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BOOKSBYJAMESDASHNER

TheMortalityDoctrineSeriesTheEyeofMinds

TheMazeRunnerSeriesTheMazeRunnerTheScorchTrialsTheDeathCureTheKillOrder

The13thRealitySeriesTheJournalofCuriousLettersTheHuntforDarkInfinityTheBladeofShatteredHopeTheVoidofMistandThunder

Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,

events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.

Textcopyright©2009byJamesDashnerCoverartcopyright©2011byPhilipStraub

CovertypographybyJoelTippie

Allrightsreserved.PublishedintheUnitedStatesbyDelacortePress,animprintofRandomHouseChildren’sBooks,adivisionofRandomHouseLLC,aPenguinRandomHouseCompany,

NewYork.

OriginallypublishedinhardcoverbyDelacortePress,NewYork,in2009.

DelacortePressisaregisteredtrademarkandthecolophonisatrademarkofRandomHouseLLC.

VisitusontheWeb!randomhouse.com/teens

Educatorsandlibrarians,foravarietyofteachingtools,visitusatRHTeachersLibrarians.com

TheLibraryofCongresshascatalogedthehardcovereditionofthisworkasfollows:Dashner,James.

Themazerunner/JamesDashner.—1sted.p.cm.

Summary:Sixteen-year-oldThomaswakesupwithnomemoryinthemiddleofamazeandrealizeshemustworkwiththecommunityinwhichhefindshimselfifheistoescape.

ISBN978-0-385-73794-4(hc)—ISBN978-0-385-90702-6(glb)—ISBN978-0-375-89377-3(ebook)

[1.Amnesia—Fiction.2.Cooperativeness—Fiction.3.Labyrinths—Fiction.4.Sciencefiction.]I.Title.

PZ7.D2587Maz2009[Fic]—dc222009001345

ISBN978-0-385-73795-1(tr.pbk.)

RandomHouseChildren’sBookssupportstheFirstAmendmentandcelebratestherighttoread.

v3.1_r2

ForLynette.Thisbookwasathree-yearjourney,andyouneverdoubted.

Contents

CoverBooksbyJamesDashnerTitlePageCopyrightDedication

Chapter1Chapter2Chapter3Chapter4Chapter5Chapter6Chapter7Chapter8Chapter9Chapter10Chapter11Chapter12Chapter13Chapter14Chapter15Chapter16Chapter17Chapter18Chapter19Chapter20Chapter21

Chapter22Chapter23Chapter24Chapter25Chapter26Chapter27Chapter28Chapter29Chapter30Chapter31Chapter32Chapter33Chapter34Chapter35Chapter36Chapter37Chapter38Chapter39Chapter40Chapter41Chapter42Chapter43Chapter44Chapter45Chapter46Chapter47Chapter48Chapter49Chapter50Chapter51Chapter52

Chapter53Chapter54Chapter55Chapter56Chapter57Chapter58Chapter59Chapter60Chapter61Chapter62Epilogue

AcknowledgmentsScorchTrialsPreviewEyeofMindsPreviewAbouttheAuthor

CHAPTER1

He began his new life standing up, surrounded by cold darkness andstale,dustyair.Metal ground against metal; a lurching shudder shook the floor

beneath him. He fell down at the sudden movement and shuffledbackwardonhishandsandfeet,dropsofsweatbeadingonhisforeheaddespitethecoolair.Hisbackstruckahardmetalwall;heslidalongituntilhehit the cornerof the room.Sinking to the floor,hepulledhislegsuptightagainsthisbody,hopinghiseyeswouldsoonadjusttothedarkness.Withanother jolt, the room jerkedupward likeanold lift inamine

shaft.Harsh sounds of chains andpulleys, like theworkings of an ancient

steel factory, echoed through the room, bouncing off thewallswith ahollow,tinnywhine.Thelightlesselevatorswayedbackandforthasitascended,turningtheboy’sstomachsourwithnausea;asmelllikeburntoilinvadedhissenses,makinghimfeelworse.Hewantedtocry,butnotearscame;hecouldonlysitthere,alone,waiting.MynameisThomas,hethought.That…thatwastheonlythinghecouldrememberabouthislife.Hedidn’tunderstandhowthiscouldbepossible.Hismindfunctioned

without flaw, trying to calculate his surroundings and predicament.Knowledgefloodedhisthoughts,factsandimages,memoriesanddetailsoftheworldandhowitworks.Hepicturedsnowontrees,runningdownaleaf-strewnroad,eatingahamburger,themooncastingapaleglowonagrassymeadow,swimminginalake,abusycitysquarewithhundredsofpeoplebustlingabouttheirbusiness.And yet he didn’t know where he came from, or how he’d gotten

inside thedark lift, orwhohisparentswere.Hedidn’t evenknowhislastname. Imagesofpeople flashedacrosshismind,but therewasno

recognition, their faces replaced with haunted smears of color. Hecouldn’tthinkofonepersonheknew,orrecallasingleconversation.Theroomcontinueditsascent,swaying;Thomasgrewimmunetotheceaseless rattling of the chains that pulled him upward. A long timepassed.Minutesstretchedintohours,althoughitwasimpossibletoknowfor surebecauseevery secondseemedaneternity.No.Hewas smarterthanthat.Trustinghisinstincts,heknewhe’dbeenmovingforroughlyhalfanhour.Strangelyenough,hefelthisfearwhiskedawaylikeaswarmofgnatscaughtinthewind,replacedbyanintensecuriosity.Hewantedtoknowwherehewasandwhatwashappening.With a groan and then a clonk, the rising room halted; the suddenchange joltedThomas fromhishuddledpositionand threwhimacrossthehard floor.Ashe scrambled tohis feet,he felt the roomsway lessandlessuntilitfinallystilled.Everythingfellsilent.A minute passed. Two. He looked in every direction but saw onlydarkness; he felt along the walls again, searching for a way out. Buttherewas nothing, only the coolmetal.He groaned in frustration; hisechoamplifiedthroughtheair,likethehauntedmoanofdeath.Itfaded,andsilencereturned.Hescreamed,calledforhelp,poundedonthewallswithhisfists.Nothing.Thomas backed into the corner once again, folded his arms andshivered,andthefearreturned.Hefeltaworryingshudderinhischest,asifhisheartwantedtoescape,tofleehisbody.“Someone…help…me!” he screamed; eachword ripped his throatraw.Aloudclankrangoutabovehimandhesuckedinastartledbreathashelookedup.Astraightlineoflightappearedacrosstheceilingoftheroom, and Thomas watched as it expanded. A heavy grating soundrevealed double sliding doors being forced open. After so long indarkness, the light stabbedhiseyes;he lookedaway,coveringhis facewithbothhands.Heheardnoisesabove—voices—andfearsqueezedhischest.“Lookatthatshank.”“Howoldishe?”“LookslikeaklunkinaT-shirt.”

“You’retheklunk,shuck-face.”“Dude,itsmellslikefeetdownthere!”“Hopeyouenjoyedtheone-waytrip,Greenie.”“Ain’tnoticketback,bro.”Thomaswashitwithawaveof confusion,blisteredwithpanic.Thevoiceswereodd,tingedwithecho;someofthewordswerecompletelyforeign—othersfeltfamiliar.Hewilledhiseyestoadjustashesquintedtowardthe lightandthosespeaking.At firsthecouldseeonlyshiftingshadows, but they soon turned into the shapes of bodies—peoplebendingovertheholeintheceiling,lookingdownathim,pointing.Andthen,asifthelensofacamerahadsharpeneditsfocus,thefacescleared.Theywereboys,allofthem—someyoung,someolder.Thomasdidn’t know what he’d expected, but seeing those faces puzzled him.Theywere just teenagers.Kids. Someofhis fearmeltedaway,butnotenoughtocalmhisracingheart.Someoneloweredaropefromabove,theendofittiedintoabigloop.Thomashesitated, thensteppedinto itwithhisright footandclutchedtheropeashewasyankedtowardthesky.Handsreacheddown,lotsofhands,grabbinghimbyhisclothes,pullinghimup.Theworldseemedtospin,a swirlingmistof facesandcolorand light.A stormofemotionswrenchedhisgut, twistedandpulled;hewantedtoscream,cry, throwup.Thechorusofvoiceshadgrownsilent,but someone spokeas theyyankedhimoverthesharpedgeofthedarkbox.AndThomasknewhe’dneverforgetthewords.“Nicetomeetya,shank,”theboysaid.“WelcometotheGlade.”

CHAPTER2

Thehelpinghandsdidn’tstopswarmingaroundhimuntilThomasstoodup straight and had the dust brushed from his shirt and pants. Stilldazzledbythelight,hestaggeredabit.Hewasconsumedwithcuriositybut still felt too ill to look closely at his surroundings. His newcompanionssaidnothingasheswiveledhisheadaround,tryingtotakeitallin.As he rotated in a slow circle, the other kids snickered and stared;

somereachedoutandpokedhimwithafinger.Therehadtobeatleastfiftyofthem,theirclothessmudgedandsweatyasifthey’dbeenhardatwork, all shapes and sizes and races, their hair of varying lengths.Thomassuddenlyfeltdizzy,hiseyesflickeringbetweentheboysandthebizarreplaceinwhichhe’dfoundhimself.Theystoodinavastcourtyardseveraltimesthesizeofafootballfield,

surroundedbyfourenormouswallsmadeofgraystoneandcoveredinspots with thick ivy. The walls had to be hundreds of feet high andformedaperfectsquarearoundthem,eachsidesplitintheexactmiddlebyanopeningas tall as thewalls themselves that, fromwhatThomascouldsee,ledtopassagesandlongcorridorsbeyond.“Lookat theGreenbean,”a scratchyvoice said;Thomascouldn’t see

who it came from. “Gonnabreakhis shuckneck checkin’ out thenewdigs.”Severalboyslaughed.“Shutyourhole,Gally,”adeepervoiceresponded.Thomas focused back in on the dozens of strangers around him.He

knewhemustlookoutofit—hefelt likehe’dbeendrugged.Atallkidwith blond hair and a square jaw sniffed at him, his face devoid ofexpression. A short, pudgy boy fidgeted back and forth on his feet,lookingupatThomaswithwideeyes.Athick,heavilymuscledAsiankidfoldedhisarmsashestudiedThomas,histightshirtsleevesrolleduptoshowoffhisbiceps.Adark-skinnedboyfrowned—thesameonewho’d

welcomedhim.Countlessothersstared.“Where am I?”Thomas asked, surprised athearinghis voice for thefirsttimeinhissalvageablememory.Itdidn’tsoundquiteright—higherthanhewould’veimagined.“Nowhere good.” This came from the dark-skinned boy. “Just slimyourselfniceandcalm.”“WhichKeeperhegonnaget?”someoneshoutedfromthebackofthecrowd.“Itoldya,shuck-face,”ashrillvoiceresponded.“He’saklunk,sohe’llbeaSlopper—nodoubtaboutit.”Thekidgiggledlikehe’djustsaidthefunniestthinginhistory.Thomasonceagainfeltapressingacheofconfusion—hearingsomanywordsandphrasesthatdidn’tmakesense.Shank.Shuck.Keeper.Slopper.Theypoppedoutoftheboys’mouthssonaturallyitseemedoddforhimnottounderstand.Itwasasifhismemorylosshadstolenachunkofhislanguage—itwasdisorienting.Different emotions battled for dominance in his mind and heart.Confusion.Curiosity.Panic.Fear.But lacedthroughitallwasthedarkfeelingofutterhopelessness,liketheworldhadendedforhim,hadbeenwipedfromhismemoryandreplacedwithsomethingawful.Hewantedtorunandhidefromthesepeople.The scratchy-voiced boywas talking. “—evendo thatmuch, betmyliveronit.”Thomasstillcouldn’tseehisface.“Isaidshutyourholes!”thedarkboyyelled.“Keepyappingandnextbreak’llbecutinhalf!”That must be their leader, Thomas realized. Hating how everyonegawkedathim,heconcentratedonstudyingtheplacetheboyhadcalledtheGlade.The floor of the courtyard looked like it was made of huge stoneblocks,manyofthemcrackedandfilledwithlonggrassesandweeds.Anodd,dilapidatedwoodenbuildingnearoneofthecornersofthesquarecontrastedgreatlywiththegraystone.Afewtreessurroundedit, theirroots like gnarled hands digging into the rock floor for food. Anothercorner of the compound held gardens—from where he was standingThomasrecognizedcorn,tomatoplants,fruittrees.Acrossthecourtyardfromtherestoodwoodenpensholdingsheepandpigsandcows.Alargegroveoftreesfilledthefinalcorner;theclosest

oneslookedcrippledandclosetodying.Theskyoverheadwascloudlessandblue,butThomascouldseenosignofthesundespitethebrightnessoftheday.Thecreepingshadowsofthewallsdidn’trevealthetimeordirection—itcouldbeearlymorningorlateafternoon.Ashebreathedindeeply, tryingtosettlehisnerves,amixtureofsmellsbombardedhim.Freshly turned dirt, manure, pine, something rotten and somethingsweet.Somehowheknewthatthesewerethesmellsofafarm.Thomaslookedbackathiscaptors,feelingawkwardbutdesperatetoaskquestions.Captors,hethought.Then,Whydidthatwordpopintomyhead?He scanned their faces, taking ineachexpression, judging them.One boy’s eyes, flared with hatred, stopped him cold. He looked soangry,Thomaswouldn’thavebeensurprisedifthekidcameathimwitha knife.Hehad black hair, andwhen theymade eye contact, the boyshookhisheadandturnedaway,walkingtowardagreasyironpolewithawoodenbenchnexttoit.Amulticoloredflaghunglimplyatthetopofthepole,nowindtorevealitspattern.Shaken,Thomas staredat theboy’sbackuntilhe turnedand tookaseat.Thomasquicklylookedaway.Suddenlytheleaderofthegroup—perhapshewasseventeen—tookastepforward.Heworenormalclothes:blackT-shirt,jeans,tennisshoes,adigitalwatch.ForsomereasontheclothingheresurprisedThomas;itseemed like everyone should be wearing something more menacing—likeprisongarb.Thedark-skinnedboyhadshort-croppedhair,hisfaceclean shaven. But other than the permanent scowl, therewas nothingscaryabouthimatall.“It’salongstory,shank,”theboysaid.“Piecebypiece,you’lllearn—I’ll be takin’ you on the Tour tomorrow. Till then… just don’t breakanything.” He held a hand out. “Name’s Alby.” He waited, clearlywantingtoshakehands.Thomas refused. Some instinct took over his actions and withoutsayinganythingheturnedawayfromAlbyandwalkedtoanearbytree,where he plopped down to sit with his back against the rough bark.Panic swelled insidehimonceagain, almost toomuch tobear.Buthetookadeepbreathandforcedhimselftotrytoacceptthesituation.Justgowithit,hethought.Youwon’tfigureoutanythingifyougiveintofear.“Thentellme,”Thomascalledout,strugglingtokeephisvoiceeven.“Tellmethelongstory.”

Alby glanced at the friends closest to him, rolling his eyes, andThomasstudiedthecrowdagain.Hisoriginalestimatehadbeenclose—therewere probably fifty to sixty of them, ranging from boys in theirmidteenstoyoungadultslikeAlby,whoseemedtobeoneoftheoldest.Atthatmoment,Thomasrealizedwithasickeninglurchthathehadnoideahowoldhewas.Hisheartsankat thethought—hewasso losthedidn’tevenknowhisownage.“Seriously,”hesaid,givingupontheshowofcourage.“WhereamI?”Albywalkedovertohimandsatdowncross-legged;thecrowdofboys

followedandpacked inbehind.Headspoppeduphereand there,kidsleaningineverydirectiontogetabetterlook.“If you ain’t scared,”Alby said, “you ain’t human.Act any different

andI’dthrowyouofftheCliffbecauseit’dmeanyou’reapsycho.”“TheCliff?”Thomasasked,blooddrainingfromhisface.“Shuck it,”Alby said, rubbinghis eyes. “Ain’t noway to start these

conversations,yougetme?Wedon’tkillshankslikeyouhere,Ipromise.Justtryandavoidbeingkilled,survive,whatever.”Hepaused,andThomasrealizedhisfacemust’vewhitenedevenmore

whenheheardthatlastpart.“Man,”Albysaid,thenranhishandsoverhisshorthairasheletouta

long sigh. “I ain’t good at this—you’re the first Greenbean since Nickwaskilled.”Thomas’s eyes widened, and another boy stepped up and playfully

slappedAlbyacrossthehead.“WaitforthebloodyTour,Alby,”hesaid,his voice thickwith an odd accent. “Kid’s gonnahave a buggin’ heartattack, nothin’ even been heard yet.”He bent down and extended hishand toward Thomas. “Name’s Newt, Greenie, and we’d all be rightcheeryifya’dforgiveourklunk-for-brainsnewleader,here.”Thomasreachedoutandshooktheboy’shand—heseemedalotnicer

thanAlby.NewtwastallerthanAlbytoo,butlookedtobeayearorsoyounger. His hair was blond and cut long, cascading over his T-shirt.Veinsstuckoutofhismuscledarms.“Pipe it,shuck-face,”Albygrunted,pullingNewtdowntositnextto

him. “At least he can understand half my words.” There were a fewscattered laughs, and then everyone gathered behind Alby and Newt,packingineventighter,waitingtohearwhattheysaid.Albyspreadhisarmsout,palmsup.“ThisplaceiscalledtheGlade,all

right? It’s where we live, where we eat, where we sleep—we callourselvestheGladers.That’sallyou—”“Who sentme here?” Thomas demanded, fear finally givingway toanger.“How’d—”ButAlby’shandshotoutbeforehecouldfinish,grabbingThomasbythe shirt as he leaned forward on his knees. “Get up, shank, get up!”Albystood,pullingThomaswithhim.Thomas finally got his feet under him, scared all over again. Hebackedagainstthetree,tryingtogetawayfromAlby,whostayedrightinhisface.“No interruptions, boy!” Alby shouted. “Whacker, if we told youeverything, you’d die on the spot, right after you klunked your pants.Baggers’ddragyouoff,andyouain’tnogoodtousthen,areya?”“Idon’t evenknowwhatyou’re talkingabout,”Thomas said slowly,shockedathowsteadyhisvoicesounded.NewtreachedoutandgrabbedAlbybytheshoulders.“Alby,layoffabit.You’rehurtin’morethanhelpin’,yaknow?”AlbyletgoofThomas’sshirtandsteppedback,hischestheavingwithbreaths.“Ain’tgottimetobenice,Greenbean.Oldlife’sover,newlife’sbegun.Learntherulesquick,listen,don’ttalk.Yougetme?”ThomaslookedoveratNewt,hopingforhelp.Everythinginsidehimchurnedandhurt;thetearsthathadyettocomeburnedhiseyes.Newtnodded.“Greenie,yougethim,right?”Henoddedagain.Thomas fumed, wanted to punch somebody. But he simply said,“Yeah.”“Goodthat,”Albysaid.“FirstDay.That’swhattodayisforyou,shank.Night’scomin’,Runners’llbebacksoon.TheBoxcamelatetoday,ain’tgottimefortheTour.Tomorrowmorning,rightafterthewake-up.”HeturnedtowardNewt.“Gethimabed,gethimtosleep.”“Goodthat,”Newtsaid.Alby’s eyes returned toThomas, narrowing. “A fewweeks, you’ll behappy,shank.You’llbehappyandhelpin’.NoneofusknewjackonFirstDay,youneither.Newlifebeginstomorrow.”Albyturnedandpushedhiswaythroughthecrowd,thenheadedforthe slantedwoodenbuilding in the corner.Most of the kidswanderedawaythen,eachonegivingThomasalingeringlookbeforetheywalkedoff.

Thomas folded his arms, closed his eyes, took a deep breath.Emptiness ate away at his insides, quickly replaced by a sadness thathurthisheart.Itwasalltoomuch—wherewashe?Whatwasthisplace?Was it somekindofprison? If so,whyhadhebeensenthere,and forhowlong?Thelanguagewasodd,andnoneoftheboysseemedtocarewhetherhelivedordied.Tearsthreatenedagaintofillhiseyes,butherefusedtoletthemcome.“WhatdidIdo?”hewhispered,notreallymeaningforanyonetohear

him.“WhatdidIdo—why’dtheysendmehere?”Newt clapped him on the shoulder. “Greenie, what you’re feelin’,

we’ve all felt it. We’ve all had First Day, come out of that dark box.Thingsarebad,theyare,andthey’llgetmuchworseforyasoon,that’sthetruth.Butdowntheroadapiece,you’llbefightin’trueandgood.Icantellyou’renotabloodysissy.”“Is this a prison?” Thomas asked; he dug in the darkness of his

thoughts,tryingtofindacracktohispast.“Done asked four questions, haven’t ya?” Newt replied. “No good

answersforya,notyet,anyway.Bestbequietnow,acceptthechange—morncomestomorrow.”Thomas saidnothing,hishead sunk,his eyes staringat thecracked,

rockyground.Alineofsmall-leafedweedsranalongtheedgeofoneofthestoneblocks,tinyyellowflowerspeepingthroughasifsearchingforthesun,longdisappearedbehindtheenormouswallsoftheGlade.“Chuck’llbeagood fit forya,”Newtsaid. “Wee little fat shank,but

nicesapwhenall’ssaidanddone.Stayhere,I’llbeback.”Newthadbarelyfinishedhissentencewhenasudden,piercingscream

rippedthroughtheair.Highandshrill,thebarelyhumanshriekechoedacrossthestonecourtyard;everykidinsightturnedtolooktowardthesource. Thomas felt his blood turn to icy slush as he realized that thehorriblesoundcamefromthewoodenbuilding.EvenNewthadjumpedasifstartled,hisforeheadcreasinginconcern.“Shuck it,”he said. “Can’t thebloodyMed-jackshandle thatboy for

tenminuteswithout needin’my help?”He shook his head and lightlykicked Thomas on the foot. “Find Chuckie, tell him he’s in charge ofyour sleepin’ arrangements.” And then he turned and headed in thedirectionofthebuilding,running.Thomassliddowntheroughfaceofthetreeuntilhesatontheground

again;heshrankbackagainst thebarkandclosedhiseyes,wishinghecouldwakeupfromthisterrible,terribledream.

CHAPTER3

Thomas sat there for severalmoments, too overwhelmed tomove. Hefinally forcedhimself to lookoverat thehaggardbuilding.Agroupofboysmilledaroundoutside,glancinganxiouslyattheupperwindowsasif expecting a hideous beast to leap out in an explosion of glass andwood.A metallic clicking sound from the branches above grabbed his

attention,madehim lookup;a flashof silverand red light caughthiseyes just before disappearing around the trunk to the other side. Hescrambledtohisfeetandwalkedaroundthetree,craninghisneckforasignofwhateverhe’dheard,buthe sawonlybarebranches, grayandbrown,forkingoutlikeskeletonfingers—andlookingjustasalive.“Thatwasoneofthembeetleblades,”someonesaid.Thomas turned to his right to see a kid standing nearby, short and

pudgy,staringathim.Hewasyoung—probablytheyoungestofanyinthe group he’d seen so far, maybe twelve or thirteen years old. Hisbrownhairhungdownoverhisearsandneck,scrapingthetopsofhisshoulders.Blueeyesshonethroughanotherwisepitifulface,flabbyandflushed.Thomasnoddedathim.“Abeetlewhat?”“Beetle blade,” the boy said, pointing to the top of the tree. “Won’t

hurtyaunlessyou’restupidenoughtotouchoneofthem.”Hepaused.“Shank.” He didn’t sound comfortable saying the last word, as if hehadn’tquitegraspedtheslangoftheGlade.Anotherscream,thisonelongandnerve-grinding,torethroughtheair

and Thomas’s heart lurched. The fear was like icy dew on his skin.“What’sgoingonoverthere?”heasked,pointingatthebuilding.“Don’tknow,”thechubbyboyreplied;hisvoicestillcarriedthehigh

pitchofchildhood.“Ben’sinthere,sickerthanadog.Theygothim.”“They?” Thomas didn’t like themaliciousway the boy had said the

word.“Yeah.”“WhoareThey?”“Better hope you never find out,” the kid answered, looking far toocomfortableforthesituation.Heheldouthishand.“Myname’sChuck.IwastheGreenbeanuntilyoushowedup.”This ismyguide for thenight?Thomasthought.Hecouldn’tshakehisextremediscomfort,andnowannoyancecreptinaswell.Nothingmadesense;hisheadhurt.“WhyiseveryonecallingmeGreenbean?”heasked,shakingChuck’shandquickly,thenlettinggo.“Cuz you’re the newest Newbie.” Chuck pointed at Thomas andlaughed.Anotherscreamcamefromthehouse,asound likeastarvinganimalbeingtortured.“Howcanyoubelaughing?”Thomasasked,horrifiedbythenoise.“Itsoundslikesomeone’sdyinginthere.”“He’ll be okay.No one dies if theymake it back in time to get theSerum.It’sallornothing.Deadornotdead.Justhurtsalot.”ThisgaveThomaspause.“Whathurtsalot?”Chuck’seyeswanderedasifhewasn’tsurewhattosay.“Um,gettin’stungbytheGrievers.”“Grievers?”Thomaswasonlygettingmoreandmoreconfused.Stung.Grievers. The words had a heavy weight of dread to them, and hesuddenly wasn’t so sure he wanted to know what Chuck was talkingabout.Chuckshrugged,thenlookedaway,eyesrolling.Thomassighedinfrustrationandleanedbackagainstthetree.“Lookslike youbarely knowmore than I do,” he said, but he knew itwasn’ttrue.Hismemorylosswasstrange.Hemostlyrememberedtheworkingsof the world—but emptied of specifics, faces, names. Like a bookcompletely intact but missing one word in every dozen, making it amiserableandconfusingread.Hedidn’tevenknowhisage.“Chuck,how…olddoyouthinkIam?”The boy scanned him up and down. “I’d say you’re sixteen. And incaseyouwerewondering,fivefootnine…brownhair.Oh,anduglyasfriedliveronastick.”Hesnortedalaugh.Thomaswas so stunnedhe’d barelyheard the last part. Sixteen?He

wassixteen?Hefeltmucholderthanthat.“Are you serious?” He paused, searching for words. “How …” Hedidn’tevenknowwhattoask.“Don’tworry.You’llbeallwhackedforafewdays,butthenyou’llgetusedtothisplace.Ihave.Welivehere,thisisit.Betterthanlivinginapile of klunk.” He squinted, maybe anticipating Thomas’s question.“Klunk’sanotherwordforpoo.Poomakesaklunksoundwhenitfallsinourpeepots.”Thomas looked at Chuck, unable to believe he was having thisconversation. “That’s nice”was all he couldmanage.He stoodupandwalkedpastChucktowardtheoldbuilding;shackwasabetterwordfortheplace.Itlookedthreeorfourstorieshighandabouttofalldownatanyminute—acrazyassortmentoflogsandboardsandthicktwineandwindowsseeminglythrowntogetheratrandom,themassive,ivy-strewnstonewalls risingupbehind it.Ashemovedacross the courtyard, thedistinct smell of firewood and some kind of meat cooking made hisstomach grumble. Knowing now that it was just a sick kid doing thescreamingmade Thomas feel better. Until he thought aboutwhat hadcausedit…“What’syourname?”Chuckaskedfrombehind,runningtocatchup.“What?”“Yourname?Youstillhaven’ttoldus—andIknowyourememberthatmuch.”“Thomas.”Hebarelyheardhimselfsayit—histhoughtshadspuninanewdirection.IfChuckwasright,he’djustdiscoveredalinktotherestof the boys. A common pattern to their memory losses. They allremembered their names. Why not their parents’ names? Why not afriend’sname?Whynottheirlastnames?“Nice tomeetyou,Thomas,”Chuck said. “Don’tyouworry, I’ll takecareofyou.I’vebeenhereawholemonth,andIknowtheplaceinsideandout.YoucancountonChuck,okay?”Thomashadalmostreachedthefrontdooroftheshackandthesmallgroup of boys congregating there when he was hit by a sudden andsurpriserushofanger.HeturnedtofaceChuck.“Youcan’teventellmeanything.Iwouldn’tcallthattakingcareofme.”Heturnedbacktowardthedoor,intentongoinginsidetofindsomeanswers.Wherethissuddencourageandresolvecamefrom,hehadnoidea.

Chuck shrugged. “Nothin’ I say’ll do you any good,” he said. “I’mbasicallystillaNewbie,too.ButIcanbeyourfriend—”“Idon’tneedfriends,”Thomasinterrupted.He’dreachedthedoor,anuglyslabofsun-fadedwood,andhepulled

itopentoseeseveralstoic-facedboysstandingatthefootofacrookedstaircase,thestepsandrailingstwistedandangledinalldirections.Darkwallpapercoveredthewallsofthefoyerandhallway,halfofitpeelingoff. Theonlydecorations in sightwere adusty vaseon a three-leggedtableandablack-and-whitepictureofanancientwomandressedinanold-fashionedwhitedress.ItremindedThomasofahauntedhousefromamovieorsomething.Therewereevenplanksofwoodmissingfromthefloor.Theplacereekedofdustandmildew—abigcontrast to thepleasant

smells outside. Flickering fluorescent lights shone from the ceiling.Hehadn’tthoughtofityet,buthehadtowonderwheretheelectricitycamefrom in a place like the Glade. He stared at the old woman in thepicture.Hadshelivedhereonce?Takencareofthesepeople?“Hey,look,it’stheGreenbean,”oneoftheolderboyscalledout.With

astart,Thomasrealizeditwastheblack-hairedguywho’dgivenhimthelookofdeathearlier.Helookedlikehewasfifteenorso,tallandskinny.Hisnosewasthesizeofasmall fistandresembledadeformedpotato.“ThisshankprobablyklunkedhispantswhenheheardoldBennybabyscreamlikeagirl.Needanewdiaper,shuck-face?”“My name’s Thomas.” He had to get away from this guy. Without

anotherword,hemadeforthestairs,onlybecausetheywereclose,onlybecausehehadnoideawhattodoorsay.Butthebullysteppedinfrontofhim,holdingahandup.“Holdon there,Greenie.”He jerkeda thumb in thedirectionof the

upper floor. “Newbies aren’t allowed to see someone who’s been …taken.NewtandAlbywon’tallowit.”“What’syourproblem?”Thomasasked,tryingtokeepthefearoutof

hisvoice,tryingnottothinkwhatthekidhadmeantbytaken.“Idon’tevenknowwhereIam.AllIwantissomehelp.”“Listen tome,Greenbean.”Theboywrinkleduphis face, foldedhis

arms. “I’ve seen you before. Something’s fishy about you showing uphere,andI’mgonnafindoutwhat.”Asurgeofheatpulsed throughThomas’sveins.“I’veneverseenyou

beforeinmylife.Ihavenoideawhoyouare,andIcouldn’tcareless,”he spat. But really, how would he know? And how could this kidrememberhim?Thebully snickered, a shortburstof laughtermixedwithaphlegm-filled snort. Then his face grew serious, his eyebrows slanting inward.“I’ve… seen you, shank.Not toomany in these parts can say they’vebeenstung.”Hepointedupthestairs.“Ihave. IknowwhatoldBennybaby’s going through. I’ve been there. And I saw you during theChanging.”HereachedoutandpokedThomasinthechest.“AndIbetyourfirstmealfromFrypanthatBenny’llsayhe’sseenya,too.”Thomasrefusedtobreakeyecontactbutdecidedtosaynothing.Panicateathimonceagain.Wouldthingseverstopgettingworse?“Griever got ya wettin’ yourself?” the boy said through a sneer. “Alittlescarednow?Don’twannagetstung,doya?”Therewasthatwordagain.Stung.Thomastriednottothinkaboutitandpointedupthestairs,fromwherethemoansofthesickkidechoedthroughthebuilding.“IfNewtwentupthere,thenIwannatalktohim.”Theboysaidnothing,staredatThomasforseveralseconds.Thenheshookhishead.“Youknowwhat?You’reright,Tommy—Ishouldn’tbesomean toNewbies.Goonupstairsand I’msureAlbyandNewt’ll fillyouin.Seriously,goon.I’msorry.”HelightlyslappedThomas’sshoulder,thensteppedback,gesturingupthestairs.ButThomasknewthekidwasuptosomething.Losingpartsofyourmemorydidn’tmakeyouanidiot.“What’syourname?”Thomasasked,stallingfortimewhilehetriedtodecideifheshouldgoupafterall.“Gally.Anddon’tletanyonefoolyou.I’mtherealleaderhere,notthetwo geezer shanks upstairs.Me. You can callme CaptainGally if youwant.” He smiled for the first time; his teeth matched his disgustingnose. Two or three were missing, and not a single one approachedanything close to the color white. His breath escaped just enough forThomastogetawhiff,remindinghimofsomehorriblememorythatwasjustoutofreach.Itmadehisstomachturn.“Okay,”hesaid,sosickoftheguyhewantedtoscream,punchhimintheface.“CaptainGallyitis.”Heexaggeratedasalute,feelingarushofadrenaline,asheknewhe’djustcrossedaline.

Afewsnickersescapedthecrowd,andGally lookedaround,hisfacebright red.HepeeredbackatThomas,hatred furrowinghis browandcrinklinghismonstrousnose.“Justgoupthestairs,”Gallysaid.“Andstayawayfromme,youlittle

slinthead.”Hepointedupagainbutdidn’ttakehiseyesoffThomas.“Fine.”Thomaslookedaroundonemoretime,embarrassed,confused,

angry.Hefelttheheatofbloodinhisface.NoonemadeamovetostophimfromdoingasGallyasked,exceptforChuck,whostoodatthefrontdoor,shakinghishead.“You’renot supposed to,” theyoungerboysaid. “You’reaNewbie—

youcan’tgoupthere.”“Go,”saidGallywithasneer.“Goonup.”Thomas regretted having come inside in the first place—but he did

wanttotalktothatNewtguy.He started up the stairs. Each step groaned and creaked under his

weight;hemight’vestoppedfor fearof fallingthroughtheoldwoodifhe weren’t leaving such an awkward situation below. Up he went,wincingateverysplinteredsound.Thestairsreachedalanding,turnedleft,thencameuponarailedhallwayleadingtoseveralrooms.Onlyonedoorhadalightcomingthroughthecrackatthebottom.“The Changing!” Gally shouted from below. “Look forward to it,

shuck-face!”AsifthetauntinggaveThomasasuddenburstofcourage,hewalked

over to the lit door, ignoring the creaking floorboards and laughterdownstairs—ignoring the onslaught of words he didn’t understand,suppressingthedreadfulfeelingstheyinduced.Hereacheddown,turnedthebrasshandle,andopenedthedoor.Inside the room, Newt and Alby crouched over someone lying on a

bed.Thomasleanedinclosertoseewhatthefusswasallabout,butwhen

hegotaclearlookattheconditionofthepatient,hisheartwentcold.Hehadtofightthebilethatsurgeduphisthroat.The lookwas fast—onlya few seconds—but itwas enough tohaunt

him forever. A twisted, pale figure writhing in agony, chest bare andhideous.Tight,rigidcordsofsicklygreenveinswebbedacrosstheboy’sbodyandlimbs, likeropesunderhisskin.Purplishbruisescoveredthekid,redhives,bloodyscratches.Hisbloodshoteyesbulged,dartingback

and forth. The image had already burned into Thomas’s mind beforeAlby jumped up, blocking the view but not the moans and screams,pushingThomasoutof the room, thenslamming thedoor shutbehindthem.“What’reyoudoinguphere,Greenie!”Albyyelled,hislipstautwith

anger,eyesonfire.Thomasfeltweak.“I…uh…wantsomeanswers,”hemurmured,but

he couldn’t put any strength inhiswords—felt himself giveup inside.Whatwaswrongwiththatkid?Thomasslouchedagainsttherailinginthehallwayandstaredatthefloor,notsurewhattodonext.“Get your runtcheeks down those stairs, right now,” Alby ordered.

“Chuck’ll help you. If I see you again before tomorrowmorning, youain’t reachin’anotheronealive. I’ll throwyouoff theCliffmyself,yougetme?”Thomaswashumiliatedandscared.Hefeltlikehe’dshrunktothesize

ofasmallrat.Withoutsayingaword,hepushedpastAlbyandheadeddown the creaky steps, going as fast as he dared. Ignoring the gapingstares of everyone at thebottom—especiallyGally—hewalkedout thedoor,pullingChuckbythearmashedidso.Thomashatedthesepeople.Hehatedallofthem.ExceptChuck.“Get

meawayfromtheseguys,”Thomassaid.HerealizedthatChuckmightactuallybehisonlyfriendintheworld.“You got it,” Chuck replied, his voice chipper, as if thrilled to be

needed.“ButfirstweshouldgetyousomefoodfromFrypan.”“Idon’tknowifIcanevereatagain.”Notafterwhathe’djustseen.Chuck nodded. “Yeah, you will. I’ll meet you at the same tree as

before.Tenminutes.”Thomaswasmorethanhappytogetawayfromthehouse,andheaded

backtowardthetree.He’donlyknownwhatitwasliketobealivehereforashortwhileandhealreadywantedittoend.Hewishedforalltheworldhecouldremembersomethingabouthisprevious life.Anything.Hismom,hisdad,afriend,hisschool,ahobby.Agirl.Heblinkedhard several times, trying to get the imageofwhat he’d

justseenintheshackoutofhismind.TheChanging.GallyhadcalledittheChanging.Itwasn’tcold,butThomasshudderedonceagain.

CHAPTER4

ThomasleanedagainstthetreeashewaitedforChuck.HescannedthecompoundoftheGlade,thisnewplaceofnightmareswhereheseemeddestined to live. The shadows from the walls had lengthenedconsiderably, already creeping up the sides of the ivy-covered stonefacesontheotherside.At least this helped Thomas know directions—the wooden building

crouched in the northwest corner, wedged in a darkening patch ofshadow,thegroveoftreesinthesouthwest.Thefarmarea,whereafewworkerswerestillpickingtheirwaythroughthefields,spreadacrosstheentirenortheastquarteroftheGlade.Theanimalswereinthesoutheastcorner,mooingandcrowingandbaying.Intheexactmiddleof thecourtyard, thestill-gapingholeof theBox

lay open, as if inviting him to jump back in and go home.Near that,maybe twenty feet to the south, stooda squatbuildingmadeof roughconcreteblocks,amenacingirondooritsonlyentrance—therewerenowindows. A large round handle resembling a steel steering wheelmarked the only way to open the door, just like something within asubmarine.Despitewhathe’d just seen,Thomasdidn’tknowwhichhefelt more strongly—curiosity to know what was inside, or dread atfindingout.Thomashadjustmovedhisattentiontothefourvastopeningsinthe

middleofthemainwallsoftheGladewhenChuckarrived,acoupleofsandwichescradledinhisarms,alongwithapplesandtwometalcupsofwater.ThesenseofreliefthatfloodedthroughThomassurprisedhim—hewasn’tcompletelyaloneinthisplace.“Frypan wasn’t too happy about me invading his kitchen before

suppertime,” Chuck said, sitting down next to the tree, motioning toThomastodothesame.Hedid,grabbedthesandwich,buthesitated,thewrithing,monstrousimageofwhathe’dseenintheshackpoppingback

into hismind. Soon, though, his hungerwon out and he took a hugebite.Thewonderfultastesofhamandcheeseandmayonnaisefilledhismouth.“Ah,man,”Thomasmumbledthroughamouthful.“Iwasstarving.”“Toldya.”Chuckchompedintohisownsandwich.Afteranothercoupleofbites,Thomasfinallyaskedthequestionthathadbeenbotheringhim.“What’sactuallywrongwiththatBenguy?Hedoesn’tevenlookhumananymore.”Chuck glanced over at the house. “Don’t really know,” hemutteredabsently.“Ididn’tseehim.”Thomascouldtelltheboywasbeinglessthanhonestbutdecidednottopresshim.“Well,youdon’twanttoseehim,trustme.”Hecontinuedto eat, munching on the apples as he studied the huge breaks in thewalls. Though it was hard tomake out fromwhere he sat, therewassomething odd about the stone edges of the exits to the outsidecorridors. He felt an uncomfortable sense of vertigo looking at thetoweringwalls, as if hehovered above them insteadof sitting at theirbase.“What’soutthere?”heasked,finallybreakingthesilence.“Isthispartofahugecastleorsomething?”Chuckhesitated.Lookeduncomfortable.“Um,I’veneverbeenoutsidetheGlade.”Thomas paused. “You’re hiding something,” he finally replied,finishingoffhislastbiteandtakingalongswigofwater.Thefrustrationat gettingno answers fromanyonewas starting to grindhis nerves. Itonlymadeitworsetothinkthatevenifhedidgetanswers,hewouldn’tknowifhe’dbegettingthetruth.“Whyareyouguyssosecretive?”“That’s just theway it is. Things are reallyweird around here, andmostofusdon’tknoweverything.Halfofeverything.”It botheredThomas thatChuckdidn’t seem to care aboutwhathe’djustsaid.Thatheseemedindifferenttohavinghislifetakenawayfromhim.Whatwaswrongwith these people? Thomas got to his feet andstartedwalkingtowardtheeasternopening.“Well,noonesaidIcouldn’tlookaround.”Heneededtolearnsomethingorhewasgoingtolosehismind.“Whoa, wait!” Chuck cried, running to catch up. “Be careful, thosepuppiesareabouttoclose.”Healreadysoundedoutofbreath.

“Close?”Thomasrepeated.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”“TheDoors,youshank.”“Doors? I don’t see any doors.” Thomas knew Chuck wasn’t justmakingstuffup—heknewhewasmissingsomethingobvious.Hegrewuneasyandrealizedhe’dslowedhispace,notsoeagertoreachthewallsanymore.“What do you call those big openings?” Chuck pointed up at theenormouslytallgapsinthewalls.Theywereonlythirtyfeetawaynow.“I’d call them big openings,” Thomas said, trying to counter hisdiscomfortwithsarcasmanddisappointedthatitwasn’tworking.“Well,they’redoors.Andtheycloseupeverynight.”Thomas stopped, thinkingChuckhad tohave said somethingwrong.Helookedup,lookedsidetoside,examinedthemassiveslabsofstoneastheuneasyfeelingblossomedintooutrightdread.“Whatdoyoumean,theyclose?”“Justseeforyourself inaminute.TheRunners’llbebacksoon;thenthosebigwallsaregoingtomoveuntilthegapsareclosed.”“You’re jacked in thehead,”Thomasmuttered.He couldn’t seehowthe mammoth walls could possibly be mobile—felt so sure of it herelaxed,thinkingChuckwasjustplayingatrickonhim.Theyreachedthehugesplitthatledoutsidetomorestonepathways.Thomasgaped,hismindemptyingofthoughtashesawitallfirsthand.“This is called theEastDoor,”Chuck said, as if proudly revealing apieceofarthe’dcreated.Thomas barely heard him, shocked by how much bigger it was upclose.Atleasttwentyfeetacross,thebreakinthewallwentallthewayto the top, far above. The edges that bordered the vast openingweresmooth,exceptforoneodd,repeatingpatternonbothsides.OntheleftsideoftheEastDoor,deepholesseveralinchesindiameterandspacedafoot apart were bored into the rock, beginning near the ground andcontinuingallthewayup.OntherightsideoftheDoor,foot-longrodsjuttedoutfromthewalledge, also several inches indiameter, in the samepatternas theholesfacingthemontheotherside.Thepurposewasobvious.“Areyoukidding?”Thomasasked, thedreadslammingbackintohisgut.“Youweren’tplayingwithme?Thewallsreallymove?”“WhatelsewouldIhavemeant?”

Thomashadahardtimewrappinghismindaroundthepossibility.“Idon’tknow.Ifiguredtherewasadoorthatswungshutoralittlemini-wallthatslidoutofthebigone.Howcouldthesewallsmove?They’rehuge, and they look like they’ve been standing here for a thousandyears.”AndtheideaofthosewallsclosingandtrappinghiminsidethisplacetheycalledtheGladewasdownrightterrifying.Chuckthrewhisarmsup,clearly frustrated.“Idon’tknow, they just

move.Makesoneheckofagrindingnoise.Same thinghappensout intheMaze—thosewallsshifteverynight,too.”Thomas,hisattentionsuddenlysnappedupbyanewdetail,turnedto

facetheyoungerboy.“Whatdidyoujustsay?”“Huh?”“Youjustcalleditamaze—yousaid, ‘samethinghappensout inthe

maze.’”Chuck’s face reddened. “I’m done with you. I’m done.” He walked

backtowardthetreethey’djustleft.Thomasignoredhim,moreinterestedthaneverintheoutsideofthe

Glade.Amaze? In frontofhim, through theEastDoor,hecouldmakeoutpassagesleadingtotheleft,totheright,andstraightahead.Andthewallsof thecorridorsweresimilar to those that surroundedtheGlade,thegroundmadeofthesamemassivestoneblocksasinthecourtyard.Theivyseemedeventhickeroutthere. Inthedistance,morebreaks inthewallsledtootherpaths,andfartherdown,maybeahundredyardsorsoaway,thestraightpassagecametoadeadend.“Looks likeamaze,”Thomaswhispered,almost laughing tohimself.

Asifthingscouldn’thavegottenanystranger.They’dwipedhismemoryandputhiminsideagiganticmaze.Itwasallsocrazyitreallydidseemfunny.Hisheartskippedabeatwhenaboyunexpectedlyappearedarounda

cornerupahead,enteringthemainpassagefromoneoftheoffshootstotheright,runningtowardhimandtheGlade.Coveredinsweat,hisfacered,clothesstickingtohisbody,theboydidn’tslow,hardlyglancingatThomas as he went past. He headed straight for the squat concretebuildinglocatedneartheBox.Thomasturnedashepassed,hiseyesrivetedtotheexhaustedrunner,

unsurewhythisnewdevelopmentsurprisedhimsomuch.Whywouldn’tpeople go out and search the maze? Then he realized others were

entering through the remaining three Glade openings, all of themrunning and looking as raggedas the guywho’d justwhiskedbyhim.There couldn’t bemuchgoodabout themaze if theseguys camebacklookingsowearyandworn.Hewatched, curious, as theymet at the big iron door of the smallbuilding;oneof theboysturnedtherustywheelhandle,gruntingwiththe effort. Chuck had said something about runners earlier.What hadtheybeendoingoutthere?The big door finally popped open, and with a deafening squeal ofmetal againstmetal, theboys swung itwide.Theydisappeared inside,pullingitshutbehindthemwithaloudclonk.Thomasstared,hismindchurning to comeupwith any possible explanation forwhat he’d justwitnessed. Nothing developed, but something about that creepy oldbuildinggavehimgoosebumps,adisquietingchill.Someonetuggedonhissleeve,breakinghimfromhisthoughts;Chuckhadcomeback.BeforeThomashadachance to think,questionswererushingoutofhismouth. “Whoare thoseguysandwhatwere theydoing?What’s inthatbuilding?”HewheeledaroundandpointedouttheEastDoor.“Andwhydoyoulive insideafreakingmaze?”Hefeltarattlingpressureofuncertainty,makinghisheadsplinterwithpain.“I’mnotsayinganotherword,”Chuckreplied,anewauthorityfillinghisvoice.“Ithinkyoushouldgettobedearly—you’llneedyoursleep.Ah”—hestopped,heldupafinger,prickinguphisrightear—”it’sabouttohappen.”“What?” Thomas asked, thinking it kind of strange that Chuck wassuddenly acting like an adult instead of the little kid desperate for afriendhe’dbeenonlymomentsearlier.Aloudboomexplodedthroughtheair,makingThomasjump.Itwasfollowed by a horrible crunching, grinding sound. He stumbledbackward, fell to the ground. It felt as if the whole earth shook; helookedaround,panicked.Thewallswereclosing.Thewallswerereallyclosing—trapping him inside the Glade. An onrushing sense ofclaustrophobiastifledhim,compressedhislungs,asifwaterfilledtheircavities.“Calm down, Greenie,” Chuck yelled over the noise. “It’s just thewalls!”

Thomasbarelyheardhim,toofascinated,tooshakenbytheclosingoftheDoors.Hescrambledtohisfeetandtookafewtremblingstepsbackforabetterview,findingithardtobelievewhathiseyeswereseeing.The enormous stonewall to the right of them seemed todefy every

known lawofphysicsas it slidalong theground, throwing sparksanddust as it moved, rock against rock. The crunching sound rattled hisbones.Thomasrealizedthatonly thatwallwasmoving,headingfor itsneighbortotheleft,readytosealshutwithitsprotrudingrodsslippinginto the drilled holes across from it. He looked around at the otheropenings.Itfeltlikehisheadwasspinningfasterthanhisbody,andhisstomachflippedoverwiththedizziness.OnallfoursidesoftheGlade,onlytherightwallsweremoving,towardtheleft,closingthegapoftheDoors.Impossible,hethought.Howcantheydothat?Hefoughttheurgetorun

out there, slippast themoving slabsof rockbefore they shut, flee theGlade. Common sense won out—the maze held even more unknownsthanhissituationinside.He tried to picture in his mind how the structure of it all worked.

