WICKED, so her words put them on the same side. But why was she working with them, then? Wasn’t she sick? And who was this Chancellor Paige? Was this just another test? Another Variable?

Something powerful had swum through his body when they’d hugged. He thought back to how Brenda had spoken in his mind after he’d been put into the white room. She’d warned him things were going to get bad. He still didn’t understand how she’d been able to do that-was she really on his side?

Teresa, who’d been quiet since they left the first room, stepped up to him, interrupting his thoughts.

“What’s she doing here?” she whispered, the spite evident in her voice. Every little thing she did or said now bothered him. “I thought she was a Crank.”

“I don’t know,” Thomas muttered. Flashes of all that time he’d spent with Brenda in the broken city filled his head. In a strange way, he missed that place. Missed being alone with her. “Maybe she’s… just throwing me a Variable.”

“You think she was part of the show, sent to the Scorch to help run things?”

“Probably.” Thomas hurt inside. It made sense that Brenda could’ve been part of WICKED from the beginning. But that meant she’d lied to him, over and over. He wanted so badly for something to be different about her.

“I don’t like her,” Teresa said. “She seems… devious.”

Thomas had to force himself not to scream at Teresa. Or laugh at her. Instead, he spoke to her calmly. “Go let them play with your brain.” Maybe her distrust of Brenda was the best indication that he should trust Brenda.

Teresa gave him a sharp look. “Judge me all you want. I’m just doing what feels right.” Then she stepped away, awaiting the Rat Man’s instructions.

Janson assigned the willing patients to beds while Thomas, Newt, and Minho hung back and observed. Thomas glanced at the door, wondered if they should make a run for it. He was just about to nudge Minho when the Rat Man spoke up as if he’d read Thomas’s mind.

“You three rebels are being watched. Don’t even think about trying anything. Armed guards are on their way as we speak.”

Thomas had the unsettling idea that maybe someone had read his mind. Could they interpret his actual thoughts from the brain patterns they were so studiously collecting?

“That’s a bunch of klunk,” Minho whispered when Janson returned his attention to getting people settled on the beds. “I think we should take our chances, see what happens.”

Thomas didn’t answer, looked over at Brenda instead. She was staring at the floor, seemingly deep in thought. He found himself missing her terribly, feeling a connection he didn’t quite understand. All he wanted was to talk to her alone. And not just because of what she’d said to him.

The sound of rushed footsteps came from the hallway. Three men and two women burst into the room, all of them dressed in black, with gear strapped to their backs-ropes, tools, ammunition. They were all holding some sort of bulky weapon. Thomas couldn’t stop staring at the weapons-they tugged at some lost memory he could just barely put his finger on, but at the same time it was like seeing them for the first time. The devices shimmered with blue light-a clear tube in the middle was filled with shiny metallic grenades that crackled and fizzed with electricity-and the guards were pointing them at Thomas and his two friends.

“We waited too bloody long,” Newt snapped in a low, harsh whisper.

Thomas knew an opportunity would present itself soon. “They would’ve caught us out there anyway,” he answered quietly, his lips barely moving. “Just be patient.”

Janson walked over to stand beside the guards. He pointed at one of the weapons. “These are called Launchers. These guards will not hesitate to fire them if any of you cause trouble. The weapons won’t kill you, but trust me when I say that they’ll give you the most uncomfortable five minutes of your life.”

“What’s going on?” Thomas asked, surprised at how little fear he felt. “You just told us we could make this choice ourselves. Why the sudden army?”

“Because I don’t trust you.” Janson paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. “We hoped you would do things voluntarily once your memories were back. It would just make things easier. But I never said we don’t still need you.”

“What a surprise,” Minho said. “You lied again.”

“I haven’t lied about a thing. You made your decision, now live with the consequences.” Janson pointed at the door. “Guards, escort Thomas and the others to their rooms, where they can dwell on their mistakes until tomorrow morning’s tests. Use whatever force is necessary.”

CHAPTER 8

The two female guards lifted their weapons even higher, the wide, round muzzles pointed at the three boys.

“Don’t make us use these,” one of the women said. “You have zero room for error. One false move and we pull the trigger.”

The three men swung the straps of their Launchers over their shoulders, then moved toward the defiant Gladers, one per boy. Thomas still felt an odd calmness-coming in part from the deep determination to fight until he couldn’t anymore-and a sense of satisfaction that WICKED needed five armed guards to watch three teenagers.