Massive stone walls, hundreds of feet high, moving like sliding glassdoors—animagefromhispastlifethatflashedthroughhisthoughts.Hetriedtograspthememory,holdontoit,completethepicturewithfaces,names, a place, but it faded into obscurity.A pang of sadness prickedthroughhisotherswirlingemotions.He watched as the right wall reached the end of its journey, its

connecting rods finding their mark and entering without a glitch. AnechoingboomrumbledacrosstheGladeasallfourDoorssealedshutforthenight.Thomasfeltonefinalmomentoftrepidation,aquicksliceoffearthroughhisbody,andthenitvanished.Asurprisingsenseofcalmeasedhisnerves;heletoutalongsighof

relief. “Wow,” he said, feeling dumb at such a monumentalunderstatement.“Ain’tnothin’,asAlbywouldsay,”Chuckmurmured.“Youkindofget

usedtoitafterawhile.”Thomaslookedaroundonemoretime,thefeeloftheplacecompletely

differentnowthatallthewallsweresolidwithnowayout.Hetriedtoimagine the purpose of such a thing, andhe didn’t knowwhich guesswas worse—that they were being sealed in or that they were being

protectedfromsomethingoutthere.Thethoughtendedhisbriefmomentofcalm,stirringinhismindamillionpossibilitiesofwhatmightliveinthemazeoutside,allofthemterrifying.Feargrippedhimonceagain.“Come on,” Chuck said, pulling at Thomas’s sleeve a second time.

“Trustme,whennighttimestrikes,youwanttobeinbed.”Thomas knew he had no other choice. He did his best to suppress

everythinghewasfeelingandfollowed.

CHAPTER5

Theyendedupnear thebackof theHomestead—thatwaswhatChuckcalled the leaning structure of wood andwindows—in a dark shadowbetweenthebuildingandthestonewallbehindit.“Where are we going?” Thomas asked, still feeling the weight of

seeing those walls close, thinking about the maze, the confusion, thefear.Hetoldhimselftostoporhe’ddrivehimselfcrazy.Tryingtograspa sense of normalcy, he made a weak attempt at a joke. “If you’relookingforagoodnightkiss,forgetit.”Chuckdidn’tmissabeat.“Justshutupandstayclose.”Thomas let out a big breath and shrugged before following the

younger boy along the back of the building. They tiptoed until theycameuponasmall,dustywindow,asoftbeamoflightshiningthroughontothestoneandivy.Thomasheardsomeonemovingaroundinside.“Thebathroom,”Chuckwhispered.“So?”AthreadofuneasestitchedalongThomas’sskin.“Ilovedoingthistopeople.Givesmegreatpleasurebeforebedtime.”“Doing what?” Something told Thomas Chuck was up to no good.

“MaybeIshould—”“Just shutyourmouthandwatch.”Chuckquietly steppedupontoa

bigwoodenbox that sat rightunder thewindow.Hecrouched so thathisheadwaspositionedjustbelowwherethepersonontheinsidewouldbeabletoseehim.Thenhereachedupwithhishandandlightlytappedontheglass.“This is stupid,” Thomas whispered. There couldn’t possibly be a

worse time to play a joke—Newt or Alby could be in there. “I don’twannagetintrouble—Ijustgothere!”Chuck suppressed a laugh by putting his hand over his mouth.

IgnoringThomas,hereachedupandtappedthewindowagain.A shadow crossed the light; then the window slid open. Thomas

jumpedtohide,pressinghimselfagainstthebackofthebuildingashardashecould.Hejustcouldn’tbelievehe’dbeensuckeredintoplayingapractical joke on somebody. The angle of vision from the windowprotectedhimforthemoment,butheknewheandChuckwouldbeseenifwhoeverwasintherepushedhisheadoutsidetogetabetterlook.“Who’s that!” yelled the boy from the bathroom, his voice scratchyandlacedwithanger.ThomashadtoholdinagaspwhenherealizeditwasGally—heknewthatvoicealready.Without warning, Chuck suddenly popped his head up toward thewindowandscreamedatthetopofhislungs.Aloudcrashfrominsiderevealed that the trick had worked—and the litany of swearwordsfollowingitletthemknowGallywasnonetoohappyaboutit.Thomaswasstruckwithanoddmixofhorrorandembarrassment.“I’mgonnakillyou,shuck-face!”Gallyyelled,butChuckwasalreadyoff the box and running toward the open Glade. Thomas froze as heheardGallyopenthedoorinsideandrunoutofthebathroom.Thomas finally snappedoutofhisdazeand tookoffafterhisnew—and only—friend. He’d just rounded the corner when Gally camescreamingout of theHomestead, looking like a ferocious beast on theloose.HeimmediatelypointedatThomas.“Comehere!”heyelled.Thomas’sheartsankinsurrender.Everythingseemedtoindicatethathe’dbegettingafistintheface.“Itwasn’tme,Iswear,”hesaid,thoughashe stood there,he sized theboyupand realizedhe shouldn’tbe soterrifiedafterall.Gallywasn’tthatbig—Thomascouldactuallytakehimifhehadto.“Wasn’t you?” Gally snarled. He ambled up to Thomas slowly andstopped right in front of him. “Then how do you know there wassomethingyoudidn’tdo?”Thomasdidn’tsayanything.Hewasdefinitelyuncomfortablebutnotnearlyasscaredasafewmomentsearlier.“I’mnotadong,Greenie,”Gally spat. “I sawChuck’s fat face in thewindow.”Hepointedagain,thistimerightatThomas’schest.“Butyoubetter decide right quick who you want as your friends and enemies,hearme?Onemoretricklikethat—Idon’tcareifit’syoursissyideaornot—there’llbebloodspilled.Yougotthat,Newbie?”ButbeforeThomascouldanswerGally’dalreadyturnedtowalkaway.

Thomasjustwantedthisepisodeover.“Sorry,”hemuttered,wincingathowstupiditsounded.“I know you,”Gally addedwithout looking back. “I saw you in theChanging,andI’mgonnafigureoutwhoyouare.”Thomaswatched as the bully disappeared back into theHomestead.Hecouldn’tremembermuch,butsomethingtoldhimhe’dneverdislikedsomeonesostrongly.Hewassurprisedbyhowmuchhetrulyhatedtheguy.Hereally,reallyhatedhim.HeturnedtoseeChuckstandingthere,staringattheground,clearlyembarassed.“Thanksalot,buddy.”“Sorry—ifI’dknownitwasGally,Ineverwould’vedoneit,Iswear.”Surprisinghimself,Thomas laughed.Anhourago,he’d thoughthe’dneverhearsuchasoundcomeoutofhismouthagain.ChucklookedcloselyatThomasandslowlybrokeintoanuneasygrin.“What?”Thomasshookhishead.“Don’tbesorry.The…shankdeservedit,andIdon’t evenknowwhata shank is.Thatwasawesome.”He feltmuchbetter.

Acoupleofhourslater,ThomaswaslyinginasoftsleepingbagnexttoChuckonabedofgrassnear thegardens. Itwasawide lawn thathehadn’t noticed before, and quite a few of the group chose it as theirbedtime spot. Thomas thought that was strange, but apparently therewasn’tenoughroominsidetheHomestead.Atleastitwaswarm.Whichmadehimwonderforthemillionthtimewheretheywere.Hismindhada hard time grasping names of places, or remembering countries orrulers,howtheworldwasorganized.AndnoneofthekidsintheGladehadaclue,either—atleast,theyweren’tsharingiftheydid.Helayinsilenceforthelongesttime,lookingatthestarsandlisteningto the softmurmursofvariousconversationsdriftingacross theGlade.Sleep felt miles away, and he couldn’t shake the despair andhopelessness that coursed through his body andmind—the temporaryjoyofChuck’s trickonGallyhad longsince fadedaway. It’dbeenoneendless—andstrange—day.Itwasjustso…weird.Herememberedlotsoflittlethingsaboutlife—eating,clothes, studying,playing,general imagesof themakeupof theworld.Butanydetailthatwouldfillinthepicturetocreateatrueand

completememoryhadbeenerasedsomehow. Itwas like lookingatanimagethroughafootofmuddywater.Morethananythingelse,perhaps,hefelt…sad.Chuck interrupted his thoughts. “Well, Greenie, you survived First

Day.”“Barely.”Notnow,Chuck,hewantedtosay.I’mnotinthemood.Chuck pulled himself up to lean on an elbow, looking at Thomas.

“You’lllearnalotinthenextcoupleofdays,startgettingusedtothings.Goodthat?”“Um, yeah, good that, I guess. Where’d all these weird words and

phrases come from, anyway?” It seemed like they’d taken some otherlanguageandmeldeditwithhisown.Chuck flopped back down with a heavy flump. “I don’t know—I’ve

onlybeenhereamonth,remember?”Thomaswondered about Chuck,whether he knewmore than he let

on.Hewasaquirkykid,funny,andheseemedinnocent,butwhowastosay?ReallyhewasjustasmysteriousaseverythingelseintheGlade.Afewminutespassed,andThomasfeltthelongdayfinallycatchupto

him,theleadededgeofsleepcrossingoverhismind.But—likeafisthadshoveditinhisbrainandletgo—athoughtpoppedintohishead.Onethathedidn’texpect,andhewasn’tsurefromwhereitcame.Suddenly, theGlade, thewalls, theMaze—it all seemed… familiar.

Comfortable.Awarmthofcalmnessspreadthroughhischest,andforthefirst time since he’d found himself there, he didn’t feel like theGladewastheworstplace in theuniverse.Hestilled, felthiseyeswiden,hisbreathingstopforalongmoment.Whatjusthappened?hethought.Whatchanged? Ironically, the feeling that things would be okay made himslightlyuneasy.Not quite understanding how, he knew what he needed to do. He

didn’tgetit.Thefeeling—theepiphany—wasastrangeone,foreignandfamiliaratthesametime.Butitfelt…right.“Iwanttobeoneofthoseguysthatgoesoutthere,”hesaidaloud,not

knowingifChuckwasstillawake.“InsidetheMaze.”“Huh?”was the response fromChuck.Thomascouldheara tingeof

annoyanceinhisvoice.“Runners,” Thomas said, wishing he knew where this was coming

from.“Whateverthey’redoingoutthere,Iwantin.”

“Youdon’t even knowwhat you’re talking about,”Chuck grumbled,androlledover.“Gotosleep.”Thomas felt a new surge of confidence, even though he truly didn’tknowwhathewastalkingabout.“IwanttobeaRunner.”Chuckturnedbackandgotuponhiselbow.“Youcanforgetthatlittlethoughtrightnow.”Thomaswondered atChuck’s reaction, but pressedon. “Don’t try to—”“Thomas.Newbie.Mynewfriend.Forgetit.”“I’lltellAlbytomorrow.”ARunner,Thomasthought.Idon’tevenknowwhatthatmeans.HaveIgonecompletelyinsane?Chucklaydownwithalaugh.“You’reapieceofklunk.Gotosleep.”ButThomascouldn’tquit.“Somethingoutthere—itfeelsfamiliar.”“Go…to…sleep.”Then ithitThomas—he felt like severalpiecesofapuzzlehadbeenputtogether.Hedidn’tknowwhattheultimatepicturewouldbe,buthisnext words almost felt like they were coming from someone else.“Chuck,I…IthinkI’vebeenherebefore.”He heard his friend sit up, heard the intake of breath. But Thomasrolledoverandrefusedtosayanotherword,worriedhe’dmessupthisnewsenseofbeingencouraged,eradicatethereassuringcalmthatfilledhisheart.Sleepcamemuchmoreeasilythanhe’dexpected.

CHAPTER6

SomeoneshookThomasawake.Hiseyessnappedopentoseeatoo-closefacestaringdownathim,everythingaroundthemstillshadowedbythedarkness of early morning. He opened his mouth to speak but a coldhand clamped down on it, gripping it shut. Panic flared until he sawwhoitwas.“Shh,Greenie.Don’twannabewakin’Chuckie,now,dowe?”ItwasNewt—theguywhoseemedtobesecondincommand;theair

reekedofhismorningbreath.ThoughThomaswassurprised,anyalarmmeltedaway immediately.

He couldn’t helpbeing curious,wonderingwhat this boywantedwithhim.Thomasnodded,doinghisbesttosayyeswithhiseyes,untilNewtfinallytookhishandaway,thenleanedbackonhisheels.“Comeon,Greenie,” the tallboywhisperedashe stood.He reached

down and helped Thomas to his feet—hewas so strong it felt like hecouldripThomas’sarmoff.“Supposedtoshowyasomethin’beforethewake-up.”AnylingeringhazeofsleephadalreadyvanishedfromThomas’smind.

“Okay,”hesaidsimply,readyto follow.Heknewheshouldholdsomesuspicion,havingno reason to trust anyoneyet, but the curiositywonout. He quickly leaned over and slipped on his shoes. “Where arewegoing?”“Justfollowme.Andstayclose.”They snuck their way through the tightly strewn pack of sleeping

bodies,Thomasalmosttrippingseveraltimes.Hesteppedonsomeone’shand,earningasharpcryofpaininreturn,thenapunchonthecalf.“Sorry,”hewhispered,ignoringadirtylookfromNewt.Oncetheyleftthelawnareaandsteppedontothehardgraystoneof

thecourtyardfloor,Newtbrokeintoarun,headingforthewesternwall.Thomashesitatedatfirst,wonderingwhyheneededtorun,butsnapped

outofitquicklyandfollowedatthesamepace.The light was dim, but any obstructions loomed as darker shadowsandhewasabletomakehiswayquicklyalong.HestoppedwhenNewtdid, right next to the massive wall towering above them like askyscraper—anotherrandomimagethatfloatedinthemurkypoolofhismemorywipe.Thomasnoticedsmall red lights flashinghereand therealongthewall’sface,movingabout,stopping,turningoffandon.“Whatare those?”hewhisperedas loudlyashedared,wondering ifhis voice sounded as shaky as he felt. The twinkling red glow of thelightsheldanundercurrentofwarning.Newtstoodjustacoupleoffeetinfrontofthethickcurtainofivyonthewall.“Whenyoubloodyneedtoknow,you’llknow,Greenie.”“Well, it’skindofstupidtosendmetoaplacewherenothingmakessense and not answer my questions.” Thomas paused, surprised athimself.“Shank,”headded, throwingall thesarcasmhecould into thesyllable.Newtbrokeoutinalaugh,butquicklycutitoff.“Ilikeyou,Greenie.Nowshutitandletmeshowyasomethin’.”Newtsteppedforwardanddughishandsintothethickivy,spreadingseveral vines away from the wall to reveal a dust-frosted window, asquareabouttwofeetwide.Itwasdarkatthemoment,asifithadbeenpaintedblack.“What’rewelookingfor?”Thomaswhispered.“Holdyourundies,boy.One’llbecomin’alongsoonenough.”Aminutepassed,thentwo.Severalmore.Thomasfidgetedonhisfeet,wondering how Newt could stand there, perfectly patient and still,staringintonothingbutdarkness.Thenitchanged.Glimmers of an eerie light shone through the window; it cast awaveringspectrumofcolorsonNewt’sbodyandface,asifhestoodnextto a lighted swimming pool. Thomas grew perfectly still, squinting,tryingtomakeoutwhatwasontheotherside.Athicklumpgrewinhisthroat.Whatisthat?hethought.“Out there’s theMaze,”Newtwhispered,eyeswideas if ina trance.“Everythingwedo—ourwholelife,Greenie—revolvesaroundtheMaze.Everylovin’secondofeverylovin’daywespendinhonoroftheMaze,tryin’tosolvesomethin’that’snotshownusithasabloodysolution,ya

know?Andwewanttoshowyawhyit’snottobemessedwith.Showyawhythembuggin’wallscloseshuteverynight.Showyawhyyoushouldnever,neverfindyourbuttoutthere.”Newtsteppedback,stillholdingonto the ivyvines.HegesturedforThomastotakehisplaceandlookthroughthewindow.Thomasdid,leaningforwarduntilhisnosetouchedthecoolsurfaceoftheglass.Ittookasecondforhiseyestofocusonthemovingobjectonthe other side, to look past the grime and dust and see what Newtwanted him to see. And when he did, he felt his breath catch in histhroat,likeanicywindhadblowndownthereandfrozentheairsolid.Alarge,bulbouscreaturethesizeofacowbutwithnodistinctshapetwistedandseethedalongthegroundinthecorridoroutside.Itclimbedtheoppositewall, thenleapedatthethick-glassedwindowwithaloudthump.Thomasshriekedbeforehecouldstophimself,jerkedawayfromthe window—but the thing bounced backward, leaving the glassundamaged.Thomassuckedintwohugebreathsandleanedinonceagain.Itwastoodark tomakeout clearly,butodd lights flashed fromanunknownsource, revealing blurs of silver spikes and glistening flesh. Wickedinstrument-tippedappendagesprotrudedfromitsbodylikearms:asawblade,asetofshears,longrodswhosepurposecouldonlybeguessed.Thecreaturewasahorrificmixofanimalandmachine,andseemedtorealizeitwasbeingobserved,seemedtoknowwhatlayinsidethewallsof theGlade, seemed towant to get inside and feast on human flesh.Thomas felt an icy terror blossom in his chest, expand like a tumor,makingithardtobreathe.Evenwiththememorywipe,hefeltsurehe’dneverseensomethingsotrulyawful.He steppedback, the couragehe’d felt theprevious eveningmeltingaway.“Whatisthatthing?”heasked.Somethingshiveredinhisgut,andhewonderedifhe’deverbeabletoeatagain.“Grievers,we call ’em,”Newt answered. “Nasty bugger, eh? Just begladtheGrieversonlycomeoutatnight.Bethankfulforthesewalls.”Thomas swallowed,wondering howhe could ever go out there.HisdesiretobecomeaRunnerhadtakenamajorblow.Buthehadtodoit.Somehow he knew he had to do it. It was such an odd thing to feel,especiallyafterwhathe’djustseen.

Newt looked at thewindow absently. “Now you knowwhat bloodylurksintheMaze,myfriend.Nowyouknowthisisn’tjoketime.You’vebeensenttotheGlade,Greenie,andwe’llbeexpectin’yatosurviveandhelpusdowhatwe’vebeensentheretodo.”“And what’s that?” Thomas asked, even though he was terrified to

heartheanswer.Newtturnedtolookhimdeadintheeye.Thefirsttracesofdawnhad

creptuponthem,andThomascouldseeeverydetailofNewt’sface,hisskintight,hisbrowcreased.“Findourwayout,Greenie,”Newtsaid.“Solvethebuggin’Mazeand

findourwayhome.”

A couple of hours later, the doors having reopened, rumbling andgrumblingandshakingthegrounduntiltheywerefinished,Thomassatataworn,tiltedpicnictableoutsidetheHomestead.AllhecouldthinkaboutwastheGrievers,whattheirpurposecouldbe,whattheydidoutthere during the night. What it would be like to be attacked bysomethingsoterrible.Hetriedtogettheimageoutofhishead,moveontosomethingelse.

TheRunners.They’djustleftwithoutsayingawordtoanybody,boltingintotheMazeatfullspeedanddisappearingaroundcorners.Hepicturedthem in his mind as he picked at his eggs and bacon with a fork,speakingtonoone,notevenChuck,whoatesilentlynext tohim.Thepoor guy had exhausted himself trying to start a conversation withThomas,who’drefusedtorespond.Allhewantedwastobeleftalone.Hejustdidn’tgetit;hisbrainwasonoverloadtryingtocomputethe

sheer impossibility of the situation. How could amaze, with walls somassiveandtall,besobigthatdozensofkidshadn’tbeenabletosolveitafterwhoknewhow long trying?Howcould sucha structureexist?Andmoreimportantly,why?Whatcouldpossiblybethepurposeofsuchathing?Whyweretheyallthere?Howlonghadtheybeenthere?Tryashemighttoavoidit,hismindstillkeptwanderingbacktothe

imageoftheviciousGriever.Itsphantombrotherseemedtoleapathimeverytimeheblinkedorrubbedhiseyes.Thomasknewhewas a smart kid—he somehow felt it inhis bones.

Butnothingabout thisplacemadeanysense.Except foronething.He

was supposed to be a Runner.Why did he feel that so strongly? Andevennow,afterseeingwhatlivedinthemaze?Ataponhis shoulder jarredhimfromhis thoughts;he lookeduptoseeAlbystandingbehindhim,armsfolded.“Ain’tyoulookin’fresh?”Albysaid.“Getaniceviewoutthewindowthismorning?”Thomas stood, hoping the time for answers had come—or maybehopingforadistractionfromhisgloomythoughts.“Enoughtomakemewanttolearnaboutthisplace,”hesaid,hopingtoavoidprovokingthetemperhe’dseenflareinthisguythedaybefore.Albynodded.“Meandyou,shank.TheTourbeginsnow.”Hestartedtomovebut then stopped,holdingupa finger. “Ain’tnoquestions tilltheend,yougetme?Ain’tgottimetojawwithyouallday.”“But…”ThomasstoppedwhenAlby’seyebrowsshotup.Whydidtheguy have to be such a jerk? “But tell me everything—I wanna knoweverything.”He’ddecided thenightbeforenot to tellanyoneelsehowstrangelyfamiliartheplaceseemed,theoddfeelingthathe’dbeentherebefore—thathecouldrememberthingsaboutit.Sharingthatseemedlikeaverybadidea.“I’lltellyawhatIwannatellya,Greenie.Let’sgo.”“CanIcome?”Chuckaskedfromthetable.Albyreacheddownandtweakedtheboy’sear.“Ow!”Chuckshrieked.“Ain’tyougotajob,slinthead?”Albyasked.“Lotsofsloppin’todo?”Chuckrolledhiseyes,thenlookedatThomas.“Havefun.”“I’lltry.”HesuddenlyfeltsorryforChuck,wishedpeoplewouldtreatthekidbetter.Buttherewasnothinghecoulddoaboutit—itwastimetogo.HewalkedawaywithAlby,hopingtheTourhadofficiallybegun.

CHAPTER7

TheystartedattheBox,whichwasclosedatthemoment—doubledoorsof metal lying flat on the ground, covered in white paint, faded andcracked.Thedayhadbrightenedconsiderably,theshadowsstretchinginthe opposite direction fromwhat Thomas had seen yesterday. He stillhadn’t spotted the sun,but it looked like itwasabout topopover theeasternwallatanyminute.Albypointeddownatthedoors.“Thishere’stheBox.Onceamonth,

we get a Newbie like you, never fails. Once aweek, we get supplies,clothes,somefood.Ain’tneedin’alot—prettymuchrunourselvesintheGlade.”Thomas nodded, his whole body itching with the desire to ask

questions.Ineedsometapetoputovermymouth,hethought.“We don’t know jack about the Box, you get me?” Alby continued.

“Whereitcamefrom,howitgetshere,who’sincharge.Theshanksthatsent us here ain’t told us nothin’. We got all the electricity we need,growandraisemostofour food,getclothesandsuch.TriedtosendaslintheadGreeniebackintheBoxonetime—thingwouldn’tmovetillwetookhimout.”Thomas wondered what lay under the doors when the Box wasn’t

there,butheldhistongue.Hefeltsuchamixtureofemotions—curiosity,frustration, wonder—all laced with the lingering horror of seeing theGrieverthatmorning.Albykepttalking,neverbotheringtolookThomasintheeye.“Glade’s

cutintofoursections.”Hehelduphisfingersashecountedoffthenextfour words. “Gardens, Blood House, Homestead, Deadheads. You gotthat?”Thomashesitated,thenshookhishead,confused.Alby’s eyelids fluttered briefly as he continued; he looked like he

could think of a thousand things he’d rather be doing right then. He

pointed to the northeast corner, where the fields and fruit trees werelocated. “Gardens—where we grow the crops. Water’s pumped inthroughpipesintheground—alwayshasbeen,orwe’dhavestarvedtodeath a long time ago. Never rains here. Never.” He pointed to thesoutheastcorner,attheanimalpensandbarn.“BloodHouse—whereweraise and slaughter animals.”He pointed at the pitiful living quarters.“Homestead—stupidplace is twiceasbig thanwhenthe firstofusgotherebecausewekeepaddin’ to itwhentheysenduswoodandklunk.Ain’tpretty,butitworks.Mostofussleepoutsideanyway.”Thomasfeltdizzy.Somanyquestionssplinteredhismindhecouldn’tkeepthemstraight.Alby pointed to the southwest corner, the forest area fronted withseveral sickly treesandbenches.“Call that theDeadheads.Graveyard’sback in thatcorner, in the thickerwoods.Ain’tmuchelse.Youcangothere to sit and rest, hang out,whatever.”He cleared his throat, as ifwanting tochange subjects. “You’ll spend thenext twoweeksworkingonedayapieceforourdifferentjobKeepers—untilweknowwhatyou’rebestat.Slopper,Bricknick,Bagger,Track-hoe—somethin’llstick,alwaysdoes.Comeon.”AlbywalkedtowardtheSouthDoor,locatedbetweenwhathe’dcalledthe Deadheads and the Blood House. Thomas followed, wrinkling hisnoseupatthesuddensmellofdirtandmanurecomingfromtheanimalpens.Graveyard?hethought.Whydotheyneedagraveyardinaplacefullof teenagers? Thatdisturbedhimevenmore thannot knowing someofthewordsAlbykeptsaying—wordslikeSlopperandBagger—thatdidn’tsoundsogood.HecameasclosetointerruptingAlbyashe’ddonesofar,butwilledhismouthshut.Frustrated, he turned his attention to the pens in the Blood Housearea.Severalcowsnibbledandchewedatatroughfullofgreenishhay.Pigsloungedinamuddypit,anoccasionallyflickeringtailtheonlysigntheywerealive.Anotherpenheldsheep,andtherewerechickencoopsandturkeycagesaswell.Workersbustledaboutthearea,lookingasifthey’dspenttheirwholelivesonafarm.Why do I remember these animals? Thomaswondered. Nothing aboutthemseemedneworinteresting—heknewwhattheywerecalled,whattheynormally ate,what they looked like.Whywas stuff like that still

lodgedinhismemory,butnotwherehe’dseenanimalsbefore,orwithwhom?Hismemorylosswasbafflinginitscomplexity.Albypointed to the largebarn in thebackcorner, its redpaint longfaded to adull rust color. “Back there’swhere the Slicerswork.Nastystuff,that.Nasty.Ifyoulikeblood,youcanbeaSlicer.”Thomasshookhishead.Slicerdidn’tsoundgoodatall.Astheykeptwalking, he focused his attention on the other side of the Glade, thesection Alby had called the Deadheads. The trees grew thicker anddenserthefartherbackinthecornertheywent,morealiveandfullofleaves.Darkshadows filled thedepthsof thewoodedarea,despite thetimeofday.Thomaslookedup,squintingtoseethatthesunwasfinallyvisible,thoughitlookedodd—moreorangethanitshouldbe.Ithithimthat thiswas yet another example of the odd selectivememory in hismind.HereturnedhisgazetotheDeadheads,aglowingdiskstillfloatinginhisvision.Blinking toclear itaway,he suddenlycaught the red lightsagain,flickeringandskitteringaboutdeepinthedarknessofthewoods.Whatarethosethings?hewondered,irritatedthatAlbyhadn’tansweredhimearlier.Thesecrecywasveryannoying.Alby stopped walking, and Thomas was surprised to see they’dreachedtheSouthDoor;thetwowallsbracketingtheexittoweredabovethem.Thethickslabsofgraystonewerecrackedandcoveredinivy,asancient as anything Thomas could imagine.He craned his neck to seethetopofthewallsfarabove;hismindspunwiththeoddsensationthathewaslookingdown,notup.Hestaggeredbackastep,awedonceagainbythestructureofhisnewhome,thenfinallyreturnedhisattentiontoAlby,whohadhisbacktotheexit.“Outthere’stheMaze.”Albyjabbedathumboverhisshoulder,thenpaused. Thomas stared in that direction, through the gap in thewallsthat served as an exit from the Glade. The corridors out there lookedmuchthesameastheoneshe’dseenfromthewindowbytheEastDoorearlythatmorning.Thisthoughtgavehimachill,madehimwonderifaGrievermightcomechargingtowardthematanyminute.Hetookastepbackward before realizing what he was doing. Calm down, he chidedhimself,embarrassed.Alby continued. “Two years, I’ve been here. Ain’t none been herelonger. The few before me are already dead.” Thomas felt his eyes

widen,hisheartquicken.“Twoyearswe’vetriedtosolvethisthing,noluck.Shuckin’wallsmoveoutthereatnightjustasmuchastheseheredoors.Mappin’ itoutain’t easy,ain’t easynohow.”Henodded towardthe concrete-blockedbuilding intowhich theRunnershaddisappearedthenightbefore.Another stab of pain sliced through Thomas’s head—therewere too

manythingstocomputeatonce.They’dbeenheretwoyears?Thewallsmoved out in the Maze? How many had died? He stepped forward,wantingtoseetheMazeforhimself,as if theanswerswereprintedonthewallsoutthere.Alby held out a hand and pushed Thomas in the chest, sent him

stumblingbackward.“Ain’tnogoin’outthere,shank.”Thomashadtosuppresshispride.“Whynot?”“YouthinkIsentNewttoyabeforethewake-upjustforkicks?Freak,

that’s theNumberOneRule, theonlyoneyou’ll neverbe forgiven forbreaking. Ain’t nobody—nobody—allowed in the Maze except theRunners.Breakthatrule,andifyouain’tkilledbytheGrievers,we’llkillyouourselves,yougetme?”Thomas nodded, grumbling inside, sure that Albywas exaggerating.

Hopingthathewas.Eitherway,ifhe’dhadanydoubtaboutwhathe’dtoldChuckthenightbefore,ithadnowcompletelyvanished.HewantedtobeaRunner.HewouldbeaRunner.Deepinsideheknewhehadtogooutthere,intotheMaze.Despiteeverythinghe’dlearnedandwitnessedfirsthand,itcalledtohimasmuchashungerorthirst.A movement up on the left wall of the South Door caught his

attention.Startled,hereactedquickly,lookingjustintimetoseeaflashofsilver.Apatchofivyshookasthethingdisappearedintoit.Thomaspointedupatthewall.“Whatwasthat?”heaskedbeforehe

couldbeshutdownagain.Alby didn’t bother looking. “No questions till the end, shank. How

many times I gotta tell ya?” He paused, then let out a sigh. “Beetleblades—it’showtheCreatorswatchus.Youbetternot—”He was cut off by a booming, ringing alarm that sounded from all

directions.Thomasclampedhishandstohisears,lookingaroundasthesirenblared,hisheartabouttothumpitswayoutofhischest.ButwhenhefocusedbackonAlby,hestopped.Albywasn’t acting scared—he appeared… confused. Surprised. The

alarmclangedthroughtheair.“What’s going on?” Thomas asked. Relief flooded his chest that histourguidedidn’t seemto think theworldwasabout toend—butevenso,Thomaswasgettingtiredofbeinghitbywavesofpanic.“That’sweird”wasallAlby saidashe scanned theGlade, squinting.Thomas noticed people in the Blood House pens glancing around,apparently just as confused. One shouted to Alby, a short, skinny kiddrenchedinmud.“What’s upwith that?” the boy asked, looking to Thomas for somereason.“Idon’tknow,”Albymurmuredbackinadistantvoice.ButThomascouldn’tstanditanymore.“Alby!What’sgoingon?”“TheBox,shuck-face,theBox!”wasallAlbysaidbeforehesetoffforthemiddle of theGlade at a briskpace that almost looked toThomaslikepanic.“Whataboutit?”Thomasdemanded,hurryingtocatchup.Talktome!hewantedtoscreamathim.ButAlbydidn’tanswerorslowdown,andastheygotclosertotheboxThomas could see that dozens of kids were running around thecourtyard. He spotted Newt and called to him, trying to suppress hisrisingfear,tellinghimselfthingswouldbeokay,thattherehadtobeareasonableexplanation.“Newt,what’sgoingon!”heyelled.Newt glanced over at him, then nodded andwalked over, strangelycalm in the middle of the chaos. He swatted Thomas on the back.“Means a bloody Newbie’s comin’ up in the Box.” He paused as ifexpectingThomastobeimpressed.“Rightnow.”“So?”AsThomaslookedmorecloselyatNewt,herealizedthatwhathe’dmistakenforcalmwasactuallydisbelief—maybeevenexcitement.“So?”Newt replied,his jawdropping slightly. “Greenie,we’veneverhadtwoNewbiesshowupinthesamemonth,muchlesstwodaysinarow.”Andwiththat,heranofftowardtheHomestead.

CHAPTER8

Thealarmfinallystoppedafterblaringforafulltwominutes.Acrowdwas gathered in the middle of the courtyard around the steel doorsthrough which Thomas was startled to realize he’d arrived justyesterday.Yesterday?hethought.Wasthatreallyjustyesterday?Someonetappedhimontheelbow;helookedovertoseeChuckbyhis

sideagain.“Howgoesit,Greenbean?”Chuckasked.“Fine,”hereplied,eventhoughnothingcould’vebeenfurtherfromthe

truth. He pointed toward the doors of the Box. “Why is everyonefreakingout?Isn’tthishowyouallgothere?”Chuck shrugged. “I don’t know—guess it’s always been real regular-

like.Oneamonth,everymonth,sameday.Maybewhoever’sinchargerealized youwere nothing but a bigmistake, sent someone to replaceyou.” He giggled as he elbowed Thomas in the ribs, a high-pitchedsnickerthatinexplicablymadeThomaslikehimmore.Thomasshothisnewfriendafakeglare.“You’reannoying.Seriously.”“Yeah,butwe’rebuddies,now,right?”Chuckfullylaughedthistime,

asqueakysortofsnort.“Lookslikeyou’renotgivingmemuchchoiceonthatone.”Buttruth

was,heneededafriend,andChuckwoulddojustfine.The kid folded his arms, looking very satisfied. “Glad that’s settled,

Greenie.Everyoneneedsabuddyinthisplace.”Thomas grabbed Chuck by the collar, joking around. “Okay, buddy,

thencallmebymyname.Thomas.OrI’llthrowyoudowntheholeafterthe Box leaves.” That triggered a thought in his head as he releasedChuck.“Waitaminute,haveyouguysever—”“Triedit,”ChuckinterruptedbeforeThomascouldfinish.“Triedwhat?”“Goingdown in theBoxafter itmakesadelivery,”Chuckanswered.

“Itwon’tdoit.Won’tgodownuntilit’scompletelyempty.”ThomasrememberedAlbytellinghimthatverything.“Ialreadyknewthat,butwhatabout—”“Triedit.”Thomas had to suppress a groan—this was getting irritating. “Manyou’rehardtotalkto.Triedwhat?”“Going through the hole after the Box goes down. Can’t. Doorswillopen, but there’s just emptiness, blackness, nothing. No ropes, nada.Can’tdoit.”Howcouldthatbepossible?“Didyou—”“Triedit.”Thomasdidgroanthistime.“Okay,what?”“Wethrewsomethingsintothehole.Neverheardthemland.Itgoesonforalongtime.”Thomas paused before he replied, not wanting to be cut off again.“Whatareyou,amindreaderorsomething?”Hethrewasmuchsarcasmashecouldintothecomment.“Justbrilliant,that’sall.”Chuckwinked.“Chuck,neverwinkatmeagain.”Thomassaiditwithasmile.Chuckwas a little annoying, but there was something about him that madethings seem less terrible. Thomas took a deep breath and looked backtowardthecrowdaroundthehole.“So,howlonguntilthedeliverygetshere?”“Usuallytakesabouthalfanhourafterthealarm.”Thomasthoughtforasecond.Therehadtobesomethingtheyhadn’ttried. “You’re sure about the hole? Have you ever …” He paused,waiting for the interruption, but none came. “Have you ever triedmakingarope?”“Yeah,theydid.Withtheivy.Longestonetheycouldpossiblymake.Let’sjustsaythatlittleexperimentdidn’tgosowell.”“Whatdoyoumean?”Whatnow?Thomasthought.“Iwasn’there,butIheardthekidwhovolunteeredtodoithadonlygonedownabouttenfeetwhensomethingswooshedthroughtheairandcuthimcleaninhalf.”“What?”Thomaslaughed.“Idon’tbelievethatforasecond.”“Oh,yeah,smartguy?I’veseenthesucker’sbones.Cutinhalflikeaknifethroughwhippedcream.Theykeephiminaboxtoremindfuture

kidsnottobesostupid.”Thomaswaited forChuck to laughor smile, thinking it had to be ajoke—whoeverheardofsomeonebeingcutinhalf?Butitnevercame.“You’reserious?”Chuckjuststaredbackathim.“Idon’t lie,Gree—uh,Thomas.Comeon,let’sgooverandseewho’scomingup.Ican’tbelieveyouonlyhavetobetheGreenbeanforoneday.Klunkhead.”Astheywalkedover,Thomasaskedtheonequestionhehadn’tposedyet.“Howdoyouknowit’snotjustsuppliesorwhatever?”“The alarm doesn’t go off when that happens,” Chuck answered,simply.“Thesuppliescomeupatthesametimeeveryweek.Hey,look.”Chuck stopped and pointed to someone in the crowd. It was Gally,staringdeadatthem.“Shuckit,”Chucksaid.“Hedoesnotlikeyou,man.”“Yeah,”Thomasmuttered.“Figuredthatoutalready.”Andthefeelingwasmutual.Chuck nudged Thomas with his elbow and the boys resumed theirwalk to the edge of the crowd, then waited in silence; any questionsThomashadwereforgotten.He’dlosttheurgetotalkafterseeingGally.Chuck apparently hadn’t. “Why don’t you go ask him what hisproblemis?”heasked,tryingtosoundtough.Thomas wanted to think he was brave enough, but that currentlysoundedliketheworstideainhistory.“Well,forone,hehasalotmorealliesthanIdo.Notagoodpersontopickafightwith.”“Yeah, but you’re smarter.And I bet you’re quicker.You could takehimandallhisbuddies.”One of the boys standing in front of them looked back over hisshoulder,annoyancecrossinghisface.Mustbea friendofGally’s,Thomasthought.“Wouldyoushut it?”hehissedatChuck.A door closed behind them; Thomas turned to see Alby and NewtheadingoverfromtheHomestead.Theybothlookedexhausted.Seeing them brought Ben back to hismind—alongwith the horrificimageofhimwrithinginbed.“Chuck,man,yougottatellmewhatthiswhole Changing business is.What have they been doing in therewiththatpoorBenkid?”Chuckshrugged.“Don’tknowthedetails.TheGrieversdobadthings

toyou,makeyourwholebodygo throughsomethingawful.When it’sover,you’re…different.”Thomas sensed a chance to finally have a solid answer. “Different?

Whatdoyoumean?AndwhatdoesithavetodowiththeGrievers?IsthatwhatGallymeantby‘beingstung’?”“Shh.”Chuckheldafingertohismouth.Thomasalmostscreamedinfrustration,buthekeptquiet.Heresolved

tomakeChucktellhimlater,whethertheguywantedtoornot.AlbyandNewthadreachedthecrowdandpushedthemselvestothe

front, standing right over the doors that led to the Box. Everyonequieted, and for the first time,Thomasnoted the grinds and rattles oftherisinglift,remindinghimofhisownnightmarishtripthedaybefore.Sadness washed over him, almost as if he were reliving those fewterribleminutes of awakening indarkness to thememory loss.He feltsorryforwhoeverthisnewkidwas,goingthroughthesamethings.Amuffledboomannouncedthatthebizarreelevatorhadarrived.Thomaswatched inanticipationasNewtandAlby tookpositionson

opposite sides of the shaft doors—a crack split themetal square rightdownthemiddle.Simplehook-handleswereattachedonbothsides,andtogethertheyyankedthemapart.Withametallicscrapethedoorswereopened,andapuffofdustfromthesurroundingstoneroseintotheair.CompletesilencesettledovertheGladers.AsNewtleanedovertoget

a better look into theBox, the faint bleating of a goat in the distanceechoed across the courtyard. Thomas leaned forward as far as hepossiblycould,hopingtogetaglanceatthenewcomer.With a sudden jerk, Newt pushed himself back into an upright

position, his face scrunched up in confusion. “Holy…,” he breathed,lookingaroundatnothinginparticular.By this time, Alby had gotten a good look as well, with a similar

reaction.“Noway,”hemurmured,almostinatrance.Achorusofquestionsfilledtheairaseveryonebeganpushingforward

to get a look into the small opening.What do they see down there?Thomas wondered.What do they see! He felt a sliver of muted fear,similartowhathe’dexperiencedthatmorningwhenhesteppedtowardthewindowtoseetheGriever.“Holdon!”Albyyelled,silencingeveryone.“Justholdon!”“Well,what’swrong?”someoneyelledback.

Alby stood up. “Two Newbies in two days,” he said, almost in awhisper. “Now this.Twoyears, nothingdifferent, now this.”Then, forsome reason, he looked straight at Thomas. “What’s goin’ on here,Greenie?”Thomas stared back, confused, his face turning bright red, his gutclenching.“HowamIsupposedtoknow?”“Whydon’tyoujusttelluswhattheshuckisdownthere,Alby?”Gallycalledout.Thereweremoremurmursandanothersurgeforward.“Youshanksshutup!”Albyyelled.“Tell’em,Newt.”Newt lookeddown in theBoxonemore time, then faced thecrowd,gravely.“It’sagirl,”hesaid.Everyonestartedtalkingatonce;Thomasonlycaughtpieceshereandthere.“Agirl?”“Igotdibs!”“What’sshelooklike?”“Howoldisshe?”Thomaswas drowning in a sea of confusion.A girl?He hadn’t eventhoughtaboutwhytheGladeonlyhadboys,nogirls.Hadn’tevenhadthechancetonotice,really.Whoisshe?hewondered.Why—Newtshushedthemagain.“That’snotbloodyhalfofit,”hesaid,thenpointeddownintotheBox.“Ithinkshe’sdead.”

AcoupleofboysgrabbedsomeropesmadefromivyvinesandloweredAlby and Newt into the Box so they could retrieve the girl’s body. Amoodofreservedshockhadcomeovermostof theGladers,whoweremilling about with solemn faces, kicking loose rocks and not sayingmuchatall.Noonedaredadmittheycouldn’twaittoseethegirl,butThomasassumedtheywerealljustascuriousashewas.Gallywasoneoftheboysholdingontotheropes,readytohoisther,Alby,andNewtoutof theBox.Thomaswatchedhimclosely.Hiseyeswerelacedwithsomethingdark—almostasickfascination.Agleamthatmade Thomas suddenly more scared of him than he’d been minutesearlier.From deep in the shaft came Alby’s voice shouting that they were

ready,andGallyandacoupleofothersstartedpullingupontherope.Afewgruntslaterandthegirl’slifelessbodywasdraggedout,acrosstheedgeofthedoorandontooneofthestoneblocksmakingupthegroundof the Glade. Everyone immediately ran forward, forming a packedcrowd around her, a palpable excitement hovering in the air. ButThomasstayedback.Theeeriesilencegavehimthecreeps,asifthey’djustopeneduparecentlylaidtomb.Despite his own curiosity, Thomas didn’t bother trying to force his

way through to get a look—the bodies were too tightly squeezedtogether.Buthehad caughtaglimpseofherbeforebeingblockedoff.Shewas thin, but not too small.Maybe five and a half feet tall, fromwhathecouldtell.Shelookedlikeshecouldbefifteenorsixteenyearsold,andherhairwastarblack.Butthethingthathadreallystoodouttohimwasherskin:pale,whiteaspearls.NewtandAlbyscrambledoutof theBoxafterher, then forced their

waythroughto thegirl’s lifelessbody, thecrowdre-formingbehindtocut themoff fromThomas’s view.Onlya few seconds later, thegrouppartedagain,andNewtwaspointingstraightatThomas.“Greenie,getoverhere,”hesaid,notbotheringtobepoliteaboutit.Thomas’s heart jumped into his throat; his hands started to sweat.

Whatdidtheywanthimfor?Thingsjustkeptgettingworseandworse.He forced himself to walk forward, trying to seem innocent withoutactinglikesomeonewhowasguiltywhowastryingtoactinnocent.Oh,calmit,he toldhimself.Youhaven’tdoneanythingwrong. Buthehadastrangefeelingthatmaybehehadwithoutrealizingit.The boys lining the path to Newt and the girl glared at him as he

walkedpast, as ifhewere responsible for theentiremessof theMazeand the Glade and the Grievers. Thomas refused tomake eye contactwithanyofthem,afraidoflookingguilty.He approached Newt and Alby, who both knelt beside the girl.

Thomas, not wanting to meet their stares, concentrated on the girl;despiteherpaleness,shewasreallypretty.Morethanpretty.Beautiful.Silkyhair,flawlessskin,perfectlips,longlegs.Itmadehimsicktothinkthatwayaboutadeadgirl,buthecouldn’tlookaway.Won’tbethatwayforlong,hethoughtwithaqueasytwistinhisstomach.She’llstartrottingsoon.Hewassurprisedathavingsuchamorbidthought.“Youknowthisgirl,shank?”Albyasked,soundingtickedoff.

Thomaswas shocked by the question. “Know her?Of course I don’tknowher.Idon’tknowanyone.Exceptforyouguys.”“That’s not…,” Alby began, then stoppedwith a frustrated sigh. “I

meantdoesshe lookfamiliaratall?Anykindoffeelin’you’veseenherbefore?”“No.Nothing.”Thomasshifted,lookeddownathisfeet,thenbackat

thegirl.Alby’s forehead creased. “You’re sure?” He looked like he didn’t

believeawordThomassaid,seemedalmostangry.WhatcouldhepossiblythinkIhavetodowiththis?Thomasthought.He

metAlby’sglareevenlyandansweredtheonlywayheknewhow.“Yes.Why?”“Shuckit,”Albymuttered,lookingbackdownatthegirl.“Can’tbea

coincidence.Twodays,twoGreenies,onealive,onedead.”ThenAlby’swordsstartedtomakesenseandpanicflaredinThomas.

“Youdon’tthinkI…”Hecouldn’tevenfinishthesentence.“Slimit,Greenie,”Newtsaid.“We’renotsayin’youbloodykilledthe

girl.”Thomas’smindwasspinning.Hewassurehe’dneverseenherbefore

—butthentheslightesthintofdoubtcrept intohismind.“Iswearshedoesn’t look familiar at all,” he said anyway. He’d had enoughaccusations.“Areyou—”BeforeNewtcouldfinish,thegirlshotupintoasittingposition.Asshe

suckedinahugebreath,hereyessnappedopenandsheblinked,lookingaroundatthecrowdsurroundingher.Albycriedoutandfellbackward.Newtgaspedand jumpedup, stumblingaway fromher.Thomasdidn’tmove,hisgazelockedonthegirl,frozeninfear.Burningblueeyesdartedbackandforthasshetookdeepbreaths.Her

pink lips trembled as she mumbled something over and over,indecipherable. Then she spoke one sentence—her voice hollow andhaunted,butclear.“Everythingisgoingtochange.”Thomasstaredinwonderashereyesrolledupintoherheadandshe

fell back to the ground.Her right fist shot into the air as she landed,staying rigid after she grew still, pointing toward the sky. Clutched inherhandwasawaddedpieceofpaper.

Thomastriedtoswallowbuthismouthwastoodry.Newtranforwardandpulledherfingersapart,grabbingthepaper.Withshakinghandsheunfolded it, then dropped to his knees, spreading out the note on theground.Thomasmovedupbehindhimtogetalook.Scrawledacrossthepaperinthickblackletterswerefivewords:

She’sthelastone.Ever.

CHAPTER9

AnoddmomentofcompletesilencehungovertheGlade.Itwasasifasupernatural wind had swept through the place and sucked out allsound.Newthadreadthemessagealoudforthosewhocouldn’tseethepaper, but instead of erupting in confusion, the Gladers all stooddumbfounded.Thomaswould’ve expected shouts and questions, arguments. But no

one saidaword; all eyeswereglued to thegirl, now lying there as ifasleep, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Contrary totheiroriginalconclusion,shewasverymuchalive.Newtstood,andThomashopedforanexplanation,avoiceofreason,

acalmingpresence.Butallhedidwascrumplethenoteinhisfist,veinspopping fromhis skin as he squeezed it, andThomas’s heart sank.Hewasn’tsurewhy,butthesituationmadehimveryuneasy.Albycuppedhishandsaroundhismouth.“Med-jacks!”Thomas wondered what that word meant—he knew he’d heard it

before—but thenhewasabruptlyknockedaside.Twoolderboyswerepushingtheirwaythroughthecrowd—onewastallwithabuzzcut,hisnosethesizeofafatlemon.Theotherwasshortandactuallyhadgrayhairalreadyconqueringtheblackonthesidesofhishead.Thomascouldonlyhopethey’dmakesomesenseofeverything.“Sowhat dowedowith her?” the taller one asked, his voicemuch

higherpitchedthanThomasexpected.“HowshouldIknow?”Albysaid.“YoutwoshanksaretheMed-jacks

—figureitout.”Med-jacks,Thomasrepeatedinhishead,alightgoingoff.Theymustbe

the closest thing they have to doctors. The short onewas already on theground,kneelingbesidethegirl,feelingforherpulseandleaningovertolistentoherheartbeat.“Who said Clint had first shot at her?” someone yelled from the

crowd.Therewereseveralbarksoflaughter.“I’mnext!”Howcantheyjokearound?Thomasthought.Thegirl’shalfdead.Hefeltsickinside.Alby’s eyes narrowed; hismouth pulled into a tight grin that didn’tlook like it had anything to dowith humor. “If anybody touches thisgirl,”Albysaid,“you’regonnaspendthenightsleepin’withtheGrieversintheMaze.Banished,noquestions.”Hepaused,turninginaslowcircleasifhewantedeverypersontoseehisface.“Ain’tnobodybettertouchher!Nobody!”It was the first time Thomas had actually liked hearing somethingcomeoutofAlby’smouth.The short guy who’d been referred to as a Med-jack—Clint, if thespectatorhadbeencorrect—stoodupfromhisexamination.“Sheseemsfine. Breathing okay, normal heartbeat. Though it’s a bit slow. Yourguessisasgoodasmine,butI’dsayshe’sinacoma.Jeff,let’stakehertotheHomestead.”His partner, Jeff, stepped over to grab her by the arms while Clinttookholdofher feet. Thomaswishedhe coulddomore thanwatch—with everypassing second, hedoubtedmore andmore thatwhathe’dsaidearlierwastrue.Shedidseemfamiliar;hefeltaconnectiontoher,though it was impossible to grasp in his mind. The idea made himnervous, and he looked around, as if someone might’ve heard histhoughts.“Onthecountofthree,”Jeff,thetallerMed-jack,wassaying,histallframelookingridiculousbentinhalf,likeaprayingmantis.“One…two…three!”Theyliftedherwithaquickjerk,almostthrowingherupintheair—shewasobviouslyalotlighterthanthey’dthought—andThomasalmostshoutedatthemtobemorecareful.“Guess we’ll have to see what she does,” Jeff said to no one inparticular.“Wecanfeedhersoupystuffifshedoesn’twakeupsoon.”“Justwatchherclosely,”Newtsaid.“Mustbesomethingspecialaboutherortheywouldn’thavesentherhere.”Thomas’sgutclenched.Heknewthatheandthegirlwereconnectedsomehow. They’d come a day apart, she seemed familiar, he had aconsumingurge tobecomeaRunnerdespite learning somany terriblethings….Whatdiditallmean?

Albyleanedovertolookinherfaceoncemorebeforetheycarriedheroff.“PuthernexttoBen’sroom,andkeepawatchonherdayandnight.Nothin’betterhappenwithoutmeknowingaboutit. Idon’tcareifshetalksinhersleeportakesaklunk—youcometellme.”“Yeah,” Jeff muttered; then he and Clint shuffled off to theHomestead,thegirl’sbodybouncingastheywent,andtheotherGladersfinallystartedtotalkaboutit,scatteringastheoriesbubbledthroughtheair.Thomas watched all this in mute contemplation. This strangeconnectionhefeltwasn’thisalone.Thenot-so-veiledaccusationsthrownat him only a few minutes before proved that the others suspectedsomething, too,butwhat?Hewasalreadycompletelyconfused—beingblamedforthingsonlymadehimfeelworse.Asifreadinghisthoughts,Albywalkedoverandgrabbedhimbytheshoulder.“Youain’tneverseenherbefore?”heasked.Thomas hesitated before he answered. “Not … no, not that Iremember.”Hehopedhisshakyvoicedidn’tbetrayhisdoubts.Whatifhedidknowhersomehow?Whatwouldthatmean?“You’resure?”Newtprodded,standingrightbehindAlby.“I … no, I don’t think so. Why are you grilling me like this?” AllThomaswantedrightthenwasfornighttofall,sohecouldbealone,gotosleep.Albyshookhishead,thenturnedbacktoNewt,releasinghisgriponThomas’sshoulder.“Something’swhacked.CallaGathering.”HesaiditquietlyenoughthatThomasdidn’tthinkanyoneelseheard,but it sounded ominous. Then the leader and Newt walked off, andThomaswasrelievedtoseeChuckcominghisway.“Chuck,what’saGathering?”Helookedproudtoknowtheanswer.“It’swhentheKeepersmeet—theyonlycallonewhensomethingweirdorterriblehappens.”“Well, I guess today fits both of those categories pretty well.”Thomas’sstomachrumbled,interruptinghisthoughts.“Ididn’tfinishmybreakfast—canwegetsomethingsomewhere?I’mstarving.”Chucklookedupathim,hiseyebrowsraised.“Seeingthatchickwigoutmadeyouhungry?YoumustbemorepsychothanIthought.”Thomassighed.“Justgetmesomefood.”

Thekitchenwassmallbuthadeverythingoneneededtomakeaheartymeal. A big oven, a microwave, a dishwasher, a couple of tables. Itseemed old and run-down but clean. Seeing the appliances and thefamiliarlayoutmadeThomasfeelasifmemories—real,solidmemories—wererightontheedgeofhismind.Butagain,theessentialpartsweremissing—names,faces,places,events.Itwasmaddening.“Takeaseat,”Chucksaid.“I’llgetyousomething—butIswearthisis

thelasttime.JustbegladFrypanisn’taround—hehatesitwhenweraidhisfridge.”Thomaswasrelievedtheywerealone.AsChuckfumbledaboutwith

dishes and things from the fridge, Thomas pulled out awooden chairfromasmallplastictableandsatdown.“Thisiscrazy.Howcanthisbeforreal?Somebodysentushere.Somebodyevil.”Chuckpaused.“Quitcomplaining.Justacceptitanddon’tthinkabout

it.”“Yeah,right.”Thomaslookedoutawindow.Thisseemedagoodtime

tobringuponeofthemillionquestionsbouncingthroughhisbrain.“Sowheredoestheelectricitycomefrom?”“Whocares?I’lltakeit.”Whatasurprise,Thomasthought.Noanswer.Chuck brought two plates with sandwiches and carrots over to the

table. The bread was thick and white, the carrots a sparkling, brightorange. Thomas’s stomach begged him to hurry; he picked up hissandwichandstarteddevouringit.“Oh,man,”hemumbledwithafullmouth.“Atleastthefoodisgood.”Thomas was able to eat the rest of his meal without another word

from Chuck. And he was lucky that the kid didn’t feel like talking,becausedespitethecompleteweirdnessofeverythingthathadhappenedwithin Thomas’s known reach of memory, he felt calm again. Hisstomach full, his energy replenished, his mind thankful for a fewmomentsofsilence,hedecidedthatfromthenonhe’dquitwhininganddealwiththings.Afterhislastbite,Thomassatbackinhischair.“So,Chuck,”hesaid

ashewipedhismouthwithanapkin.“WhatdoIhavetodotobecomeaRunner?”“Not that again.” Chuck looked up from his plate, where he’d been

pickingatthecrumbs.Heletoutalow,gurglyburpthatmadeThomas

cringe.“AlbysaidI’dstartmytrialssoonwiththedifferentKeepers.So,whendoIgetashotwiththeRunners?”ThomaswaitedpatientlytogetsomesortofactualinformationfromChuck.Chuckrolledhiseyesdramatically,leavingnodoubtastohowstupidanideahethoughtthatwouldbe.“Theyshouldbebackinafewhours.Whydon’tyouaskthem?”Thomasignoredthesarcasm,diggingdeeper.“Whatdotheydowhentheygetbackeverynight?What’supwiththeconcretebuilding?”“Maps. They meet right when they get back, before they forgetanything.”Maps? Thomaswas confused. “But if they’re trying tomake amap,don’ttheyhavepapertowriteonwhilethey’reoutthere?”Maps.Thisintriguedhimmorethananythingelsehe’dheardinawhile.Itwasthefirstthingsuggestingapotentialsolutiontotheirpredicament.“Ofcoursetheydo,butthere’sstillstufftheyneedtotalkaboutanddiscuss and analyze and all that klunk. Plus”—the boy rolled his eyes—”they spend most of their time running, not writing. That’s whythey’recalledRunners.“Thomas thought about the Runners and the maps. Could the Mazereally be somassively huge that even after two years they still hadn’tfoundawayout?Itseemedimpossible.Butthen,herememberedwhatAlbysaidaboutthemovingwalls.Whatifallofthemweresentencedtolivehereuntiltheydied?Sentenced.Thewordmadehimfeelarushofpanic,andthesparkofhopethemealhadbroughthimfizzledwithasilenthiss.“Chuck,whatifwe’reallcriminals?Imean—whatifwe’remurderersorsomething?”“Huh?”Chucklookedupathimasifhewereacrazyperson.“Wheredidthathappythoughtcomefrom?”“Thinkaboutit.Ourmemoriesarewiped.Weliveinsideaplacethatseemstohavenowayout,surroundedbybloodthirstymonster-guards.Doesn’t that sound like a prison to you?” As he said it out loud, itsoundedmoreandmorepossible.Nauseatrickledintohischest.“I’mprobablytwelveyearsold,dude.”Chuckpointedtohischest.“Atthemost,thirteen.YoureallythinkIdidsomethingthatwouldsendmetoprisonfortherestofmylife?”

“Idon’tcarewhatyoudidordidn’tdo.Eitherway,youhavebeensentto a prison.Does this seem like a vacation to you?”Oh,man, Thomasthought.Pleaseletmebewrong.Chuckthoughtforamoment.“Idon’tknow.It’sbetterthan—”“Yeah,Iknow,livinginpileofklunk.”Thomasstoodupandpushed

his chair back under the table.He likedChuck, but trying to have anintelligent conversation with him was impossible. Not to mentionfrustrating and irritating. “Go make yourself another sandwich—I’mgoingexploring.Seeyatonight.”He stepped out of the kitchen and into the courtyard before Chuck

couldoffertojoinhim.TheGladehadgonebacktobusinessasusual—peopleworkingthejobs,thedoorsoftheBoxclosed,sunshiningdown.Anysignsofacrazedgirlbearingnotesofdoomhaddisappeared.Havinghadhis tourcutshort,hedecidedto takeawalkaroundthe

Gladeonhisownandgetabetterlookandfeelfortheplace.Heheadedoutforthenortheastcorner,towardthebigrowsoftallgreencornstalksthat looked ready to harvest. There was other stuff, too: tomatoes,lettuce,peas,alotmorethatThomasdidn’trecognize.He took a deep breath, loving the fresh whiff of dirt and growing

plants.Hewasalmostpositivethesmellwouldbringbacksomesortofpleasant memory, but nothing came. As he got closer, he saw thatseveralboyswereweedingandpickinginthesmallfields.Onewavedathimwithasmile.Anactualsmile.Maybethisplacewon’tbesobadafterall,Thomasthought.Noteveryone

herecouldbeajerk.Hetookanotherdeepbreathofthepleasantairandpulledhimselfoutofhis thoughts—therewasa lotmorehewanted tosee.Next was the southeast corner, where shabbily built wooden fences

held in several cows, goats, sheep, and pigs. No horses, though. Thatsucks,Thomasthought.RiderswoulddefinitelybefasterthanRunners.Ashe approached, he figured he must’ve dealt with animals in his lifebeforetheGlade.Theirsmell,theirsound—theyseemedveryfamiliartohim.The smellwasn’tquiteasniceas the crops,but still, he imagined it

could’vebeenalotworse.Asheexploredthearea,herealizedmoreandmorehowwelltheGladerskeptuptheplace,howcleanitwas.Hewasimpressedbyhoworganizedtheymustbe,howhardtheyallmustwork.

He could only imagine how truly horrific a place like this could be ifeveryonewentlazyandstupid.Finally,hemadeittothesouthwestquarter,neartheforest.Hewas approaching the sparse, skeletal trees in front of the denser

woodswhenhewasstartledbyablurofmovementathisfeet,followedbyahurriedsetofclackingsounds.Helookeddownjustintimetoseethesunflashoffsomethingmetallic—atoyrat—scurryingpasthimandtowardthesmallforest.Thethingwasalreadytenfeetawaybythetimeherealizeditwasn’taratatall—itwasmorelikealizard,withatleastsixlegsscuttlingthelongsilvertorsoalong.Abeetleblade.It’showtheywatchus,Albyhadsaid.He caught a gleamof red light sweeping the ground in front of the

creatureasifitcamefromitseyes.Logictoldhimithadtobehismindplayingtricksonhim,buthesworehesawthewordWICKEDscrawleddownitsroundedbackinlargegreenletters.Somethingsostrangehadtobeinvestigated.Thomassprintedafterthescurryingspy,andinamatterofsecondshe

enteredthethickcopseoftreesandtheworldbecamedark.

CHAPTER10

Hecouldn’tbelievehowquickly the lightdisappeared.FromtheGladeproper,theforestdidn’tlookthatbig,maybeacoupleofacres.Yetthetreesweretallwithsturdytrunks,packedtightlytogether,thecanopyupabovethickwithleaves.Theairaroundhimhadagreenish,mutedhue,asifonlyseveralminutesoftwilightremainedintheday.Itwassomehowbeautifulandcreepy,allatonce.Movingasfastashecould,Thomascrashedthroughtheheavyfoliage,

thin branches slapping at his face. He ducked to avoid a low-hanginglimb, almost falling. Reaching out, he caught hold of a branch andswunghimselfforwardtoregainhisbalance.Athickbedofleavesandfallentwigscrunchedunderneathhim.All the while, his eyes stayed riveted on the beetle blade scuttling

acrosstheforest floor.Deeper itwent, itsred lightglowingbrighterasthesurroundingsdarkened.Thomashadchargedthirtyorfortyfeetintothewoods,dodgingand

ducking and losing ground with every second, when the beetle bladejumpedonto aparticularly large tree and scootedup its trunk.ButbythetimeThomasreachedthetree,anysignofthecreaturehadvanished.It had disappeared deep within the foliage—almost as if it had neverexisted.He’dlostthesucker.“Shuckit,”Thomaswhispered,almostasajoke.Almost.Asstrangeas

it seemed, the word felt natural on his lips, like he was alreadymorphingintoaGlader.Atwigsnappedsomewheretohisrightandhejerkedhisheadinthat

direction.Hestilledhisbreath,listened.Another snap, this time louder, almost like someone had broken a

stickovertheirknee.“Who’sthere?”Thomasyelledout,atingleoffearshootingacrosshis

shoulders. His voice bounced off the canopy of leaves above him,echoingthroughtheair.Hestayedfrozen,rootedtothespotasallgrewsilent,exceptforthewhistlingsongofafewbirdsinthedistance.Butnoone answered his call. Nor did he hear any more sounds from thatdirection.Without really thinking it through,Thomasheaded toward thenoisehe’dheard.Notbotheringtohidehisprogress,hepushedasidebranchesas hewalked, letting themwhip back to positionwhen he passed.Hesquinted,willed his eyes towork in the growingdarkness,wishing hehad a flashlight. He thought about flashlights and his memory. Onceagain,herememberedatangiblethingfromhispast,butcouldn’tassignit to any specific time or place, couldn’t associate it with any otherpersonorevent.Frustrating.“Anybody there?” he asked again, feeling a little calmer since thenoise hadn’t repeated. It was probably just an animal,maybe anotherbeetleblade.Justincase,hecalledout,“It’sme,Thomas.Thenewguy.Well,second-newestguy.”Hewincedandshookhishead,hopingnowthatnoonewasthere.Hesoundedlikeacompleteidiot.Again,noreply.Hesteppedaroundalargeoakandpulledupshort.Anicyshiverrandownhisback.He’dreachedthegraveyard.Theclearingwassmall,maybethirtysquarefeet,andcoveredwithathick layer of leafyweeds growing close to the ground. Thomas couldsee several clumsily prepared wooden crosses poking through thisgrowth, their horizontal pieces lashed to the upright ones with asplintery twine. The grave markers had been painted white, but bysomeone in an obvious hurry—gelled globs covered them and barestreaksofwoodshowedthrough.Nameshadbeencarvedintothewood.Thomas steppedup,hesitantly, to theclosestoneandkneltdown togeta look.The lightwassodullnowthathealmost feltas ifhewerelookingthroughblackmist.Eventhebirdshadquieted,likethey’dgonetobedforthenight,andthesoundofinsectswasbarelynoticeable,oratleast much less than normal. For the first time, Thomas realized howhumiditwasinthewoods,thedampairalreadybeadingsweatonhisforehead,thebacksofhishands.Heleanedclosertothefirstcross.Itlookedfreshandborethename

Stephen—the n extra small and right at the edge because the carverhadn’testimatedwellhowmuchroomhe’dneed.Stephen,Thomasthought,feelinganunexpectedbutdetachedsorrow.What’syourstory?Chuckannoyyoutodeath?Hestoodandwalkedovertoanothercross,thisonealmostcompletelyovergrownwithweeds,thegroundfirmatitsbase.Whoeveritwas,hemust’vebeenoneofthefirsttodie,becausehisgravelookedtheoldest.ThenamewasGeorge.Thomaslookedaroundandsawtherewereadozenorsoothergraves.A couple of them appeared to be just as fresh as the first one he’dexamined.Asilveryglintcaughthisattention.Itwasdifferentfromthescuttlingbeetlethathadledhimtotheforest,butjustasodd.Hemovedthrough the markers until he got to a grave covered with a sheet ofgrimyplasticorglass,itsedgesslimedwithfilth.Hesquinted,tryingtomake outwhatwas on the other side, then gaspedwhen it came intofocus. It was a window into another grave—one that had the dustyremnantsofarottingbody.Completely creeped out, Thomas leaned closer to get a better lookanyway,curious.Thetombwassmallerthanusual—onlythetophalfofthedeceasedpersonlayinside.HerememberedChuck’sstoryabouttheboywho’d tried to rappel down the dark hole of the Box after it haddescended,only tobecut in twobysomethingslicing through theair.Wordswereetchedontheglass;Thomascouldbarelyreadthem:

Letthishalf-shankbeawarningtoall:Youcan’tescapethroughtheBoxHole.

Thomas felt the oddurge to snicker—it seemed too ridiculous to betrue. But hewas also disgustedwith himself for being so shallow andglib.Shakinghishead,hehadsteppedasidetoreadmorenamesofthedeadwhenanothertwigbroke, this timestraight in frontofhim,rightbehindthetreesontheothersideofthegraveyard.Then another snap. Then another. Coming closer. And the darknesswasthick.“Who’soutthere?”hecalled,hisvoiceshakyandhollow—itsoundedas if he were speaking inside an insulated tunnel. “Seriously, this isstupid.”Hehatedtoadmittohimselfjusthowterrifiedhewas.

Insteadof answering, theperson gaveup all pretense of stealth andstartedrunning,crashingthroughtheforest linearoundtheclearingofthegraveyard,circling toward thespotwhereThomasstood.He froze,panicovertakinghim.Nowonlyafewfeetaway,thevisitorgrewlouderand louder until Thomas caught a shadowed glimpse of a skinny boylimpingalonginastrange,liltingrun.“Whothehe—”Theboyburst through the treesbeforeThomascould finish.Hesaw

onlya flashofpaleskinandenormouseyes—thehaunted imageofanapparition—andcriedout, tried to run,but itwas too late.The figureleapedintotheairandwasontopofhim,slammingintohisshoulders,grippinghimwithstronghands.Thomascrashedtotheground;hefeltagravemarkerdigintohisbackbeforeitsnappedintwo,burningadeepscratchalonghisflesh.Hepushedandswattedathisattacker,arelentlessjumbleofskinand

bones cavortingon topofhimashe tried to gainpurchase. It seemedlikeamonster,ahorrorfromanightmare,butThomasknewithadtobea Glader, someone who’d completely lost his mind. He heard teethsnappingopenandclosed,ahorrificclack,clack,clack.Thenhefeltthejarringdaggerofpainastheboy’smouthfoundahome,bitdeeplyintoThomas’sshoulder.Thomas screamed, the pain like a burst of adrenaline through his

blood.Heplantedthepalmsofhishandsagainsthisattacker’schestandpushed, straightening his arms until his muscles strained against thestrugglingfigureabovehim.Finallythekidfellback;asharpcrackfilledtheairasanothergravemarkermetitsdemise.Thomas squirmedawayonhishandsand feet, sucking inbreathsof

air,andgothisfirstgoodlookatthecrazedattacker.Itwasthesickboy.ItwasBen.

CHAPTER11

It lookedas if Benhad recoveredonly slightly sinceThomashad seenhim in the Homestead. He wore nothing but shorts, his whiter-than-whiteskinstretchedacrosshisboneslikeasheetwrappedtightlyaroundabundleofsticks.Ropelikeveinsranalonghisbody,pulsingandgreen—butlesspronouncedthanthedaybefore.HisbloodshoteyesfelluponThomasasifhewereseeinghisnextmeal.Ben crouched, ready to spring for another attack. At some point a

knifehadmadeanappearance,gripped inhis righthand.Thomaswasfilledwithaqueasyfear,disbeliefthatthiswashappeningatall.“Ben!”Thomaslookedtowardthevoice,surprisedtoseeAlbystandingatthe

edge of the graveyard, a mere phantom in the fading light. RelieffloodedThomas’sbody—Albyheldalargebow,anarrowcockedforthekill,pointedstraightatBen.“Ben,” Alby repeated. “Stop right now, or you ain’t gonna see

tomorrow.”ThomaslookedbackatBen,whostaredviciouslyatAlby,histongue

dartingbetweenhislipstowetthem.Whatcouldpossiblybewrongwiththatkid?Thomasthought.Theboyhadturnedintoamonster.Why?“If you kill me,” Ben shrieked, spittle flying from his mouth, far

enough to hit Thomas in the face, “you’ll get the wrong guy.” HesnappedhisgazebacktoThomas.“He’stheshankyouwannakill.”Hisvoicewasfullofmadness.“Don’tbe stupid,Ben,”Alby said,hisvoice calmashe continued to

aim the arrow. “Thomas just got here—ain’t nothing to worry about.You’re still buggin’ from the Changing. You should’ve never left yourbed.”“He’snotoneofus!”Benshouted.“Isawhim—he’s…he’sbad.We

havetokillhim!Letmeguthim!”

Thomastookaninvoluntarystepbackward,horrifiedbywhatBenhadsaid.Whatdidhemean,he’dseenhim?WhydidhethinkThomaswasbad?Alby hadn’t moved his weapon an inch, still aiming for Ben. “Youleave that tomeand theKeepers to figureout, shuck-face.”Hishandswereperfectlysteadyasheheldthebow,almostasifhehadproppeditagainstabranchforsupport.“Rightnow,backyourscrawnybuttdownandgettotheHomestead.”“He’llwannatakeushome,”Bensaid.“He’llwannagetusoutoftheMaze.BetterwealljumpedofftheCliff!Betterwetoreeachother’sgutsout!”“Whatareyoutalking—”Thomasbegan.“Shutyourface!”Benscreamed.“Shutyourugly,traitorousface!”“Ben,”Albysaidcalmly.“I’mgonnacounttothree.”“He’s bad, he’s bad, he’s bad…,” Ben was whispering now, almostchanting.He swayedbackand forth, switching theknife fromhand tohand,eyesgluedonThomas.“One.”“Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad…”Ben smiled; his teeth seemed to glow,greenishinthepalelight.Thomaswantedtolookaway,getoutofthere.Buthecouldn’tmove;hewastoomesmerized,tooscared.“Two.”Alby’svoicewaslouder,filledwithwarning.“Ben,”Thomassaid,tryingtomakesenseofitall.“I’mnot…Idon’tevenknowwhat—”Benscreamed,astrangledgurgleofmadness,andleapedintotheair,slashingoutwithhisblade.“Three!”Albyshouted.Therewasthesoundofsnappingwire.Thewhooshofanobjectslicingthroughtheair.Thesickening,wetthunkofitfindingahome.Ben’s head snapped violently to the left, twisting his body until helanded on his stomach, his feet pointed toward Thomas. Hemade nosound.Thomas jumped tohis feet and stumbled forward.The long shaft ofthe arrow stuck from Ben’s cheek, the blood surprisingly less thanThomas had expected, but seeping out all the same. Black in thedarkness, like oil. The only movement was Ben’s right pinky finger,

twitching. Thomas fought the urge to puke.Was Ben dead because ofhim?Wasithisfault?“Comeon,”Albysaid.“Baggers’lltakecareofhimtomorrow.”What just happened here? Thomas thought, the world tilting aroundhimashestaredatthelifelessbody.WhatdidIeverdotothiskid?He looked up, wanting answers, but Alby was already gone, atremblingbranchtheonlysignhe’deverstoodthereinthefirstplace.

Thomas squeezed his eyes against the blinding light of the sun as heemergedfromthewoods.Hewaslimping,hisanklescreaminginpain,thoughhehadnomemoryofhurtingit.Heheldonehandcarefullyovertheareawherehe’dbeenbitten;theotherclutchedhisstomachasifthatwouldpreventwhatThomasnowfeltwasaninevitablebarf.TheimageofBen’sheadpoppedintohismind,cockedatanunnaturalangle,bloodrunning down the shaft of the arrow until it collected, dripped,splatteredontheground….Theimageofitwasthelaststraw.Hefelltohiskneesbyoneofthescragglytreesontheoutskirtsoftheforest and threw up, retching as he coughed and spat out every lastmorseloftheacidic,nastybilefromhisstomach.Hiswholebodyshook,anditseemedlikethevomitingwouldneverend.Andthen,asifhisbrainweremockinghim,tryingtomakeitworse,hehadathought.He’dnowbeenat theGlade for roughly twenty-fourhours.One fullday.Thatwasit.Andlookatall thethingsthathadhappened.All theterriblethings.Surelyitcouldonlygetbetter.

Thatnight,Thomas lay staring at the sparkling sky,wondering if he’deversleepagain.Everytimeheclosedhiseyes,themonstrousimageofBen leaping at him, the boy’s face set in lunacy, filled hismind. Eyesopenedornot,he could swearhekepthearing themoist thunkof thearrowslammingintoBen’scheek.Thomas knew he’d never forget those few terrible minutes in thegraveyard.“Say something,” Chuck said for the fifth time since they’d set out

theirsleepingbags.“No,”Thomasreplied,justashehadbefore.“Everyoneknowswhathappened.It’shappenedonceortwice—some

Griever-stung shank flipped out and attacked somebody. Don’t thinkyou’respecial.”Forthefirsttime,ThomasthoughtChuck’spersonalityhadgonefrom

mildly irritating to intolerable. “Chuck, be glad I’mnotholdingAlby’sbowrightaboutnow.”“I’mjustplay—”“Shut up, Chuck. Go to sleep.” Thomas just couldn’t handle it right

then.Eventually, his “buddy” did doze off, and based on the rumble of

snoresacross theGlade, sodideveryoneelse.Hours later,deep in thenight, Thomas was still the only one awake. He wanted to cry, butdidn’t. He wanted to find Alby and punch him, for no reasonwhatsoever,butdidn’t.HewantedtoscreamandkickandspitandopenuptheBoxandjumpintotheblacknessbelow.Buthedidn’t.Heclosedhiseyesandforcedthethoughtsanddarkimagesawayand

atsomepointhefellasleep.

ChuckhadtodragThomasoutofhissleepingbaginthemorning,draghim to the showers, and drag him to the dressing rooms. The wholetime, Thomas felt mopey and indifferent, his head aching, his bodywantingmoresleep.Breakfastwasablur,andanhourafteritwasover,Thomascouldn’trememberwhathe’deaten.Hewassotired,hisbrainfelt like someone had gone in and stapled it to his skull in a dozenplaces.Heartburnravagedhischest.But from what he could tell, naps were frowned upon in the giant

workingfarmoftheGlade.HestoodwithNewt in frontof thebarnof theBloodHouse,getting

ready for his first training session with a Keeper. Despite the roughmorning,hewasactually excited to learnmore, and for the chance togethismindoffBenandthegraveyard.Cowsmooed,sheepbleated,pigssquealed all around him. Somewhere close by, a dog barked, makingThomashopeFrypandidn’tbringnewmeaningtothewordhotdog.Hotdog,hethought.When’sthelasttimeIhadahotdog?WhodidIeatitwith?

“Tommy,areyouevenlisteningtome?”Thomas snapped out of his daze and focused on Newt, who’d beentalking for who knew how long; Thomas hadn’t heard a word of it.“Yeah,sorry.Couldn’tsleeplastnight.”Newtattemptedapatheticsmile.“Can’tblameyathere.Wentthroughthe buggin’ ringer, you did. Probably think I’m a slinthead shank forgettin’youreadytoworkyourbuttofftodayafteranepisodethelikesofthat.”Thomas shrugged. “Work’s probably the best thing I could do.Anythingtogetmymindoffit.”Newtnodded,andhissmilebecamemoregenuine.“You’reassmartasyou look,Tommy.That’soneof the reasonswe run thisplaceallniceand busylike. You get lazy, you get sad. Start givin’ up. Plain andsimple.”Thomas nodded, absently kicking a loose rock across the dusty,crackedstoneflooroftheGlade.“Sowhat’sthelatestonthatgirlfromyesterday?”Ifanythinghadpenetratedthehazeofhislongmorning,ithad been thoughts of her. He wanted to know more about her,understandtheoddconnectionhefelttoher.“Still in a coma, sleepin’.Med-jacks are spoon-feeding herwhateversoupsFrypancancookup,checkinghervitalsandsuch.Sheseemsokay,justdeadtotheworldfornow.”“Thatwasjustplainweird.”Ifithadn’tbeenforthewholeBen-in-the-graveyardincident,Thomaswassureshewould’vebeenallhe’dthoughtabout last night. Maybe he wouldn’t have been able to sleep for anentirely different reason. He wanted to know who she was and if hereallydidknowhersomehow.“Yeah,”Newtsaid.“Weird’sasgoodawordasany,I’spect.”Thomas looked over Newt’s shoulder at the big faded-red barn,pushing thoughts of the girl aside. “So what’s first? Milk cows orslaughtersomepoorlittlepigs?”Newt laughed,a soundThomas realizedhehadn’theardmuchsincehe’d arrived. “We always make the Newbies start with the bloodySlicers.Don’tworry,cuttin’upFrypan’svictualsain’tbutapart.Slicersdoanythingandeverythingdealin’withthebeasties.”“Too bad I can’t remember my whole life. Maybe I love killinganimals.”Hewasjustjoking,butNewtdidn’tseemtogetit.

Newtnoddedtowardthebarn.“Oh,you’llknowgoodandwellbythetimesunsetstonight.Let’sgomeetWinston—he’stheKeeper.”Winstonwasanacne-coveredkid,shortbutmuscular,anditseemed

to Thomas the Keeper liked his jobway toomuch.Maybe he was senthereforbeingaserialkiller,hethought.WinstonshowedThomasaroundforthefirsthour,pointingoutwhich

pens held which animals, where the chicken and turkey coops were,whatwentwhereinthebarn.Thedog,apeskyblackLabnamedBark,tookquicklytoThomas,hangingathisfeettheentiretour.Wonderingwhere thedog came from,Thomas askedWinston,who saidBarkhadjustalwaysbeenthere.Luckily,heseemedtohavegottenhisnameasajoke,becausehewasprettyquiet.Thesecondhourwasspentactuallyworkingwiththefarmanimals—

feeding, cleaning, fixing a fence, scraping up klunk. Klunk. ThomasfoundhimselfusingtheGladertermsmoreandmore.The third hour was the hardest for Thomas. He had to watch as

Winstonslaughteredahogandbeganpreparingitsmanypartsforfutureeating.Thomassworetwothingstohimselfashewalkedawayforlunchbreak. First, his career would not be with the animals; second, he’dneveragaineatsomethingthatcameoutofapig.

Winston had said for him to go on alone, that he’d hang around theBlood House, which was fine with Thomas. As he walked toward theEast Door, he couldn’t stop picturingWinston in a dark corner of thebarn,gnawingonrawpigs’feet.Theguygavehimthewillies.Thomas was just passing the Box when he was surprised to see

someoneentertheGladefromtheMaze,throughtheWestDoor,tohisleft—anAsiankidwithstrongarmsandshortblackhair,wholookedalittleolder thanThomas.TheRunner stopped three steps in, thenbentoverandputhishandsonhisknees,gaspingforbreath.Helookedlikehe’d just run twenty miles, face red, skin covered in sweat, clothessoaked.Thomasstared,overcomewithcuriosity—he’dyettoseeaRunnerup

closeortalktoone.Plus,basedonthelastcoupleofdays,theRunnerwashomehoursearly.Thomassteppedforward,eagertomeethimandaskquestions.

Butbeforehecouldformasentence,theboycollapsedtotheground.

CHAPTER12

Thomasdidn’tmoveforafewseconds.Theboylayinacrumpledheap,barely moving, but Thomas was frozen by indecision, afraid to getinvolved.Whatifsomethingwasseriouslywrongwiththisguy?Whatifhe’dbeen…stung?Whatif—Thomassnappedoutofit—theRunnerobviouslyneededhelp.“Alby!”heshouted.“Newt!Somebodygetthem!”Thomassprintedtotheolderboyandkneltdownbesidehim.“Hey—

youokay?”TheRunner’sheadrestedonoutstretchedarmsashepanted,his chest heaving. He was conscious, but Thomas had never seensomeonesoexhausted.“I’m … fine,” he said between breaths, then looked up. “Who the

klunkareyou?”“I’mnewhere.”IthitThomasthenthattheRunnerswereoutinthe

Maze during the day and hadn’t witnessed any of the recent eventsfirsthand. Did this guy even know about the girl? Probably—surelysomeonehadtoldhim.“I’mThomas—beenherejustacoupleofdays.”TheRunner pushedhimself up into a sittingposition, his blackhair

mattedtohisskullwithsweat.“Oh,yeah,Thomas,”hehuffed.“Newbie.Youandthechick.”Alby joggedupthen,clearlyupset.“What’reyoudoin’back,Minho?

Whathappened?”“Calmyourwad,Alby,”theRunnerreplied,seemingtogainstrength

bythesecond.“Makeyourselfusefulandgetmesomewater—Idroppedmypackouttheresomewhere.”But Alby didn’t move. He kickedMinho in the leg—too hard to be

playful.“Whathappened?”“Icanbarelytalk,shuck-face!”Minhoyelled,hisvoiceraw.“Getme

somewater!”AlbylookedoveratThomas,whowasshockedtoseetheslightesthint

ofasmileflashacrosshisfacebeforevanishinginascowl.“Minho’stheonlyshankwhocantalktomelikethatwithoutgettinghisbuttkickedofftheCliff.”Then, surprising Thomas even more, Alby turned and ran off,presumablytogetMinhosomewater.ThomasturnedtowardMinho.“Heletsyoubosshimaround?”Minho shrugged, then wiped fresh beads of sweat off his forehead.“You scaredof that pip-squeak?Dude, you got a lot to learn. Freakin’Newbies.”The rebuke hurt Thomas far more than it should have, consideringhe’dknownthisguyallofthreeminutes.“Isn’thetheleader?”“Leader?”Minhobarkedagrunt thatwasprobablysupposedtobealaugh.“Yeah,callhimleaderallyouwant.MaybeweshouldcallhimElPresidente.Nah,nah—AdmiralAlby.Thereyougo.”Herubbedhiseyes,snickeringashedidso.Thomasdidn’tknowwhattomakeoftheconversation—itwashardtotellwhenMinhowasjoking.“Sowhoistheleaderifheisn’t?”“Greenie,justshutitbeforeyouconfuseyourselfmore.”Minhosighedas if bored, then muttered, almost to himself, “Why do you shanksalwayscomeinhereaskingstupidquestions?It’sreallyannoying.”“Whatdoyouexpectustodo?”Thomasfeltaflushofanger.Likeyouwereanydifferentwhenyoufirstcame,hewantedtosay.“Dowhatyou’retold,keepyourmouthshut.That’swhatIexpect.”Minhohadlookedhimsquare inthefaceforthefirst timewiththatlast sentence, and Thomas scooted back a few inches before he couldstop himself. He realized immediately he’d just made a mistake—hecouldn’tletthisguythinkhecouldtalktohimlikethat.Hepushedhimselfbackupontohiskneessohewaslookingdownattheolderboy.“Yeah,I’msurethat’sexactlywhatyoudidasaNewbie.”MinholookedatThomascarefully.Then,againstaringstraightinhiseyes,said,“IwasoneofthefirstGladers,slinthead.Shutyourholetillyouknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.”Thomas, now slightly scared of the guy butmostly fed up with hisattitude,moved to get up.Minho’s hand snapped out and grabbedhisarm.“Dude,sitdown.I’mjustplayin’withyourhead.It’stoomuchfun—you’ll see when the next Newbie…” He trailed off, a perplexed look

wrinklinghiseyebrows.“Guesstherewon’tbeanotherNewbie,huh?”Thomasrelaxed,returnedtoasittingposition,surprisedathoweasilyhe’dbeenputbackatease.Hethoughtof thegirlandthenotesayingshewasthelastoneever.“Guessnot.”Minhosquintedslightly,asifhewasstudyingThomas.“Yousawthechick,right?Everybodysaysyouprobablyknowherorsomething.”Thomas felt himself grow defensive. “I saw her. Doesn’t really lookfamiliaratall.”Hefeltimmediatelyguiltyforlying—evenifitwasjustalittlelie.“Shehot?”Thomas paused, not having thought of her in that way since she’dfreakedoutanddeliveredthenoteandherone-liner—Everythingisgoingto change. But he remembered how beautiful she was. “Yeah, I guessshe’shot.”Minholeanedbackuntilhelayflat,eyesclosed.“Yeah,youguess.Ifyougotathingforchicksincomas,right?”Hesnickeredagain.“Right.”ThomaswashavingthehardesttimefiguringoutifhelikedMinhoornot—hispersonality seemed tochangeeveryminute.Afteralong pause, Thomas decided to take a chance. “So …,” he askedcautiously,“didyoufindanythingtoday?”Minho’seyesopenedwide;he focusedonThomas.“Youknowwhat,Greenie?That’susually thedumbestshuck-facedthingyoucouldaskaRunner.”Heclosedhiseyesagain.“Butnottoday.”“What do you mean?” Thomas dared to hope for information. Ananswer,hethought.Pleasejustgivemeananswer!“Just wait till the fancy admiral gets back. I don’t like saying stufftwice.Plus,hemightnotwantyoutohearitanyway.”Thomassighed.Hewasn’tintheleastbitsurprisedatthenon-answer.“Well, at least tellmewhyyou look so tired.Don’t you runout thereeveryday?”Minho groaned as he pulled himself up and crossed his legs underhim.“Yeah,Greenie,Irunoutthereeveryday.Let’sjustsayIgotalittleexcitedandranextrafasttogetmybee-hindbackhere.”“Why?”ThomasdesperatelywantedtohearaboutwhathappenedoutintheMaze.Minho threw his hands up. “Dude. I told you. Patience. Wait forGeneralAlby.”

Something in his voice lessened the blow, and Thomas made hisdecision.He likedMinho.“Okay, I’ll shutup.JustmakesureAlby letsmehearthenews,too.”Minhostudiedhimforasecond.“Okay,Greenie.Youdaboss.”Albywalkedupamomentlaterwithabigplasticcupfullofwaterand

handedittoMinho,whogulpeddownthewholethingwithoutstoppingonceforbreath.“Okay,”Albysaid,“outwithit.Whathappened?”MinhoraisedhiseyebrowsandnoddedtowardThomas.“He’s fine,” Alby replied. “I don’t care what this shank hears. Just

talk!”Thomas sat quietly in anticipation as Minho struggled to stand up,

wincingwitheverymove,hiswholedemeanorjustscreamingexhaustion.TheRunnerbalancedhimselfagainstthewall,gavebothofthemacoldlook.“Ifoundadeadone.”“Huh?”Albyasked.“Adeadwhat?”Minhosmiled.“AdeadGriever.”

CHAPTER13

ThomaswasfascinatedatthementionofaGriever.Thenastycreaturewasterrifyingtothinkabout,buthewonderedwhyfindingadeadonewassuchabigdeal.Haditneverhappenedbefore?Albylookedlikesomeonehadjusttoldhimhecouldgrowwingsand

fly.“Ain’tagoodtimeforjokes,”hesaid.“Look,”Minhoanswered,“Iwouldn’tbelievemeifIwereyou,either.

Buttrustme,Idid.Bigfatnastyone.”It’sdefinitelyneverhappenedbefore,Thomasthought.“YoufoundadeadGriever,”Albyrepeated.“Yes,Alby,”Minhosaid,hiswordslacedwithannoyance.“Acoupleof

milesfromhere,outneartheCliff.”AlbylookedoutattheMaze,thenbackatMinho.“Well…whydidn’t

youbringitbackwithyou?”Minho laughed again, a half-grunt, half-giggle. “You been drinkin’

Frypan’ssaucy-sauce?Thosethingsmustweighhalfaton,dude.Plus,Iwouldn’ttouchoneifyougavemeafreetripoutofthisplace.”Alby persistedwith the questions. “What did it look like?Were the

metalspikesinoroutofitsbody?Diditmoveatall—wasitsskinstillmoist?”Thomaswasburstingwithquestions—Metalspikes?Moistskin?Whatin

theworld?—but held his tongue, not wanting to remind them he wasthere.Andthatmaybetheyshouldtalkinprivate.“Slim it, man,” Minho said. “You gotta see it for yourself. It’s …

weird.”“Weird?”Albylookedconfused.“Dude,I’mexhausted,starving,andsun-sick.Butifyouwannahaulit

rightnow,wecouldprobablymake it thereandbackbefore thewallsshut.”Albylookedathiswatch.“Betterwaittillthewake-uptomorrow.”

“Smartest thing you’ve said in aweek.”Minho rightedhimself fromleaningon thewall,hitAlbyon thearm, then startedwalking towardthe Homestead with a slight limp. He spoke over his shoulder as heshuffledaway—itlookedlikehiswholebodywasinpain.“Ishouldgoback out there, but screw it. I’m gonna go eat someof Frypan’s nastycasserole.”Thomas felt a wash of disappointment. He had to admitMinho didlook like he deserved a rest and a bite to eat, but hewanted to learnmore.ThenAlbyturnedtoThomas,surprisinghim.“Ifyouknowsomethingandain’ttellin’me…”Thomaswassickofbeingaccusedofknowingthings.Wasn’tthattheproblem in the first place?Hedidn’t know anything.He looked at theboy square in the face and asked, simply, “Why do you hate me somuch?”The look that came over Alby’s face was indescribable—partconfusion, part anger, part shock. “Hate you? Boy, you ain’t learnednothin’sinceshowingupinthatBox.Thisain’tgotnothin’todowithnohateorlikeorloveorfriendsoranything.Allwecareaboutissurviving.Dropyoursissysideandstartusingthatshuckbrainifyougotone.”Thomasfeltlikehe’dbeenslapped.“But…whydoyoukeepaccusing—”“Cuzitcan’tbeacoincidence,slinthead!Youpopinhere,thenwegetusagirlNewbiethenextday,acrazynote,Bentryin’tobiteya,deadGrievers.Something’sgoin’onandIain’trestin’tillIfigureitout.”“Idon’tknow anything,Alby.” It feltgood toput someheat intohiswords.“Idon’tevenknowwhereIwas threedaysago,much lesswhythisMinhoguywouldfindadeadthingcalledaGriever.Sobackoff!”Alby leaned back slightly, stared absently at Thomas for severalseconds. Then he said, “Slim it, Greenie. Grow up and start thinkin’.Ain’t got nothin’ to do with accusing nobody of nothin’. But if youremember anything, if something even seems familiar, you better starttalking.Promiseme.”Notuntil Ihavea solidmemory,Thomasthought.Notunless Iwant toshare.“Yeah,Iguess,but—”“Justpromise!”Thomaspaused,sickofAlbyandhisattitude.“Whatever,”he finally

said.“Ipromise.”AtthatAlbyturnedandwalkedaway,notsayinganotherword.

ThomasfoundatreeintheDeadheads,oneoftheniceronesontheedgeoftheforestwithplentyofshade.HedreadedgoingbacktoworkwithWinston the Butcher and knew he needed to eat lunch, but he didn’twant to be near anybody for as long as he could get away with it.Leaningbackagainstthethicktrunk,hewishedforabreezebutdidn’tgetone.He’d just felt his eyelids droop when Chuck ruined his peace andquiet.“Thomas!Thomas!”theboyshriekedasherantowardhim,pumpinghisarms,hisfacelitupwithexcitement.Thomasrubbedhiseyesandgroaned;hewantednothingintheworldmorethanahalf-hournap.Itwasn’tuntilChuckstoppedrightinfrontofhim,pantingtocatchhisbreath,thathefinallylookedup.“What?”Wordsslowly fell fromChuck, inbetweenhisgasps forbreath.“Ben…Ben…heisn’t…dead.”AllsignsoffatiguecatapultedoutofThomas’ssystem.HejumpeduptostandnosetonosewithChuck.“What?”“He…isn’tdead.Baggerswenttogethim…arrowmissedhisbrain…Med-jackspatchedhimup.”Thomas turnedaway to stare into the forestwhere the sickboyhadattackedhimjustthenightbefore.“Yougottabekidding.Isawhim….”He wasn’t dead? Thomas didn’t know what he felt most strongly:confusion,relief,fearthathe’dbeattackedagain…“Well,sodidI,”Chucksaid.“He’slockedupintheSlammer,ahugebandagecoveringhalfhishead.”Thomas spun to face Chuck again. “The Slammer? What do youmean?”“TheSlammer.It’sourjailonthenorthsideoftheHomestead.”Chuckpointed in thatdirection. “They threwhim in it so fast, theMed-jackshadtopatchhimupinthere.”Thomas rubbedhiseyes.Guilt consumedhimwhenhe realizedhowhetrulyfelt—he’dbeenrelievedthatBenwasdead,thathedidn’thavetoworryaboutfacinghimagain.“Sowhataretheygonnadowithhim?”

“Already had a Gathering of the Keepers this morning—made aunanimousdecisionbythesoundsofit.LookslikeBen’llbewishingthatarrowhadfoundahomeinsidehisshuckbrainafterall.”Thomas squinted, confused bywhat Chuck had said. “What are you

talkingabout?”“He’sbeingBanished.Tonight,fortryingtokillyou.”“Banished? What does that mean?” Thomas had to ask, though he

knewitcouldn’tbegoodifChuckthoughtitwasworsethanbeingdead.And then Thomas saw perhaps the most disturbing thing he’d seen

since he’d arrived at the Glade. Chuck didn’t answer; he only smiled.Smiled, despite it all, despite the sinister sound of what he’d justannounced. Then he turned and ran, maybe to tell someone else theexcitingnews.

Thatnight,NewtandAlbygatheredevery lastGladerat theEastDooraboutahalfhourbefore itclosed, the first tracesof twilight’sdimnesscreepingacrossthesky.TheRunnershadjustreturnedandenteredthemysteriousMapRoom,clangingtheirondoorshut;Minhohadalreadygoneinearlier.AlbytoldtheRunnerstohurryabouttheirbusiness—hewantedthembackoutintwentyminutes.It still bothered Thomas how Chuck had smiled when breaking the

newsaboutBenbeingBanished.Thoughhedidn’tknowexactlywhatitmeant,itcertainlydidn’tsoundlikeagoodthing.EspeciallysincetheywereallstandingsoclosetotheMaze.Aretheygoingtoputhimoutthere?hewondered.WiththeGrievers?TheotherGladersmurmuredtheirconversations inhushedtones,an

intensefeelingofdreadfulanticipationhangingoverthemlikeapatchofthickfog.ButThomassaidnothing,standingwitharmsfolded,waitingfortheshow.HestoodquietlyuntiltheRunnersfinallycameoutoftheirbuilding, all of them lookingexhausted, their facespinched fromdeepthinking.Minhohadbeenthefirsttoexit,whichmadeThomaswonderifhewastheKeeperoftheRunners.“Bringhimout!”Albyshouted,startlingThomasoutofhisthoughts.Hisarmsfelltohissidesasheturned,lookingaroundtheGladefora

signofBen, trepidationbuildingwithinhimashewonderedwhat theboywoulddowhenhesawhim.

Fromaroundthefarsideof theHomestead, threeof thebiggerboysappeared, literally dragging Ben along the ground. His clothes weretattered, barely hanging on; a bloody, thick bandage covered half hisheadandface.Refusingtoputhisfeetdownorhelptheprogressinanyway,heseemedasdeadasthe last timeThomashadseenhim.Exceptforonething.Hiseyeswereopen,andtheywerewidewithterror.“Newt,” Alby said in a much quieter voice; Thomas wouldn’t haveheardhimifhehadn’tbeenstandingjustafewfeetaway.“BringoutthePole.”Newtnodded,alreadyonthemovetowardasmalltoolshedusedfortheGardens;he’dclearlybeenwaitingfortheorder.Thomas turned his focus back to Ben and the guards. The pale,miserableboystillmadenoefforttoresist,lettingthemdraghimacrossthe dusty stone of the courtyard.When they reached the crowd, theypulledBentohisfeetinfrontofAlby,theirleader,whereBenhunghishead,refusingtomakeeyecontactwithanyone.“You brought this on yourself, Ben,” Alby said. Then he shook hisheadandlookedtowardtheshacktowhichNewthadgone.Thomas followedhis gaze just in time to seeNewtwalk though theslanted door. He was holding several aluminum poles, connecting theendstomakeashaftmaybetwentyfeetlong.Whenhewasfinished,hegrabbed something odd-shaped on one of the ends and dragged thewholethingalongtowardthegroup.AshiverranupThomas’sspineatthemetallicscrapeofthepoleonthestonegroundasNewtwalked.Thomas was horrified by the whole affair—he couldn’t help feelingresponsibleeventhoughhe’dneverdoneanythingtoprovokeBen.Howwasanyofthishisfault?Noanswercametohim,buthefelttheguiltallthesame,likeadiseaseinhisblood.Finally,NewtsteppeduptoAlbyandhandedovertheendofthepolehewasholding.Thomascouldseethestrangeattachmentnow.Aloopofrough leather, fastened to the metal with a massive staple. A largebuttonsnaprevealedthattheloopcouldbeopenedandclosed,anditspurposebecameobvious.Itwasacollar.

CHAPTER14

ThomaswatchedasAlbyunbuttonedthecollar,thenwrappeditaroundBen’s neck; Ben finally looked up just as the loop of leather snappedclosed with a loud pop. Tears glistened in his eyes; dribbles of snotoozedfromhisnostrils.TheGladerslookedon,notawordfromanyofthem.“Please,Alby,”Benpleaded,hisshakyvoicesopatheticthatThomas

couldn’tbelieveitwasthesameguywho’dtriedtobitehisthroatofftheday before. “I swear Iwas just sick in the head from the Changing. Ineverwould’vekilledhim—justlostmymindforasecond.Please,Alby,please.”EverywordfromthekidwaslikeafistpunchingThomasinthegut,

makinghimfeelmoreguiltyandconfused.Albydidn’trespondtoBen;hepulledonthecollartomakesureitwas

both firmly snapped and solidly attached to the long pole.HewalkedpastBenandalongthepole,picking itupoff thegroundasheslid itslength through his palm and fingers. When he reached the end, hegripped it tightly and turned to face the crowd. Eyes bloodshot, facewrinkled in anger, breathing heavily—to Thomas, he suddenly lookedevil.And itwasanodd sighton theother side:Ben, trembling, crying,a

roughlycutcollarofoldleatherwrappedaroundhispale,scrawnyneck,attached to a long pole that stretched from him to Alby, twenty feetaway. The shaft of aluminum bowed in the middle, but only a little.EvenfromwhereThomaswasstanding,itlookedsurprisinglystrong.Albyspokeinaloud,almostceremoniousvoice,lookingatnooneand

everyoneatthesametime.“BenoftheBuilders,you’vebeensentencedto Banishment for the attempted murder of Thomas the Newbie. TheKeepers have spoken, and their word ain’t changing. And you ain’tcoming back. Ever.” A long pause. “Keepers, take your place on the

BanishmentPole.”ThomashatedthathislinktoBenwasbeingmadepublic—hatedtheresponsibility he felt. Being the center of attention again could onlybringmore suspicion about him.His guilt transformed into anger andblame.Morethananything,hejustwantedBengone,wanteditalltobeover.Onebyone,boysweresteppingoutofthecrowdandwalkingovertothelongpole;theygrabbeditwithbothhands,grippeditasifreadyingfor a tug-of-war match. Newt was one of them, as was Minho,confirming Thomas’s guess that he was the Keeper of the Runners.WinstontheButcheralsotookupaposition.Oncetheywereallinplace—tenKeepersspacedevenlyapartbetweenAlby andBen—theair grew still and silent.Theonly soundswere themuffled sobs of Ben, who kept wiping at his nose and eyes. He waslookingleftandright,thoughthecollararoundhisneckpreventedhimfromseeingthepoleandKeepersbehindhim.Thomas’s feelings changed again. Something was obviously wrongwithBen.Whydidhedeservethisfate?Couldn’tsomethingbedoneforhim?WouldThomasspendtherestofhisdaysfeelingresponsible?Justend,hescreamedinhishead.Justbeover!“Please,” Ben said, his voice rising in desperation. “Pllllleeeeeeeeease!Somebody,helpme!Youcan’tdothistome!”“Shutup!”Albyroaredfrombehind.But Ben ignored him, pleading for help as he started to pull on theleatherloopedaroundhisneck.“Someonestopthem!Helpme!Please!”He glanced from boy to boy, begging with his eyes. Without fail,everyone looked away. Thomas quickly steppedbehind a taller boy toavoidhisownconfrontationwithBen. Ican’t look into thoseeyesagain,hethought.“Ifwe let shanks like you get awaywith that stuff,”Alby said, “weneverwould’vesurvivedthislong.Keepers,getready.”“No,no,no,no,no,”Benwassaying,halfunderhisbreath.“IswearI’lldoanything!IswearI’llneverdoitagain!Pllllleeeeeee—”His shrill cry was cut off by the rumbling crack of the East Doorbeginningtoclose.Sparksflewfromthestoneasthemassiverightwallslidtotheleft,groaningthunderouslyasitmadeitsjourneytocloseofftheGladefromtheMazeforthenight.Thegroundshookbeneaththem,

andThomasdidn’tknowifhecouldwatchwhatheknewwasgoingtohappennext.“Keepers,now!”Albyshouted.Ben’s head snapped back as he was jerked forward, the Keeperspushing the pole toward theMaze outside theGlade. A strangling cryerupted fromBen’s throat, louder than the soundsof theclosingDoor.Hefelltohisknees,onlytobejerkedbacktohisfeetbytheKeeperinfront,athickguywithblackhairandasnarlonhisface.“Noooooooooo!” Ben screamed, spit flying from his mouth as hethrashedabout, tearingat thecollarwithhishands.But thecombinedstrengthoftheKeeperswaswaytoomuch,forcingthecondemnedboycloser and closer to the edge of the Glade, just as the right wall wasalmostthere.“Noooo!”hescreamedagain,andthenagain.Hetriedtoplanthisfeetatthethreshold,butitonlylastedforasplitsecond;thepolesenthimintotheMazewithalurch.SoonhewasfullyfourfeetoutsidetheGlade,jerkinghisbodyfromsidetosideashetriedto escape his collar. The walls of the Door were only seconds fromsealingshut.Withonelastviolenteffort,Benwasfinallyabletotwisthisneckinthecircleof leatherso thathiswholebodyturnedto facetheGladers.Thomascouldn’tbelievehewasstill lookinguponahumanbeing—themadnessinBen’seyes,thephlegmflyingfromhismouth,thepaleskinstretchedtautacrosshisveinsandbones.HelookedasalienasanythingThomascouldimagine.“Hold!”Albyshouted.Ben screamed then,withoutpause, a sound sopiercing thatThomascovered his ears. Itwas a bestial, lunatic cry, surely ripping the boy’svocal cords to shreds. At the last second, the front Keeper somehowloosened the largerpole from thepieceattached toBenandyanked itback into the Glade, leaving the boy to his Banishment. Ben’s finalscreamswerecutoffwhenthewallsclosedwithaterribleboom.Thomassqueezedhiseyesshutandwassurprisedtofeeltearstricklingdownhischeeks.

CHAPTER15

For the secondnight in a row, Thomaswent to bedwith the hauntedimageofBen’sfaceburnedintohismind,tormentinghim.Howdifferentwouldthingsberightnowifitweren’tforthatoneboy?Thomascouldalmostconvincehimselfhe’dbecompletelycontent,happyandexcitedtolearnhisnewlife,aimforhisgoalofbeingaRunner.Almost.DeepdownheknewthatBenwasonlypartofhismanyproblems.Butnowhewasgone,BanishedtotheworldoftheGrievers,takento

wherever they took their prey, victim to whatever was done there.ThoughhehadplentyofreasonstodespiseBen,hemostlyfeltsorryforhim.Thomascouldn’timaginegoingoutthatway,butbasedonBen’slast

moments, psychotically thrashing and spitting and screaming, he nolonger doubted the importance of the Glade rule that no one shouldentertheMazeexceptRunners,andthenonlyduringtheday.SomehowBen had already been stung once, which meant he knew better thanperhapsanyonejustexactlywhatlayinstoreforhim.Thatpoorguy,hethought.Thatpoor,poorguy.Thomasshudderedandrolledoveronhisside.Themorehethought

about it, being a Runner didn’t sound like such a great idea. But,inexplicably,itstillcalledtohim.The next morning, dawn had barely touched the sky before the

workingsoundsoftheGladewakenedThomasfromthedeepestslumbersincehe’darrived.Hesatup,rubbinghiseyes,tryingtoshaketheheavygrogginess.Givingup,he laybackdown,hopingnoonewouldbotherhim.Itdidn’tlastaminute.Someone tapped his shoulder and he opened his eyes to see Newt

staringdownathim.Whatnow?hethought.“Getup,yalug.”

“Yeah,goodmorningtoyou,too.Whattimeisit?”“Seven o’clock, Greenie,”Newt saidwith amocking smile. “FiguredI’dletyasleepinaftersucharoughcoupledays.”Thomas rolled intoa sittingposition,hating thathecouldn’t just liethere foranother fewhours.“Sleep in?Whatareyouguys,abunchoffarmers?”Farmers—howdidhe remember somuchabout them?Onceagainhismemorywipebaffledhim.“Uh… yeah, now that ya mention it.” Newt plopped down besideThomasand foldedhis legsupunderhimself.He satquietly fora fewmoments,lookingoutatallthehustle-bustlestartingtowhipupacrosstheGlade.“GonnaputyawiththeTrack-hoestoday,Greenie.Seeifthatsuitsyourfancymorethanslicin’upbloodypiggiesandsuch.”Thomaswassickofbeingtreatedlikeababy.“Aren’tyousupposedtoquitcallingmethat?”“What,bloodypiggies?”Thomasforcedalaughandshookhishead.“No,Greenie.I’mnotreallythe newest Newbie anymore, right? The girl in the coma is. Call herGreenie—myname’sThomas.”Thoughtsof thegirlcrashedaroundhismind, made him remember the connection he felt. A sadness washedoverhim,asifhemissedher,wantedtoseeher.Thatdoesn’tmakesense,hethought.Idon’tevenknowhername.Newt leanedback,eyebrowsraised.“Burnme—yougrewsomerightnice-sizedeggsovernight,nowdidn’tya?”Thomasignoredhimandmovedon.“What’saTrack-hoe?”“It’s whatwe call the guysworkin’ their butts off in the Gardens—tilling,weeding,plantingandsuch.”Thomasnoddedinthatdirection.“Who’stheKeeper?”“Zart.Niceguy,s’longasyoudon’tsluffonthe job, that is.He’s thebigonethatstoodinfrontlastnight.”Thomasdidn’tsayanythingtothat,hopingthatsomehowhecouldgothrough theentiredaywithout talkingaboutBenand theBanishment.Thesubjectonlymadehimsickandguilty,sohemovedontosomethingelse.“Sowhy’dyoucomewakemeup?”“What,don’tlikeseein’myfacefirstthingonthewake-up?”“Not especially. So—” But before he could finish his sentence therumbleofthewallsopeningforthedaycuthimoff.HelookedtowardtheEastDoor,almostexpectingtoseeBenstandingthereontheother

side. Instead, he saw Minho stretching. Then Thomas watched as hewalkedoverandpickedsomethingup.Itwasthesectionofpolewiththeleathercollarattachedtoit.Minhoseemedtothinknothingof it, throwingit tooneoftheotherRunners,whowentandputitbackinthetoolshedneartheGardens.Thomas turned back to Newt, confused. How could Minho act sononchalantaboutitall?“Whatthe—”“Only seen three Banishments, Tommy. All as nasty as the one youpeeped on last night. But every buggin’ time, the Grievers leave thecollaronourdoorstep.Givesmethewillieslikenothin’else.”Thomashadtoagree.“Whatdotheydowithpeoplewhentheycatchthem?”Didhereallywanttoknow?Newtjustshrugged,hisindifferencenotveryconvincing.Morelikelyhedidn’twanttotalkaboutit.“So tell me about the Runners,” Thomas said suddenly. The wordsseemed to pop out of nowhere. But he remained still, despite an oddurgetoapologizeandchangethesubject;hewantedtoknoweverythingaboutthem.Evenafterwhathe’dseenlastnight,evenafterwitnessingtheGrieverthroughthewindow,hewantedtoknow.Thepull toknowwasstrong,andhedidn’tquiteunderstandwhy.BecomingaRunnerjustfeltlikesomethinghewasborntodo.Newthadpaused,lookingconfused.“TheRunners?Why?”“Justwondering.”Newtgavehimasuspiciouslook.“Bestofthebest,thoseguys.Haveto be. Everything depends on them.” He picked up a loose rock andtossedit,watchingitabsentlyasitbouncedtoastop.“Whyaren’tyouone?”Newt’sgazereturnedtoThomas,sharply.“WastillIhurtmylegfewmonthsback.Hasn’tbeenthebloodysamesince.”Hereacheddownandrubbedhisrightankleabsently,abrief lookofpain flashingacrosshisface.The lookmadeThomas think itwasmore from thememory,notanyactualphysicalpainhestillfelt.“How’d you do it?” Thomas asked, thinking the more he could getNewttotalk,themorehe’dlearn.“Runnin’ from the buggin’ Grievers, what else? Almost gotme.” Hepaused.“Stillgivesmethechillsthinkin’ImighthavegonethroughtheChanging.”

TheChanging. Itwas theone topic thatThomas thoughtmight leadhimtoanswersmore thananythingelse.“What is that,anyway?Whatchanges? Does everyone go psycho like Ben and start trying to killpeople?”“Ben was way worse than most. But I thought you wanted to talk

abouttheRunners.”Newt’stonewarnedthattheconversationabouttheChangingwasover.ThismadeThomasevenmorecurious,thoughhewasjustfinegoing

backtothesubjectofRunners.“Okay,I’mlistening.”“LikeIsaid,bestofthebest.”“Sowhatdoyoudo?Testeverybodytoseehowfasttheyare?”Newt gave Thomas a disgusted look, then groaned. “Showme some

smarts,Greenie,Tommy,whateveryalike.Howfastyoucanbloodyrunisonlypartofit.Averysmallpart,actually.”ThispiquedThomas’sinterest.“Whatdoyoumean?”“When I say best of the best, I mean at everything. To survive the

buggin’ Maze, you gotta be smart, quick, strong. Gotta be a decisionmaker,knowtherightamountofrisktotake.Can’tbereckless,can’tbetimid,either.”Newtstraightenedhislegsandleanedbackonhishands.“It’sbloodyawfuloutthere,yaknow?Idon’tmissit.”“I thought the Grievers only came out at night.” Destiny or not,

Thomasdidn’twanttorunintooneofthosethings.“Yeah,usually.”“Then why is it so terrible out there?” What else didn’t he know

about?Newtsighed.“Pressure.Stress.Mazepatterndifferenteveryday,tryin’

to picture things in your mind, tryin’ to get us out of here.Worryin’aboutthebloodyMaps.Worstpart,you’realwaysscaredyoumightnotmake it back. A normalmaze’d be hard enough—butwhen it changesevery night, couple of mental mistakes and you’re spendin’ the nightwithviciousbeasts.Noroomortimefordummiesorbrats.”Thomasfrowned,notquiteunderstandingthedriveinsidehim,urging

himon.Especiallyafterlastnight.Buthestillfeltit.Feltitallover.“Whyalltheinterest?”Newtasked.Thomashesitated,thinking,scaredtosayitoutloudagain.“Iwantto

beaRunner.”Newtturnedand lookedhimin theeye.“Haven’tbeenhereaweek,

shank.Littleearlyfordeathwishes,don’tyathink?”“I’m serious.” It barely made sense even to Thomas, but he felt itdeeply.Infact,thedesiretobecomeaRunnerwastheonlythingdrivinghimon,helpinghimaccepthispredicament.Newtdidn’tbreakhisgaze.“SoamI.Forgetit.Noone’severbecomeaRunner in their firstmonth,much less their firstweek.Got a lot ofprovin’todobeforewe’llrecommendyoutotheKeeper.”Thomasstoodandstartedfoldinguphissleepinggear.“Newt,Imeanit.Ican’tpullweedsallday—I’llgonuts.Idon’thaveacluewhatIdidbeforetheyshippedmehereinthatmetalbox,butmyguttellsmethatbeingaRunneriswhatI’msupposedtodo.Icandoit.”Newt still sat there, staringup atThomas, not offering tohelp. “Noonesaidyoucouldn’t.Butgiveitarestfornow.”Thomasfeltasurgeofimpatience.“But—”“Listen, trust me on this, Tommy. Start stompin’ around this placeyappin’abouthowyou’re toogoodtowork likeapeasant,howyou’reallniceandreadytobeaRunner—you’llmakeplentyofenemies.Dropitfornow.”Making enemies was the last thing Thomas wanted, but still. Hedecidedonanotherdirection.“Fine,I’lltalktoMinhoaboutit.”“Goodtry,yabuggin’shank.TheGatheringelectsRunners,andifyouthinkI’mtough,they’dlaughinyourface.”“For all you guys know, I could be really good at it. It’s awaste oftimetomakemewait.”NewtstoodtojoinThomasandjabbedafingerinhisface.“Youlistentome,Greenie.Youlistenin’allniceandpretty?”Thomas surprisingly didn’t feel that intimidated. He rolled his eyes,butthennodded.“Youbetterstopthisnonsense,beforeothershearaboutit.That’snothow itworksaroundhere,andourwholeexistencedependson thingsworking.”He paused, but Thomas said nothing, dreading the lecture he knewwascoming.“Order,”Newtcontinued.“Order.Yousaythatbloodywordoverandoverinyourshuckhead.Reasonwe’reallsanearoundhereis’causeweworkourbutts off andmaintainorder.Order’s the reasonweputBenout—can’t verywell have loonies runnin’ around tryin’ to kill people,

nowcanwe?Order.Lastthingweneedisyouscrewin’thatup.”ThestubbornnesswashedoutofThomas.Heknewitwastimetoshut

up.“Yeah”wasallhesaid.Newtslappedhimontheback.“Let’smakeadeal.”“What?”Thomasfelthishopesrise.“You keep yourmouth shut about it, and I’ll put you on the list of

potentialtraineesassoonasyoushowsomeclout.Don’tkeepyourtrapshut,andI’llbloodymakesureyaneverseeithappen.Deal?”Thomashatedtheideaofwaiting,notknowinghowlongitmightbe.

“That’sasuckydeal.”Newtraisedhiseyebrows.Thomasfinallynodded.“Deal.”“Come on, let’s get us some grub from Frypan. And hope we don’t

bloodychoke.”

Thatmorning,Thomas finallymet the infamousFrypan, ifonly fromadistance.Theguywas toobusy trying to feedbreakfast to anarmyofstarvingGladers.Hecouldn’thavebeenmorethansixteenyearsold,buthehadafullbeardandhairstickingoutallovertherestofhisbody,asif each folliclewere trying to escape the confines of his food-smearedclothes.Didn’tseemlikethemostsanitaryguyintheworldtooverseeall thecooking,Thomasthought.Hemadeamentalnote towatchoutfornastyblackhairsinhismeals.HeandNewthadjustjoinedChuckforbreakfastatapicnictableright

outsidetheKitchenwhenalargegroupofGladersgotupandrantowardtheWestDoor,talkingexcitedlyaboutsomething.“What’s going on?” Thomas asked, surprising himself at how

nonchalantlyhesaidit.NewdevelopmentsintheGladehadjustbecomeapartoflife.Newt shrugged as he dug into his eggs. “Just seein’ off Minho and

Alby—they’regoingtolookatthebuggin’deadGriever.”“Hey,”Chucksaid.Asmallpieceofbaconflewoutofhismouthwhen

hespoke.“I’vegotaquestionaboutthat.”“Yeah, Chuckie?” Newt asked, somewhat sarcastically. “And what’s

yourbloodyquestion?”Chuck seemed deep in thought. “Well, they found a dead Griever,

right?”“Yeah,”Newtreplied.“Thanksforthatbitofnews.”Chuck absently tapped his fork against the table for a few seconds.

“Well,thenwhokilledthestupidthing?”Excellentquestion,Thomasthought.HewaitedforNewttoanswer,but

nothingcame.Heobviouslydidn’thaveaclue.

CHAPTER16

ThomasspentthemorningwiththeKeeperoftheGardens,“workinghisbutt off,” as Newt would’ve said. Zart was the tall, black-haired kidwho’dstoodatthefrontofthepoleduringBen’sBanishment,andwhofor some odd reason smelled like sour milk. He didn’t say much, butshowed Thomas the ropes until he could start working on his own.Weeding, pruning an apricot tree, planting squash and zucchini seeds,picking veggies. He didn’t love it, and mostly ignored the other boysworkingalongsidehim,buthedidn’thateitnearlyasmuchaswhathe’ddoneforWinstonattheBloodHouse.Thomas and Zart were weeding a long row of young corn when

Thomasdecideditwasagoodtimetostartaskingquestions.ThisKeeperseemedalotmoreapproachable.“So,Zart,”hesaid.TheKeeperglancedupathim, then resumedhiswork.Thekidhad

droopy eyes and a long face—for some reason he looked as bored ashumanlypossible.“Yeah,Greenie,whatyouwant?”“How many Keepers total are there?” Thomas asked, trying to act

casual.“Andwhatarethejoboptions?”“Well, you got the Builders, the Sloppers, Baggers, Cooks, Map-

makers,Med-jacks,Track-Hoes,BloodHousers.TheRunners,ofcourse.Idon’t know, a fewmore, maybe. Prettymuch keep tomyself andmyownstuff.”Mostofthewordswereself-explanatory,butThomaswonderedabout

a couple of them. “What’s a Slopper?”He knew thatwaswhat Chuckdid,buttheboyneverwantedtotalkaboutit.Refusedtotalkaboutit.“That’s what the shanks do that can’t do nothin’ else. Clean toilets,

clean theshowers,clean thekitchen,cleanup theBloodHouseafteraslaughter, everything. Spend one day with them suckers—that’ll cureanythoughtsofgoin’thatdirection,Icantellyathat.”

Thomas felt a pangof guilt overChuck—felt sorry for him.The kidtriedsohardtobeeveryone’sfriend,butnooneseemedtolikehimorevenpayattentiontohim.Yeah,hewasalittleexcitableandtalkedtoomuch,butThomaswasgladenoughtohavehimaround.“WhatabouttheTrack-hoes?”Thomasaskedasheyankedoutahugeweed,clumpsofdirtswayingontheroots.Zartclearedhisthroatandkeptonworkingasheanswered.“They’retheonestakecareofalltheheavystufffortheGardens.Trenchingandwhatnot.DuringofftimestheydootherstuffroundtheGlade.Actually,alotofGladershavemorethanonejob.Anyonetellyouthat?”Thomas ignored the question and moved on, determined to get asmanyanswersaspossible. “Whatabout theBaggers? Iknowthey takecareofdeadpeople,butitcan’thappenthatoften,canit?”“Those are the creepy fellas. They act as guards and poh-lice, too.Everyonejustlikestocall’emBaggers.Havefunthatday,brother.”Hesnickered, the first time Thomas had heard him do so—there wassomethingverylikableaboutit.Thomas had more questions. Lots more. Chuck and everyone elsearound the Glade never wanted to give him the answers to anything.AndherewasZart,whoseemedperfectlywilling.ButsuddenlyThomasdidn’t feel like talking anymore. For some reason the girl had poppedintohisheadagain,outoftheblue,andthenthoughtsofBen,andthedeadGriever,whichshouldhavebeenagoodthingbuteveryoneactedasifitwereanythingbut.Hisnewlifeprettymuchsucked.Hedrewadeep,longbreath.Justwork,hethought.Andhedid.

By the timemidafternoon arrived,Thomaswas ready to collapse fromexhaustion—allthatbendingoverandcrawlingaroundonyourkneesinthedirtwasthepits.BloodHouse,Gardens.Twostrikes.Runner,hethoughtashewentonbreak.JustletmebeaRunner.Onceagainhe thoughtabouthowabsurd itwas thathewanted it sobadly.But even though he didn’t understand it, or where it came from, thedesirewasundeniable.Justas strongwere thoughtsof thegirl,buthepushedthemasideasmuchaspossible.Tiredandsore,heheadedtotheKitchenforasnackandsomewater.

Hecould’veeatena full-blownmealdespitehavinghad lunch just twohoursearlier.Evenpigwasstartingtosoundgoodagain.Hebitintoanapple,thenploppedonthegroundbesideChuck.Newtwas there, too, but sat alone, ignoring everybody. His eyes werebloodshot, his forehead creased with heavy lines. Thomas watched asNewtchewedhisfingernails,somethinghehadn’tseentheolderboydobefore.Chuck noticed and asked the question that was on Thomas’s mind.“What’swrongwithhim?”theboywhispered.“LookslikeyoudidwhenyoupoppedoutoftheBox.”“Idon’tknow,”Thomasreplied.“Whydon’tyougoaskhim.”“Icanheareverybloodywordyouguysaresaying,”Newtcalledinaloudvoice.“Nowonderpeoplehatesleepin’nexttoyoushanks.”Thomas felt like he’d been caught stealing, but he was genuinelyconcerned—Newtwas one of the few people in the Glade he actuallyliked.“What iswrongwith you?” Chuck asked. “No offense, but you looklikeklunk.”“Every lovin’ thingintheuniverse,”hereplied, thenfellsilentashestaredoffintospaceforalongmoment.Thomasalmostpushedhimwithanother question, but Newt finally continued. “The girl from the Box.Keepsgroanin’and sayingallkindsofweird stuff,butwon’twakeup.Medjacks’redoingtheirbesttofeedher,butshe’seatin’lesseachtime.I’mtellin’ya,something’sverybadaboutthatwholebloodything.”Thomaslookeddownathisapple,thentookabite.Ittastedsournow—herealizedhewasworriedaboutthegirl.Concernedforherwelfare.Asifheknewher.Newtletoutalongsigh.“Shuckit.Butthat’snotwhatreallyhasmebuggin’.”“Thenwhatdoes?”Chuckasked.Thomasleanedforward,socurioushewasabletoputthegirloutofhismind.Newt’seyesnarrowedashelookedouttowardoneoftheentrancestotheMaze.“AlbyandMinho,”hemuttered.“Theyshould’vecomebackhoursago.”

Before Thomas knew it hewas back atwork, pulling upweeds again,counting down the minutes until he’d be done with the Gardens. Heglanced constantly at theWestDoor, looking for any signofAlbyandMinho,Newt’sconcernhavingrubbedoffonhim.Newthadsaid theywere supposed tohavecomebackbynoon, just

enoughtimeforthemtogettothedeadGriever,exploreforanhourortwo,thenreturn.Nowonderhe’dlookedsoupset.WhenChuckofferedupthatmaybetheywerejustexploringandhavingsomefun,NewthadgivenhimastaresoharshThomasthoughtChuckmightspontaneouslycombust.He’dneverforgetthenextlookthathadcomeoverNewt’sface.When

ThomasaskedwhyNewtandsomeothersdidn’t justgo into theMazeandsearchfortheirfriends,Newt’sexpressionhadchangedtooutrighthorror—hischeekshadshrunkintohisface,becomingsallowanddark.Itgraduallypassed,andhe’dexplained that sendingout searchpartieswasforbidden,lestevenmorepeoplebelost,buttherewasnomistakingthefearthathadcrossedhisface.NewtwasterrifiedoftheMaze.Whateverhadhappenedtohimoutthere—maybeevenrelatedtohis

lingeringankleinjury—hadbeentrulyawful.Thomastriednottothinkaboutitasheputhisfocusbackonyanking

weeds.

Thatnightdinnerprovedtobeasomberaffair,andithadnothingtodowith the food. Frypan andhis cooks servedup a grandmeal of steak,mashed potatoes, green beans and hot rolls. Thomas was quicklylearning that jokes about Frypan’s cooking were just that—jokes.Everyonegobbleduphisfoodandusuallybeggedformore.Buttonight,theGladersatelikedeadmenresurrectedforonelastmealbeforebeingsenttolivewiththedevil.The Runners had returned at their normal time, and Thomas had

grownmoreandmoreupsetashewatchedNewtrunfromDoortoDoorastheyenteredtheGlade,notbotheringtohidehispanic.ButAlbyandMinhonevershowedup.NewtforcedtheGladerstogoonandgetsomeofFrypan’shard-earneddinner,butheinsistedonstandingwatchforthemissingduo.Noonesaidit,butThomasknewitwouldn’tbelongbefore

theDoorsclosed.Thomasreluctantlyfollowedorders liketherestoftheboysandwassharing apicnic table on the south sideof theHomesteadwithChuckandWinston.He’donlybeenable to eat a fewbiteswhenhe couldn’ttakeitanymore.“Ican’tstandsittingherewhilethey’reouttheremissing,”hesaidashe dropped his fork on the plate. “I’m going over towatch theDoorswithNewt.”Hestoodupandheadedouttolook.Notsurprisingly,Chuckwasrightbehindhim.TheyfoundNewtattheWestDoor,pacing,runninghishandsthroughhishair.HelookedupasThomasandChuckapproached.“Wherearethey?”Newtsaid,hisvoicethinandstrained.ThomaswastouchedthatNewtcaredsomuchaboutAlbyandMinho—asiftheywerehisownkin.“Whydon’twesendoutasearchparty?”hesuggestedagain.Itseemedsostupidtosithereandworrythemselvestodeathwhentheycouldgooutthereandfindthem.“Bloodyhe—”Newtstartedbeforestoppinghimself;heclosedhiseyesforasecondandtookadeepbreath.“Wecan’t.Okay?Don’tsayitagain.Onehundredpercentagainsttherules.Especiallywiththebuggin’Doorsabouttoclose.”“But why?” Thomas persisted, in disbelief at Newt’s stubbornness.“Won’t the Grievers get them if they stay out there? Shouldn’twe dosomething?”Newtturnedonhim,hisfaceflushedred,hiseyesflamedwithfury.“Shutyourhole,Greenie!”heyelled.“Notabloodyweekyou’vebeenhere!YouthinkIwouldn’triskmylifeinasecondtosavethoselugs?”“No…I…Sorry.Ididn’tmean…”Thomasdidn’tknowwhattosay—hewasjusttryingtohelp.Newt’sfacesoftened.“Youdon’tgetityet,Tommy.Goingoutthereatnight is beggin’ for death. We’d just be throwin’ more lives away. Ifthoseshanksdon’tmakeitback…”Hepaused,seeminghesitanttosaywhateveryonewasthinking.“Bothof’emsworeanoath,justlikeIdid.Likewealldid.You, too,whenyougotoyour firstGatheringandgetchosenbyaKeeper.Nevergooutatnight.Nomatterwhat.Never.”ThomaslookedoveratChuck,whoseemedaspale-facedasNewt.“Newtwon’t say it,” the boy said, “so I will. If they’re not back, itmeans they’re dead.Minho’s too smart to get lost. Impossible. They’re

dead.”Newt said nothing, and Chuck turned and walked back toward the

Homestead,hisheadhanginglow.Dead?Thomasthought.Thesituationhadbecomesogravehedidn’tknowhowtoreact,feltapitofemptinessinhisheart.“Theshank’sright,”Newtsaidsolemnly.“That’swhywecan’tgoout.

Wecan’taffordtomakethingsbloodyworsethantheyalreadyare.”HeputhishandonThomas’s shoulder, then let it slump tohis side.

TearsmoistenedNewt’seyes,andThomaswassurethatevenwithinthedarkchamberofmemoriesthatwerelockedaway,outofhisreach,he’dneverseensomeonelooksosad.ThegrowingdarknessoftwilightwasaperfectfitforhowgrimthingsfelttoThomas.“TheDoorscloseintwominutes,”Newtsaid,astatementsosuccinct

and final it seemed tohang in theair likeaburial shroudcaught inapuffofwind.Thenhewalkedaway,hunchedover,quiet.Thomas shook his head and looked back into the Maze. He barely

knewAlbyandMinho.Buthischestachedat the thoughtof themoutthere,killedbythehorrendouscreaturehe’dseenthroughthewindowhisfirstmorningintheGlade.Aloudboomsoundedfromalldirections,startlingThomasoutofhis

thoughts. Then came the crunching, grinding sound of stone againststone.TheDoorswereclosingforthenight.Therightwallrumbledacrosstheground,spittingdirtandrocksasit

moved. The vertical row of connecting rods, somany they seemed toreachtheskyfarabove,slidtowardtheircorrespondingholesontheleftwall,readytosealshutuntilthemorning.Onceagain,Thomaslookedinawe at the massive moving wall—it defied any sense of physics. Itseemedimpossible.Thenaflickerofmovementtotheleftcaughthiseyes.SomethingstirredinsidetheMaze,downthelongcorridorinfrontof

him.Atfirst,ashotofpanicracedthroughhim;hesteppedback,worriedit

mightbeaGriever.Butthentwoformstookshape,stumblingalongthealley toward the Door. His eyes finally focused through the initialblindnessoffear,andherealizeditwasMinho,withoneofAlby’sarmsdrapedacrosshis shoulders, practicallydragging theboyalongbehindhim.Minholookedup,sawThomas,whoknewhiseyesmustbebulging

outofhishead.“They got him!”Minho shouted, his voice strangled andweakwith

exhaustion.Everystephetookseemedlikeitcouldbehislast.Thomaswas so stunnedby the turnof events, it tookamoment for

him to act. “Newt!” he finally screamed, forcing his gaze away fromMinhoandAlbytofacetheotherdirection.“They’recoming!Icansee’em!”HeknewheshouldrunintotheMazeandhelp,buttheruleaboutnotleavingtheGladewassearedintohismind.NewthadalreadymadeitbacktotheHomestead,butatThomas’scry

heimmediatelyspunaroundandbrokeintoastutteringruntowardtheDoor.ThomasturnedtolookbackintotheMazeanddreadwashedthrough

him.AlbyhadslippedoutofMinho’sclutchesandfallentotheground.ThomaswatchedasMinhotrieddesperatelytogethimbackonhisfeet,then,finallygivingup,startedtodragtheboyacrossthestonefloorbythearms.Buttheywerestillahundredfeetaway.Therightwallwasclosingfast,seemingtoquickenitspacethemore

Thomaswilledittoslowdown.Therewereonlysecondsleftuntilitshutcompletely.Theyhadnochanceofmakingitintime.Nochanceatall.Thomas turned to look at Newt: limping along aswell as he could,

he’donlymadeithalfwaytoThomas.He looked back into theMaze, at the closingwall. Only a few feet

moreandit’dbeover.Minhostumbledupahead, fell to theground.Theyweren’tgoing to

makeit.Timewasup.Thatwasit.ThomasheardNewtscreamsomethingfrombehindhim.“Don’tdoit,Tommy!Don’tyoubloodydoit!”Therodsontherightwallseemedtoreachlikestretched-outarmsfor

their home, grasping for those little holes that would serve as theirrestingplaceforthenight.Thecrunching,grindingsoundoftheDoorsfilledtheair,deafening.Fivefeet.Fourfeet.Three.Two.Thomasknewhehadnochoice.Hemoved.Forward.Hesqueezedpast

theconnectingrodsatthelastsecondandsteppedintotheMaze.Thewalls slammed shutbehindhim, the echoof itsboombouncing

offtheivy-coveredstonelikemadlaughter.

CHAPTER17

For several seconds,Thomas felt like theworldhad frozen inplace.AthicksilencefollowedthethunderousrumbleoftheDoorclosing,andaveil of darkness seemed to cover the sky, as if even the sunhadbeenfrightened awaybywhat lurked in theMaze.Twilight had fallen, andthemammothwallslookedlikeenormoustombstonesinaweed-infestedcemetery for giants. Thomas leaned back against the rough rock,overcomebydisbeliefatwhathehadjustdone.Filledwithterroratwhattheconsequencesmightbe.Thena sharp cry fromAlbyupahead snappedThomas to attention;

Minhowasmoaning. Thomas pushed himself away from thewall andrantothetwoGladers.Minho had pulled himself up and was standing once again, but he

looked terrible, even in the pale light still available—sweaty, dirty,scratched-up.Alby,ontheground,lookedworse,hisclothesripped,hisarmscoveredwithcutsandbruises.Thomasshuddered.HadAlbybeenattackedbyaGriever?“Greenie,”Minhosaid,“ifyouthinkthatwasbravecomin’outhere,

listenup.You’retheshuckiestshuck-facedshuckthereeverwas.You’reasgoodasdead,justlikeus.”Thomasfelthisfaceheatup—he’dexpectedatleastalittlegratitude.

“Icouldn’tjustsitthereandleaveyouguysouthere.”“Andwhatgoodareyouwithus?”Minhorolledhiseyes.“Whatever,

dude.BreaktheNumberOneRule,killyourself,whatever.”“You’rewelcome. Iwas just tryingtohelp.”Thomasfelt likekicking

himintheface.Minho forced a bitter laugh, then knelt back on the ground beside

Alby.Thomas tookacloser lookat thecollapsedboyand realized justhowbadthingswere.Albylookedontheedgeofdeath.Hisusuallydarkskinwaslosingcolorfastandhisbreathswerequickandshallow.

Hopelessness rained down on Thomas. “What happened?” he asked,tryingtoputasidehisanger.“Don’twanna talk about it,”Minho said as he checkedAlby’s pulseandbentovertolistentohischest.“Let’sjustsaytheGrieverscanplaydeadreallywell.”ThisstatementtookThomasbysurprise.“Sohewas…bitten?Stung,whatever?IshegoingthroughtheChanging?”“You’vegotalottolearn”wasallMinhowouldsay.Thomaswanted to scream.Heknewhehada lot to learn—thatwaswhyhewasaskingquestions.“Ishegoingtodie?”heforcedhimselftosay,cringingathowshallowandemptyitsounded.“Sincewedidn’tmakeitbackbeforesunset,probably.Couldbedeadinanhour—Idon’tknowhowlongittakesifyoudon’tgettheSerum.Course,we’llbedead,too,sodon’tgetallweepyforhim.Yep,we’llallbe nice and dead soon.” He said it so matter-of-factly, Thomas couldhardlyprocessthemeaningofthewords.Butfastenough,thedirerealityofthesituationbegantohitThomas,and his insides turned to rot. “We’re really going to die?” he asked,unabletoacceptit.“You’retellingmewehavenochance?”“None.”ThomaswasannoyedatMinho’sconstantnegativity.“Oh,comeon—therehastobesomethingwecando.HowmanyGrievers’llcomeatus?”He peered down the corridor that led deeper into the Maze, as ifexpectingthecreaturestoarrivethen,summonedbythesoundoftheirname.“Idon’tknow.”AthoughtsprangintoThomas’smind,givinghimhope.“But…whataboutBen?AndGally,andotherswho’vebeenstungandsurvived?”Minhoglancedupathimwitha look that saidhewasdumber thancowklunk.“Didn’tyouhearme?Theymadeitbackbeforesunset,youdong.MadeitbackandgottheSerum.Allofthem.”Thomaswonderedabout thementionof a serum,buthad toomanyotherquestions to get out first. “But I thought theGrievers only cameoutatnight.”“Then youwerewrong, shank. They always come out at night. Thatdoesn’tmeantheynevershowupduringtheday.”Thomaswouldn’tallowhimselftogiveintoMinho’shopelessness—he

didn’twant togiveupanddie justyet. “Hasanyoneeverbeencaughtoutsidethewallsatnightandlivedthroughit?”“Never.”Thomasscowled,wishinghecouldfindonelittlesparkofhope.“Howmanyhavedied,then?”Minhostaredattheground,crouchedwithoneforearmonaknee.Hewas clearly exhausted, almost in adaze. “At least twelve.Haven’t youbeentothegraveyard?”“Yeah.”Sothat’showtheydied,hethought.“Well,thosearejusttheoneswefound.Therearemorewhosebodiesnever showed up.”Minho pointed absently back toward the sealed-offGlade. “That freaking graveyard’s back in the woods for a reason.Nothingkillshappytimemorethanbeingremindedofyourslaughteredfriendseveryday.”Minho stoodandgrabbedAlby’s arms, thennodded towardhis feet.“Grabthosesmellysuckers.WegottacarryhimovertotheDoor.Give’emonebodythat’seasytofindinthemorning.”Thomascouldn’tbelievehowmorbidastatementthatwas.“Howcanthisbehappening!”hescreamedtothewalls,turninginacircle.Hefeltclosetolosingitonceandforall.“Quityourcrying.Youshould’vefollowedtherulesandstayedinside.Nowcomeon,grabhislegs.”Wincingat thegrowing cramps inhis gut,Thomaswalkedoverandlifted Alby’s feet as he was told. They half carried, half dragged thealmost-lifeless body a hundred feet or so to the vertical crack of theDoor,whereMinhoproppedAlbyupagainst thewall ina semi-sittingposition.Alby’s chest roseand fellwith struggledbreaths,buthis skinwasdrenchedinsweat;helookedlikehewouldn’tlastmuchlonger.“Wherewashebitten?”Thomasasked.“Canyouseeit?”“Theydon’tfreakingbiteyou.Theyprickyou.Andno,youcan’tseeit.There could be dozens all over his body.”Minho folded his arms andleanedagainstthewall.Forsomereason,Thomasthoughtthewordpricksoundedalotworsethanbite.“Prickyou?Whatdoesthatmean?”“Dude,youjusthavetoseethemtoknowwhatI’mtalkingabout.”ThomaspointedatMinho’sarms,thenhislegs.“Well,whydidn’tthethingprickyou?”

Minho held his hands out. “Maybe it did—maybe I’ll collapse anysecond.”“They…,”Thomasbegan,butdidn’tknowhowtofinish.Hecouldn’t

tellifMinhohadbeenserious.“Therewasno they, just theonewe thoughtwasdead. Itwentnuts

andstungAlby,butthenranaway.”MinholookedbackintotheMaze,whichwasnowalmostcompletelydarkwithnighttime.“ButI’msureitandawholebunchofthemsuckers’llbeheresoontofinishusoffwiththeirneedles.”“Needles?” Things just kept sounding more and more disturbing to

Thomas.“Yeah,needles.”Hedidn’telaborate,andhisfacesaidhedidn’tplan

to.Thomas looked up at the enormous walls covered in thick vines—

desperation had finally clicked him into problem-solvingmode. “Can’tweclimbthisthing?”HelookedatMinho,whodidn’tsayaword.“Thevines—can’tweclimbthem?”Minho let out a frustrated sigh. “I swear, Greenie, you must think

we’reabunchofidiots.Youreallythinkwe’veneverhadtheingeniousthoughtofclimbingthefreakingwalls?”Forthefirsttime,Thomasfeltangercreepingintocompetewithhis

fearandpanic.“I’mjusttryingtohelp,man.Whydon’tyouquitmopingateverywordIsayandtalktome?”MinhoabruptlyjumpedatThomasandgrabbedhimbytheshirt.“You

don’tunderstand, shuck-face!Youdon’tknowanything,andyou’re justmaking it worse by trying to have hope! We’re dead, you hear me?Dead!”Thomas didn’t knowwhich he feltmore strongly at thatmoment—

angeratMinhoorpityforhim.Hewasgivinguptooeasily.MinholookeddownathishandsclaspedtoThomas’sshirtandshame

washed across his face. Slowly, he let go and backed away. Thomasstraightenedhisclothesdefiantly.“Ah,man,ohman,”Minhowhispered,thencrumpledtotheground,

burying his face in clenched fists. “I’ve never been this scared before,dude.Notlikethis.”Thomas wanted to say something, tell him to grow up, tell him to

think,tellhimtoexplaineverythingheknew.Something!

Heopenedhismouth to speak,but closed it quicklywhenheheardthenoise.Minho’sheadpoppedup;helookeddownoneofthedarkenedstonecorridors.Thomasfelthisownbreathquicken.ItcamefromdeepwithintheMaze,alow,hauntingsound.Aconstantwhirring that had ametallic ring every few seconds, like sharp knivesrubbing against each other. It grew louder by the second, and then aseries of eerie clicks joined in. Thomas thought of long fingernailstappingagainstglass.Ahollowmoanfilledtheair,andthensomethingthatsoundedliketheclankingofchains.All of it, together,was horrifying, and the small amount of courageThomashadgatheredbegantoslipaway.Minho stood,his facebarely visible in thedying light.Butwhenhespoke,Thomasimaginedhiseyeswidewithterror.“Wehavetosplitup—it’souronlychance.Justkeepmoving.Don’tstopmoving!”And thenhe turned and ran, disappearing in seconds, swallowedbytheMazeanddarkness.

CHAPTER18

ThomasstaredatthespotwhereMinhohadvanished.A sudden dislike for the guy swelled up inside him. Minho was a

veteraninthisplace,aRunner.ThomaswasaNewbie,justafewdaysintheGlade,afewminutesintheMaze.Yetofthetwoofthem,Minhohadbrokendownandpanicked,only to runoffat the first signof trouble.Howcouldheleavemehere?Thomasthought.Howcouldhedothat!Thenoisesgrewlouder.Theroarofenginesinterspersedwithrolling,

crankingsoundslikechainshoistingmachineryinanold,grimyfactory.And then came the smell—something burning, oily. Thomas couldn’tbegintoguesswhatwasinstoreforhim;he’dseenaGriever,butonlyaglimpse,andthroughadirtywindow.Whatwouldtheydotohim?Howlongwouldhelast?Stop,hetoldhimself.Hehadtoquitwastingtimewaitingforthemto

comeandendhislife.He turned and facedAlby, still propped against the stonewall, now

only a mound of shadow in the darkness. Kneeling on the ground,ThomasfoundAlby’sneck,thensearchedforapulse.Somethingthere.HelistenedathischestlikeMinhohaddone.buh-bump,buh-bump,buh-bumpStillalive.Thomas rocked back on his heels, then ran his arm across his

forehead,wipingawaythesweat.Andat thatmoment, in thespaceofonlya few seconds,he learneda lot abouthimself.About theThomasthatwasbefore.Hecouldn’tleaveafriendtodie.EvensomeoneascrankyasAlby.HereacheddownandgrabbedbothofAlby’sarms,thensquattedinto

a sittingpositionandwrapped thearmsaroundhisneck frombehind.He pulled the lifeless body onto his back and pushed with his legs,gruntingwiththeeffort.

But itwas toomuch. Thomas collapsed forward onto his face; Albysprawledtothesidewithaloudflump.The frightening sounds of the Grievers grew closer by the second,echoingoff the stonewallsof theMaze.Thomas thoughthe could seebright flashes of light far away, bouncing off the night sky. He didn’twanttomeetthesourceofthoselights,thosesounds.Trying a new approach, he grabbed Alby’s arms again and starteddragginghimalongtheground.Hecouldn’tbelievehowheavy theboywas, and it took only ten feet or so for Thomas to realize that it justwasn’tgoingtowork.Wherewouldhetakehim,anyway?He pushed and pulled Alby back over to the crack thatmarked theentrance to the Glade, and propped him once more into a sittingposition,leaningagainstthestonewall.Thomassatbackagainstithimself,pantingfromexertion,thinking.AshelookedintothedarkrecessesoftheMaze,hesearchedhismindforasolution. He could hardly see anything, and he knew, despite whatMinhohad said, that it’dbe stupid to runeven ifhecould carryAlby.Not only was there the chance of getting lost, he could actually findhimselfrunningtowardtheGrieversinsteadofawayfromthem.He thoughtof thewall, the ivy.Minhohadn’texplained,buthehadmadeitsoundasifclimbingthewallswasimpossible.Still…Aplanformedinhismind.ItalldependedontheunknownabilitiesoftheGrievers,butitwasthebestthinghecouldcomeupwith.Thomas walked a few feet along the wall until he found a thickgrowthofivycoveringmostofthestone.Hereacheddownandgrabbedoneof thevines thatwentall theway to thegroundandwrappedhishandaroundit.Itfeltthickerandmoresolidthanhewould’veimagined,maybeahalf-inch indiameter.Hepulledon it, andwith the soundofthick paper ripping apart, the vine came unattached from the wall—moreandmoreasThomassteppedawayfromit.Whenhe’dmovedbackten feet, he could no longer see the end of the vine way above; itdisappearedinthedarkness.Butthetrailingplanthadyettofallfree,soThomasknewitwasstillattacheduptheresomewhere.Hesitanttotry,Thomassteeledhimselfandpulledonthevineofivywithallhisstrength.Itheld.He yanked on it again. Then again, pulling and relaxing with both

handsoverandover.Thenheliftedhisfeetandhungontothevine;hisbodyswungforward.Thevineheld.Quickly, Thomas grabbed other vines, ripping them away from thewall,creatingaseriesofclimbingropes.Hetestedeachone,andtheyallprovedtobeasstrongasthefirst.Encouraged,hewentbacktoAlbyanddraggedhimovertothevines.AsharpcrackechoedfromwithintheMaze,followedbythehorriblesoundofcrumplingmetal.Thomas,startled,swungaroundto look,hismind so concentratedon thevines thathe’dmomentarily shutout theGrievers; he searchedall threedirectionsof theMaze.He couldn’t seeanything coming, but the sounds were louder—the whirring, thegroaning, theclanging.And theairhadbrightenedever so slightly;hecouldmakeoutmoreofthedetailsoftheMazethanhe’dbeenabletojustminutesbefore.He remembered the odd lights he’d observed through the GladewindowwithNewt.TheGrieverswereclose.Theyhadtobe.Thomaspushedasidetheswellingpanicandsethimselftowork.HegrabbedoneofthevinesandwrappeditaroundAlby’srightarm.Theplantwouldonlyreachsofar,sohehadtopropAlbyupasmuchashecouldtomakeitwork.Afterseveralwraps,hetiedthevineoff.ThenhetookanothervineandputitaroundAlby’sleftarm,thenbothofhislegs, tying each one tightly.Heworried about theGlader’s circulationgettingcutoff,butdecideditwasworththerisk.Trying to ignore thedoubt thatwasseeping intohismindabout theplan,Thomascontinuedon.Nowitwashisturn.Hesnatchedavinewithbothhandsandstartedtoclimb,directlyoverthespotwherehe’djusttiedupAlby.Thethickleavesoftheivyservedwellashandholds,andThomaswaselatedtofindthatthemanycracksin the stonewallwere perfect supports for his feet as he climbed.Hebegantothinkhoweasyitwouldbewithout…Herefusedtofinishthethought.Hecouldn’tleaveAlbybehind.Once he reached a point a couple of feet above his friend, Thomaswrapped one of the vines around his own chest, around and aroundseveraltimes,snugagainsthisarmpitsforsupport.Slowly,helethimselfsag, letting gowith his hands but keepinghis feet planted firmly in alargecrack.Relieffilledhimwhenthevineheld.

Nowcamethereallyhardpart.The four vines tied to Alby below hung tautly around him. Thomas

tookholdoftheoneattachedtoAlby’sleftleg,andpulled.Hewasonlyable to get it up a few inches before letting go—the weight was toomuch.Hecouldn’tdoit.HeclimbedbackdowntotheMazefloor,decidedtotrypushing from

belowinsteadofpullingfromabove.Totestit,hetriedraisingAlbyonlyacoupleoffeet,limbbylimb.First,hepushedtheleftlegup,thentieda new vine around it. Then the right leg. When both were secure,ThomasdidthesametoAlby’sarms—right,thenleft.Hesteppedback,panting,totakealook.Albyhung there, seemingly lifeless, now three feet higher thanhe’d

beenfiveminutesearlier.ClangsfromtheMaze.Whirrs.Buzzes.Moans.Thomasthoughthesaw

acoupleofredflashestohisleft.TheGrieversweregettingcloser,anditwasnowobviousthatthereweremorethanone.Hegotbacktowork.Using the samemethod of pushing each of Alby’s arms and legs up

twoor three feetata time,Thomasslowlymadehiswayupthestonewall. He climbed until he was right below the body, wrapped a vinearound his own chest for support, then pushed Alby up as far as hecould, limbby limb,and tied themoffwith ivy.Thenhe repeated thewholeprocess.Climb,wrap,pushup,tieoff.Climb, wrap, push up, tie off. The Grievers at least seemed to be

movingslowlythroughtheMaze,givinghimtime.Overandover,littlebylittle,uptheywent.Theeffortwasexhausting;

Thomasheavedineverybreath,feltsweatcovereveryinchofhisskin.His hands began to slip and slide on the vines. His feet ached frompressingintothestonecracks.Thesoundsgrewlouder—theawful,awfulsounds.StillThomasworked.Whenthey’dreachedaspotaboutthirtyfeetofftheground,Thomas

stopped, swaying on the vine he’d tied around his chest. Using hisdrained, rubberyarms,he turnedhimself around to face theMaze.Anexhaustionhe’dnotknownpossiblefilledeverytinyparticleofhisbody.Heachedwithweariness;hismusclesscreamed.Hecouldn’tpushAlbyupanotherinch.Hewasdone.

Thiswaswherethey’dhide.Ormaketheirstand.He’dknowntheycouldn’treachthetop—heonlyhopedtheGrieverscouldn’t or wouldn’t look above them. Or, at the very least, Thomashopedhecouldfightthemofffromhighup,onebyone,insteadofbeingoverwhelmedontheground.Hehadnoideawhattoexpect;hedidn’tknowifhe’dseetomorrow.Buthere,hangingintheivy,ThomasandAlbywouldmeettheirfate.A fewminutes passed before Thomas saw the first glimmer of lightshine off the Maze walls up ahead. The terrible sounds he’d heardescalateforthelasthourtookonahigh-pitched,mechanicalsqueal,likearoboticdeathyell.Aredlighttohisleft,onthewall,caughthisattention.Heturnedandalmost screamedout loud—abeetlebladewasonly a few inches fromhim,itsspindlylegspokingthroughtheivyandsomehowstickingtothestone.Theredlightofitseyewaslikealittlesun,toobrighttolookatdirectly.Thomassquintedandtriedtofocusonthebeetle’sbody.The torsowasa silver cylinder,maybe three inches indiameter andtenincheslong.Twelvejointedlegsranalongthelengthofitsbottom,spreadout,making the thing look likeasleeping lizard.Theheadwasimpossibletoseebecauseoftheredbeamoflightshiningrightathim,thoughitseemedsmall,visionitsonlypurpose,perhaps.ButthenThomassawthemostchillingpart.Hethoughthe’dseenitbefore,back in theGladewhen thebeetlebladehad scootedpasthimandintothewoods.Nowitwasconfirmed:theredlightfromitseyecastacreepyglowonsixcapital letterssmearedacrossthetorso,as if theyhadbeenwrittenwithblood:

WICKED

Thomascouldn’timaginewhythatonewordwouldbestampedonthebeetleblade,unlessforthepurposeofannouncingtotheGladersthatitwasevil.Wicked.Heknewithadtobeaspyforwhoeverhadsentthemhere—Albyhadtold him asmuch, saying the beetles were how the Creators watchedthem. Thomas stilled himself, held his breath, hoping that maybe thebeetle only detected movement. Long seconds passed, his lungsscreamingforair.

With a click and then a clack, the beetle turned and scuttled off,disappearing into the ivy. Thomas sucked in a huge gulp of air, thenanother,feelingthepinchofthevinestiedaroundhischest.Another mechanical squeal screeched through theMaze, close now,

followed by the surge of revved machinery. Thomas tried to imitateAlby’slifelessbody,hanginglimpinthevines.Andthensomethingroundedthecornerupahead,andcametoward

them.Somethinghe’dseenbefore,butthroughthesafetyofthickglass.Somethingunspeakable.AGriever.

CHAPTER19

Thomas stared in horror at themonstrous thingmaking itswaydownthelongcorridoroftheMaze.It looked likeanexperimentgone terriblywrong—something froma

nightmare. Part animal, part machine, the Griever rolled and clickedalong the stone pathway. Its body resembled a gigantic slug, sparselycovered inhairandglisteningwithslime,grotesquelypulsating inandoutasitbreathed.Ithadnodistinguishableheadortail,butfronttoenditwasatleastsixfeetlong,fourfeetthick.Every ten to fifteen seconds, sharpmetal spikes popped through its

bulbous flesh and the whole creature abruptly curled into a ball andspun forward.Then itwouldsettle, seeming togather itsbearings, thespikesrecedingbackthroughthemoistskinwithasickslurpingsound.Itdidthisoverandover,travelingjustafewfeetatatime.But hair and spikes were not the only things protruding from the

Griever’sbody.Severalrandomlyplacedmechanicalarmsstuckouthereand there, each onewith a different purpose. A few had bright lightsattachedtothem.Othershadlong,menacingneedles.Onehadathree-fingeredclawthatclaspedandunclaspedfornoapparentreason.Whenthe creature rolled, these arms folded andmaneuvered to avoid beingcrushed. Thomas wondered what—or who—could create suchfrightening,disgustingcreatures.The source of the sounds he’d beenhearingmade sense now.When

theGrieverrolled,itmadethemetallicwhirringsound,likethespinningbladeof a saw.The spikes and thearmsexplained the creepy clickingsounds, metal against stone. But nothing sent chills up and downThomas’sspinelikethehaunted,deathlymoansthatsomehowescapedthe creature when it sat still, like the sound of dying men on abattlefield.Seeing it all now—the beast matched with the sounds—Thomas

couldn’t think of any nightmare that could equal this hideous thingcoming toward him. He fought the fear, forced his body to remainperfectly still,hanging there in thevines.Hewas sure theironlyhopewastoavoidbeingnoticed.Maybe itwon’t see us, he thought. Justmaybe. But the reality of thesituation sank like a stone in his belly. The beetle blade had alreadyrevealedhisexactposition.The Griever rolled and clicked its way closer, zigzagging back andforth, moaning and whirring. Every time it stopped, the metal armsunfoldedandturnedthiswayandthat, likearovingrobotonanalienplanetlookingforsignsoflife.ThelightscasteerieshadowsacrosstheMaze.Afaintmemorytriedtoescapethelockedboxwithinhismind—shadowsonthewallswhenhewasakid,scaringhim.Helongedtobeback towherever thatwas, to run to themomanddadhehoped stilllived,somewhere,missinghim,searchingforhim.Astrongwhiffofsomethingburntstunghisnostrils;asickmixtureofoverheatedenginesandcharredflesh.Hecouldn’tbelievepeoplecouldcreatesomethingsohorribleandsenditafterkids.Tryingnottothinkaboutit,Thomasclosedhiseyesforamomentandconcentratedonremainingstillandquiet.Thecreaturekeptcoming.whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrclick-click-clickwhirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrclick-click-clickThomas peeked down without moving his head—the Griever hadfinallyreachedthewallwhereheandAlbyhung.ItpausedbytheclosedDoorthatledintotheGlade,onlyafewyardstoThomas’sright.Pleasegotheotherway,Thomaspleadedsilently.Turn.Go.Thatway.Please!TheGriever’s spikespoppedout; itsbodyrolled towardThomasandAlby.whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrclick-click-clickItcametoastop,thenrolledoncemore,rightuptothewall.

Thomasheldhisbreath,notdaringtomaketheslightestsound.TheGrievernowsatdirectlybelowthem.Thomaswanted to lookdownsobadly,butknewanymovementmightgivehimaway.Thebeamsoflightfrom the creature shone all over the place, completely random, neversettlinginonespot.Then,withoutwarning,theywentout.Theworld turned instantly dark and silent. Itwas as if the creaturehad turned off. It didn’t move, made no sound—even the hauntinggroans had stopped completely. And with no more lights, Thomascouldn’tseeasinglething.Hewasblind.He took small breaths through his nose; his pumping heart neededoxygendesperately.Couldithearhim?Smellhim?Sweatdrenchedhishair,hishands,hisclothes,everything.Afearhehadneverknownfilledhimtothepointofinsanity.Still, nothing.Nomovement,no light,no sound.TheanticipationoftryingtoguessitsnextmovewaskillingThomas.Secondspassed.Minutes.TheropyplantdugintoThomas’sflesh—hischestfeltnumb.Hewantedtoscreamatthemonsterbelowhim:Killmeorgobacktoyourhidinghole!Then,inasuddenburstoflightandsound,theGrievercamebacktolife,whirringandclicking.Andthenitstartedtoclimbthewall.

CHAPTER20

TheGriever’sspikestoreintothestone,throwingshreddedivyandrockchipsineverydirection.Itsarmsshiftedaboutlikethelegsofthebeetleblade, somewith sharppicks that drove into the stoneof thewall forsupport. A bright light on the end of one arm pointed directly atThomas,onlythistime,thebeamdidn’tmoveaway.Thomasfeltthelastdropofhopedrainfromhisbody.Heknewtheonlyoptionleftwastorun.I’msorry,Alby,hethoughtas

heunraveled the thickvine fromhischest.Usinghis lefthandtoholdtight to the foliage above him, he finished unwrapping himself andprepared tomove. He knew he couldn’t go up—that would bring theGrieveracrossthepathofAlby.Down,ofcourse,wasonlyanoptionifhewantedtodieasquicklyaspossible.Hehadtogototheside.Thomasreachedoutandgrabbedavinetwofeettotheleftofwhere

hehung.Wrappingitaroundhishand,heyankedonitwithasharptug.Itheldtrue,justlikealltheothers.AquickglancebelowrevealedthattheGrieverhadalreadyhalved thedistancebetween them,and itwasmovingfasteryet,nomorepausesorstops.Thomasletgooftheropehe’dusedaroundhischestandheavedhis

body to the left, scraping along the wall. Before his pendulum swingtookhimbacktowardAlby,hereachedoutforanothervine,catchinganice thickone.This timehegrabbed itwithbothhandsand turned toplantthebottomofhisfeetonthewall.Heshuffledhisbodytotherightasfarastheplantwouldlethim,thenletgoandgrabbedanotherone.Thenanother.Likesometree-climbingmonkey,Thomasfoundhecouldmovemorequicklythanheevercould’vehoped.The sounds of his pursuer went on relentlessly, only now with the

bone-shuddering addition of cracking and splitting rock joined in.Thomasswungto therightseveralmoretimesbeforehedaredto look

back.The Griever had altered its course from Alby to head directly forThomas.Finally,Thomasthought,somethingwentright.Pushingoffwithhis feet as strongly as he could, swing by swing, he fled the hideousthing.Thomas didn’t need to look behind him to know the Griever wasgaining on him with every passing second. The sounds gave it away.Somehow,hehadtogetbacktotheground,oritwouldallendquickly.Onthenextswitch,he lethishandslipabitbeforeclaspingtightly.Theivy-ropeburnedhispalm,buthe’dslippedseveralfeetclosertotheground.Hedidthesamewiththenextvine.Andthenext.Threeswingslaterhe’dmadehiswayhalfwaytotheMazefloor.Scorchingpainflaredup both his arms; he felt the sting of raw skin on his hands. Theadrenalinerushingthroughhisbodyhelpedpushawayhisfear—hejustkeptmoving.Onhisnextswing,thedarknesspreventedThomasfromseeinganewwallloominginfrontofhimuntilitwastoolate;thecorridorendedandturnedtotheright.He slammed into the stone ahead, losing his grip on the vine.Throwinghis arms out, Thomas flailed, reaching and grabbing to stophis plunge to the hard stone below. At the same instant, he saw theGrieveroutofthecornerofhislefteye.Ithadaltereditscourseandwasalmostonhim,reachingoutwithitsclaspingclaw.Thomasfoundavinehalfwaytothegroundandgraspedit,hisarmsalmostrippingoutoftheirsocketsatthesuddenstop.Hepushedoffthewallwithbothfeetashardashecould,swinginghisbodyawayfromitjustastheGrieverchargedinwithitsclawandneedles.Thomaskickedoutwithhisrightleg,connectingwiththearmattachedtotheclaw.Asharp crack revealed a small victory, but any elation ended when herealized that the momentum of his swing was now pulling him backdowntolandrightontopofthecreature.Pulsing with adrenaline, Thomas drew his legs together and pulledthem tight against his chest. As soon as he made contact with theGriever’sbody,disgustinglysinkinginchesintoitsgushyskin,hekickedoutwithbothfeettopushoff,squirmingtoavoidtheswarmofneedlesandclawscomingathimfromalldirections.Heswunghisbodyoutandtotheleft;thenhejumpedtowardthewalloftheMaze,tryingtograb

anothervine;theGriever’svicioustoolssnappedandclawedathimfrombehind.Hefeltadeepscratchonhisback.Flailing once again, Thomas found a new vine and clutched it withbothhands.Hegripped theplant justenough to slowhimdownasheslidtotheground,ignoringthehorribleburn.Assoonashisfeethitthesolidstonefloor,hetookoff,runningdespitethescreamofexhaustionfromhisbody.A booming crash sounded behind him, followed by the rolling,cracking, whirring of the Griever. But Thomas refused to look back,knowingeverysecondcounted.He roundeda cornerof theMaze, thenanother.Pounding the stonewithhisfeet,hefledasfastashepossiblycould.Somewhereinhismindhetrackedhisownmovements,hopinghe’dlivelongenoughtousetheinformationtoreturntotheDooragain.Right, then left.Downa long corridor, then right again. Left.Right.Two lefts. Another long corridor. The sounds of pursuit from behinddidn’trelentorfade,buthewasn’tlosingground,either.Onandonhe ran, his heart ready to blow itswayout of his chest.Withgreat,suckingheavesofbreath,hetriedtogetoxygeninhislungs,butheknewhecouldn’t lastmuch longer.Hewondered if it’d justbeeasiertoturnandfight,getitoverwith.Whenheroundedthenextcorner,heskiddedtoahaltatthesightinfrontofhim.Pantinguncontrollably,hestared.ThreeGrieverswereupahead,rollingalongas theydugtheirspikesintothestone,comingdirectlytowardhim.

CHAPTER21

Thomas turned to see his original pursuer still coming, though it hadslowedabit, claspingandunclaspingametal clawas ifmockinghim,laughing.It knows I’m done, he thought. After all that effort, here he was,

surrounded by Grievers. It was over. Not even a week of salvageablememory,andhislifewasover.Almostconsumedbygrief,hemadeadecision.He’dgodownfighting.Much preferring one over three, he ran straight toward the Griever

thathadchasedhimthere.Theuglythingretractedjustaninch,stoppedmovingitsclaw,asifshockedathisboldness.Takingheartattheslightfalter,Thomasstartedscreamingashecharged.The Griever came to life, spikes popping out of its skin; it rolled

forward, ready to collide head-onwith its foe. The suddenmovementalmostmadeThomasstop,hisbriefmomentofinsanecouragewashingaway,buthekeptrunning.At the last secondbeforecollision, justashegota close lookat the

metalandhairandslime,Thomasplantedhisleftfootanddovetotheright. Unable to stop itsmomentum, theGriever zoomed straight pasthim before it shuddered to a halt—Thomas noticed the thing wasmovingalotfasternow.Withametallichowl,itswiveledandreadiedtopounce on its victim. But now, no longer surrounded, Thomas had aclearshotaway,backdownthepath.Hescrambledtohisfeetandsprintedforward.Soundsofpursuit,this

time from all four Grievers, followed close behind. Sure that he waspushing his body beyond its physical limits, he ran on, trying to ridhimselfofthehopelessfeelingthat itwasonlyamatteroftimebeforetheygothim.Then, three corridors down, two hands suddenly reached out and

yankedhim into theadjoininghallway.Thomas’sheart leaped intohis

throat as he struggled to free himself.He stoppedwhen he realized itwasMinho.“What—”“Shut up and follow me!” Minho yelled, already dragging Thomasawayuntilhewasabletogethisfeetunderhim.Withoutamomenttothink,Thomascollectedhimself.Together,theyran through corridors, taking turn after turn. Minho seemed to knowexactly what he was doing, where he was going; he never paused tothinkaboutwhichwaytheyshouldrun.Astheyroundedthenextcorner,Minhoattemptedtospeak.Betweenheavingbreaths,hegasped,“Ijustsaw…thedivemoveyoudid…backthere … gave me an idea … we only have to last … a little whilelonger.”Thomas didn’t bother wasting his own breath on questions; he justkeptrunning,followingMinho.Withouthavingtolookbehindhim,heknewtheGrieversweregaininggroundatanalarmingrate.Everyinchofhisbodyhurt,insideandout;hislimbscriedforhimtoquitrunning.Butheranon,hopedhisheartdidn’tquitpumping.A few turns later, Thomas saw something aheadof them that didn’tregister with his brain. It seemed … wrong. And the faint lightemanating from theirpursuersmade theoddityupaheadall themoreapparent.Thecorridordidn’tendinanotherstonewall.Itendedinblackness.Thomas narrowedhis eyes as they ran toward thewall of darkness,tryingtocomprehendwhattheywereapproaching.Thetwoivy-coveredwallsoneithersideofhimseemedtointersectwithnothingbutskyupahead.Hecouldseestars.Astheygotcloser,hefinallyrealizedthat itwasanopening—theMazeended.How?hewondered.Afteryearsofsearching,howdidMinhoandIfinditthiseasily?Minho seemed to sense his thoughts. “Don’t get excited,” he said,barelyabletogetthewordsout.Afewfeetbeforetheendofthecorridor,Minhopulledup,holdinghishand out over Thomas’s chest to make sure he stopped, too. Thomasslowed, thenwalkedup towhere theMazeopenedout intoopen sky.ThesoundsoftheonrushingGrieversgrewcloser,buthehadtosee.

TheyhadindeedreachedawayoutoftheMaze,butlikeMinhohadsaid,itwasnothingtogetexcitedabout.AllThomascouldseeineverydirection,upanddown,sidetoside,wasemptyairandfadingstars.Itwasastrangeandunsettlingsight, likehewasstandingat theedgeoftheuniverse, and for abriefmomenthewasovercomebyvertigo,hiskneesweakeningbeforehesteadiedhimself.Dawn was beginning to make its mark, the sky seeming to havelightenedconsiderablyeven in the lastminuteor so.Thomasstared incompletedisbelief,notunderstandinghowitcouldallbepossible.Itwaslike somebody had built theMaze and then set it afloat in the sky tohoverthereinthemiddleofnothingfortherestofeternity.“Idon’tgetit,”hewhispered,notknowingifMinhocouldevenhearhim.“Careful,”theRunnerreplied.“Youwouldn’tbethefirstshanktofalloff the Cliff.” He grabbed Thomas’s shoulder. “Did you forgetsomething?”HenoddedbacktowardtheinsideoftheMaze.ThomasrememberedhearingthewordCliffbefore,butcouldn’tplaceitat themoment.Seeing thevast,opensky in frontofandbelowhimhadputhimintosomekindofhypnotizedstupor.HeshookhimselfbacktorealityandturnedtofacetheoncomingGrievers.Theywerenowonlydozensofyardsaway,singlefile,charginginwithavengeance,movingsurprisinglyfast.Everythingclicked,then,evenbeforeMinhoexplainedwhattheyweregoingtodo.“Thesethingsmaybevicious,”Minhosaid,“butthey’redumbasdirt.Standhere,closetome,facing—”Thomascuthimoff.“Iknow.I’mready.”Theyshuffledtheirfeetuntiltheystoodscruncheduptogetherinfrontof thedrop-off at the verymiddleof the corridor, facing theGrievers.Their heels were only inches from the edge of the Cliff behind them,nothingbutairwaitingafterthat.Theonlythingleftforthemwascourage.“We need to be in sync!”Minho yelled, almost drowned out by theearsplittingsoundsofthethunderingspikesrollingalongthestone.“Onmymark!”Why theGrievershad linedup single filewasamystery.Maybe theMazeprovedjustnarrowenoughtomakeitawkwardforthemtotravel

sidebyside.Butoneaftertheother,theyrolleddownthestonehallway,clicking and moaning and ready to kill. Dozens of yards had becomedozensoffeet,andthemonsterswereonlysecondsawayfromcrashingintothewaitingboys.“Ready,”Minhosaidsteadily.“Notyet…notyet…”Thomashated everymillisecond ofwaiting.He justwanted to close

hiseyesandneverseeanotherGrieveragain.“Now!”screamedMinho.JustasthefirstGriever’sarmextendedouttonipatthem,Minhoand

Thomasdoveinoppositedirections,eachtowardoneoftheouterwallsof thecorridor.ThetactichadworkedforThomasearlier,and judgingby the horrible screeching sound that escaped the firstGriever, it hadworked again. The monster flew off the edge of the Cliff. Oddly, itsbattlecrycutoffsharplyinsteadoffadingasitplummetedtothedepthsbeyond.Thomas landed against the wall and spun just in time to see the

secondcreaturetumbleovertheedge,notabletostopitself.Thethirdoneplantedaheavilyspikedarmintothestone,butitsmomentumwastoomuch. The nerve-grinding squeal of the spike cutting through theground sent a shiver up Thomas’s spine, though a second later theGrievertumbledintotheabyss.Again,neitherofthemmadeasoundastheyfell—asifthey’ddisappearedinsteadoffalling.The fourth and final approaching creaturewas able to stop in time,

teeteringontheveryedgeofthecliff,aspikeandaclawholdingit inplace.InstinctivelyThomasknewwhathehadtodo.LookingtoMinho,he

nodded, then turned. Both boys ran in at the Griever and jumpedfeetfirstatthecreature,kickingoutatthelastsecondwitheverywaningbit of strength. They both connected, sending the last monsterplummetingtoitsdeath.Thomasquickly scrambled to theedgeof theabyss,pokinghishead

over to see the falling Grievers. But impossibly, they were gone—notevenasignofthemintheemptinessthatstretchedbelow.Nothing.Hismindcouldn’tprocessthethoughtofwheretheCliff ledorwhat

had happened to the terrible creatures. His last ounce of strengthdisappeared,andhecurledintoaballontheground.Then,finally,camethetears.

CHAPTER22

Ahalfhourpassed.NeitherThomasnorMinhohadmovedaninch.Thomashadfinallystoppedcrying;hecouldn’thelpwonderingwhat

Minhowouldthinkofhim,orifhe’dtellothers,callinghimasissy.Butthere wasn’t a shred of self-control left in him; he couldn’t haveprevented the tears,heknewthat.Despitehis lackofmemory,hewassurehe’djustbeenthroughthemosttraumaticnightofhislife.Andhissorehandsandutterexhaustiondidn’thelp.He crawled to the edge of the Cliff oncemore, stuck his head over

againtogetabetterlooknowthatdawnwasinfullforce.Theopenskyinfrontofhimwasadeeppurple,slowlyfadingintothebrightblueofday,withtingesoforangefromthesunonadistant,flathorizon.He stared straight down, saw that the stonewall of theMazewent

towardthegroundinasheercliffuntilitdisappearedintowhateverlayfar, farbelow.Butevenwith theever-increasing light,hestillcouldn’ttellwhatwasdown there. It seemedas if theMazewasperchedon astructureseveralmilesabovetheground.Butthatwasimpossible,hethought.Itcan’tbe.Hastobeanillusion.He rolled over onto his back, groaning at the movement. Things

seemed to hurt on him and inside him that he’d never known existedbefore.AtleasttheDoorswouldbeopeningsoon,andtheycouldreturntotheGlade.HelookedoveratMinho,huddledagainstthehallofthecorridor.“Ican’tbelievewe’restillalive,”hesaid.Minhosaidnothing,justnodded,hisfacedevoidofexpression.“Aretheremoreofthem?Didwejustkillthemall?”Minhosnorted.“Somehowwemadeittosunrise,orwewould’vehad

tenmore on our butts before long.”He shifted his body,wincing andgroaning. “I can’t believe it. Seriously.Wemade it through thewholenight—neverbeendonebefore.”

Thomasknewheshouldfeelproud,brave,something.Butallhefeltwastiredandrelieved.“Whatdidwedodifferently?”“Idon’tknow.It’skindofhardtoaskadeadguywhathedidwrong.”Thomas couldn’t stop wondering about how the Grievers’ enragedcrieshadendedastheyfellfromtheCliff,andhowhehadn’tbeenableto see them plummeting to their deaths. There was something verystrange and unsettling about it. “Seems like they disappeared orsomethingaftertheywentovertheedge.”“Yeah, that was kinda psycho. Couple of Gladers had a theory thatotherthingshaddisappeared,butweproved’emwrong.Look.”ThomaswatchedasMinhotossedarockovertheCliff,thenfollowedits path with his eyes. Down and down it went, not leaving his sightuntilitgrewtoosmalltosee.HeturnedbacktowardMinho.“Howdoesthatprovethemwrong?”Minhoshrugged.“Well,therockdidn’tdisappear,now,didit?”“Thenwhatdoyouthinkhappened?”Therewassomethingsignificanthere,Thomascouldfeelit.Minho shrugged again. “Maybe they’re magic. My head hurts toomuchtothinkaboutit.”With a jolt, all thoughts of the Cliff were forgotten. ThomasrememberedAlby.“Wehavetogetback.”Straining,heforcedhimselftogettohisfeet.“GottagetAlbyoffthewall.”SeeingthelookofconfusiononMinho’sface,hequicklyexplainedwhathe’ddonewiththeropesofivy.Minholookeddown,hiseyesdejected.“Nowayhe’sstillalive.”Thomas refused to believe it. “How do you know? Come on.” Hestartedlimpingbackalongthecorridor.“Becausenoone’severmadeit…”He trailed off, and Thomas knew what he was thinking. “That’sbecause they’ve always been killed by the Grievers by the time youfoundthem.Albywasonlystuckwithoneofthoseneedles,right?”MinhostoodupandjoinedThomasinhisslowwalkbacktowardtheGlade.“Idon’tknow,Iguessthishasneverhappenedbefore.Afewguyshavebeenstungbytheneedlesduringtheday.Andthosearetheoneswho got the Serum andwent through the Changing. The poor shankswhogotstuckoutintheMazeallnightweren’tfounduntillater—dayslater,sometimes,ifatall.Andallofthemwerekilledinwaysyoudon’t

wannahearabout.”Thomasshudderedatthethought.“Afterwhatwejustwentthrough,IthinkIcanimagine.”Minho looked up, surprise transforming his face. “I think you justfigured it out. We’ve been wrong—well, hopefully we’ve been wrong.Becausenoonewho’dbeenstunganddidn’tmakeitbackbysunsethasever survived,we justassumed thatwas thepointofno return—whenit’stoolatetogettheSerum.”Heseemedexcitedbyhislineofthinking.Theyturnedyetanothercorner,Minhosuddenlytakingthelead.Theboy’spacewaspickingup,butThomasstayedonhisheels,surprisedathowfamiliarhefeltwiththedirections,usuallyevenleaningintoturnsbeforeMinhoshowedtheway.“Okay—thisSerum,”Thomassaid.“I’veheardthatacoupleof timesnow.Whatisthat?Andwheredoesitcomefrom?”“Justwhatitsoundslike,shank.It’saserum.TheGriefSerum.”Thomas forcedout apathetic laugh. “Justwhen I think I’ve learnedeverythingabout this stupidplace.Why is it called that?AndwhyareGrieverscalledGrievers?”Minho explained as they continued through the endless turns of theMaze,neitheroneofthemleadingnow.“Idon’tknowwherewegotthenames,buttheSerumcomesfromtheCreators—orthat’swhatwecallthem,at least.It’swiththesuppliesintheBoxeveryweek,alwayshasbeen.It’samedicineorantidoteorsomething,alreadyinsideamedicalsyringe,readytouse.”Hemadeashowofstickinganeedleinhisarm.“Stickthatsucker insomeonewho’sbeenstungandit saves ’em.TheygothroughtheChanging—whichsucks—butafterthat,they’rehealed.”A minute or two passed in silence as Thomas processed theinformation; they made a couple more turns. He wondered about theChanging,andwhatitmeant.Andforsomereason,hekeptthinkingofthegirl.“Weird,though,”Minhofinallycontinued.“We’venevertalkedaboutthisbefore.Ifhe’sstillalive,there’sreallynoreasontothinkAlbycan’tbe savedby the Serum.We somehowgot it into our klunkheads thatonce the Doors closed, you were done—end of story. I gotta see thishanging-on-the-wallthingmyself—Ithinkyou’reshuckin’me.”Theboys keptwalking,Minhoalmost lookinghappy, but somethingwas nagging at Thomas. He’d been avoiding it, denying it to himself.

“WhatifanotherGrievergotAlbyafterIdivertedtheonechasingme?”Minholookedoverathim,ablankexpressiononhisface.“Let’sjusthurry,isallI’msaying,”Thomassaid,hopingallthateffort

tosaveAlbyhadn’tbeenwasted.They tried to pick up the pace, but their bodies hurt toomuch and

they settled back into a slowwalk despite the urgency. The next timetheyroundedacorner,Thomasfaltered,hisheartskippingabeatwhenhesawmovementupahead.ReliefwashedthroughhimaninstantlaterwhenherealizeditwasNewtandagroupofGladers.TheWestDoortotheGladetoweredoverthemanditwasopen.They’dmadeitback.At the boys’ appearance, Newt limped over to them. “What

happened?”heasked;hesoundedalmostangry.“Howinthebloody—”“We’lltellyoulater,”Thomasinterrupted.“WehavetosaveAlby.”Newt’sfacewentwhite.“Whatdoyoumean?He’salive?”“Just come here.” Thomas headed to the right, craning his neck to

lookhighupatthewall,searchingalongthethickvinesuntilhefoundthespotwhereAlbyhungbyhisarmsandlegsfarabovethem.Withoutsayinganything,Thomaspointedup,notdaring tobe relievedyet.Hewasstillthere,andinonepiece,buttherewasnosignofmovement.Newt finally saw his friend hanging in the ivy, and looked back at

Thomas. If he’d seemed shocked before, now he looked completelybewildered.“Ishe…alive?”Pleaselethimbe,Thomasthought.“Idon’tknow.WaswhenIlefthim

upthere.”“When you left him…” Newt shook his head. “You andMinho get

your butts inside, get yourselves checked by the Med-jacks. You lookbloody awful. I want the whole story when they’re done and you’rerestedup.”ThomaswantedtowaitandseeifAlbywasokay.Hestartedtospeak

butMinhograbbedhimbythearmandforcedhimtowalktowardtheGlade.“Weneedsleep.Andbandages.Now.”And Thomas knew he was right. He relented, glancing back up at

Alby,thenfollowedMinhooutandawayfromtheMaze.

The walk back into the Glade and then to the Homestead seemedendless, a row of Gladers on both sides gawking at them. Their faces

showed complete awe, as if they were watching two ghosts strollingthroughagraveyard.Thomasknewitwasbecausethey’daccomplishedsomethingneverdonebefore,buthewasembarrassedbytheattention.He almost stopped walking altogether when he spotted Gally upahead,armsfoldedandglaring,buthekeptmoving.Ittookeveryounceofhiswillpower,buthelookeddirectlyintoGally’seyes,neverbreakingcontact.Whenhegottowithinfivefeet,theotherboy’sstarefelltotheground.ItalmostdisturbedThomashowgoodthatfelt.Almost.Thenextfewminuteswereablur.EscortedintotheHomesteadbyacoupleofMed-jacks,upthestairs,aglimpsethroughabarelyajardoorofsomeonefeedingthecomatosegirl inherbed—hefeltan incrediblystrongurgetogoseeher, tocheckonher—intotheirownrooms, intobed, food, water, bandages. Pain. Finally, he was left alone, his headrestingonthesoftestpillowhislimitedmemorycouldrecall.But as he fell asleep, two thingswouldn’t leave hismind. First, thewordhe’dseenscrawledacrossthetorsoofbothbeetleblades—WICKED—ranthroughhisthoughtsagainandagain.Thesecondthingwasthegirl.

Hours later—days for all he knew—Chuck was there, shaking himawake. It took several seconds forThomas to get his bearings and seestraight.HefocusedinonChuck,groaned.“Letmesleep,youshank.”“Ithoughtyou’dwanttoknow.”Thomas rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Know what?” He looked atChuckagain,confusedbyhisbigsmile.“He’salive,”hesaid.“Alby’sokay—theSerumworked.”Thomas’s grogginess instantlywashed away, replacedwith relief—itsurprisedhimhowmuchjoytheinformationbrought.ButthenChuck’snextwordsmadehimreconsider.“HejuststartedtheChanging.”Asifbroughtonbythewords,ablood-chillingscreameruptedfromaroomdownthehall.

CHAPTER23

ThomaswonderedlongandhardaboutAlby.It’dseemedsuchavictoryjusttosavehislife,bringhimbackfromanightintheMaze.Buthaditbeenworthit?Nowtheboywasinintensepain,goingthroughthesamethings as Ben. Andwhat if he became as psychotic as Ben? Troublingthoughtsallaround.Twilight fell upon theGlade andAlby’s screams continued to haunt

theair.Itwasimpossibletoescapetheterriblesound,evenafterThomasfinallytalkedtheMed-jacksintolettinghimgo—weary,sore,bandaged,but tired of the piercing, agonized wails of their leader. Newt hadadamantlyrefusedwhenThomasaskedtoseethepersonhe’driskedhislifefor.It’llonlymakeitworse,he’dsaid,andwouldnotbeswayed.Thomas was too tired to put up a fight. He’d had no idea it was

possibletofeelsoexhausted,despitethefewhoursofsleephe’dgotten.He’dhurttoomuchtodoanythingafterthat,andhadspentmostofthedayonabenchontheoutskirtsoftheDeadheads,wallowingindespair.Theelationofhisescapehadfadedrapidly, leavinghimwithpainandthoughts of his new life in the Glade. Every muscle ached; cuts andbruisescoveredhimfromheadtotoe.Buteventhatwasn’tasbadastheheavyemotionalweightofwhathe’dbeenthroughthepreviousnight.Itseemed as if all the realities of living there had finally settled in hismind,likehearingafinaldiagnosisofterminalcancer.How could anyone ever be happy in a life like this? he thought. Then,

How could anyone be evil enough to do this to us? He understoodmorethan ever the passion theGladers felt for finding theirwayout of theMaze. It wasn’t just a matter of escape. For the first time, he felt ahungertogetrevengeonthepeopleresponsibleforsendinghimthere.But those thoughts just led back to the hopelessness that had filled

himsomanytimesalready.IfNewtandtheothershadn’tbeenabletosolvetheMazeaftertwoyearsofsearching, itseemedimpossiblethere

couldactuallybe a solution.The fact that theGladershadn’t givenupsaidmoreaboutthesepeoplethananythingelse.Andnowhewasoneofthem.Thisismylife,hethought.Livinginagiantmaze,surroundedbyhideousbeasts. Sadness filled him like a heavy poison. Alby’s screams, nowdistantbutstillaudible,onlymadeitworse.Hehadtosqueezehishandstohisearseverytimeheheardthem.Eventually, the day dragged to a close, and the setting of the sunbrought the now-familiar grinding of the four Doors closing for thenight. Thomas had nomemory of his life before the Box, but he waspositivehe’dfinishedtheworsttwenty-fourhoursofhisexistence.Justafterdark,Chuckbroughthimsomedinnerandabigglassofcoldwater.“Thanks,” Thomas said, feeling a burst of warmth for the kid. Hescooped the beef and noodles off the plate as fast as his aching armscouldmove. “I so needed this,” hemumbled through a huge bite. Hetookabig swigofhisdrink, thenwentback toattacking the food.Hehadn’trealizedhowhungryhewasuntilhe’dstartedeating.“You’re disgusting when you eat,” Chuck said, sitting on the benchnexttohim.“It’slikewatchingastarvingpigeathisownklunk.”“That’sfunny,”Thomassaid,sarcasmlacinghisvoice.“YoushouldgoentertaintheGrievers—seeiftheylaugh.”A quick expression of hurt flashed across Chuck’s face, makingThomasfeelbad,butvanishedalmostasfastasithadappeared.“Thatremindsme—you’rethetalkofthetown.”Thomas sat up straighter, not sure how he felt about the news.“What’sthatsupposedtomean?”“Oh,gee,letmethink.First,yougooutintheMazewhenyou’renotsupposed to, at night. Then you turn into some kind of freaky jungledude, climbing vines and tying people up onwalls.Next, you becomeoneofthefirstpeopleevertosurviveanentirenightoutsidetheGlade,and to top it all off you kill four Grievers. Can’t imagine what thoseshanksaretalkingabout.”A surge of pride filled Thomas’s body, then fizzled. Thomas wassickenedbythehappinesshe’djustfelt.Albywasstillinbed,screaminghisheadoffinpain—probablywishingheweredead.“TrickingthemtogoovertheCliffwasMinho’sidea,notmine.”

“Notaccordingtohim.Hesawyoudothewait-and-divethingy,thenhadtheideatodothesamethingattheCliff.”“The ‘wait-and-dive thingy’?” Thomas asked, rolling his eyes. “Anyidiotontheplanetwould’vedonethat.”“Don’t get all humbly bumbly on us—what you did is freakingunbelievable.YouandMinho,both.”Thomastossedtheemptyplateontheground,suddenlyangry.“ThenwhydoIfeelsocrappy,Chuck?Wannaanswermethat?”ThomassearchedChuck’sfaceforananswer,butbythelooksofithedidn’thaveone.Theboyjustsatclaspinghishandsasheleanedforwardonhisknees,headhanging.Finally,halfunderhisbreath,hemurmured,“Samereasonweallfeelcrappy.”Theysatinsilenceuntil,afewminuteslater,Newtwalkedup,lookinglikedeathontwofeet.Hesatonthegroundinfrontofthem,assadandworriedasanypersoncouldpossiblyappear.Still,Thomaswasgladtohavehimaround.“I think the worst part’s over,” Newt said. “The bugger should besleepin’ for a couple of days, then wake up okay. Maybe a littlescreamingnowandthen.”Thomascouldn’timaginehowbadthewholeordealmustbe—butthewholeprocessoftheChangingwasstillamysterytohim.Heturnedtothe older boy, trying his best to be casual. “Newt, what’s he goingthroughupthere?Seriously,Idon’tgetwhatthisChangingthingis.”Newt’s response startled Thomas. “You think we do?” he spat,throwinghisarmsup,thenslappingthembackdownonhisknees.“AllwebloodyknowisiftheGrieversstingyouwiththeirnastyneedles,youinject theGrief Serumor youdie. If youdo get the Serum, then yourbody wigs out and shakes and your skin bubbles and turns a freakygreencolorandyouvomitalloveryourself.Enoughexplanationforyathere,Tommy?”Thomasfrowned.Hedidn’twanttomakeNewtanymoreupsetthanhealreadywas,butheneededanswers.“Hey,Iknowitsuckstoseeyourfriendgothroughthat,butIjustwanttoknowwhat’sreallyhappeningupthere.WhydoyoucallittheChanging?”Newt relaxed, seemed to shrink, even, and sighed. “It brings backmemories.Justlittlesnippets,butdefinitememoriesofbeforewecameto this horrible place. Anyonewho goes through it acts like a bloody

psycho when it’s over—although usually not as bad as poor Ben.Anyway,it’slikebeinggivenyouroldlifeback,onlytohaveitsnatchedawayagain.”Thomas’smindwaschurning.“Areyousure?”heasked.Newtlookedconfused.“Whatdoyoumean?Sureaboutwhat?”“Aretheychangedbecausetheywanttogobacktotheiroldlife,oris

itbecause they’re sodepressedat realizing theirold lifewasnobetterthanwhatwehavenow?”Newtstaredathimforasecond,thenlookedaway,seeminglydeepin

thought. “Shanks who’ve been through it’ll never really talk about it.Theyget…different.Unlikable.There’sahandfularoundtheGlade,butIcan’tstandtobearoundthem.”Hisvoicewasdistant,hiseyeshavingstrayed to a certain blank spot in the woods. Thomas knew he wasthinkingabouthowAlbymightneverbethesameagain.“Tellmeaboutit,”Chuckchimedin.“Gally’stheworstof’emall.”“Anythingnewonthegirl?”Thomasasked,changingthesubject.He

wasinnomoodtotalkaboutGally.Plus,histhoughtskeptgoingbacktoher.“IsawtheMed-jacksfeedingherupstairs.”“No,” Newt answered. “Still in the buggin’ coma, or whatever it is.

Every once in a while she’ll mumble something—nonsense, like she’sdreaming. She takes the food, seems to be doing all right. It’s kind ofweird.”Alongpausefollowed,asifthethreeofthemweretryingtocomeup

with an explanation for the girl. Thomas wondered again about hisinexplicablefeelingofconnectionwithher,thoughithadfadedalittle—but that could have been because of everything else occupying histhoughts.Newtfinallybrokethesilence.“Anyway,nextup—figureoutwhatwe

dowithTommyhere.”Thomasperkedupat that,confusedby thestatement.“Dowithme?

What’reyoutalkingabout?”Newt stood, stretched his arms. “Turned this whole place upside

down,youbloody shank.Half theGladers thinkyou’reGod, theotherhalf wanna throw your butt down the Box Hole. Lotta stuff to talkabout.”“Likewhat?” Thomas didn’t knowwhichwasmore unsettling—that

peoplethoughthewassomekindofhero,orthatsomewishedhedidn’t

exist.“Patience,”Newtsaid.“You’llfindoutafterthewake-up.”“Tomorrow?Why?”Thomasdidn’tlikethesoundofthis.“I’vecalledaGathering.Andyou’llbethere.You’retheonlybuggin’thingontheagenda.”Andwiththat,heturnedandwalkedaway,leavingThomastowonderwhyintheworldaGatheringwasneededjusttotalkabouthim.

CHAPTER24

Thenextmorning,Thomasfoundhimselfsittinginachair,worriedandanxious,sweating,facingelevenotherboys.Theywereseatedinchairsarrangedinasemicirclearoundhim.Oncesettled,herealizedtheyweretheKeepers,andtohischagrinthatmeantGallywasamongthem.OnechairdirectlyinfrontofThomasstoodempty—hedidn’tneedtobetoldthatitwasAlby’s.TheysatinalargeroomoftheHomesteadthatThomashadn’tbeenin

before.Besidesthechairs,therewasnootherfurnitureexceptforasmalltableinthecorner.Thewallsweremadeofwood,aswasthefloor,andit didn’t look like anyone had ever attempted tomake the place lookinviting.Therewerenowindows; theroomsmelledofmildewandoldbooks.Thomaswasn’tcold,butshiveredallthesame.HewasatleastrelievedthatNewtwasthere.Hesatinthechairtothe

rightofAlby’semptyseat.“Inplaceofourleader,sickinbed,Ideclarethis Gathering begun,” he said, with a subtle roll of his eyes as if hehated anything approaching formality. “As you all know, the last fewdayshavebeenbloodycrazy,andquiteabitseemscenteredaroundourGreenbean,Tommy,seatedbeforeus.”Thomas’sfaceflushedwithembarrassment.“He’snottheGreenieanymore,”Gallysaid,hisscratchyvoicesolow

andcruelitwasalmostcomical.“He’sjustarulebreakernow.”This started off a rumbling of murmurs and whispers, but Newt

shushedthem.Thomassuddenlywantedtobeasfarfromthatroomaspossible.“Gally,” Newt said, “try to keep some buggin’ order, here. If you’re

gonnablabberyourshuckmoutheverytimeIsaysomething,youcangoaheadandbloodyleave,becauseI’mnotinaverycheerfulmood.”Thomaswishedhecouldcheeratthat.Gally foldedhisarmsand leanedback inhis chair, the scowlonhis

face so forced thatThomasalmost laughedout loud.Hewashavingaharder andharder timebelievinghe’dbeen terrifiedof this guy just adayearlier—heseemedsilly,evenpatheticnow.NewtgaveGallyahardstare,thencontinued.“Gladwegotthatoutoftheway.”Anotherrolloftheeyes.“Reasonwe’rehereisbecausealmosteverylovin’kidintheGladehascomeuptomeinthelastdayortwoeither boohooing about Thomas or beggin’ to take his bloody hand inmarriage.Weneedtodecidewhatwe’regonnadowithhim.”Gally leaned forward, but Newt cut him off before he could sayanything.“You’ll haveyour chance,Gally.Oneat a time.AndTommy, you’renotallowedtosayabuggin’thinguntilweaskyouto.Goodthat?”Hewaited for a nod of consent from Thomas—who gave it reluctantly—thenpointedtothekidinthechaironthefarright.“ZarttheFart,youstart.”TherewereafewsnickersasZart,thequietbigguywhowatchedovertheGardens,shiftedinhisseat.HelookedtoThomasmoreoutofplacethanacarrotonatomatoplant.“Well,”Zartbegan,hiseyesdartingaroundalmostlikehewaswaitingforsomeoneelsetotellhimwhattosay.“Idon’tknow.Hebrokeoneofourmostimportantrules.Wecan’tjustletpeoplethinkthat’sokay.”Hepausedandlookeddownathishands,rubbingthemtogether.“Butthenagain,he’s…changedthings.Nowweknowwecansurviveoutthere,andthatwecanbeattheGrievers.”Relief floodedThomas.Hehadsomeoneelseonhisside.HemadeapromisetohimselftobeextranicetoZart.“Oh, give me a break,” Gally spurted. “I bet Minho’s the one whoactuallygotridofthestupidthings.”“Gally, shut your hole!” Newt yelled, standing for effect this time;onceagainThomasfelt likecheering.“I’mthebloodyChairrightnow,and if I hear one more buggin’ word out of turn from you, I’ll bearrangin’anotherBanishingforyoursorrybutt.”“Please,”Gallywhisperedsarcastically,theridiculousscowlreturningasheslouchedbackintohischairagain.Newt sat down and motioned to Zart. “Is that it? Any officialrecommendations?”Zartshookhishead.

“Okay.You’renext,Frypan.”Thecooksmiledthroughhisbeardandsatupstraighter.“Shank’sgotmoregutsthanI’vefriedupfromeverypigandcowinthelastyear.”Hepaused,asifexpectingalaugh,butnonecame.“Howstupidisthis—hesavesAlby’slife,killsacoupleofGrievers,andwe’resittinghereyappin’aboutwhattodowithhim.AsChuckwouldsay,thisisapileofklunk.”ThomaswantedtowalkoverandshakeFrypan’shand—he’djustsaidexactlywhatThomashimselfhadbeenthinkingaboutallofthis.“Sowhat’reyarecommendin’?”Newtasked.Frypan folded his arms. “Put him on the freaking Council and havehimtrainusoneverythinghedidoutthere.”Voiceseruptedfromeverydirection,andittookNewthalfaminutetocalmeveryonedown.Thomaswinced;Frypanhadgonetoofarwiththatrecommendation, almost invalidating his well-stated opinion of thewholemess.“Allright,writin’herdown,”Newtsaidashedidjustthat,scribblingonanotepad.“Noweveryonekeeptheirbloodymouthsshut,Imeanit.You know the rules—no idea’s unacceptable—and you’ll all have yoursaywhenwevoteon it.”He finishedwritingandpointed to the thirdmemberoftheCouncil,akidThomashadn’tmetyetwithblackhairandafrecklyface.“Idon’treallyhaveanopinion,”hesaid.“What?”Newtaskedangrily.“LotofgooditdidtochooseyoufortheCouncil,then.”“Sorry, I honestly don’t.” He shrugged. “If anything, I agree withFrypan,Iguess.Whypunishaguyforsavingsomeone’slife?”“Soyoudohaveanopinion—isthatit?”Newtinsisted,pencilinhand.ThekidnoddedandNewtscribbledanote.Thomaswasfeelingmoreandmorerelieved—itseemedlikemostoftheKeeperswereforhim,notagainst him. Still, he was having a hard time just sitting there; hedesperatelywantedtospeakonhisownbehalf.ButheforcedhimselftofollowNewt’sordersandkeepquiet.Nextwasacne-coveredWinston,Keeperof theBloodHouse.“I thinkhe should be punished.No offense,Greenie, butNewt, you’re the onealways harping about order. If we don’t punish him, we’ll set a badexample.HebrokeourNumberOneRule.”“Okay,” Newt said, writing on his pad. “So you’re recommendin’

punishment.Whatkind?”“IthinkheshouldbeputintheSlammerforaweekwithonlybread

andwater—andweneedtomakesureeveryoneknowsaboutitsotheydon’tgetanyideas.”Gallyclapped,earningascowl fromNewt.Thomas’sheart fell justa

bit.Twomore Keepers spoke, one for Frypan’s idea, one forWinston’s.

ThenitwasNewt’sturn.“Iagreewiththelotofya.Heshouldbepunished,butthenweneed

tofigureoutawaytousehim.I’mreservin’myrecommendationuntilIheareveryoneout.Next.”Thomashatedallthistalkaboutpunishment,evenmorethanhehated

havingtokeephismouthshut.Butdeepinsidehecouldn’tbringhimselftodisagree—asoddas it seemedafterwhathe’daccomplished,hehadbrokenamajorrule.Down the line theywent. Some thoughthe shouldbepraised, some

thought he should be punished. Or both. Thomas could barely listenanymore, anticipating the comments from the last two Keepers, GallyandMinho.Thelatterhadn’tsaidawordsinceThomashadenteredtheroom;hejustsatthere,droopedinhischair,lookinglikehehadn’tsleptinaweek.Gallywentfirst.“IthinkI’vemademyopinionsprettyclearalready.”Great,Thomasthought.Thenjustkeepyourmouthshut.“Goodthat,”Newtsaidwithyetanotherrolloftheeyes.“Goon,then,

Minho.”“No!”Gallyyelled,makingacoupleofKeepersjumpintheirseats.“I

stillwannasaysomething.”“Thenbloodysayit,”Newtreplied.ItmadeThomasfeelalittlebetter

that the temporaryCouncilChairdespisedGallyalmostasmuchashedid.ThoughThomaswasn’t that afraid of himanymore, he still hatedtheguy’sguts.“Just think about it,” Gally began. “This slinthead comes up in the

Box, acting all confused and scared. A few days later, he’s runningaroundtheMazewithGrievers,actinglikeheownstheplace.”Thomasshrankintohischair,hopingthatothershadn’tbeenthinking

anythinglikethat.Gallycontinuedhisrant.“Ithinkitwasallanact.Howcouldhehave

donewhathedidoutthereafterjustafewdays?Iain’tbuyin’it.”“What’reyoutryin’tosay,Gally?”Newtasked.“How’bouthavingabloodypoint?”“Ithinkhe’saspyfromthepeoplewhoputushere.”Anotheruproarexploded in the room;Thomascoulddonothingbutshake his head—he just didn’t get how Gally could come up with alltheseideas.Newtfinallycalmedeveryonedownagain,butGallywasn’tfinished.“Wecan’t trust this shank,”hecontinued.“Dayafterheshowsup,apsychogirlcomes, spoutin’off that thingsaregonnachange,clutchingthat freaky note. We find a dead Griever. Thomas conveniently findshimselfintheMazeforthenight,thentriestoconvinceeveryonehe’sahero.Well,neitherMinhonoranyoneelseactuallysawhimdoanythingin the vines. How do we know it was the Greenie who tied Alby upthere?”Gallypaused;noonesaidawordforseveralseconds,andpanicroseinside Thomas’s chest. Could they actually believe what Gally wassaying?Hewasanxioustodefendhimselfandalmostbrokehissilenceforthefirsttime—butbeforehecouldgetawordin,Gallywastalkingagain.“There’stoomanyweirdthingsgoingon,anditallstartedwhenthisshuck-face Greenie showed up. And he just happens to be the firstperson to survive a night out in theMaze. Something ain’t right, anduntilwefigureitout,IofficiallyrecommendthatwelockhisbuttintheSlammer—foramonth,andthenhaveanotherreview.”More rumblings broke out, and Newt wrote something on his pad,shakinghisheadthewholetime—whichgaveThomasatingeofhope.“Finished,CaptainGally?”Newtasked.“Quitbeingsuchasmartaleck,Newt,”hespat,hisfaceflushingred.“I’mdeadserious.Howcanwetrustthisshankafterlessthanaweek?QuitvotingmedownbeforeyoueventhinkaboutwhatI’msaying.”Forthefirsttime,ThomasfeltalittleempathyforGally—hedidhaveapointabouthowNewtwastreatinghim.GallywasaKeeper,afterall.ButIstillhatehim,Thomasthought.“Fine, Gally,” Newt said. “I’m sorry. We heard you, and we’ll allconsideryourbloodyrecommendation.Areyoudone?”“Yes,I’mdone.AndI’mright.”

WithnomorewordsforGally,NewtpointedatMinho.“Goahead,lastbutnotleast.”ThomaswaselatedthatitwasfinallyMinho’sturn;surelyhe’ddefend

himtotheend.Minho stood quickly, taking everyone off guard. “Iwas out there; I

sawwhat this guy did—he stayed strongwhile I turned into a panty-wearin’ chicken. No blabbin’ on and on like Gally. I want to say myrecommendationandbedonewithit.”Thomasheldhisbreath,wonderingwhathe’dsay.“Goodthat,”Newtsaid.“Tellus,then.”Minho looked at Thomas. “I nominate this shank to replace me as

KeeperoftheRunners.”

CHAPTER25

Complete silence filled the room,as if theworldhadbeen frozen,andevery member of the Council stared at Minho. Thomas sat stunned,waitingfortheRunnertosayhe’dbeenkidding.Gallyfinallybrokethespell,standingup.“That’sridiculous!”Hefaced

Newt and pointed back at Minho, who had taken his seat again. “HeshouldbekickedofftheCouncilforsayingsomethingsostupid.”Any pity Thomas had felt for Gally, however remote, completely

vanishedatthatstatement.SomeKeepersseemedtoactuallyagreewithMinho’srecommendation

—like Frypan, who clapped to drown out Gally, clamoring to take avote. Others didn’t. Winston shook his head adamantly, sayingsomethingthatThomascouldn’tquitemakeout.Wheneveryonestartedtalkingatonce,Thomasputhisheadinhishandstowaititout,terrifiedandawedatthesametime.WhyhadMinhosaidthat?Hastobeajoke,hethought.Newtsaid it takesforever just tobecomeaRunner,much lesstheKeeper.Helookedbackup,wishinghewereathousandmilesaway.Finally, Newt put his notepad down and stepped out from the

semicircle, screaming at people to shut up. Thomas watched on as atfirst no one seemed to hear or notice Newt at all. Gradually, though,orderwasrestoredandeveryonesatdown.“Shuck it,” Newt said. “I’ve never seen so many shanks acting like

teat-suckin’ babies.Wemay not look it, but around these parts we’readults.Act like it, orwe’ll disband this bloodyCouncil and start fromscratch.” He walked from end to end of the curved row of sittingKeepers,lookingeachofthemintheeyeashespoke.“Areweclear?”Quiethad swept across thegroup.Thomasexpectedmoreoutbursts,

butwassurprisedwheneveryonenoddedtheirconsent,evenGally.“Goodthat.”Newtwalkedbacktohischairandsatdown,puttingthe

padinhislap.Hescratchedoutafewlinesonthepaper,thenlookedup

at Minho. “That’s some pretty serious klunk, brother. Sorry, but youneedtotalkituptomoveitforward.”Thomascouldn’thelpfeelingeagertoheartheresponse.Minho lookedexhausted,buthe starteddefendinghisproposal. “It’ssure easy for you shanks to sit here and talk about something you’restupidon.I’mtheonlyRunnerinthisgroup,andtheonlyotheroneherewho’sevenbeenoutintheMazeisNewt.”Gallyinterjected:“NotifyoucountthetimeI—”“Idon’t!”Minhoshouted.“Andbelieveme,youornobodyelsehastheslightest cluewhat it’s like to be out there. The only reason youwerestung is because you broke the same rule you’re blaming Thomas for.That’scalledhypocrisy,youshuck-facedpieceof—”“Enough,”Newtsaid.“Defendyourproposalandbedonewithit.”The tensionwas palpable; Thomas felt like the air in the room hadbecome glass that could shatter at any second. Both Gally andMinholookedasifthetaut,redskinoftheirfaceswasabouttoburst—buttheyfinallybroketheirstare.“Anyway, listen to me,” Minho continued as he took his seat. “I’venever seen anything like it.He didn’t panic.He didn’twhine and cry,never seemed scared.Dude, he’d been here for just a fewdays. Thinkabout what we were all like in the beginning. Huddling in corners,disoriented, crying every hour, not trusting anybody, refusing to doanything.We were all like that, for weeks or months, till we had nochoicebuttoshuckitandlive.”Minhostoodbackup,pointedatThomas.“Justa fewdaysafter thisguy showsup, he steps out in theMaze to save two shankshehardlyknows.Allthisklunkabouthimbreakingaruleisjustbeyondstupid.Hedidn’tgettherulesyet.Butplentyofpeoplehadtoldhimwhatit’slikein theMaze,especiallyatnight.Andhe still steppedout there, justastheDoorwasclosing,onlycaringthattwopeopleneededhelp.”Hetookadeepbreath,seemingtogainstrengththemorehespoke.“But thatwas just the beginning. After that, he sawme give up onAlby, leavehim fordead.And Iwas theveteran—theonewithall theexperience and knowledge. So when Thomas saw me give up, heshouldn’thavequestionedit.Buthedid.ThinkaboutthewillpowerandstrengthittookhimtopushAlbyupthatwall,inchbyinch.It’spsycho.It’sfreakingcrazy.

“Butthatwasn’tit.ThencametheGrievers.ItoldThomaswehadtosplit up and I started the practiced evasivemaneuvers, running in thepatterns. Thomas, when he should’ve been wettin’ his pants, tookcontrol,defiedall lawsofphysicsandgravity togetAlbyupontothatwall,divertedtheGrieversawayfromhim,beatoneoff,found—”“Wegetthepoint,”Gallysnapped.“Tommyhereisaluckyshank.”Minho rounded on him. “No, youworthless shuck, you don’t get it!I’vebeenheretwoyears,andI’veneverseenanythinglikeit.Foryoutosayanything…”Minho paused, rubbing his eyes, groaning in frustration. Thomasrealized his own mouth had dropped wide open. His emotions werescattered: appreciation for Minho standing up to everybody on hisbehalf,disbeliefatGally’scontinuousbelligerence,fearofwhatthefinaldecisionwouldbe.“Gally,”Minhosaidinacalmervoice,“you’renothingbutasissywhohasnever,notonce,askedtobeaRunnerortriedoutforit.Youdon’thave the right to talkabout thingsyoudon’tunderstand.So shutyourmouth.”Gally stoodupagain, fuming. “Sayonemore thing like that and I’llbreak your neck, right here in front of everybody.” Spit flew fromhismouthashespoke.Minholaughed,thenraisedthepalmofhishandandshovedGallyinthe face.Thomashalf stoodashewatchedtheGladercrashdownintohis chair, tipping it over backward, cracking it in two pieces. Gallysprawledacrossthefloor,thenscrambledtostandup,strugglingtogethis hands and feet under him.Minho stepped closer and stomped thebottom of his foot down on Gally’s back, driving his body flat to theground.Thomasploppedbackintohisseat,stunned.“I swear, Gally,” Minho said with a sneer, “don’t ever threaten meagain.Don’teverspeaktomeagain.Ever.Ifyoudo,I’llbreakyourshuckneck,rightafterI’mdonewithyourarmsandlegs.”Newt and Winston were on their feet and grabbing Minho beforeThomas even knew what was going on. They pulled him away fromGally,whojumpedup,hisfacearuddiedmaskofrage.Buthemadenomove toward Minho; he just stood there with his chest out, heavingraggedbreaths.

FinallyGallybackedaway,halfstumblingtowardtheexitbehindhim.Hiseyesdartedaroundtheroom,litwithaburninghatred.Thomashadthe sickening thought thatGally looked like someoneabout tocommitmurder. He backed toward the door, reached behind him to grab thehandle.“Things are different now,” he said, spitting on the floor. “You

shouldn’thavedone that,Minho.You shouldnot havedone that.”HismaniacalgazeshiftedtoNewt.“Iknowyouhateme,thatyou’vealwayshated me. You should be Banished for your embarrassing inability toleadthisgroup.You’reshameful,andanyoneofyouwhostayshereisnobetter.Thingsaregoingtochange.This,Ipromise.”Thomas’s heart sank. As if things hadn’t been awkward enough

already.Gallyyankedthedooropenandsteppedoutintothehall,butbefore

anyonecouldreact,hepoppedhisheadbackintheroom.“Andyou,”hesaid, glaring at Thomas, “theGreenbean who thinks he’s friggin’ God.Don’tforgetI’veseenyoubefore—I’vebeenthroughtheChanging.Whattheseguysdecidedoesn’tmeanjack.”Hepaused, looking at eachperson in the room.Whenhismalicious

starefellbackonThomas,hehadonelastthingtosay.“Whateveryoucamehere for—Iswearonmylife I’mgonnastop it.Killyouif Ihaveto.”Thenheturnedandlefttheroom,slammingthedoorbehindhim.

CHAPTER26

Thomassatfrozeninhischair,asicknessgrowinginhisstomachlikeaninfestation.He’dbeenthroughthewholegamutofemotionsintheshorttime since he’d arrived at the Glade. Fear, loneliness, desperation,sadness,eventheslightesthintof joy.Butthiswassomethingnew—tohearapersonsaytheyhateyouenoughthattheywanttokillyou.Gally’scrazy, he toldhimself.He’s completely insane.But the thought

only increased his worries. Insane people could really be capable ofanything.TheCouncilmembersstoodorsatinsilence,seeminglyasshockedas

Thomas at what they’d just seen. Newt andWinston finally let go ofMinho;allthreeofthemsullenlywalkedtotheirchairsandsatdown.“He’s finally whacked for good,” Minho said, almost in a whisper.

Thomascouldn’ttellifhe’dmeantfortheotherstohearhim.“Well, you’re not the bloody saint in the room,” Newt said. “What

wereyouthinking?Thatwasalittleoverboard,don’tyathink?”Minhosquincheduphiseyesandpulledhisheadback,asifhewere

baffledbyNewt’s question. “Don’t giveme that garbage.Everyoneofyoulovedseeingthatslintheadgethisdues,andyouknowit.It’sabouttimesomeonestooduptohisklunk.”“He’sontheCouncilforareason,”Newtsaid.“Dude,he threatened tobreakmyneckandkillThomas!Theguy is

mentallywhacked,andyoubettersendsomeonerightnowtothrowhimintheSlammer.He’sdangerous.”Thomas couldn’thaveagreedmoreandonceagainalmostbrokehis

order to stay quiet, but stopped himself.He didn’twant to get in anymore trouble than he was already in—but he didn’t know howmuchlongerhecouldlast.“Maybehehadagoodpoint,”Winstonsaid,almosttooquietly.“What?”Minhoasked,mirroringThomas’sthoughtsexactly.

Winston looked surprised at the acknowledgment that he’d saidanything.Hiseyesdartedaroundtheroombeforeheexplained.“Well…hehasbeenthroughtheChanging—GrieverstunghiminthemiddleofthedayjustoutsidetheWestDoor.Thatmeanshehasmemories,andhesaidtheGreenielooksfamiliar.Whywouldhemakethatup?”ThomasthoughtabouttheChanging,andthefactthatitbroughtbackmemories. The idea hadn’t occurred to him before, but would it beworthit togetstungbytheGrievers,gothroughthathorribleprocess,just to remember something? He pictured Ben writhing in bed andrememberedAlby’sscreams.Noway,hethought.“Winston, did you see what just happened?” Frypan asked, lookingincredulous. “Gally’s psycho. You can’t put too much stock in hisrambling nonsense. What, you think Thomas here is a Griever indisguise?”CouncilrulesornoCouncilrules,Thomashadfinallyhadenough.Hecouldn’tstaysilentanothersecond.“CanIsaysomethingnow?”heasked,frustrationraisingthevolumeofhisvoice.“I’msickofyouguystalkingaboutmelikeI’mnothere.”Newtglancedupathimandnodded.“Goahead.Thisbloodymeetin’can’tbemuchmorescrewedup.”Thomas quickly gathered his thoughts, grasping for the right wordsinsidetheswirlingcloudoffrustration,confusionandangerinhismind.“Idon’tknowwhyGallyhatesme. Idon’tcare.Heseemspsychotic tome.AsforwhoIreallyam,youallknowjustasmuchasIdo.But if Iremembercorrectly,we’reherebecauseofwhatIdidout intheMaze,notbecausesomeidiotthinksI’mevil.”Someone snickered and Thomas quit talking, hoping he’d gotten hispointacross.Newtnodded,lookingsatisfied.“Goodthat.Let’sgetthismeetingoverwithandworryaboutGallylater.”“We can’t vote without all the members here,” Winston insisted.“Unlessthey’rereallysick,likeAlby.”“For the love,Winston,” Newt replied. “I’d say Gally’s awee bit illtoday, too, sowe continuewithout him. Thomas, defend yourself andthenwe’lltakethevoteonwhatweshoulddowithyou.”Thomasrealizedhishandsweresqueezedupintofistsonhislap.Herelaxedthemandwipedhissweatypalmsonhispants.Thenhebegan,

notsureofwhathe’dsaybeforethewordscameout.“Ididn’tdoanythingwrong.AllIknowisIsawtwopeoplestrugglingto get inside these walls and they couldn’t make it. To ignore thatbecause of some stupid rule seemed selfish, cowardly, and … well,stupid.Ifyouwanttothrowmeinjailfortryingtosavesomeone’slife,thengoahead.NexttimeIpromiseI’llpointatthemandlaugh,thengoeatsomeofFrypan’sdinner.”Thomaswasn’ttryingtobefunny.Hewasjustdumbfoundedthatthewholethingcouldevenbeanissue.“Here’s my recommendation,” Newt said. “You broke our bloodyNumber One Rule, so you get one day in the Slammer. That’s yourpunishment. I also recommendweelectyouasaRunner, effective thesecondthismeeting’sover.You’veprovenmoreinonenightthanmosttraineesdoinweeks.Asforyoubeingthebuggin’Keeper,forgetit.”HelookedoveratMinho.“Gallywasrightonthatcount—stupididea.”The comment hurt Thomas’s feelings, even though he couldn’tdisagree.HelookedtoMinhoforhisreaction.TheKeeperdidn’tseemsurprised,butarguedallthesame.“Why?He’sthebestwehave—Iswearit.ThebestshouldbetheKeeper.”“Fine,”Newt responded. “If that’s true,we’llmake the change later.Giveitamonthandseeifheproveshimself.”Minhoshrugged.“Goodthat.”Thomas quietly sighed in relief. He still wanted to be a Runner—whichsurprisedhim,consideringwhathe’djustgonethroughoutintheMaze—butbecomingtheKeeperrightawaysoundedridiculous.Newt glanced around the room. “Okay, we had severalrecommendations,solet’sgiveitago-round—”“Oh,comeon,”Frypansaid.“Justvote.Ivoteforyours.”“Metoo,”Minhosaid.Everyoneelsechimedintheirapproval,fillingThomaswithreliefandasenseofpride.Winstonwastheonlyonetosayno.Newt looked at him. “We don’t need your vote, but tell us what’sbonkin’aroundyourbrain.”WinstongazedatThomascarefully,thenbacktoNewt.“It’sfinewithme,butweshouldn’ttotallyignorewhatGallysaid.Somethingaboutit—Idon’tthinkhejustmadeitup.Andit’struethateversinceThomasgothere,everything’sbeenshuckedandscrewy.”

“Fairenough,”Newtsaid.“Everyoneputsomethoughtintoit—maybewhenwegetrightniceandboredwecanhaveanotherGatheringtotalkaboutit.Goodthat?”Winstonnodded.Thomasgroanedathowinvisiblehe’dbecome.“Ilovehowyouguys

arejusttalkingaboutmelikeI’mnothere.”“Look,Tommy,”Newtsaid.“Wejustelectedyouasabuggin’Runner.

Quityourcryin’andgetoutofhere.Minhohasalotoftrainingtogiveyou.”Ithadn’t reallyhitThomasuntil then.Hewasgoing tobeaRunner,

exploretheMaze.Despiteeverything,hefeltashiverofexcitement;hewas sure they could avoid getting trapped out there at night again.Maybe he’d had his one and only turn of bad luck. “What about mypunishment?”“Tomorrow,”Newtanswered.“Thewake-uptillsunset.”Oneday,Thomasthought.Thatwon’tbesobad.ThemeetingwasdismissedandeveryoneexceptNewtandMinholeft

the room inahurry.Newthadn’tmoved fromhis chair,wherehe satjottingnotes.“Well,thatwasgoodtimes,”hemurmured.MinhowalkedoverandplayfullypunchedThomasinthearm.“It’sall

thisshank’sfault.”Thomas punched him back. “Keeper? You want me to be Keeper?

You’renuttierthanGallybyalongshot.”Minhofakedanevilgrin.“Worked,didn’tit?Aimhigh,hitlow.Thank

melater.”Thomascouldn’thelpsmilingattheKeeper’scleverways.Aknockon

the opened door grabbed his attention—he turned to see who it was.Chuck stood there, looking like he’d just been chased by a Griever.Thomasfeltthegrinfadefromhisface.“What’swrong?”Newtasked,standingup.Thetoneofhisvoiceonly

heightenedThomas’sconcern.Chuckwaswringinghishands.“Med-jackssentme.”“Why?”“IguessAlby’sthrashingaroundandactingallcrazy,tellingthemhe

needstotalktosomebody.”Newt made for the door, but Chuck held up his hand. “Um… he

doesn’twantyou.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”ChuckpointedatThomas.“Hekeepsaskingforhim.”

CHAPTER27

Forthesecondtimethatday,Thomaswasshockedintosilence.“Well, come on,” Newt said to Thomas as he grabbed his arm. “No

wayI’mnotgoingwithya.”Thomas followed him, with Chuck right behind, as they left the

Council room and went down the hall toward a narrow, spiralingstaircase that he hadn’t noticed before. Newt took the first step, thengaveChuckacoldglare.“You.Stay.”Foronce,Chucksimplynoddedandsaidnothing.Thomasfiguredthat

somethingaboutAlby’sbehaviorhadthekid’snervesonedge.“Lightenup,”ThomassaidtoChuckasNewtheadedupthestaircase.

“TheyjustelectedmeaRunner,soyou’rebuddieswithastudnow.”Hewas trying tomake a joke, trying to deny that hewas terrified to seeAlby.WhatifhemadeaccusationslikeBenhad?Orworse?“Yeah,right,”Chuckwhispered,staringatthewoodenstepsinadaze.With a shrug Thomas began climbing the stairs. Sweat slicked his

palms,andhefeltadroptrickledownhistemple.Hedidnotwanttogoupthere.Newt,allgrimandsolemn,waswaitingforThomasatthetopofthe

stairwell.Theystoodattheoppositeendofthelong,darkhallwayfromtheusualstaircase,theoneThomashadclimbedonhisveryfirstdaytoseeBen.Thememorymadehimqueasy;hehopedAlbywascompletelyhealedfromtheordealsohedidn’thavetowitnesssomethinglikethatagain—the sickly skin, the veins, the thrashing. But he expected theworst,andbracedhimself.HefollowedNewttotheseconddoorontherightandwatchedasthe

olderboyknockedlightly;amoansoundedinreply.Newtpushedopenthedoor,theslightcreakonceagainremindingThomasofsomevaguechildhood memory of haunted-house movies. There it was again—thesmallest glimpse at his past. He could remember movies, but not the

actors’ faces or with whom he’d watched them. He could remembertheaters,butnotwhatanyspecificonelookedlike.Itwasimpossibletoexplainhowthatfelt,eventohimself.Newt had stepped into the room andwasmotioning for Thomas tofollow. As he entered, he prepared himself for the horror that mightawait. But when his eyes lifted, all he saw was a very weak-lookingteenageboylyinginhisbed,eyesclosed.“Is he asleep?” Thomaswhispered, trying to avoid the real questionthathadpoppedinhismind:He’snotdead,ishe?“I don’t know,” Newt said quietly. He walked over and sat in awoodenchairnexttothebed.Thomastookaseatontheotherside.“Alby,” Newt whispered. Then more loudly: “Alby. Chuck said youwantedtotalktoTommy.”Alby’seyesflutteredopen—bloodshotorbsthatglistenedinthelight.He lookedatNewt, thenacrossatThomas.Withagroanhe shifted inthebedandsatup,hisbackagainsttheheadboard.“Yeah,”hemuttered,ascratchycroak.“Chuck said you were thrashin’ around, acting like a loonie.” Newtleanedforward.“What’swrong?Youstillsick?”Alby’s next words came out in a wheeze, as if every one of themwouldtakeaweekoffhislife.“Everything’s…gonnachange….Thegirl… Thomas… I saw them…” His eyelids flickered closed, then openagain;hesankbacktoa flatpositiononthebed,staredat theceiling.“Don’tfeelsogood.”“Whatdoyoumean,yousaw—”Newtbegan.“IwantedThomas!”Albyyelled,witha suddenburstof energy thatThomaswould’vethoughtimpossibleafewsecondsearlier.“Ididn’taskforyou,Newt!Thomas!IaskedforfreakingThomas!”Newt lookedup, questionedThomaswith a raising of his eyebrows.Thomasshrugged,feelingsickerbythesecond.WhatdidAlbywanthimfor?“Fine,yagrouchyshuck,”Newtsaid.“He’srighthere—talktohim.”“Leave,”Albysaid,hiseyesclosed,hisbreathingheavy.“Noway—Iwannahear.”“Newt.” A pause. “Leave. Now.” Thomas felt incredibly awkward,worriedaboutwhatNewtwasthinkinganddreadingwhatAlbywantedtosaytohim.

“But—”Newtprotested.“Out!”Albysatupasheyelled,hisvoicecrackingwiththestrainofit.Hescootedhimselfbacktoleanagainsttheheadboardagain.“Getout!”Newt’s face sank in obvious hurt—Thomas was surprised to see noangerthere.Then,afteralong,tensemoment,Newtstoodfromhischairand walked over to the door, opened it. He’s really going to leave?Thomasthought.“Don’t expectme tokissyourbuttwhenyoucome sayin’ sorry,”hesaid,thensteppedintothehallway.“Close the door!” Alby shouted, one final insult. Newt obeyed,slammingitshut.Thomas’sheartratequickened—hewasnowalonewithaguywho’dhadabadtemperbeforegettingattackedbyaGrieverandgoingthroughtheChanging.HehopedAlbywould saywhathewantedandbedonewithit.Alongpausestretchedintoseveralminutes,andThomas’shandsshookwithfear.“Iknowwhoyouare,”Albysaidfinally,breakingthesilence.Thomascouldn’t findwordstoreply.Hetried;nothingcameoutbutanincoherentmumble.Hewasutterlyconfused.Andscared.“I know who you are,” Alby repeated slowly. “Seen it. Seeneverything. Where we came from, who you are. Who the girl is. IremembertheFlare.”TheFlare?Thomas forcedhimself to talk. “Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.Whatdidyousee?I’dlovetoknowwhoIam.”“Itain’tpretty,”Albyanswered,andforthefirsttimesinceNewthadleft,Albylookedup,straightatThomas.Hiseyesweredeeppocketsofsorrow,sunken,dark.“It’shorrible,yaknow.Whywould thoseshuckswantustoremember?Whycan’twejustlivehereandbehappy?”“Alby…”Thomaswishedhecouldtakeapeekintheboy’smind,seewhat he’d seen. “The Changing,” he pressed, “what happened? Whatcameback?You’renotmakingsense.”“You—”Albystarted,thensuddenlygrabbedhisownthroat,makinggurglychokingsounds.His legskickedoutandherolledontohisside,thrashingbackandforthasifsomeoneelseweretryingtostranglehim.Histonguestuckoutofhismouth;hebititoverandover.Thomas stood up quickly, stumbled backward, horrified—Albystruggled as if he was having a seizure, his legs kicking in every

direction. Thedark skin of his face,whichhadbeenoddly pale just aminute earlier, had turned purple, his eyes rolled up so far in theirsocketstheylookedlikeglowingwhitemarbles.“Alby!” Thomas yelled, not daring to reach down and grab him.

“Newt!”hescreamed,cuppinghishandsaroundhismouth.“Newt,getinhere!”Thedoorwasflungopenbeforehe’dfinishedhislastsentence.NewtrantoAlbyandgrabbedhimbytheshoulders,pushingwithhis

wholebodytopintheconvulsingboytothebed.“Grabhislegs!”Thomasmovedforward,butAlby’slegskickedandflailedout,making

itimpossibletogetanycloser.HisfoothitThomasinthejaw;alanceofpainshotthroughhiswholeskull.Hestumbledbackwardagain,rubbingthesorespot.“Justbloodydoit!”Newtyelled.Thomassteeledhimself,thenjumpedontopofAlby’sbody,grabbing

bothlegsandpinningthemtothebed.Hewrappedhisarmsaroundtheboy’s thighs and squeezed while Newt put a knee on one of Alby’sshoulders, then grabbed at Alby’s hands, still clasped around his ownneckinachokehold.“Letgo!”Newtyelledashetugged.“You’rebloodykillin’yourself!”Thomascould see themuscles inNewt’sarms flexing,veinspopping

outashepulledatAlby’shands,untilfinally,inchbyinch,hewasabletopry themaway.Hepushedthemtightlyagainst thestrugglingboy’schest. Alby’s whole body jerked a couple of times, his midsectionthrustingupandawayfromthebed.Then,slowly,hecalmed,andafewsecondslaterhelaystill,hisbreathevening;hiseyesglazedover.Thomasheld firm toAlby’s legs, afraid tomove and set the boyoff

again.NewtwaitedafullminutebeforeheslowlyletgoofAlby’shands.Then another minute before he pulled his knee back and stood up.Thomastookthatashiscuetodothesame,hopingtheordealhadtrulyended.Albylookedup,eyesdroopy,asifhewasontheedgeofslippinginto

a deep sleep. “I’m sorry, Newt,” he whispered. “Don’t know whathappened. It was like … something was controlling my body. I’msorry….”Thomastookadeepbreath,surehe’dneverexperiencesomethingso

disturbinganduncomfortableagain.Hehoped.

“Sorries, nothin’,” Newt replied. “You were trying to bloody killyourself.”“Wasn’tme,Iswear,”Albymurmured.Newt threw his hands up. “What do you mean it wasn’t you?” heasked.“Idon’tknow….It…itwasn’tme.”AlbylookedjustasconfusedasThomasfelt.ButNewtseemedtothinkitwasn’tworthtryingtofigureout.Atleastat themoment.Hegrabbed theblankets thathad fallenoff thebed inAlby’s struggle and pulled them atop the sick boy. “Get your butt tosleep and we’ll talk about it later.” He patted him on the head, thenadded,“You’remessedup,shank.”ButAlbywasalreadydriftingoff,noddingslightlyashiseyesclosed.NewtcaughtThomas’sgazeandgesturedforthedoor.Thomashadnoproblem leaving that crazy house—he followedNewt out and into thehall. Then, just as they stepped through the doorway, Alby mumbledsomethingfromhisbed.Bothboysstoppedintheirtracks.“What?”Newtasked.Alby opened his eyes for a brief moment, then repeated what he’dsaid,a littlemore loudly.“Becarefulwith thegirl.”Thenhiseyesslidshut.Thereitwasagain—thegirl.Somehowthingsalwaysledbacktothegirl. Newt gave Thomas a questioning look, but Thomas could onlyreturnitwithashrug.Hehadnoideawhatwasgoingon.“Let’sgo,”Newtwhispered.“AndNewt?”Alby calledagain from thebed,notbothering toopenhiseyes.“Yeah?”“ProtecttheMaps.”Albyrolledover,hisbacktellingthemhe’dfinallyfinishedspeaking.Thomasdidn’tthinkthatsoundedverygood.Notgoodatall.HeandNewtlefttheroomandsoftlyclosedthedoor.

CHAPTER28

Thomas followed Newt as he hurried down the stairs and out of theHomestead into the bright light of midafternoon. Neither boy said aword for awhile. For Thomas, things just seemed to be gettingworseandworse.“Hungry,Tommy?”Newtaskedwhentheywereoutside.Thomas couldn’t believe the question. “Hungry? I feel like puking

afterwhatIjustsaw—no,I’mnothungry.”Newt only grinned. “Well, I am, ya shank. Let’s go look for some

leftoversfromlunch.Weneedtotalk.”“Somehow I knew you were going to say something like that.” No

matterwhathedid,hewasbecomingmoreandmoreentwined in thedealingsoftheGlade.Andhewasgrowingtoexpectit.Theymadetheirwaydirectlytothekitchen,where,despiteFrypan’s

grumbling,theywereabletogetcheesesandwichesandrawvegetables.Thomascouldn’tignorethewaytheKeeperofthecookskeptgivinghimaweirdlook,eyesdartingawaywheneverThomasreturnedthestare.Somethingtoldhimthissortoftreatmentwouldnowbethenorm.For

somereason,hewasdifferent fromeveryoneelse in theGlade.He feltlikehe’dlivedanentirelifetimesinceawakeningfromhismemorywipe,buthe’donlybeenthereaweek.The boys decided to take their lunches to eat outside, and a few

minuteslatertheyfoundthemselvesatthewestwall,lookingoutatthemany work activities going on throughout the Glade, their backs upagainstaspotofthickivy.Thomasforcedhimselftoeat;thewaythingswere going, he needed to make sure he’d have strength to deal withwhateverinsanethingcamehiswaynext.“Everseenthathappenbefore?”Thomasaskedafteraminuteorso.Newt lookedathim,his facesuddenlysomber.“WhatAlby justdid?

No. Never. But then again, no one’s ever tried to tell us what they

rememberedduring theChanging. They always refuse.Alby tried to—mustbewhyhewentnutsforawhile.”Thomaspausedinthemiddleofchewing.CouldthepeoplebehindtheMazecontrolthemsomehow?Itwasaterrifyingthought.“WehavetofindGally,”Newtsaidthroughabiteofcarrot,changingthesubject.“Bugger’sgoneoffandhidsomewhere.Soonaswe’redoneeating,Ineedtofindhimandthrowhisbuttinjail.”“Serious?”Thomascouldn’thelpfeelingashotofpureelationat thethought.He’dbehappytoslamthedoorclosedandthrowawaythekeyhimself.“Thatshankthreatenedtokillyouandwehavetomakebloodysureitnever happens again. That shuck-face is gonna pay a heavy price foractinglikethat—he’sluckywedon’tBanishhim.RememberwhatItoldyouaboutorder.”“Yeah.”Thomas’sonlyconcernwasthatGallywouldjusthatehimallthemoreforbeingthrowninjail.Idon’tcare,hethought.I’mnotscaredofthatguyanymore.“Here’show it’ll playout,Tommy,”Newt said. “You’rewithme therestoftoday—weneedtofigurethings.Tomorrow,theSlammer.Thenyou’reMinho’s,andIwantyoutostayawayfromtheothershanksforawhile.Gotit?”Thomaswasmorethanhappytooblige.Beingmostlyalonesoundedlikeagreatidea.“Soundsbeautiful.SoMinho’sgoingtotrainme?”“That’sright—you’reaRunnernow.Minho’llteachya.TheMaze,theMaps,everything.Lotstolearn.Iexpectyoutoworkyourbuttoff.”Thomaswasshockedthat the ideaofenteringtheMazeagaindidn’tfrightenhimallthatmuch.HeresolvedtodojustasNewtsaid,hopingitwouldkeephismindoffthings.Deeperdown,hehopedtogetoutoftheGladeasmuchaspossible.Avoidingotherpeoplewashisnewgoal inlife.Theboyssatinsilence,finishingtheirlunches,untilNewtfinallygottowhathereallywantedtotalkabout.Crumplinghistrashintoaball,heturnedandlookedstraightatThomas.“Thomas,”hebegan,“Ineedyoutoacceptsomething.We’veheardittoomanytimesnowtodenyit,andit’stimetodiscussit.”Thomas knew what was coming, but was startled. He dreaded thewords.

“Gally said it. Alby said it. Ben said it,” Newt continued, “the girl,afterwetookheroutoftheBox—shesaidit.”He paused, perhaps expecting Thomas to ask what he meant. ButThomasalreadyknew.“Theyallsaidthingsweregoingtochange.”Newtlookedawayforamoment,thenturnedback.“That’sright.AndGally, Alby and Ben claim they saw you in their memories after theChanging—and from what I gather, you weren’t plantin’ flowers andhelpin’oldladiescrossthestreet.AccordingtoGally,there’ssomethin’rottenenoughaboutyathathewantstokillya.”“Newt, I don’t know—” Thomas started, but Newt didn’t let himfinish.“I know you don’t remember anything, Thomas! Quit sayin’ that—don’teversayitagain.Noneofusrememberanything,andwe’rebloodysickofyouremindingus.Thepointisthere’ssomethingdifferentaboutyou,andit’stimewefigureditout.”Thomaswasoverwhelmedbyasurgeofanger.“Fine, sohowdowedoit?IwanttoknowwhoIamjustasmuchasanyoneelse.Obviously.”“Ineedyoutoopenyourmind.Behonestifanything—anythingatall—seemsfamiliar.”“Nothing—” Thomas started, but stopped. So much had happenedsincearriving,he’dalmostforgottenhowfamiliartheGladehadfelttohim that first night, sleeping next to Chuck. How comfortable and athomehe’dfelt.Afarcryfromtheterrorheshould’veexperienced.“Icanseeyourwheelsspinnin’,”Newtsaid,quietly.“Talk.”Thomashesitated,scaredoftheconsequencesofwhathewasabouttosay.Buthewastiredofkeepingsecrets.“Well…Ican’tputmyfingeronanythingspecific.”Hespokeslowly,carefully.“ButIdidfeellikeI’dbeenherebeforewhen I firstgothere.”He lookedatNewt,hoping toseesomesortofrecognitioninhiseyes.“Anyoneelsegothroughthat?”ButNewt’sfacewasblank.Hesimplyrolledhiseyes.“Uh,no,Tommy.Mostofusspentaweekklunkin’ourpantsandbawlin’oureyesout.”“Yeah,well.”Thomaspaused,upsetandsuddenlyembarrassed.Whatdid it all mean?Was he different from everyone else somehow?Wassomethingwrongwithhim?“Itallseemedfamiliartome,andIknewIwantedtobeaRunner.”“That’s bloody interesting.” Newt examined him for a second, nothidinghisobvioussuspicion.“Well,keeplookin’forit.Strainyourmind,

spend your free time wanderin’ your thoughts, and think about thisplace.Delve insidethatbrainofyours,andseekitout.Try, foralloursakes.”“Iwill.”Thomasclosedhiseyes,startedsearchingthedarknessofhis

mind.“Notnow,youdumbshuck.”Newtlaughed.“I justmeantdoitfrom

nowon. Free time,meals, goin’ to sleepatnight, asyouwalkaround,train,work.Tellmeanythingthatseemsevenremotelyfamiliar.Gotit?”“Yeah, got it.” Thomas couldn’t help worrying that he’d thrown up

some red flags for Newt, and that the older boy was just hiding hisconcern.“Goodthat,”Newtsaid, lookingalmost tooagreeable.“Tobegin,we

bettergoseesomeone.”“Who?” Thomas asked, but knew the answer as soon as he spoke.

Dreadfilledhimagain.“The girl. I want you to look at her till your eyes bleed, see if

somethin’getstriggeredinthatshuckbrainofyours.”Newtgatheredhislunchtrashandstoodup.“ThenIwantyoutotellmeeverysinglewordAlbysaidtoyou.”Thomas sighed, then got to his feet. “Okay.” He didn’t know if he

couldbringhimselftotell thecompletetruthaboutAlby’saccusations,nottomentionhowhefeltaboutthegirl.Itlookedlikehewasn’tdonekeepingsecretsafterall.TheboyswalkedbacktowardtheHomestead,wherethegirlstilllay

in a coma. Thomas couldn’t stifle his worry about what Newt wasthinking. He’d opened himself up, and he really liked Newt. If Newtturnedonhimnow,Thomasdidn’tknowifhecouldhandleit.“If all else fails,” Newt said, interrupting Thomas’s thoughts, “we’ll

send ya to the Grievers—get ya stung so you can go through theChanging.Weneedyourmemories.”Thomasbarkedasarcasticlaughattheidea,butNewtwasn’tsmiling.Thegirl seemedtobesleepingpeacefully, likeshe’dwakeupatany

minute.Thomashadalmostexpectedtheskeletalremnantofaperson—someone on the verge of death. But her chest rose and fellwith evenbreaths;herskinwasfullofcolor.One of the Med-jacks was there, the shorter one—Thomas couldn’t

rememberhis name—droppingwater into the comatose girl’smouth a

few drips at a time. A plate and bowl on the bedside table had theremains of her lunch—mashed potatoes and soup. They were doingeverythingpossibletokeepheraliveandhealthy.“Hey,Clint,”Newtsaid,soundingcomfortable,likehe’dstoppedbytovisitmanytimesbefore.“Shesurviving?”“Yeah,” Clint answered. “She’s doing fine, though she talks in hersleepallthetime.Wethinkshe’llcomeoutofitsoon.”Thomas felt his hackles rise. For some reason, he’d never reallyconsideredthepossibilitythatthegirlmightwakeupandbeokay.Thatshemighttalktopeople.Hehadnoideawhythatsuddenlymadehimsonervous.“Haveyoubeenwritin’downeverywordshesays?”Newtasked.Clintnodded.“Mostofit’s impossibletounderstand.Butyeah,whenwecan.”Newtpointedatanotepadonthenightstand.“Givemeanexample.”“Well, the same thing she saidwhenwe pulled her out of the Box,aboutthingschanging.OtherstuffabouttheCreatorsandhow‘itallhasto end.’ And, uh …” Clint looked at Thomas as if he didn’t want tocontinueinhiscompany.“It’sokay—hecanhearwhateverIhear,”Newtassuredhim.“Well…Ican’tmakeitallout,but…”ClintlookedatThomasagain.“Shekeepssayinghisnameoverandover.”Thomasalmost felldownat this.Would the references tohimneverend?Howdidheknowthisgirl?Itwaslikeamaddeningitchinsidehisskullthatwouldn’tgoaway.“Thanks,Clint,”NewtsaidinwhatsoundedtoThomaslikeanobviousdismissal.“Getusareportofallthat,okay?”“Willdo.”TheMed-jacknoddedatbothofthemandlefttheroom.“Pullupachair,”Newtsaidashesatontheedgeofthebed.Thomas,relievedthatNewtstillhadn’teruptedintoaccusations,grabbedtheonefromthedeskandplaceditrightnexttowherethegirl’sheadlay;hesatdown,leaningforwardtolookatherface.“Anythingringabell?”Newtasked.“Anythingatall?”Thomasdidn’trespond,keptlooking,willinghismindtobreakdownthememorybarrierandseekoutthisgirlfromhispast.Hethoughtbackto those brief moments when she’d opened her eyes right after beingpulledoutoftheBox.

They’dbeenblue,richerincolorthantheeyesofanyotherpersonhecouldrememberseeingbefore.Hetriedtopicturethoseeyesonhernowas he looked at her slumbering face, melding the two images in hismind.Herblackhair,herperfectwhiteskin,herfulllips….Ashestaredather,herealizedoncemorehowtrulybeautifulshewas.Strongerrecognitionbrieflytickledthebackofhismind—aflutterof

wingsinadarkcorner,unseenbutthereallthesame.Itlastedonlyaninstantbeforevanishingintotheabyssofhisothercapturedmemories.Buthehadfeltsomething.“Idoknowher,”hewhispered,leaningbackinhischair.Itfeltgood

tofinallyadmititoutloud.Newtstoodup.“What?Whoisshe?”“No idea. But something clicked—I know her from somewhere.”

Thomasrubbedhiseyes,frustratedthathecouldn’tsolidifythelink.“Well,keepbloodythinking—don’tloseit.Concentrate.”“I’m trying, so shut up.” Thomas closed his eyes, searched the

darkness of his thoughts, seekingher face in that emptiness.Whowasshe?Theironyofthequestionstruckhim—hedidn’tevenknowwhohewas.Heleanedforwardinhischairandtookadeepbreath,thenlookedat

Newt,shakinghisheadinsurrender.“Ijustdon’t—”Teresa.Thomas jolted up from the chair, knocked it backward, spun in a

circle,searching.Hehadheard…“What’swrong?”Newtasked.“Didyaremembersomethin’?”Thomasignoredhim,lookedaroundtheroominconfusion,knowing

he’dheardavoice,thenbackatthegirl.“I…” He sat back down, leaned forward, staring at the girl’s face.

“Newt,didyoujustsaysomethingbeforeIstoodup?”“No.”Ofcoursenot.“Oh.IjustthoughtIheardsomething…Idon’tknow.

Maybeitwasinmyhead.Did…shesayanything?”“Her?”Newtasked,hiseyeslitup.“No.Why?Whatdidyouhear?”Thomaswasscaredtoadmitit.“I…IswearIheardaname.Teresa.”“Teresa?No,Ididn’thearthat.Must’vesprungloosefromyourbloody

memoryblocks!That’shername,Tommy.Teresa.Hastobe.”Thomas felt … odd—an uncomfortable feeling, like something

supernaturalhadjustoccurred.“Itwas…IswearIheard it.But inmymind,man.Ican’texplainit.”Thomas.Thistimehejumpedfromthechairandscrambledasfarfromthebed

aspossible,knockingoverthelamponthetable;itlandedwiththecrashofbrokenglass.Avoice.Agirl’svoice.Whispery,sweet,confident.He’dheardit.Heknewhe’dheardit.“What’sbloodywrongwithyou?”Newtasked.Thomas’sheartwasracing.Hefeltthethumpsinhisskull.Acidboiled

inhis stomach. “She’s… she’s freakin’ talking tome. Inmyhead. Shejustsaidmyname!”“What?”“Iswear!”Theworldspunaroundhim,pressedin,crushinghismind.

“I’m…hearinghervoiceinmyhead—orsomething…it’snotreallyavoice….”“Tommy,sityourbuttdown.Whatareyoubloodytalkingabout?”“Newt,I’mserious.It’s…notreallyavoice…butitis.”Tom,we’rethelastones.It’llendsoon.Ithasto.Thewordsechoedinhismind, touchedhiseardrums—hecouldhear

them.Yettheydidn’tsoundliketheywerecomingfromtheroom,fromoutsidehisbody.Theywereliterally,ineveryway,insidehismind.Tom,don’tfreakoutonme.He put his hands up to his ears, squeezed his eyes shut. Itwas too

strange; he couldn’t bring his rational mind to accept what washappening.Mymemory’s fadingalready,Tom. Iwon’t remembermuchwhenIwake

up.WecanpasstheTrials.Ithastoend.Theysentmeasatrigger.Thomas couldn’t take it anymore. Ignoring Newt’s questions, he

stumbled to the door and yanked it open, stepped into the hall, ran.Downthestairs,outthefrontdoor,heran.Butitdidnothingtoshutherup.Everythingisgoingtochange,shesaid.Hewantedtoscream,rununtilhecouldrunnomore.Hemadeitto

the East Door and sprinted through it, out of the Glade. Kept going,throughcorridoraftercorridor,deepintotheheartoftheMaze,rulesornorules.Buthestillcouldn’tescapethevoice.Itwasyouandme,Tom.Wedidthistothem.Tous.

CHAPTER29

Thomasdidn’tstopuntilthevoicehadgoneforgood.Itshockedhimwhenherealizedhe’dbeenrunningforalmostanhour

—theshadowsof thewallsranlongtowardtheeast,andsoonthesunwouldsetforthenightandtheDoorswouldclose.Hehadtogetback.Itonlyperipherallyhithimthenthatwithoutthinkinghe’drecognizedthedirectionandthetime.Thathisinstinctswerestrong.Hehadtogetback.Buthedidn’tknowifhecouldfaceheragain.Thevoiceinhishead.

Thestrangethingsshe’dsaid.Hehadnochoice.Denyingthetruthwouldsolvenothing.Andasbad

—asweird—astheinvasionofhismindhadbeen, itbeatanotherdatewiththeGrieversanyday.AsherantowardtheGlade,he learneda lotabouthimself.Without

meaning to or realizing it, he’d pictured in his mind his exact routethroughtheMazeasheescapedthevoice.Notoncedidhefalteronhisreturn,turningleftandrightandrunningdownlongcorridorsinreverseofthewayhehadcome.Heknewwhatitmeant.Minhohadbeenright.Soon,ThomaswouldbethebestRunner.Thesecondthinghelearnedabouthimself,asifthenightintheMaze

hadn’tproveditalready,wasthathisbodywasinperfectshape.Justaday earlier he’d been at the end of his strength and sore from top tobottom. He’d recovered quickly, and ran now with almost no effort,despitenearing theendofhis secondhourof running. Itdidn’t takeamathgenius tocalculate thathisspeedandtimecombinedmeanthe’drunroughlyhalfamarathonbythetimehereturnedtotheGlade.NeverbeforehadthesheersizeoftheMazetrulyhithim.Milesand

miles and miles. With its walls that moved, every night, he finallyunderstoodwhy theMazewas so hard to solve.He’d doubted it untilnow,wonderedhowtheRunnerscouldbesoinept.

Onheran,leftandright,straight,onandon.Bythetimehe’dcrossedthe threshold into theGlade, theDoorswere onlyminutes away fromclosingforthenight.Exhausted,heheadedstraightfortheDeadheads,went deep into the forest until he reached the spot where the treescrowdedagainst the southwest corner.More thananything,hewantedtobealone.WhenhecouldhearonlythesoundsofdistantGladerconversations,aswellasfaintechoesofbleatingsheepandsnortingpigs,hiswishwasgranted;hefoundthejunctionofthetwogiantwallsandcollapsedintothecorner to rest.Noonecame,noonebotheredhim.Thesouthwalleventually moved, closing for the night; he leaned forward until itstopped.Minuteslater,hisbackonceagaincomfortablypressedagainstthicklayersofivy,hefellasleep.Thenextmorning,someonegentlyshookhimawake.“Thomas,wakeup.”ItwasChuck—thekidseemedtobeabletofindhimanywhere.Groaning,Thomasleanedforward,stretchedouthisbackandarms.Acoupleofblanketshadbeenplacedoverhimduringthenight—someoneplayingtheGladeMother.“Whattimeisit?”heasked.“You’re almost too late for breakfast.” Chuck tugged on his arm.“Comeon,getup.Youneed to startactingnormalor things’ll justgetworse.”TheeventsofthepreviousdaycamecrashingintoThomas’smind,andhisstomachseemedtotwistinsideout.Whataretheygoingtodotome?hethought.Thosethingsshesaid.Somethingaboutmeandherdoingthistothem.Tous.Whatdidthatmean?Thenithithimthatmaybehewascrazy.MaybethestressoftheMazehaddrivenhiminsane.Eitherway,onlyhehadheard thevoice insidehishead.NooneelseknewtheweirdthingsTeresahadsaid,oraccusedhimof.Theydidn’tevenknowthatshehadtoldhimhername.Well,nooneexceptNewt.And he would keep it that way. Things were bad enough—no wayhe’dmakeitworsebytellingpeopleaboutvoicesinhishead.TheonlyproblemwasNewt.Thomaswouldhavetoconvincehimsomehowthatstresshad finallyoverwhelmedhimandagoodnight’s resthadsolvedeverything.I’mnotcrazy,Thomastoldhimself.Surelyhewasn’t.

Chuckwaslookingathimwitheyebrowsraised.“Sorry,” Thomas said as he stood up, acting as normal as he could.“Justthinking.Let’seat,I’mstarving.”“Goodthat,”Chucksaid,slappingThomasontheback.They headed for the Homestead, Chuck yapping the whole time.Thomaswasn’t complaining—itwas the closest thing to normal in hislife.“Newtfoundyoulastnightandtoldeveryonetoletyousleep.Andhetolduswhat theCouncildecidedaboutyou—oneday in thecell, thenyou’llentertheRunnertrainingprogram.Someshanksgrumbled,somecheered,most acted like they couldn’t care less.As forme, I think it’sprettyawesome.”Chuckpausedtotakeabreath,thenkeptgoing.“Thatfirstnight,whenyouwerebraggingaboutbeingaRunnerandall thatklunk—shuckit,Iwaslaughinginsidesohard.Ikepttellingmyself,thissucker’sinforarudeawakening.Well,youprovedmewrong,huh?”ButThomasdidn’t feel like talkingabout it. “I justdidwhatanyoneelsewould’vedone.It’snotmyfaultMinhoandNewtwantmetobeaRunner.”“Yeah,right.Quitbeingmodest.”BeingaRunnerwasthelastthingonThomas’smind.Whathecouldn’tstopthinkingaboutwasTeresa,thevoiceinhishead,whatshe’dsaid.“Iguess I’ma littleexcited.”Thomas forcedagrin, thoughhecringedatthethoughtofhangingoutintheSlammerbyhimselfalldaybeforehegottostart.“We’llseehowyoufeelafterrunningyourgutsout.Anyway,aslongasyouknowoldChuckyisproudofyou.”Thomassmiledathisfriend’senthusiasm.“Ifonlyyouweremymom,”Thomasmurmured,“life’dbeapeach.”Mymom,hethought.Theworldseemed to darken for amoment—he couldn’t even remember his ownmother.Hepushedthethoughtawaybeforeitconsumedhim.Theymadeittothekitchenandgrabbedaquickbreakfast,takingtwoempty seats at thebig table inside.EveryGlader going in andout thedoorgaveThomasa stare;a fewcameupandofferedcongratulations.Other than a sprinkling of dirty looks here and there, most peopleseemedtobeonhisside.ThenherememberedGally.“Hey, Chuck,” he asked after taking a bite of eggs, trying to soundcasual.“DidtheyeverfindGally?”

“No. Iwasgonna tellyou—someonesaid they sawhimrunout intotheMazeafterhelefttheGathering.Hasn’tbeenseensince.”Thomasdroppedhis fork,notknowingwhathe’dexpectedorhoped

for.Eitherway,thenewsstunnedhim.“What?You’reserious?HewentintotheMaze?”“Yeah.Everyoneknowshewentnuts—someshankevenaccusedyou

ofkillinghimwhenyouranoutthereyesterday.”“I can’t believe…”Thomas stared athis plate, trying tounderstand

whyGallywoulddothat.“Don’tworryaboutit,dude.Noonelikedhimexceptforhisfewshuck

cronies.They’retheonesaccusingyouofstuff.”Thomas couldn’t believe how casually Chuck spoke about it. “Ya

know,theguyisprobablydead.You’retalkingabouthimlikehewentonvacation.”AcontemplativelookcameoverChuck.“Idon’tthinkhe’sdead.”“Huh? Thenwhere is he?Aren’tMinho and I the only oneswho’ve

survivedanightoutthere?”“That’swhatI’msaying.Ithinkhisbuddiesarehidinghiminsidethe

Gladesomewhere.Gallywasanidiot,buthecouldn’tpossiblybestupidenoughtostayoutintheMazeallnight.Likeyou.”Thomas shook his head. “Maybe that’s exactly why he stayed out

there.Wanted to prove he could do anything I can do. The guy hatesme.”Apause.“Hatedme.”“Well,whatever.”Chuckshruggedas if theywerearguingoverwhat

to have for breakfast. “If he’s dead, you guys’ll probably find himeventually.Ifnot,he’llgethungryandshowuptoeat.Idon’tcare.”Thomaspickeduphisplateandtookittothecounter.“AllIwantis

onenormalday—onedaytorelax.”“Then your bloody wish is granted,” said a voice from the kitchen

doorbehindhim.Thomas turned to seeNewt there, smiling.That grin sent awaveof

reassurance through Thomas, as if hewere finding out theworldwasokayagain.“Comeon,yabuggin’jailbird,”Newtsaid.“Youcantakeiteasywhile

you’rehangin’ intheSlammer.Let’sgo.Chucky’llbringyasomelunchatnoon.”Thomas nodded and headed out the door, Newt leading the way.

Suddenlyadayinprisonsoundedexcellent.Adaytojustsitandrelax.Though something told him there was a better chance of Gallybringing him flowers than of passing a day in theGladewith nothingstrangehappening.

CHAPTER30

TheSlammerstoodinanobscureplacebetweentheHomesteadandthenorthGladewall,hiddenbehindthorny,raggedbushesthatlookedlikethey hadn’t been trimmed in ages. It was a big block of roughly cutconcrete, with one tiny, barred window and a wooden door that waslockedwithamenacingrustymetallatch,likesomethingoutoftheDarkAges.Newttookoutakeyandopeneditup,thenmotionedforThomasto

enter.“There’sonlyachairinthereandnothin’atallforyatodo.Enjoyyourself.”Thomasgroanedinwardlyashesteppedinsideandsawtheonepiece

offurniture—anugly,ricketychairwithonelegobviouslyshorterthantherest,probablyonpurpose.Didn’tevenhaveacushion.“Havefun,”Newtsaidbeforeclosingthedoor.Thomasturnedbackto

hisnewhomeandheardthelatchcloseandthelockclickbehindhim.Newt’sheadappearedatthelittleglasslesswindow,lookingthroughthebars,asmirkonhisface.“Nicerewardforbreakin’therules.Yousavedsomelives,Tommy,butyastillneedtolearn—”“Yeah,Iknow.Order.”Newtsmiled.“You’renothalfbad,shank.Butfriendsorno,gottarun

thingsproperly,keepusbuggersalive.Thinkaboutthatwhileyasithereandstareatthebloodywalls.”Andthenhewasgone.***

Thefirsthourpassed,andThomasfeltboredomcreepinlikeratsunderthedoor.Byhournumbertwo,hewantedtobanghisheadagainstthewall.TwohoursafterthathestartedtothinkhavingdinnerwithGallyand theGrieverswouldbeat sitting inside that stupidSlammer.Hesatand tried to bring back memories, but every effort evaporated intoobliviousmistbeforeanythingformed.

Thankfully,Chuckarrivedwithlunchatnoon,relievingThomasfromhisthoughts.Afterpassingsomepiecesofchickenandaglassofwaterthroughthewindow,hetookuphisusualroleoftalkingThomas’searoff.“Everything’s getting back to normal,” the boy announced. “TheRunnersareout intheMaze,everyone’sworking—maybewe’llsurviveafter all. Still no sign of Gally—Newt told the Runners to come backlickety-splickety if they foundhis body.And, oh, yeah—Alby’s up andaround.Seemsfine—andNewt’sgladhedoesn’thavetobethebigbossanymore.”The mention of Alby pulled Thomas’s attention from his food. Hepicturedtheolderboythrashingaround,chokinghimselfthedaybefore.Then he remembered that no one else knewwhatAlby had said afterNewtlefttheroom—beforetheseizure.Butthatdidn’tmeanAlbywouldkeepitbetweenthemnowthathewasupandwalkingaround.Chuck continued talking, taking a completely unexpected turn.“Thomas,I’mkindamessedup,man.It’sweirdtofeelsadandhomesick,buthavenoideawhatitisyouwishyoucouldgobackto,yaknow?AllI know is I don’t want to be here. I want to go back to my family.Whatever’sthere,whateverIwastakenfrom.Iwannaremember.”Thomaswasalittlesurprised.He’dneverheardChucksaysomethingsodeepandsotrue.“Iknowwhatyoumean,”hemurmured.Chuckwas too short for his eyes to reachwhere Thomas could seethemashespoke,butfromhisnextstatement,Thomasimaginedthemfilling with a bleak sadness, maybe even tears. “I used to cry. Everynight.”ThismadethoughtsofAlbyleaveThomas’smind.“Yeah?”“Like a pants-wettin’ baby.Almost till the day you got here. Then Ijust got used to it, I guess. This becamehome, even thoughwe spendeverydayhopingtogetout.”“I’ve only cried once since showing up, but that was after almostgetting eaten alive. I’m probably just a shallow shuck-face.” ThomasmightnothaveadmitteditifChuckhadn’topenedup.“Youcried?”heheardChucksaythroughthewindow.“Then?”“Yeah.WhenthelastonefinallyfellovertheCliff,Ibrokedownandsobbedtillmythroatandchesthurt.”Thomasrememberedalltoowell.“Everythingcrushedinonmeatonce.Suremademe feelbetter—don’t

feelbadaboutcrying.Ever.”“Kindadoesmakeyafeelbetter,huh?Weirdhowthatworks.”Afewminutespassedinsilence.ThomasfoundhimselfhopingChuckwouldn’tleave.“Hey,Thomas?”Chuckasked.“Stillhere.”“DoyouthinkIhaveparents?Realparents?”Thomaslaughed,mostlytopushawaythesuddensurgeofsadnessthestatementcaused.“Ofcourseyoudo,shank.Youneedmetoexplainthebirdsandbees?”Thomas’shearthurt—hecouldremembergettingthatlecturebutnotwho’dgivenittohim.“That’snotwhatImeant,”Chucksaid,hisvoicecompletelydevoidofcheer.Itwaslowandbleak,almostamumble.“Mostoftheguyswho’vegone through the Changing remember terrible things they won’t eventalkabout,whichmakesmedoubtIhaveanythinggoodbackhome.So,Imean,youthinkit’sreallypossibleIhaveamomandadadoutintheworldsomewhere,missingme?Doyouthinktheycryatnight?”Thomas was completely shocked to realize his eyes had filled withtears.Lifehadbeensocrazysincehe’darrived,he’dneverreallythoughtof the Gladers as real people with real families, missing them. It wasstrange, but he hadn’t even really thought of himself that way. Onlyaboutwhatitallmeant,who’dsentthemthere,howthey’devergetout.Forthefirsttime,hefeltsomethingforChuckthatmadehimsoangryhewanted to kill somebody. The boy should be in school, in a home,playingwithneighborhoodkids.Hedeservedtogohomeatnight toafamilywholovedhim,worriedabouthim.Amomwhomadehimtakeashowereverydayandadadwhohelpedhimwithhomework.Thomashatedthepeoplewho’dtakenthispoor,innocentkidfromhisfamily. He hated themwith a passion he didn’t know a human couldfeel. He wanted them dead, tortured, even. He wanted Chuck to behappy.Buthappinesshadbeenrippedfromtheirlives.Lovehadbeenrippedfromtheirlives.“Listentome,Chuck.”Thomaspaused,calmingdownasmuchashecould,makingsurehisvoicedidn’tcrack.“I’msureyouhaveparents.Iknowit.Soundsterrible,butIbetyourmomissittinginyourroomrightnow,holdingyourpillow,lookingoutattheworldthatstoleyoufrom

her.Andyeah,Ibetshe’scrying.Hard.Puffy-eyed,snotty-nosedcrying.Therealdeal.”Chuckdidn’tsayanything,butThomasthoughtheheardtheslightest

ofsniffles.“Don’tgiveup,Chuck.We’regonnasolvethisthing,getoutofhere.

I’maRunnernow—IpromiseonmylifeI’llgetyoubacktothatroomofyours.Make yourmom quit crying.” And Thomasmeant it. He felt itburninhisheart.“Hope you’re right,” Chuck said with a shaky voice. He showed a

thumbs-upsigninthewindow,thenwalkedaway.Thomas stood up to pace around the little room, fuming with an

intensedesiretokeephispromise.“Iswear,Chuck,”hewhisperedtonoone.“IswearI’llgetyoubackhome.”

CHAPTER31

Just after Thomas heard the grind and rumble of stone against stoneannouncetheclosingoftheDoorsfortheday,Albyshoweduptoreleasehim,whichwasahugesurprise.Themetalofkeyandlockjingled;thenthedoortothecellswungwideopen.“Ain’t dead, are ya, shank?” Alby asked. He looked somuch better

thanthedaybefore,Thomascouldn’thelpstaringathim.Hisskinwasback to full color, his eyes no longer crisscrossed with red veins; heseemedtohavegainedfifteenpoundsintwenty-fourhours.Albynoticedhimgoggling.“Shuckit,boy,whatyoulookin’at?”Thomasshookhisheadslightly,feelinglikehe’dbeeninatrance.His

mind was racing, wondering what Alby remembered, what he knew,what he might say about him. “Wha—Nothing. Just seems crazy youhealedsoquickly.You’refinenow?”Albyflexedhisrightbicep.“Ain’tneverbeenbetter—comeonout.”Thomas did, hoping his eyes weren’t flickering,making his concern

obvious.AlbyclosedtheSlammerdoorandlockedit,thenturnedtofacehim.

“Actually,nothin’butalie.IfeellikeapieceofklunktwicecrappedbyaGriever.”“Yeah,youlookedityesterday.”WhenAlbyglared,Thomashopedit

was in jest and quickly clarified. “But today you look brand-new. Iswear.”AlbyputthekeysinhispocketandleanedbackagainsttheSlammer’s

door.“So,quitethelittletalkwehadyesterday.”Thomas’sheartpounded.HehadnoideawhattoexpectfromAlbyat

thatpoint.“Uh…yeah,Iremember.”“I sawwhat I saw,Greenie. It’skinda fadin’,but Iain’tnevergonna

forget.Itwasterrible.Triedtotalkaboutit,somethin’startschokingme.Nowtheimagesaregettin’upandgone,likethatsamesomethin’don’t

likemeremembering.”The scene from the day before flashed in Thomas’s mind. Albythrashing,tryingtostranglehimself—Thomaswouldn’thavebelievedithadhappenedifhehadn’tseenithimself.Despitefearingananswer,heknewhehadtoaskthenextquestion.“Whatwasitaboutme—youkeptsayingyousawme.WhatwasIdoing?”Alby stared at an empty space in the distance for a while beforeanswering.“Youwerewiththe…Creators.Helpingthem.Butthatain’twhatgotmeshookup.”Thomasfeltlikesomeonehadjustrammedtheirfistinhisabdomen.Helpingthem?Hecouldn’tformthewordstoaskwhatthatmeant.Albycontinued.“IhopetheChangingdoesn’tgiveusrealmemories—justplantsfakeones.Somesuspectit—Icanonlyhope.Iftheworld’sthewayIsawit…”Hetrailedoff,leavinganominoussilence.Thomaswas confused, but pressed on. “Can’t you tellmewhat yousawaboutme?”Alby shook his head. “No way, shank. Ain’t gonna risk stranglin’myselfagain.Mightbesomethingtheygotinourbrainstocontrolus—justlikethememorywipe.”“Well,ifI’mevil,maybeyoushouldleavemelockedup.”Thomashalfmeantit.“Greenie,youain’tevil.Youmightbeashuck-facedslinthead,butyouain’tevil.”Albyshowedtheslightesthintofasmile,abarecrackinhisusually hard face. “What you did—riskin’ your butt to save me andMinho—thatain’tnoevil I’veeverheardof.Nah, justmakesmethinkthe Grief Serum and the Changing got somethin’ fishy about ’em. Foryoursakeandmine,Ihopeso.”ThomaswassorelievedthatAlbythoughthewasokay,heonlyheardabouthalfofwhattheolderboyhadjustsaid.“Howbadwas it?Yourmemoriesthatcameback.”“Irememberedthingsfromgrowin’up,whereIlived,thatsortofstuff.AndifGodhimselfcamedownrightnowandtoldmeIcouldgobackhome…”Albylookedtothegroundandshookhisheadagain.“Ifitwasreal, Greenie, I swear I’d go shack up with the Grievers before goin’back.”Thomaswas surprised tohear itwas sobad—hewishedAlbywouldgivedetails,describesomething,anything.Butheknewthechokingwas

stilltoofreshinAlby’smindforhimtobudge.“Well,maybethey’renotreal,Alby.MaybetheGriefSerumissomekindofpsychodrugthatgivesyouhallucinations.”Thomasknewhewasgraspingatstraws.Alby thought for a minute. “A drug … hallucinations …” Then heshookhishead.“Doubtit.”Ithadbeenworthatry.“Westillhavetoescapethisplace.”“Yeah, thanks, Greenie,” Alby said sarcastically. “Don’t know whatwe’ddowithoutyourpeptalks.”Again,thealmost-smile.Alby’schangeofmoodbrokeThomasoutofhisgloom.“QuitcallingmeGreenie.Thegirl’stheGreenienow.”“Okay,Greenie.”Albysighed,clearlydonewiththeconversation.“Gofindsomedinner—yourterribleprisonsentenceofonedayisover.”“Onewasplenty.”Despitewantinganswers,ThomaswasreadytogetawayfromtheSlammer.Plus,hewasstarving.HegrinnedatAlby,thenheadedstraightforthekitchenandfood.

Dinnerwasawesome.FrypanhadknownThomaswouldbecominglate,sohe’dleftaplatefullofroastbeefandpotatoes;anoteannouncedtherewerecookiesinthecupboard.TheCookseemedfully intentonbackingupthesupporthe’d shown for Thomas in theGathering.Minho joined Thomas as heate, prepping him a little before his first big day of Runner training,giving him a few stats and interesting facts. Things for him to thinkaboutashewenttosleepthatnight.Whentheywerefinished,Thomasheadedbacktothesecludedplacewherehe’dslept thenightbefore, inthecornerbehindtheDeadheads.HethoughtabouthisconversationwithChuck,wonderedhowitwouldfeeltohaveparentssaygoodnighttoyou.SeveralboysmilledabouttheGladethatnight,butforthemostpartitwasquiet,likeeveryonejustwantedtogotosleep,endthedayandbedonewithit.Thomasdidn’tcomplain—thatwasexactlywhatheneeded.Theblanketssomeonehadleftforhimthenightbeforestilllaythere.Hepickedthemupandsettled in, snugglingupagainst thecomfortingcornerwherethestonewallsmetinamassofsoftivy.Themixedsmellsoftheforestgreetedhimashetookhisfirstdeepbreath,tryingtorelax.Theairfeltperfect,anditmadehimwonderagainabouttheweatherof

theplace.Neverrained,neversnowed,nevergottoohotortoocold.Ifitweren’tforthelittlefacttheyweretornapartfromfriendsandfamiliesandtrappedinaMazewithabunchofmonsters,itcouldbeparadise.Some things here were too perfect. He knew that, but had no

explanation.HisthoughtsdriftedtowhatMinhohadtoldhimatdinneraboutthe

size and scale of theMaze. He believed it—he’d realized the massivescalewhenhe’dbeentotheCliff.Buthejustcouldn’tfathomhowsuchastructurecouldhavebeenbuilt.TheMazestretchedformilesandmiles.TheRunnershadtobeinalmostsuperhumanshapetodowhattheydideveryday.Andyetthey’dneverfoundanexit.Anddespitethat,despitetheutter

hopelessnessofthesituation,theystillhadn’tgivenup.At dinnerMinho had told him an old story—one of the bizarre and

randomthingsherememberedfrombefore—aboutawomantrappedinamaze.Sheescapedbynevertakingherrighthandoffthewallsofthemaze,slidingitalongasshewalked.Indoingso,shewasforcedtoturnrightateveryturn,andthesimplelawsofphysicsandgeometryensuredthateventuallyshefoundtheexit.Itmadesense.But not here.Here, all paths led back to theGlade. Theyhad to be

missingsomething.Tomorrow, his training would begin. Tomorrow, he could start

helping them find thatmissing something. Right thenThomasmade adecision.Forgetall theweird stuff. Forgetall thebad things.Forget itall.Hewouldn’tquituntilhe’dsolvedthepuzzleandfoundawayhome.Tomorrow.Thewordfloatedinhisminduntilhefinallyfellasleep.

CHAPTER32

MinhowokeThomasbeforedawn,motioningwithaflashlighttofollowhim back to the Homestead. Thomas easily shook off his morninggrogginess,excitedtobeginhistraining.Hecrawledoutfromunderhisblanketandeagerly followedhis teacher,windinghiswaythroughthecrowdofGladerswhosleptonthelawn,theirsnorestheonlysigntheyweren’tdead.TheslightestglowofearlymorningilluminatedtheGlade,turningeverythingdarkblueandshadowed.Thomashadneverseentheplacelooksopeaceful.AcockcrowedintheBloodHouse.Finally, in a crooked cranny near a back corner of the Homestead,

Minhopulledoutakeyandopenedupashabbydoorleadingtoasmallstoragecloset.Thomasfeltashiverofanticipation,wonderingwhatwasinside.Hecaughtglimpsesofropesandchainsandotheroddsandendsas Minho’s flashlight crisscrossed the closet. Eventually, it fell on anopen box full of running shoes. Thomas almost laughed, it seemed soordinary.“Thatrightthere’sthenumberonesupplyweget,”Minhoannounced.

“Atleastforus.TheysendnewonesintheBoxeverysooften.Ifwehadbad shoes,we’d have feet that look like freakingMars.”He bent overandrummagedthroughthepile.“Whatsizeyouwear?”“Size?”Thomasthoughtforasecond.“I…don’tknow.”Itwassoodd

sometimeswhathecouldandcouldn’tremember.Hereacheddownandpulledoffashoehe’dwornsincecomingtotheGladeandtookalookinside.“Eleven.”“Geez,shank,yougotbigfeet.”Minhostoodupholdingapairofsleek

silverones.“ButlookslikeI’vegotsome—man,wecouldgocanoeinginthesethings.”“Thosearefancy.”Thomastookthemandwalkedoutoftheclosetto

sit on the ground, eager to try them on. Minho grabbed a few morethingsbeforecomingouttojoinhim.

“Only Runners and Keepers get these,” Minho said. Before Thomascouldlookupfromtyinghisshoes,aplasticwristwatchdroppedintohislap.Itwasblackandverysimple,itsfaceshowingonlyadigitaldisplayofthetime.“Putitonandnevertakeitoff.Yourlifemightdependonit.”Thomas was glad to have it. Though the sun and the shadows hadseemed plenty to let him know roughly what time it was up to thatpoint,beingaRunnerprobablyrequiredmoreprecision.Hebuckledthewatchontohiswristandthenreturnedtofittingonhisshoes.Minho continued talking. “Here’s a backpack, water bottles, lunchpack, some shorts and T-shirts, other stuff.” He nudged Thomas, wholooked up. Minho was holding out a couple of pairs of tightly cutunderwear,madefromashinywhitematerial.“Thesebadboys’rewhatwecallRunnie-undies.Keepsyou,um,niceandcomfy.”“Niceandcomfy?”“Yeah,yaknow.Your—”“Yeah,gotit.”Thomastooktheunderwearandotherstuff.“Youguysreallyhavethisallthoughtout,don’tyou?”“Coupleofyearsrunnin’yourbuttoffeveryday,youfigureoutwhatyou need and ask for it.” He started stuffing things into his ownbackpack.Thomaswas surprised. “Youmean,youcanmake requests?Suppliesyouwant?”Whywouldthepeoplewho’dsentthemtherehelpsomuch?“Of coursewecan. Justdropanote in theBox, and there shegoes.Doesn’t mean we always get what we want from the Creators.Sometimeswedo,sometimeswedon’t.”“Everaskedforamap?”Minho laughed. “Yeah, tried that one. Asked for a TV, too, but noluck.Iguessthoseshuck-facesdon’twantusseeinghowwonderfullifeiswhenyoudon’tliveinafreakingmaze.”Thomasfeltatrickleofdoubtthatlifewassogreatbackhome—whatkindofworldallowedpeople tomakekids live like this?The thoughtsurprised him, as if its source had been founded in actualmemory, awisp of light in the darkness of his mind. But it was already gone.Shaking his head, he finished lacing up his shoes, then stood up andjoggedaroundincircles,jumpingupanddowntotestthemout.“Theyfeelprettygood.IguessI’mready.”

Minhowasstillcrouchedoverhisbackpackontheground;heglancedupatThomaswith a lookof disgust. “You look like an idiot, prancin’aroundlikeashuckballerina.Goodluckouttherewithnobreakfast,nopackedlunch,noweapons.”Thomashadalreadystoppedmoving,feltanicychill.“Weapons?”“Weapons.”Minhostoodandwalkedbacktothecloset.“Comehere,I’llshowya.”ThomasfollowedMinhointothesmallroomandwatchedashepulledafewboxesawayfromthebackwall.Underneathlayasmalltrapdoor.Minho lifted it to reveal a set ofwooden stairs leading intoblackness.“Keep’emdowninthebasementsoshankslikeGallycan’tgettothem.Comeon.”Minhowentfirst.Thestairscreakedwitheveryshiftofweightastheydescendedthedozenorsosteps.Thecoolairwasrefreshing,despitethedustandthestrongscentofmildew.Theyhitadirt floor,andThomascouldn’tseeathinguntilMinhoturnedonasinglelightbulbbypullingastring.TheroomwaslargerthanThomashadexpected,atleastthirtysquarefeet. Shelves lined the walls, and there were several blocky woodentables;everythinginsightwascoveredwithallmannerofjunkthatgavehimthecreeps.Woodenpoles,metalspikes, largepiecesofmesh—likewhatcoversachickencoop—rollsofbarbedwire,saws,knives,swords.Oneentirewallwasdedicatedtoarchery:woodenbows,arrows,sparestrings. The sight of it immediately brought back the memory of BengettingshotbyAlbyintheDeadheads.“Wow,” Thomasmurmured, his voice a dull thump in the enclosedplace.Atfirsthewasterrifiedthattheyneededsomanyweapons,buthewasrelievedtoseethatthevastmajorityofitwascoveredwithathicklayerofdust.“Don’tusemostofit,”Minhosaid.“Butyaneverknow.Allweusuallytakewithusisacoupleofsharpknives.”Henodded toward a largewooden trunk in the corner, its topopenandleaningagainstthewall.Knivesofallshapesandsizeswerestackedhaphazardlyallthewaytothetop.ThomasjusthopedtheroomwaskeptsecretfrommostoftheGladers.“Seemskindofdangerous tohaveall this stuff,”hesaid.“What ifBenhadgottendownhererightbeforehewentnutsandattackedme?”

Minho pulled the keys out of his pocket and dangled them with aclickety-clank.“Onlyafewluckytoadshaveasetofthese.”“Still…”“Quityourbellyachin’andpickacouple.Makesurethey’reniceand

sharp.Thenwe’ll go get breakfast andpackour lunch. Iwanna spendsometimeintheMapRoombeforeweheadout.”Thomaswaspumpedtohearthat—he’dbeencuriousaboutthesquat

building ever since he’d first seen a Runner go through its menacingdoor. He selected a short silvery dagger with a rubber grip, then onewithalongblackblade.Hisexcitementwanedalittle.Eventhoughheknewperfectlywellwhat lived out there, he still didn’twant to thinkaboutwhyheneededweaponstogointotheMaze.

A half hour later, fed and packed, they stood in front of the rivetedmetal door of theMapRoom.Thomaswas itching to go inside.Dawnhadburst forthinallherglory,andGladersmilledabout,readyingfortheday.Smellsoffryingbaconwaftedthroughtheair—Frypanandhiscrew trying to keep up with dozens of starving stomachs. Minhounlocked the door, cranked the wheel-handle, spinning it until anaudibleclicksoundedfrominside, thenpulled.Witha lurchingsqueal,theheavymetalslabswungopen.“Afteryou,”Minhosaidwithamockingbow.Thomaswentinwithoutsayinganything.Acoolfear,mixedwithan

intensecuriosity,grippedhim,andhehadtoremindhimselftobreathe.The dark room had amusty, wet smell, laced with a deep coppery

scentsostronghecouldtasteit.Adistant,fadedmemoryofsuckingonpenniesasakidpoppedintohishead.Minho hit a switch and several rows of fluorescent lights flickered

untiltheycameonfullstrength,revealingtheroomindetail.Thomaswassurprisedat itssimplicity.Abouttwentyfeetacross, the

MapRoomhadconcretewallsbareofanydecoration.Awooden tablestoodintheexactcenter,eightchairstuckedinaroundit.Neatlystackedpiles of paper and pencils lay about the table’s surface, one for eachchair.Theonlyotheritemsintheroomwereeighttrunks,justliketheonecontaining theknives in theweaponsbasement.Closed, theywereevenlyspaced,twotoawall.

“Welcometo theMapRoom,”Minhosaid.“Ashappyaplaceasyoucouldevervisit.”Thomas was slightly disappointed—he’d been expecting somethingmore profound. He took in a deep breath. “Too bad it smells like anabandonedcoppermine.”“Ikindalikethesmell.”Minhopulledouttwochairsandsatinoneofthem.“Haveaseat, Iwantyoutogetacoupleof imagesinyourheadbeforewegooutthere.”AsThomassatdown,Minhograbbedapieceofpaperandapencilandstarted drawing. Thomas leaned in to get a better look and saw thatMinhohaddrawnabigboxthatfilledalmosttheentirepage.Thenhefilled itwith smallerboxesuntil it lookedexactly likeanenclosed tic-tac-toeboard, three rowsof three squares,all the same size.HewrotethewordGLADEinthemiddle,thennumberedtheoutsidesquaresfromone to eight, starting in the upper left corner and going clockwise.Lastly,hedrewlittlenotcheshereandthere.“These are theDoors,”Minho said. “You knowabout the ones fromtheGlade,buttherearefourmoreoutintheMazethatleadtoSectionsOne,Three,Five,andSeven.Theystayinthesamespot,buttheroutetherechangeswiththewallmovementseverynight.”Hefinished,thenslidthepaperovertorestinfrontofThomas.Thomas picked it up, completely fascinated that the Maze was sostructured,andstudieditasMinhokepttalking.“So we have the Glade, surrounded by eight Sections, each one acompletely self-containedsquareandunsolvable in the twoyears sincewebeganthisfreakinggame.Theonlythingevenapproachinganexitisthe Cliff, and that ain’t a very good one unless you like falling to ahorrible death.”Minho tapped theMap. “Thewallsmove all over theshuckplaceeveryevening—sametimeasourDoorscloseshut.Atleast,we think that’swhen, becausewe never really hearwallsmoving anyothertime.”Thomaslookedup,happytobeabletoofferapieceofinformation.“Ididn’tseeanythingmovethatnightwegotstuckoutthere.”“Thosemaincorridorsrightoutside theDoorsdon’teverchange. It’sjusttheonesalittledeeperout.”“Oh.”Thomasreturnedtothecrudemap,tryingtovisualizetheMazeandseestonewallswhereMinhohadpenciledlines.

“WealwayshaveatleasteightRunners,includingtheKeeper.Oneforeach Section. It takes us a whole day to map out our area—hopingagainst hope there’s an exit—then we come back and draw it up, aseparatepage for eachday.”Minhoglancedoveratoneof the trunks.“That’swhythosethingsareshuckfullofMaps.”Thomas had a depressing—and scary—thought. “Am I … replacing

someone?Didsomebodygetkilled?”Minho shook his head. “No, we’re just training you—someone’ll

probablywant a break. Don’tworry, it’s been awhile since a Runnerwaskilled.”ForsomereasonthatlaststatementworriedThomas,thoughhehoped

itdidn’tshowonhis face.HepointedatSectionThree.“So…it takesyouawholedaytorunthroughtheselittlesquares?”“Hilarious.”Minhostoodandsteppedover to the trunk rightbehind

them, knelt down, then lifted the lid and rested it against the wall.“Comehere.”Thomashadalreadygottenup;he leanedoverMinho’sshoulderand

tookalook.ThetrunkwaslargeenoughthatfourstacksofMapscouldfit,andallfourreachedthetop.EachoftheonesThomascouldseewereverysimilar:aroughsketchofasquaremaze, fillingalmostthewholepage. In thetoprightcorners,Section8was scribbled, followedby thenameHank, then thewordDay, followedbyanumber.The latest onesaiditwasdaynumber749.Minhocontinued.“Wefiguredoutthewallsweremovingrightatthe

beginning.As soon aswedid,we started keeping track.We’ve alwaysthoughtthatcomparingthesedaytoday,weektoweek,wouldhelpusfigureoutapattern.Andwedid—themazesbasicallyrepeatthemselvesabouteverymonth.Butwe’veyettoseeanexitopenupthatwillleadusoutofthesquare.Neverbeenanexit.”“It’s been two years,” Thomas said. “Haven’t you gotten desperate

enoughtostayoutthereovernight,seeifmaybesomethingopenswhilethewallsaremoving?”Minholookedupathim,aflashofangerinhiseyes.“That’skindof

insulting,dude.Seriously.”“What?”Thomaswasshocked—hehadn’tmeantitthatway.“We’vebeenbustin’ourbuttsfortwoyears,andallyoucanaskiswhy

we’re too sissy to stay out there all night? A few tried it in the very

beginning—allofthemshowedupdead.Youwannaspendanothernightoutthere?Likeyourchancesofsurvivingagain,doya?”Thomas’sfacereddenedinshame.“No.Sorry.”Hesuddenlyfeltlikea

pieceofklunk.Andhecertainlyagreed—he’dmuchrathercomehomesafeandsoundtotheGladeeverynightthanensureanotherbattlewiththeGrievers.Heshudderedatthethought.“Yeah,well.”MinhoreturnedhisgazetotheMapsinthetrunk,much

toThomas’s relief. “Life in theGlademightnotbe sweet livin’, but atleast it’s safe. Plenty of food, protection from theGrievers. There’s nowaywecanasktheRunnerstoriskstayingoutthere—noway.Leastnotyet.Notuntil somethingabout thesepatternsgives a clue that an exitmightopenup,eventemporarily.”“Areyouclose?Anythingdeveloping?”Minhoshrugged.“Idon’tknow. It’skindofdepressing,butwedon’t

knowwhat else to do. Can’t take a chance that one day, in one spot,somewhere,anexitmightappear.Wecan’tgiveup.Ever.”Thomasnodded,relievedattheattitude.Asbadasthingswere,giving

upwouldonlymakethemworse.Minho pulled several sheets from the trunk, theMaps from the last

fewdays.Asheflippedthroughthem,heexplained,“Wecomparedaytoday,weektoweek,monthtomonth,justlikeIwassaying.EachRunneris in charge of theMap for his own Section. If I gotta be honest, wehaven’t figured out jack yet. Evenmore honest—we don’t knowwhatwe’relookingfor.Reallysucks,dude.Reallyfreakingsucks.”“Butwecan’tgiveup.”Thomas said it inamatter-of-fact tone,asa

resigned repeat of what Minho had said a moment earlier. He’d said“we”withouteven thinkingabout it,andrealizedhewas trulypartoftheGladenow.“Righton,bro.Wecan’tgiveup.”Minhocarefullyreturnedthepapers

andclosed the trunk, then stood. “Well,wegottabust it fast sincewetook time in here—you’ll just be following me around your first fewdays.Ready?”Thomasfeltawireofnervousnesstighteninsidehim,pinchinghisgut.

Itwasactuallyhere—theyweregoingforrealnow,nomoretalkingandthinkingaboutit.“Um…yeah.”“No‘ums’aroundhere.Youreadyornot?”Thomas looked at Minho, matched his suddenly hard gaze. “I’m

ready.”“Thenlet’sgorunnin’.”

CHAPTER33

TheywentthroughtheWestDoorintoSectionEightandmadetheirwaydown several corridors, Thomas right besideMinho as he turned rightand leftwithout seeming to think about it, running all thewhile. Theearly-morninglighthadasharpsheenaboutit,makingeverythinglookbright and crisp—the ivy, the cracked walls, the stone blocks of theground.Thoughthesunhadafewhoursbeforehittingthenoonspotupabove,therewasplentyoflighttoseeby.ThomaskeptupwithMinhoasbesthecould,havingtosprinteveryonceinawhiletocatchbackup.They finallymade it toa rectangularcut ina longwall to thenorth

thatlookedlikeadoorwaywithoutadoor.Minhoranstraightthroughitwithoutstopping.“ThisleadsfromSectionEight—themiddleleftsquare—toSectionOne—thetopleftsquare.LikeIsaid,thispassageisalwaysinthesamespot,buttherouteheremightbealittledifferentbecauseofthewallsrearrangingthemselves.”Thomasfollowedhim,surprisedathowheavyhisbreathshadalready

become.He hoped itwas only jitters, that his breathingwould steadysoon.They randowna long corridor to the right, passing several turns to

the left.When they reached the end of the passage,Minho slowed tobarelymorethanawalkandreachedbehindhimtopulloutanotepadandpencilfromasidepocketinhisbackpack.Hejottedanote,thenputthemback,never fully stopping.Thomaswonderedwhat he’dwritten,butMinhoansweredhimbeforehecouldposethequestion.“I rely … mostly on memory,” the Keeper huffed, his voice finally

showingahintofstrain.“Butabouteveryfifthturn,Iwritesomethingdown to help me later. Mostly just related to stuff from yesterday—what’sdifferenttoday.ThenIcanuseyesterday’sMaptomaketoday’s.Easy-peasy,dude.”Thomaswasintrigued.Minhodidmakeitsoundeasy.

Theyran forashortwhilebefore theyreachedan intersection.Theyhad three possible choices, but Minho went to the right withouthesitating.Ashedidso,hepulledoneofhisknivesfromapocketand,withoutmissingabeat,cutabigpieceofivyoffthewall.Hethrewitonthegroundbehindhimandkeptrunning.“Bread crumbs?” Thomas asked, the old fairy tale popping into hismind.Suchoddglimpsesofhispasthadalmoststoppedsurprisinghim.“Breadcrumbs,”Minhoreplied.“I’mHansel,you’reGretel.”On theywent, following the course of theMaze, sometimes turningright,sometimesturningleft.Aftereveryturn,Minhocutanddroppedathree-footlengthofivy.Thomascouldn’thelpbeingimpressed—Minhodidn’tevenneedtoslowdowntodoit.“Allright,”theKeepersaid,breathingheaviernow.“Yourturn.”“What?” Thomas hadn’t really expected to do anything but run andwatchonhisfirstday.“Cuttheivynow—yougottagetusedtodoingitontherun.Wepick’emupaswecomeback,orkick’emtotheside.”Thomaswashappierthanhethoughthe’dbeathavingsomethingtodo, though it took him a while to become good at it. First couple oftimes, he had to sprint to catch up after cutting the ivy, and once henicked his finger. But by his tenth attempt, he could almost matchMinhoatthetask.Ontheywent.Afterthey’drunawhile—Thomashadnoideaforhowlongorhowfar,butheguessed threemiles—Minhoslowed toawalk,thenstoppedaltogether.“Breaktime.”Heswungoffhispackandpulledoutsomewaterandanapple.Thomas didn’t have to be convinced to follow Minho’s lead. Heguzzledhiswater,relishingthewetcoolnessasitwasheddownhisdrythroat.“Slowdownthere,fishhead,”Minhoyelped.“Savesomeforlater.”Thomas stopped drinking, sucked in a big satisfied breath, thenburped.He took a bite of his apple, feeling surprisingly refreshed. Forsomereason,his thoughts turnedbackto thedayMinhoandAlbyhadgonetolookatthedeadGriever—wheneverythinghadgonetoklunk.“YouneverreallytoldmewhathappenedtoAlbythatday—whyhewasinsuchbadshape.ObviouslytheGrieverwokeup,butwhathappened?”Minhohadalreadyputhisbackpackon.Helookedreadytogo.“Well,

shuckthingwasn’tdead.Albypokedatitwithhisfootlikeanidiotandthatbadboysuddenlysprangtolife,spikesflaring,itsfatbodyrollin’allover him. Something was wrong with it, though—didn’t really attacklikeusual. It seemed like itwasmostly just trying to get out of there,andpoorAlbywasintheway.”“Soitranawayfromyouguys?”FromwhatThomashadseenonlyafewnightsbefore,hecouldn’timagineit.Minhoshrugged.“Yeah,Iguess—maybeitneededtogetrechargedorsomething.Idon’tknow.”“What could’ve been wrong with it? Did you see an injury oranything?”Thomasdidn’tknowwhatkindofanswerhewassearchingfor,buthewassuretherehadtobeaclueorlessontolearnfromwhathappened.Minhothoughtforaminute.“No.Shuckthingjustlookeddead—likeawaxstatue.Thenboom,itwasbacktolife.”Thomas’smindwaschurning,tryingtogetsomewhere,onlyhedidn’tknowwhereorwhichdirectiontoevenstartin.“Ijustwonderwhereitwent. Where they always go. Don’t you?” He was quiet for a second,then,“Haven’tyoueverthoughtoffollowingthem?”“Man,youdohaveadeathwish,don’tyou?Comeon,wegottago.”AndwiththatMinhoturnedandstartedrunning.AsThomasfollowed,hestruggledtofigureoutwhatwasticklingthebackofhismind.SomethingaboutthatGrieverbeingdeadandthennotdead,somethingaboutwhereithadgoneonceitsprangtolife…Frustrated,heputitasideandsprintedtocatchup.

ThomasranrightbehindMinhofortwomorehours,sprinkledwithlittlebreaksthatseemedtogetshortereverytime.Goodshapeornot,Thomaswasfeelingthepain.Finally,Minhostoppedandpulledoffhisbackpackoncemore.Theysatontheground,leaningagainstthesoftivyastheyatelunch,neitheroneof themtalkingmuch.Thomasrelishedeverybiteofhis sandwichandveggies,eatingasslowlyaspossible.HeknewMinhowouldmakethemgetupandgooncethefooddisappeared,sohetookhistime.“Anythingdifferenttoday?”Thomasasked,curious.Minhoreacheddownandpattedhisbackpack,wherehisnotesrested.

“Justtheusualwallmovements.Nothingtogetyourskinnybuttexcitedabout.”Thomastookalongswigofwater,lookingupattheivy-coveredwall

oppositethem.Hecaughtaflashofsilverandred,somethinghe’dseenmorethanoncethatday.“What’sthedealwiththosebeetleblades?”heasked.Theyseemedto

beeverywhere.ThenThomasrememberedwhathe’dseenintheMaze—somuch had happened he hadn’t had the chance tomention it. “Andwhydotheyhavethewordwickedwrittenontheirbacks?”“Neverbeenable tocatchone.”Minho finisheduphismealandput

his lunch box away. “And we don’t know what that word means—probablyjustsomethingtoscareus.Buttheyhavetobespies.Forthem.Onlythingwecanreckon.”“Who is them, anyway?”Thomas asked, ready formore answers.He

hatedthepeoplebehindtheMaze.“Anybodyhaveaclue?”“We don’t know jack about the stupid Creators.” Minho’s face

reddened as he squeezed his hands together like he was chokingsomeone.“Can’twaittoriptheir—”ButbeforetheKeepercouldfinish,Thomaswasonhisfeetandacross

thecorridor.“What’s that?”he interrupted,headingforadullglimmerofgrayhe’djustnoticedbehindtheivyonthewall,aboutheadhigh.“Oh,yeah,that,”Minhosaid,hisvoicecompletelyindifferent.Thomas reached in andpulled apart the curtains of ivy, then stared

blankly at a square ofmetal riveted to the stonewithwords stampedacross it in big capital letters. He put his hand out to run his fingersacrossthem,asifhedidn’tbelievehiseyes.

WORLDINCATASTROPHE:KILLZONEEXPERIMENTDEPARTMENT

Hereadthewordsaloud,thenlookedbackatMinho.“What’sthis?”Itgavehimachill—ithadtohavesomethingtodowiththeCreators.“Idon’t know, shank.They’re all over theplace, like freaking labels

fortheniceprettyMazetheybuilt.Iquitbotheringtolookat’emalongtimeago.”Thomasturnedbacktostareatthesign,tryingtosuppressthefeeling

of doom that had risen inside him. “Not much here that sounds very

good.Catastrophe.Killzone.Experiment.Realnice.”“Yeah,realnice,Greenie.Let’sgo.”Reluctantly,Thomas let thevines fallback intoplaceandswunghisbackpackoverhisshoulders.Andofftheywent,thosesixwordsburningholesinhismind.

Anhourafterlunch,Minhostoppedattheendofalongcorridor.Itwasstraight,thewalls,solid,withnohallwaysbranchingoff.“Thelastdeadend,”hesaidtoThomas.“Timetogoback.”Thomassuckedinadeepbreath,tryingnottothinkaboutonlybeinghalfwaydonefortheday.“Nothingnew?”“Just the usual changes to the way we got here—day’s half over,”Minhorepliedashelookedathiswatchemotionlessly.“Gottagoback.”Withoutwaitingforaresponse,theKeeperturnedandsetoffataruninthedirectionfromwhichthey’djustcome.Thomas followed, frustrated that they couldn’t take time to examinethewalls,explorealittle.HefinallypulledinstridewithMinho.“But—”“Just shut it, dude. Remember what I said earlier—can’t take anychances.Plus,thinkaboutit.Youreallythinkthere’sanexitanywhere?Asecrettrapdoororsomething?”“Idon’tknow…maybe.Whydoyouaskitthatway?”Minhoshookhishead,spatabigwadofsomethingnastytohis left.“There’snoexit. It’s justmoreof the same.Awall is awall is awall.Solid.”Thomasfelttheheavytruthofit,butpushedbackanyway.“Howdoyouknow?”“BecausepeoplewillingtosendGrieversafterusaren’tgonnagiveusaneasywayout.”ThismadeThomas doubt thewhole point ofwhat theywere doing.“Thenwhyevenbothercomingouthere?”Minholookedoverathim.“Whybother?Becauseit’shere—gottabeareason.Butifyouthinkwe’regonnafindanicelittlegatethatleadstoHappyTown,you’resmokin’cowklunk.”Thomaslookedstraightahead,feelingsohopelesshealmostslowedtoastop.“Thissucks.”“Smartestthingyou’vesaidyet,Greenie.”

Minhoblewoutabigpuffofairandkept running,andThomasdidtheonlythingheknewtodo.Hefollowed.

TherestofthedaywasablurofexhaustiontoThomas.HeandMinhomade itback to theGlade,went to theMapRoom,wroteuptheday’sMazeroute,comparedittothepreviousday’s.Thentherewerethewallsclosing and dinner. Chuck tried talking to him several times, but allThomascoulddowasnodandshakehishead,onlyhalfhearing,hewassotired.Beforetwilightfadedtoblackness,hewasalreadyinhisnewfavorite

spotintheforestcorner,curledupagainsttheivy,wonderingifhecouldever run again. Wondering how he could possibly do the same thingtomorrow.Especiallywhen it seemedsopointless.BeingaRunnerhadlostitsglamour.Afteroneday.Every ounce of the noble courage he’d felt, the will to make a

difference, thepromise tohimself to reuniteChuckwithhis family—itallvanishedintoanexhaustedfogofhopeless,wretchedweariness.Hewassomewhereveryclosetosleepwhenavoicespokeinhishead,

apretty,femininevoicethatsoundedasifitcamefromafairygoddesstrapped inhis skull. Thenextmorning,when everything started goingcrazy,he’dwonderifthevoicehadbeenrealorpartofadream.Buthehearditallthesame,andrememberedeveryword:Tom,IjusttriggeredtheEnding.

CHAPTER34

Thomas awoke to a weak, lifeless light. His first thought was that hemust’vegottenupearlierthanusual,thatdawnwasstillanhouraway.Butthenheheardtheshouts.Andthenhelookedup,throughtheleafycanopyofbranches.Theskywasadullslabofgray—notthenaturalpalelightofmorning.Hejumpedtohisfeet,puthishandonthewalltosteadyhimselfashe

craned his neck to gawk toward the heavens. There was no blue, noblack,nostars,nopurplishfanofacreepingdawn.Thesky,everylastinchofit,wasslategray.Colorlessanddead.Helookeddownathiswatch—itwasafullhourpasthismandatory

waking time. The brilliance of the sun should’ve awakened him—haddonesoeasilysincehe’darrivedattheGlade.Butnottoday.Heglancedupwardagain,halfexpecting it tohavechangedback to

normal. But it was all gray. Not cloudy, not twilight, not the earlyminutesofdawn.Justgray.Thesunhaddisappeared.

ThomasfoundmostoftheGladersstandingneartheentrancetotheBox,pointingat thedead sky, everyone talkingatonce.Basedon the time,breakfastshould’vealreadybeenserved,peopleshouldbeworking.Butthere was something about the largest object in the solar systemvanishingthattendedtodisruptnormalschedules.In truth, as Thomas silently watched the commotion, he didn’t feel

nearlyaspanickedorfrightenedashisinstinctstoldhimheoughttobe.Anditsurprisedhimthatsomanyof theothers lookedlike lostchicksthrownfromthecoop.Itwas,infact,ridiculous.Thesunobviouslyhadnotdisappeared—thatwasn’tpossible.Thoughthatwaswhatitseemedlike—signsoftheballoffuriousfire

nowheretobeseen,theslantingshadowsofmorningabsent.Butheandall theGladerswere far toorationaland intelligent toconcludesuchathing. No, there had to be a scientifically acceptable reason for whatthey were witnessing. And whatever it was, to Thomas it meant onething: the fact theycouldno longersee thesunprobablymeant they’dneverbeenabletointhefirstplace.Asuncouldn’tjustdisappear.Theirskyhadtohavebeen—andstillwas—fabricated.Artificial.Inotherwords,thesunthathadshonedownonthesepeoplefortwoyears, providing heat and life to everything, was not the sun at all.Somehow,ithadbeenfake.Everythingaboutthisplacewasfake.Thomas didn’t know what that meant, didn’t know how it waspossible. But he knew it to be true—it was the only explanation hisrationalmindcouldaccept.AnditwasobviousfromtheotherGladers’reactionsthatnoneofthemhadfiguredthisoutuntilnow.Chuck found him, and the look of fear on the boy’s face pinchedThomas’sheart.“What do you think happened?” Chuck said, a pitiful tremor in hisvoice, his eyes glued to the sky. Thomas thought his neck must hurtsomethingawful.“Lookslikeabiggrayceiling—closeenoughyoucouldalmosttouchit.”Thomas followed Chuck’s gaze and looked up. “Yeah, makes youwonder about this place.” For the second time in twenty-four hours,Chuckhadnailedit.Theskydidlooklikeaceiling.Liketheceilingofamassiveroom.“Maybesomething’sbroken.Imean,maybeit’llbeback.”Chuck finally quit gawking and made eye contact with Thomas.“Broken?What’sthatsupposedtomean?”BeforeThomascouldanswer,thefaintmemoryoflastnight,beforehefellasleep,cametohim,Teresa’swordsinsidehismind.She’dsaid,Ijusttriggered the Ending. It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? A sour rotcrept intohisbelly.Whatever theexplanation,whatever thathadbeeninthesky,therealsunornot,itwasgone.Andthatcouldn’tbeagoodthing.“Thomas?”Chuckasked,lightlytappinghimontheupperarm.“Yeah?”Thomas’smindfelthazy.“What’dyoumeanbybroken?”Chuckrepeated.Thomas felt like he needed time to think about it all. “Oh. I don’tknow.Must be things about this placeweobviouslydon’t understand.

Butyoucan’tjustmakethesundisappearfromspace.Plus,there’sstillenoughlighttoseeby,asfaintasitis.Where’sthatcomingfrom?”Chuck’seyeswidened,asifthedarkest,deepestsecretoftheuniversehadjustbeenrevealedtohim.“Yeah,where is itcomingfrom?What’sgoingon,Thomas?”Thomasreachedoutandsqueezedtheyoungerboy’sshoulder.Hefeltawkward. “No clue, Chuck.Not a clue. But I’m sureNewt andAlby’llfigurethingsout.”“Thomas!” Minho was running up to them. “Quit your leisure timewithChuckyhereandlet’sgetgoing.We’realreadylate.”Thomaswasstunned.Forsomereasonhe’dexpectedtheweirdskytothrowallnormalplansoutthewindow.“You’restillgoingoutthere?”Chuckasked,clearlysurprisedaswell.Thomaswasgladtheboyhadaskedthequestionforhim.“Ofcourseweare,shank,”Minhosaid.“Don’tyouhavesomesloppin’to do?”He looked fromChuck toThomas. “If anything, gives us evenmorereasontogetourbuttsoutthere.Ifthesun’sreallygone,won’tbelongbeforeplantsandanimalsdropdead, too. I think thedesperationleveljustwentupanotch.”ThelaststatementstruckThomasdeepdown.Despiteallhisideas—allthethingshe’dpitchedtoMinho—hewasn’teagertochangehowthingshadbeendoneforthelasttwoyears.Amixtureofexcitementanddreadswept overhimwhenhe realizedwhatMinhowas saying. “Youmeanwe’regoingtostayoutthereovernight?Explorethewallsalittlemoreclosely?”Minhoshookhishead.“No,notyet.Maybesoon,though.”Helookeduptowardthesky.“Man—whatawaytowakeup.Comeon,let’sgo.”ThomaswasquietasheandMinhogot their things readyandatealightning-fastbreakfast.HisthoughtswerechurningtoomuchaboutthegrayskyandwhatTeresa—atleast,hethoughtithadbeenthegirl—hadtoldhiminhismindtoparticipateinanyconversation.What had she meant by the Ending? Thomas couldn’t knock thefeelingthatheshouldtellsomebody.Everybody.Buthedidn’tknowwhatitmeant,andhedidn’twantthemtoknowhehadagirl’svoiceinhishead.They’dthinkhe’dreallygonebonkers,maybeevenlockhimup—andforgoodthistime.After a lot of deliberation, he decided to keep his mouth shut and

wentrunningwithMinhoforhisseconddayoftraining,belowableakandcolorlesssky.

They saw the Griever before they’d evenmade it to the door leadingfromSectionEighttoSectionOne.MinhowasafewfeetaheadofThomas.He’djustroundedacornerto

therightwhenheslammedtoastop,hisfeetalmostskiddingoutfromunderhim.HejumpedbackandgrabbedThomasbytheshirt,pushinghimagainstthewall.“Shh,”Minhowhispered.“There’safreakingGrieverupthere.”Thomaswidenedhiseyesinquestion,felthisheartpickupthepace,

eventhoughithadalreadybeenpumpinghardandsteady.Minho simply nodded, then put his finger to his lips. He let go of

Thomas’sshirtandtookastepback,thencreptuptothecorneraroundwhichhe’d seen theGriever.Very slowly,he leaned forward to takeapeek.Thomaswantedtoscreamathimtobecareful.Minho’sheadjerkedbackandheturnedtofaceThomas.Hisvoicewas

stillawhisper.“It’s justsittingupthere—almostlikethatdeadonewesaw.”“Whatdowedo?”Thomasasked, asquietlyaspossible.He tried to

ignorethepanicflaringinsidehim.“Isitcomingtowardus?”“No,idiot—Ijusttoldyouitwassittingthere.”“Well?”Thomasraisedhishandstohissidesinfrustration.“Whatdo

wedo?”StandingsoclosetoaGrieverseemedlikeareallybadidea.Minhopauseda fewseconds, thinkingbeforehespoke.“Wehave to

gothatwaytogettooursection.Let’sjustwatchitawhile—ifitcomesafter us, we’ll run back to the Glade.” He took another peek, thenquicklylookedoverhisshoulder.“Crap—it’sgone!Comeon!”Minhodidn’twaitforaresponse,didn’tseethelookofhorrorThomas

hadjustfeltwidenhisowneyes.Minhotookoffrunninginthedirectionwhere he’d seen the Griever. Though his instincts told him not to,Thomasfollowed.He sprinted down the long corridor after Minho, turned left, then

right.At every turn, they slowed so theKeeper could look around thecornerfirst.EachtimehewhisperedbacktoThomasthathe’dseenthetailendoftheGrieverdisappearingaroundthenextturn.Thiswenton

for tenminutes,until theycameto the longhallway thatendedat theCliff, where beyond lay nothing but the lifeless sky. The Griever waschargingtowardthatsky.MinhostoppedsoabruptlyThomasalmostranhimover.ThenThomasstaredinshockasupaheadtheGrieverduginwithitsspikesandspunforward right up to theCliff’s edge, thenoff, into the gray abyss. Thecreaturedisappearedfromsight,ashadowswallowedbymoreshadow.

CHAPTER35

“Thatsettlesit,”Minhosaid.ThomasstoodnexttohimontheedgeoftheCliff,staringatthegray

nothingness beyond. Therewas no sign of anything, to the left, right,down, up, or ahead, for as far as he could see.Nothing but awall ofblankness.“Settleswhat?”Thomasasked.“We’veseenitthreetimesnow.Something’sup.”“Yeah.” Thomas knew what he meant, but waited for Minho’s

explanationanyway.“ThatdeadGrieverIfound—itranthisway,andweneversawitcome

back or go deeper into theMaze. Then those suckers we tricked intojumpingpastus.”“Tricked?”Thomassaid.“Maybenotsuchatrick.”Minholookedoverathim,contemplative.“Hmm.Anyway,thenthis.”

Hepointedoutattheabyss.“Notmuchdoubtanymore—somehowtheGrieverscanleavetheMaze thisway.Lookslikemagic,butsodoesthesundisappearing.”“Iftheycanleavethisway,”Thomasadded,continuingMinho’slineof

reasoning,“socouldwe.”Athrillofexcitementshotthroughhim.Minholaughed.“There’syourdeathwishagain.Wannahangoutwith

theGrievers,haveasandwich,maybe?”Thomasfelthishopesdrop.“Gotanybetterideas?”“Onethingatatime,Greenie.Let’sgetsomerocksandtestthisplace

out.Therehastobesomekindofhiddenexit.”Thomas helped Minho as they scrabbled around the corners and

cranniesoftheMaze,pickingupasmanyloosestonesaspossible.Theygotmore by thumbing cracks in thewall, spilling broken chunks ontothe ground.When they finally had a sizable pile, they hauled it overright next to the edge and took a seat, feet dangling over the side.

Thomaslookeddownandsawnothingbutagraydescent.Minhopulledouthispadandpencil,placedthemonthegroundnextto him. “All right,we gotta take good notes. Andmemorize it in thatshuckheadofyours,too.Ifthere’ssomekindofoptical illusionhidinganexit fromthisplace, Idon’twannabetheonewhoscrewsupwhenthefirstshanktriestojumpintoit.”“That shank oughtta be the Keeper of the Runners,” Thomas said,tryingtomakeajoketohidehisfear.BeingthisclosetoaplacewhereGrieversmightcomeoutatanysecondwasmakinghimsweat.“You’dwannaholdontoonebeautyofarope.”Minhopickeduparockfromtheirpile.“Yeah.Okay,let’staketurnstossingthem,zigzaggingbackandforthoutthere.Ifthere’ssomekindofmagical exit, hopefully it’ll work with rocks, too—make themdisappear.”Thomastookarockandcarefullythrewittotheirleft,justinfrontofwheretheleftwallofthecorridorleadingtotheCliffmettheedge.Thejagged piece of stone fell. And fell. Then disappeared into the grayemptiness.Minhowentnext.HetossedhisrockjustafootorsofartheroutthanThomashad.Italsofell farbelow.Thomasthrewanotherone,anotherfoot out. Then Minho. Each rock fell to the depths. Thomas keptfollowing Minho’s orders—they continued until they’d marked a linereaching at least a dozen feet from the Cliff, thenmoved their targetpatternafoottotherightandstartedcomingbacktowardtheMaze.All the rocks fell. Another line out, another line back. All the rocksfell.Theythrewenoughrockstocovertheentirelefthalfoftheareainfront of them, covering the distance anyone—or anything—couldpossibly jump.Thomas’s discouragement grewwith every toss, until itturnedintoaheavymassofblah.Hecouldn’thelpchidinghimself—it’dbeenastupididea.ThenMinho’snextrockdisappeared.Itwasthestrangest,mosthard-to-believethingThomashadeverseen.Minhohadthrownalargechunk,apiecethathadfallenfromoneofthe cracks in thewall. Thomas hadwatched, deeply concentrating oneachandeveryrock.ThisoneleftMinho’shand,sailedforward,almostin the exact center of the Cliff line, started its descent to the unseengroundfarbelow.Thenitvanished,asifithadfallenthroughaplaneof

waterormist.Onesecondthere,falling.Nextsecondgone.Thomascouldn’tspeak.“We’vethrownstuffofftheCliffbefore,”Minhosaid.“Howcouldwehaveevermissedthat?Ineversawanythingdisappear.Never.”Thomascoughed;histhroatfeltraw.“Doitagain—maybeweblinkedweirdorsomething.”Minhodid, throwing it at the same spot.Andonce again, itwinkedoutofexistence.“Maybe you weren’t looking carefully other times you threw stuffover,” Thomas said. “Imean, it should be impossible—sometimes youdon’tlookveryhardforthingsyoudon’tbelievewillorcanhappen.”Theythrewtherestoftherocks,aimingattheoriginalspotandeveryinch around it. To Thomas’s surprise, the spot in which the rocksdisappearedprovedonlytobeafewfeetsquare.“Nowonderwemissedit,”Minhosaid, furiouslywritingdownnotesanddimensions,hisbestattemptatadiagram.“It’skindofsmall.”“The Grievers must barely fit through that thing.” Thomas kept hiseyes riveted to theareaof the invisible floating square, trying toburnthedistanceand location inhismind, rememberexactlywhere itwas.“Andwhentheycomeout,theymustbalanceontherimoftheholeandjumpovertheemptyspacetotheCliffedge—it’snotthatfar.IfIcouldjumpit,I’msureit’seasyforthem.”Minho finished drawing, then looked up at the special spot. “How’sthispossible,dude?What’rewelookingat?”“Likeyousaid,it’snotmagic.Mustbesomethinglikeourskyturninggray.Somekindofopticalillusionorhologram,hidingadoorway.Thisplace isall jackedup.”And,Thomasadmittedtohimself,kindofcool.Hismindcravedtoknowwhatkindoftechnologycouldbebehinditall.“Yeah, jackedupisright.Comeon.”Minhogotupwithagruntandput on his backpack. “Better get asmuch of theMaze run aswe can.Withournewdecoratedsky,maybeotherweirdthingshavehappenedoutthere.We’lltellNewtandAlbyaboutthistonight.Don’tknowhowithelps,butatleastweknownowwheretheshuckGrieversgo.”“Andprobablywhere they come from,”Thomas saidashe tookonelastlookatthehiddendoorway.“TheGrieverHole.”“Yeah,goodanameasany.Let’sgo.”

Thomas sat and stared,waiting forMinho tomake amove. Severalminutes passed in silence and Thomas realized his friend must be asfascinatedashewas. Finally,without sayingaword,Minho turned toleave. Thomas reluctantly followed and they ran into the gray-darkMaze.***

ThomasandMinhofoundnothingbutstonewallsandivy.Thomasdid thevine cuttingandall thenote-taking. Itwashard for

himtonoticeanychangesfromthedaybefore,butMinhopointedoutwithout thinking about it where the walls had moved. When theyreachedthefinaldeadendanditwastimetoheadbackhome,Thomasfelt an almost uncontrollable urge to bag everything and stay thereovernight,seewhathappened.Minho seemed to sense it andgrabbedhis shoulder. “Not yet, dude.

Notyet.”Andsothey’dgoneback.AsombermoodrestedovertheGlade,aneasythingtohappenwhen

all is gray. The dim light hadn’t changed a bit since they’dwoken upthat morning, and Thomas wondered if anything would change at“sunset”either.Minhoheaded straight for theMapRoomas they came through the

WestDoor.Thomaswas surprised.He thought itwas the last thing they should

do.“Aren’tyoudyingtotellNewtandAlbyabouttheGrieverHole?”“Hey, we’re still Runners,” Minho said, “and we still have a job.”

Thomas followed him to the steel door of the big concrete block andMinhoturnedtogivehimawansmile.“Butyeah,we’lldoitquicksowecantalktothem.”TherewerealreadyotherRunnersmillingabouttheroom,drawingup

theirMapswhentheyentered.Noonesaidaword,asifallspeculationonthenewskyhadbeenexhausted.ThehopelessnessintheroommadeThomasfeelasifhewerewalkingthroughmud-thickwater.Heknewheshouldalsobeexhausted,buthewastooexcitedtofeelit—hecouldn’twaittoseeNewt’sandAlby’sreactionstothenewsabouttheCliff.He sat down at the table and drew up the day’sMap based on his

memory and notes, Minho looking over his shoulder the whole time,givingpointers.“I think thathallwasactuallycutoffhere,not there,”

and “Watch your proportions,” and “Draw straighter, you shank.” Hewasannoyingbuthelpful,and fifteenminutesafterentering theroom,Thomas examined his finished product. Pridewashed through him—itwasjustasgoodasanyotherMaphe’dseen.“Notbad,”Minhosaid.“ForaGreenie,anyway.”MinhogotupandwalkedovertotheSectionOnetrunkandopenedit.Thomas knelt down in front of it and took out theMap from the daybeforeandhelditupsidebysidewiththeonehe’djustdrawn.“WhatamIlookingfor?”heasked.“Patterns. But looking at two days’ worth isn’t gonna tell you jack.You really need to study several weeks, look for patterns, anything. Iknowthere’ssomethingthere,somethingthat’llhelpus.Justcan’tfindityet.LikeIsaid,itsucks.”Thomashadanitchinthebackofhismind,thesameonehe’dfelttheveryfirsttimeinthisroom.TheMazewalls,moving.Patterns.Allthosestraight lines—were they suggestinganentirelydifferentkindofmap?Pointingtosomething?Hehadsuchaheavyfeelingthathewasmissinganobvioushintorclue.Minhotappedhimontheshoulder.“Youcanalwayscomebackandstudyyourbuttoffafterdinner,afterwetalktoNewtandAlby.Comeon.”Thomasputthepapersinthetrunkandclosedit,hatingthetwingeofunease he felt. It was like a prick in his side. Walls moving, straightlines,patterns…Therehadtobeananswer.“Okay,let’sgo.”They’d just steppedoutside theMapRoom, theheavydoor clangingshutbehindthem,whenNewtandAlbywalkedup,neitheroneofthemlookingveryhappy.Thomas’sexcitementimmediatelyturnedtoworry.“Hey,”Minhosaid.“Wewerejust—”“Get on with it,” Alby interrupted. “Ain’t got time to waste. Findanything?Anything?”Minhoactuallyrecoiledattheharshrebuke,buthisfaceseemedmoreconfusedtoThomasthanhurtorangry.“Nicetoseeyou,too.Yeah,wedidfindsomething,actually.”Oddly,Albyalmostlookeddisappointed.“Cuzthiswholeshuckplaceis fallin’ to pieces.”He shot Thomas a nasty glare as if itwere all hisfault.What’swrongwithhim?Thomas thought, feelinghisownanger light

up.They’dbeenworkinghardalldayandthiswastheirthanks?“Whatdoyoumean?”Minhoasked.“Whatelsehappened?”Newt answered, nodding toward the Box as he did so. “Bloody

suppliesdidn’tcometoday.Comeeveryweekfortwoyears,sametime,sameday.Butnottoday.”Allfourofthemlookedoveratthesteeldoorsattachedtotheground.

ToThomas, thereseemedtobeashadowhoveringover itdarker thanthegrayairsurroundingeverythingelse.“Oh, we’re shucked for good now,” Minho whispered, his reaction

alertingThomastohowgravethesituationreallywas.“Nosunfortheplants,”Newtsaid,“nosuppliesfromthebloodyBox

—yeah,I’dsaywe’reshucked,allright.”Albyhadfoldedhisarms,stillglaringattheBoxasiftryingtoopen

thedoorswithhismind.Thomashopedtheirleaderdidn’tbringupwhathe’d seen in the Changing—or anything related to Thomas, for thatmatter.Especiallynow.“Yeah,anyway,”Minhocontinued.“Wefoundsomethingweird.”Thomas waited, hoping that Newt or Alby would have a positive

reactiontothenews,maybeevenhavefurtherinformationtoshedlightonthemystery.Newtraisedhiseyebrows.“What?”Minhotookafull threeminutestoexplain,startingwiththeGriever

they followed and ending with the results of their rock-throwingexperiment.“Must lead towhere the…yaknow…Grievers live,” he saidwhen

finished.“TheGrieverHole,”Thomasadded.All threeofthemlookedathim,

annoyed, as if he had no right to speak. But for the first time, beingtreatedliketheGreeniedidn’tbotherhimthatmuch.“Gottabloodyseethatformyself,”Newtsaid.Thenmurmured,“Hard

tobelieve.”Thomascouldn’thaveagreedmore.“Idon’tknowwhatwecando,”Minhosaid.“Maybewecouldbuild

somethingtoblockoffthatcorridor.”“No way,” Newt said. “Shuck things can climb the bloody walls,

remember?Nothingwecouldbuildwouldkeepthemout.”ButacommotionoutsidetheHomesteadshiftedtheirattentionaway

fromtheconversation.AgroupofGladersstoodatthefrontdoorofthe

house, shouting tobeheardover eachother.Chuckwas in the group,and when he saw Thomas and the others he ran over, a look ofexcitementspreadacrosshisface.Thomascouldonlywonderwhatcrazythinghadhappenednow.“What’sgoingon?”Newtasked.“She’sawake!”Chuckyelled.“Thegirl’sawake!”Thomas’s insides twisted; he leaned against the concretewall of the

MapRoom.Thegirl.Thegirlwhospokeinhishead.Hewantedtorunbeforeithappenedagain,beforeshespoketohiminhismind.Butitwastoolate.Tom,Idon’tknowanyofthesepeople.Comegetme!It’sallfading….I’m

forgettingeverythingbutyou….Ihavetotellyouthings!Butit’sallfading….Hecouldn’tunderstandhowshedidit,howshewasinsidehishead.Teresapaused,thensaidsomethingthatmadenosense.TheMazeisacode,Tom.TheMazeisacode.

CHAPTER36

Thomasdidn’twanttoseeher.Hedidn’twanttoseeanybody.As soon as Newt set off to go and talk to the girl, Thomas silently

slippedaway,hopingnoonewouldnoticehimintheexcitement.Witheveryone’sthoughtsonthestrangerwakingupfromhercoma,itprovedeasy. He skirted the edge of the Glade, then, breaking into a run, heheadedforhisplaceofseclusionbehindtheDeadheadforest.Hecrouched in thecorner,nestled in the ivy,and threwhisblanket

overhimself,headandall.Somehow,itseemedlikeawaytohidefromTeresa’sintrusionintohismind.Afewminutespassed,hisheartfinallycalmingtoaslowroll.“Forgettingaboutyouwastheworstpart.”At first, Thomas thought it was another message in his head; he

squeezed his fists against his ears. But no, it’d been…different.He’dheard it with his ears. A girl’s voice. Chills creeping up his spine, heslowlyloweredtheblanket.Teresastoodtohisright, leaningagainstthemassivestonewall.She

looked so different now, awake and alert—standing. Wearing a long-sleevedwhiteshirt,bluejeans,andbrownshoes,shelooked—impossibly—evenmore striking thanwhenhe’d seenher in thecoma.Blackhairframedthefairskinofherface,witheyestheblueofpureflame.“Tom,doyoureallynotrememberme?”Hervoicewassoft,acontrast

fromthecrazed,hardsoundhe’dheardfromheraftershefirstarrived,whenshe’ddeliveredthemessagethateverythingwasgoingtochange.“You mean … you remember me?” he asked, embarrassed at the

squeakthatescapedonthelastword.“Yes.No.Maybe.”Shethrewherarmsupindisgust.“Ican’texplain

it.”Thomasopenedhismouth,thencloseditwithoutsayinganything.“I remember remembering,” shemuttered, sitting downwith a heavy

sigh; she pulled her legs up to wrap her arms around her knees.“Feelings.Emotions.LikeIhavealltheseshelvesinmyhead,labeledformemories and faces, but they’re empty. As if everything before this isjustontheothersideofawhitecurtain.Includingyou.”“But how do you know me?” He felt like the walls were spinningaroundhim.Teresaturnedtowardhim.“Idon’tknow.SomethingaboutbeforewecametotheMaze.Somethingaboutus.It’smostlyempty,likeIsaid.”“YouknowabouttheMaze?Whotoldyou?Youjustwokeup.”“I… It’s all very confusing right now.” Sheheld ahandout. “But Iknowyou’remyfriend.”Almost in a daze, Thomas pulled the blanket completely off andleaned forward to shake her hand. “I like how you callme Tom.” Assoonasitcameout,hewassurehecouldn’thavepossiblysaidanythingdumber.Teresarolledhereyes.“That’syourname,isn’tit?”“Yeah,butmostpeoplecallmeThomas.Well,exceptNewt—hecallsmeTommy.Tommakesmefeel…likeI’mathomeorsomething.EventhoughIdon’tknowwhathome is.”He letoutabitter laugh.“Arewemesseduporwhat?”She smiled for the first time, andhe almosthad to look away, as ifsomethingthatnicedidn’tbelonginsuchaglumandgrayplace,asifhehadnorighttolookatherexpression.“Yeah,we’remessedup,”shesaid.“AndI’mscared.”“Soam I, trustme.”Whichwasdefinitely theunderstatementof theday.Alongmomentpassed,bothofthemlookingtowardtheground.“What’s…,”hebegan,notsurehowtoaskit.“How…didyoutalktomeinsidemymind?”Teresashookherhead.No idea—Ican justdo it, she thought tohim.Thenshespokealoudagain.“It’slikeifyoutriedtorideabicyclehere—if they had one. I bet you could do it without thinking. But do yourememberlearningtorideone?”“No.Imean…Irememberridingone,butnotlearning.”Hepaused,feelingawaveofsadness.“Orwhotaughtme.”“Well,”shesaid,hereyesflickeringasifshewasembarrassedbyhissuddengloom.“Anyway…it’skindoflikethat.”

“Reallyclearsthingsup.”Teresashrugged.“Youdidn’ttellanyone,didyou?They’dthinkwe’recrazy.”“Well…whenitfirsthappened,Idid.ButIthinkNewtjustthinksIwasstressedoutorsomething.”Thomasfeltfidgety,likehe’dgonutsifhedidn’tmove.Hestoodup,startedpacinginfrontofher.“Weneedtofigurethingsout.Thatweirdnoteyouhadaboutbeingthelastpersontoevercomehere,yourcoma, the factyoucan talk tome telepathically.Anyideas?”Teresafollowedhimwithhereyesashewalkedbackandforth.“Saveyourbreathandquitasking.All Ihavearefaint impressions—thatyouand Iwere important, thatwewereused somehow. Thatwe’re smart.Thatwecamehereforareason.IknowItriggeredtheEnding,whateverthat means.” She groaned, her face reddening. “My memories are asuselessasyours.”Thomaskneltdowninfrontofher.“No,they’renot.Imean,thefactthatyouknewmymemoryhadbeenwipedwithoutaskingme—andthisotherstuff.You’rewayaheadofmeandeverybodyelse.”Theireyesmetforalongtime;itlookedlikehermindwasspinning,tryingtomakesenseofitall.Ijustdon’tknow,shesaidinhismind.“Thereyougoagain,”Thomassaidaloud,thoughhewasrelievedthathertrickdidn’treallyfreakhimoutanymore.“Howdoyoudothat?”“Ijustdo,andIbetyoucan,too.”“Well,can’tsayI’mtooanxioustotry.”Hesatbackdownandpulledhislegsup,muchlikeshehaddone.“Yousaidsomethingtome—inmyhead—right before you foundme over here. You said ‘TheMaze is acode.’Whatdidyoumean?”She shook her head slightly. “When I first woke up, it was like I’denteredaninsaneasylum—thesestrangeguyshoveringovermybed,theworldtippingaroundme,memoriesswirlinginmybrain.Itriedtoreachoutandgraspafew,andthatwasoneofthem.Ican’treallyrememberwhyIsaidit.”“Wasthereanythingelse?”“Actually,yeah.”Shepulledupthesleeveofherleftarm,exposingherbicep.Smallletterswerewrittenacrosstheskininthinblackink.“What’sthat?”heasked,leaninginforabetterlook.

“Readityourself.”Thelettersweremessy,buthecouldmakethemoutwhenhegotclose

enough.

WICKEDisgood

Thomas’sheartbeatfaster.“I’veseenthatword—wicked.”Hesearchedhis mind for what the phrase could possibly mean. “On the littlecreaturesthatlivehere.Thebeetleblades.”“Whatarethose?”sheasked.“Just little lizardlike machines that spy on us for the Creators—the

peoplewhosentushere.”Teresaconsideredthatforamoment,lookingoffintospace.Thenshe

focusedonherarm.“Ican’trememberwhyIwrotethis,”shesaidasshewet her thumb and started rubbing off the words. “But don’t let meforget—ithastomeansomething.”ThethreewordsranthroughThomas’smindoverandover.“Whendid

youwriteit?”“WhenIwokeup.Theyhadapenandnotepadnexttothebed.Inthe

commotionIwroteitdown.”Thomaswasbaffledbythisgirl—first theconnectionhe’dfelt toher

fromtheverybeginning,thenthemind-speaking,nowthis.“Everythingaboutyouisweird.Youknowthat,right?”“Judging by your little hiding spot, I’d say you’re not so normal

yourself.Likelivinginthewoods,doya?”Thomastriedtoscowl,thensmiled.Hefeltpathetic,andembarrassed

about hiding. “Well, you look familiar to me and you claim we’refriends.GuessI’lltrustyou.”Heheldouthishandforanothershake,andshetookit,holdingonfor

a long time. A chill swept through Thomas that was surprisinglypleasant.“All I want is to get back home,” she said, finally letting go of his

hand.“Justliketherestofyou.”Thomas’s heart sank as he snapped back to reality and remembered

howgrimtheworldhadbecome.“Yeah,well, thingsprettymuchsuckright about now. The sun disappeared and the sky’s gone gray, theydidn’t sendus theweekly supplies—looks like things are going to end

onewayoranother.”ButbeforeTeresacouldanswer,Newtwasrunningoutofthewoods.“Howinthe…,”hesaidashepulledupinfrontofthem.Albyandafewotherswere right behindhim.Newt looked atTeresa. “How’d yougethere?Med-jack said youwere there one second and buggin’ gone thenext.”Teresa stood up, surprising Thomas with her confidence. “Guess heforgot to tell the little part about me kicking him in the groin andclimbingoutthewindow.”Thomas almost laughed as Newt turned to an older boy standingnearby,whosefacehadturnedbrightred.“Congrats,Jeff,”Newtsaid.“You’reofficiallythefirstguyheretogetyourbuttbeatbyagirl.”Teresadidn’tstop.“Keeptalkinglikethatandyou’llbenext.”Newtturnedbacktofacethem,buthisfaceshowedanythingbutfear.Hestood,silently,juststaringatthem.Thomasstaredback,wonderingwhatwasgoingthroughtheolderboy’shead.Alby stepped up. “I’m sick of this.” He pointed at Thomas’s chest,almost tapping it. “Iwannaknowwhoyouare,who this shankgirl is,andhowyouguysknoweachother.”Thomasalmostwilted.“Alby,Iswear—”“Shecamestraighttoyouafterwakingup,shuck-face!”Angersurged insideThomas—andworry thatAlbywouldgooff likeBenhad.“Sowhat?Iknowher,sheknowsme—oratleast,weusedto.That doesn’t mean anything! I can’t remember anything. Neither canshe.”AlbylookedatTeresa.“Whatdidyoudo?”Thomas,confusedbythequestion,glancedatTeresatoseeifsheknewwhathemeant.Butshedidn’treply.“Whatdidyoudo!”Albyscreamed.“Firstthesky,nowthis.”“Itriggeredsomething,”sherepliedinacalmvoice.“Notonpurpose,Iswearit.TheEnding.Idon’tknowwhatitmeans.”“What’s wrong, Newt?” Thomas asked, not wanting to talk to Albydirectly.“Whathappened?”ButAlbygrabbedhimbytheshirt.“Whathappened?I’lltellyawhathappened,shank.Toobusymakin’loveyeyestobotherlookin’around?Tobothernoticingwhatfreakingtimeitis!”

Thomaslookedathiswatch,realizingwithhorrorwhathe’dmissed,knowingwhatAlbywasabouttosaybeforehesaidit.“Thewalls,youshuck.TheDoors.Theydidn’tclosetonight.”

CHAPTER37

Thomaswasspeechless.Everythingwouldbedifferentnow.Nosun,nosupplies,noprotectionfromtheGrievers.Teresahadbeenrightfromthebeginning—everything had changed. Thomas felt as if his breath hadsolidified,lodgeditselfinhisthroat.Albypointedatthegirl.“Iwanther lockedup.Now.Billy!Jackson!

Puther in the Slammer, and ignore everyword that comesout of hershuckmouth.”Teresa didn’t react, but Thomas did enough for the both of them.

“What’reyoutalkingabout?Alby,youcan’t—”HestoppedwhenAlby’sfieryeyesshotsuchalookofangerathimhefelthisheartstutter.“But…howcouldyoupossiblyblameherforthewallsnotclosing?”Newt stepped up, lightly placed a hand on Alby’s chest and pushed

himback.“Howcouldwenot,Tommy?Shebloodyadmitteditherself.”ThomasturnedtolookatTeresa,paledatthesadnessinherblueeyes.

It felt like something had reached through his chest and squeezed hisheart.“Just be glad you ain’t goin’with her, Thomas,”Alby said; he gave

bothofthemonelastglarebeforeleaving.Thomashadneverwantedsobadlytopunchsomeone.Billy and Jackson came forward and grabbed Teresa by both arms,

startedescortingheraway.Before theycouldenter the trees, though,Newt stopped them.“Stay

with her. I don’t care what happens, no one’s gonna touch this girl.Swearyourlivesonit.”The two guards nodded, then walked away, Teresa in tow. It hurt

Thomas even more to see how willingly she went. And he couldn’tbelievehowsadhefelt—hewantedtokeeptalkingtoher.ButIjustmether,hethought.Idon’tevenknowher.Yetheknewthatwasn’ttrue.Healready felt a closeness that could only have come from knowing her

beforethememory-wipedexistenceoftheGlade.Comeseeme,shesaidinhismind.Hedidn’tknowhowtodoit,howtotalktoherlikethat.Buthetriedanyway.Iwill.Atleastyou’llbesafeinthere.Shedidn’trespond.Teresa?Nothing.

Thenextthirtyminuteswereaneruptionofmassconfusion.Thoughtherehadbeennodiscerniblechangeinthelightsincethesunandblue skyhadn’t appeared thatmorning, it still felt like adarknessspreadovertheGlade.AsNewtandAlbygatheredtheKeepersandputthem in charge ofmaking assignments and getting their groups insidetheHomesteadwithin thehour, Thomas felt likenothingmore than aspectator,notsurehowhecouldhelp.The Builders—without their leader, Gally, who was still missing—were ordered to put up barricades at each open Door; they obeyed,although Thomas knew there wasn’t enough time and there weren’tmaterials todomuchgood. It almost seemed tohimas if theKeeperswanted people busy, wanted to delay the inevitable panic attacks.ThomashelpedastheBuildersgatheredeverylooseitemtheycouldfindandpiledtheminthegaps,nailingthingstogetherasbesttheycould.Itlookeduglyandpatheticandscaredhimtodeath—nowaythat’dkeeptheGrieversout.As Thomas worked, he caught glimpses of the other jobs going onacrosstheGlade.Every flashlight in thecompoundwasgatheredanddistributed toasmanypeopleaspossible;Newtsaidheplannedforeveryonetosleepinthe Homestead that night, and that they’d kill the lights, except foremergencies.Frypan’staskwastotakeallthenonperishablefoodoutofthekitchenandstoreitintheHomestead,incasetheygottrappedthere—Thomas could only imagine how horrible that’d be. Others weregatheringsuppliesandtools;ThomassawMinhocarryingweaponsfromthebasement to themainbuilding.Albyhadmade it clear they couldtakenochances:they’dmaketheHomesteadtheirfortress,andmustdo

whateverittooktodefendit.Thomas finally snuck away from the Builders and helped Minho,carrying up boxes of knives and barbwire-wrapped clubs. ThenMinhosaid he had a special assignment from Newt, and more or less toldThomastogetlost,refusingtoansweranyofhisquestions.ThishurtThomas’sfeelings,butheleftanyway,reallywantingtotalktoNewtaboutsomethingelse.Hefinallyfoundhim,crossingtheGladeonhiswaytotheBloodHouse.“Newt!”hecalledout,runningtocatchup.“Youhavetolistentome.”NewtstoppedsosuddenlyThomasalmostranintohim.Theolderboyturned to give Thomas such an annoyed look he thought twice aboutsayinganything.“Makeitquick,”Newtsaid.Thomas almost balked, not sure how to say what he was thinking.“You’vegottaletthegirlgo.Teresa.”Heknewthatshecouldonlyhelp,thatshemightstillremembersomethingvaluable.“Ah,gladtoknowyouguysarebuddiesnow.”Newtstartedwalkingoff.“Don’twastemytime,Tommy.”Thomasgrabbedhisarm.“Listentome!There’ssomethingabouther—IthinksheandIweresentheretohelpendthiswholething.”“Yeah—enditbylettin’thebloodyGrieverswaltzinhereandkillus?I’veheard some suckyplans inmyday,Greenie,but that’sgot ’emallbeat.”Thomasgroaned,wantingNewttoknowhowfrustratedhefelt.“No,Idon’tthinkthat’swhatitmeans—thewallsnotclosing.”Newt folded his arms; he looked exasperated. “Greenie,what’re youyappin’about?”EversinceThomashadseenthewordsonthewalloftheMaze—worldin catastrophe,killzone experimentdepartment—he’dbeen thinkingaboutthem.Heknewiftherewasanyonewhowouldbelievehim,itwouldbeNewt.“Ithink…Ithinkwe’rehereaspartofsomeweirdexperiment,ortest,orsomethinglikethat.Butit’ssupposedtoendsomehow.Wecan’tlive here forever—whoever sent us herewants it to end. One way oranother.”Thomaswasrelievedtogetitoffhischest.Newt rubbed his eyes. “And that’s supposed to convince me thateverything’s jolly—that I should let thegirlgo?Because shecameandeverythingissuddenlydo-or-die?”

“No,you’remissingthepoint.Idon’tthinkshehasanythingtodowithusbeinghere.She’sjustapawn—theysentherhereasourlasttoolorhintorwhatevertohelpusgetout.”Thomastookadeepbreath.“AndIthinktheysentme,too.JustbecauseshewasthetriggerfortheEndingdoesn’tmakeherbad.”Newt looked toward the Slammer. “You knowwhat, I don’t buggin’

carerightnow.Shecanhandleonenightinthere—ifanything,she’llbesaferthanus.”Thomas nodded, sensing a compromise. “Okay, we get through

tonight,somehow.Tomorrow,whenwehaveawholedayofsafety,wecanfigureoutwhattodowithher.Figureoutwhatwe’resupposedtodo.”Newtsnorted.“Tommy,what’sgonnamake tomorrowanydifferent?

It’sbeentwobloodyyears,yaknow.”Thomashadanoverwhelmingfeelingthatallofthesechangeswerea

spur,acatalystfortheendgame.“Becausenowwehavetosolveit.We’llbeforcedto.Wecan’tlivethatwayanymore,daytoday,thinkingthatwhatmattersmost isgettingback to theGladebefore theDoorsclose,snugandsafe.”Newt thought a minute as he stood there, the bustle of the Glader

preparations surrounding both of them. “Dig deeper. Stay out therewhilethewallsmove.”“Exactly,” Thomas said. “That’s exactlywhat I’m talking about.And

maybewecouldbarricadeorblowuptheentrancetotheGrieverHole.BuytimetoanalyzetheMaze.”“Alby’s the one who won’t let the girl out,” Newt said with a nod

towardtheHomestead.“Thatguy’snottoohighonyoutwoshanks.Butrightnowwejustgottaslimourselvesandgettothewake-up.”Thomasnodded.“Wecanfight’emoff.”“Done it before, haven’t you, Hercules?” Without smiling or even

waitingforaresponse,Newtwalkedaway,yellingatpeopletofinishupandgetinsidetheHomestead.Thomaswashappywiththeconversation—ithadgoneaboutaswell

ashe could’vepossiblyhoped.Hedecided tohurryand talk toTeresabeforeitwastoolate.AshesprintedfortheSlammeronthebacksideoftheHomestead, hewatched as Gladers startedmoving inside,most ofthemwitharmsfullofonethingoranother.

Thomas pulled up outside the small jail and caught his breath.“Teresa?” he finally asked through the barredwindow of the lightlesscell.Herfacepoppedupontheotherside,startlinghim.Heletoutasmallyelpbeforehecouldstopit—ittookhimasecondtorecoverhiswits.“Youcanbedownrightspooky,yaknow?”“That’sverysweet,”shesaid.“Thanks.”Inthedarknessherblueeyesseemedtoglowlikeacat’s.“You’re welcome,” he answered, ignoring her sarcasm. “Listen, I’vebeenthinking.”Hepausedtogatherhisthoughts.“MorethanIcansayforthatAlbyschmuck,”shemuttered.Thomas agreed, but was anxious to say what he’d come to say.“There’sgottabeawayoutofthisplace—wejusthavetopushit,stayoutintheMazelonger.Andwhatyouwroteonyourarm,andwhatyousaid about a code, it all has to mean something, right?” It has to, hethought.Hecouldn’thelpfeelingsomehope.“Yeah,I’vebeenthinkingthesamething.Butfirst—can’tyougetmeout of here?” Her hands appeared, gripping the bars of the window.Thomasfelttheridiculousurgetoreachoutandtouchthem.“Well,Newtsaidmaybetomorrow.”Thomaswasjustgladhe’dgottenthatmuchofaconcession.“You’llhavetomakeitthroughthenightinthere.ItmightactuallybethesafestplaceintheGlade.”“Thanksforaskinghim.Shouldbefunsleepingonthiscoldfloor.”Shemotioned behind her with a thumb. “Though I guess a Griever can’tsqueezethroughthiswindow,soI’llbehappy,right?”Themention ofGrievers surprised him—he didn’t remember talkingabout them to her yet. “Teresa, are you sure you’ve forgotteneverything?”Shethoughtasecond.“It’sweird—IguessIdoremembersomestuff.UnlessIjustheardpeopletalkingwhileIwasinthecoma.”“Well, I guess it doesn’tmatter right now. I justwanted to see youbefore I went inside for the night.” But he didn’t want to leave; healmostwishedhecouldgetthrownintheSlammerwithher.Hegrinnedinside—hecouldonlyimagineNewt’sresponsetothatrequest.“Tom?”Teresasaid.Thomasrealizedhewasstaringoffinadaze.“Oh,sorry.Yeah?”Herhandsslippedbackinside,disappeared.Allhecouldseewereher

eyes,thepaleglowofherwhiteskin.“Idon’tknowifIcandothis—stayinthisjailallnight.”Thomasfeltanincrediblesadness.HewantedtostealNewt’skeysand

helpherescape.Butheknewthatwasaridiculousidea.She’djusthaveto suffer andmake do.He stared into those glowing eyes. “At least itwon’tgetcompletelydark—lookslikewe’restuckwiththistwilightjunktwenty-fourhoursadaynow.”“Yeah….”ShelookedpasthimattheHomestead,thenfocusedonhim

again.“I’matoughgirl—I’llbeokay.”Thomasfelthorribleleavingherthere,butheknewhehadnochoice.

“I’llmakesuretheyletyououtfirstthingtomorrow,okay?”Shesmiled,makinghimfeelbetter.“That’sapromise,right?”“Promise.” Thomas tapped his right temple. “And if you get lonely,

you can talk tomewith your… trick all youwant. I’ll try to answerback.”He’daccepteditnow,almostwantedit.He justhopedhecouldfigureouthowtotalkback,sotheycouldhaveaconversation.You’llgetitsoon,Teresasaidinhismind.“Iwish.”Hestoodthere,reallynotwantingtoleave.Atall.“You better go,” she said. “I don’t want your brutal murder onmy

conscience.”Thomasmanagedhisownsmileatthat.“Allright.Seeyoutomorrow.”And before he could change his mind, he slipped away, heading

around thecorner toward the frontdoorof theHomestead, justas thelastcoupleofGladerswereentering,Newtshooing themin likeerrantchickens.Thomassteppedinsideaswell,followedbyNewt,whoclosedthedoorbehindhim.Just before it latched shut, Thomas thought he heard the first eerie

moanoftheGrievers,comingfromsomewheredeepintheMaze.Thenighthadbegun.

CHAPTER38

Mostofthemsleptoutsideinnormaltimes,sopackingallthosebodiesintotheHomesteadmadeforatightfit.TheKeepershadorganizedanddistributed theGladers throughout the rooms,alongwithblanketsandpillows.Despitethenumberofpeopleandthechaosofsuchachange,adisturbingsilencehungovertheactivities,asifnoonewantedtodrawattentiontothemselves.Wheneveryonewassettled,ThomasfoundhimselfupstairswithNewt,

Alby andMinho, and they were finally able to finish their discussionfromearlierinthecourtyard.AlbyandNewtsatontheonlybedintheroom while Thomas and Minho sat next to them in chairs. The onlyotherfurniturewasacrookedwoodendresserandasmalltable,ontopofwhichrestedalampprovidingwhatlighttheyhad.Thegraydarknessseemed to press on the window from outside, with promises of badthingstocome.“Closest I’ve come so far,” Newt was saying, “to hangin’ it all up.

ShuckitallandkissaGrievergoodnight.Suppliescut,bloodygrayskies,wallsnotclosing.Butwecan’tgiveup,andweallknowit.Thebuggerswhosentushereeitherwantusdeadorthey’regivin’usaspur.Thisorthat,wegottaworkourarsesofftillwe’redeadornotdead.”Thomas nodded, but didn’t say anything. He agreed completely but

had no concrete ideas on what to do. If he could just make it totomorrow,maybeheandTeresacouldcomeupwithsomethingtohelp.ThomasglancedoveratAlby,whowasstaringatthefloor,seemingly

lostinhisowngloomythoughts.Hisfacestillworethelong,wearylookofdepression,hiseyessunkenandhollow.TheChanginghadbeenaptlynamed,consideringwhatithaddonetohim.“Alby?”Newtasked.“Areyougonnapitchin?”Albylookedup,surprisecrossinghisfaceas ifhehadn’tknownthat

anyone elsewas in the room. “Huh?Oh. Yeah.Good that. But you’ve

seenwhathappensatnight.JustbecauseGreeniethefreakingsuperboymadeitdoesn’tmeantherestofuscan.”Thomas rolled his eyes ever so slightly atMinho—so tired ofAlby’sattitude.IfMinhofeltthesameway,hedidagoodjobofhidingit.“I’mwithThomas and Newt. We gotta quit boohooing and feeling sorry forourselves.”He rubbedhishands together and sat forward inhis chair.“Tomorrowmorning,firstthing,youguyscanassignteamstostudytheMapsfull-timewhiletheRunnersgoout.We’llpackourstuffshuck-fullsowecanstayoutthereafewdays.”“What?”Albyasked,hisvoice finally showing someemotion. “Whatdoyoumean,days?”“I mean, days. With open Doors and no sunset, there’s no point incomingbackhere,anyway.Time to stayout thereand see if anythingopensupwhenthewallsmove.Iftheystillmove.”“Noway,”Albysaid.“WehavetheHomesteadtohidein—andifthatain’t workin’, theMap Room and the Slammer.We can’t freaking askpeopletogooutthereanddie,Minho!Who’dvolunteerforthat?”“Me,”Minhosaid.“AndThomas.”EveryonelookedatThomas;hesimplynodded.Althoughitscaredhimtodeath, exploring theMaze—really exploring it—was somethinghe’dwantedtodofromthefirsttimehe’dlearnedaboutit.“IwillifIhaveto,”Newtsaid,surprisingThomas;thoughhe’dnevertalk about it, the older boy’s limp was a constant reminder thatsomethinghorriblehadhappenedtohimoutintheMaze.“AndI’msurealltheRunners’lldoit.”“Withyourbumleg?”Albyasked,aharshlaughescapinghislips.Newt frowned, looked at the ground. “Well, I don’t feel good askin’GladerstodosomethingifI’mnotbloodywillingtodoitmyself.”Albyscootedbackonthebedandproppedhisfeetup.“Whatever.Dowhatyouwant.”“DowhatIwant?”Newtasked,standingup.“What’swrongwithyou,man?Areyoutellin’mewehaveachoice?ShouldwejustsitaroundonourbuttsandwaittobesnuffedbytheGrievers?”Thomaswanted to standup and cheer, sure thatAlbywould finallysnapoutofhisdoldrums.Buttheirleaderdidn’tlookintheleastbitreprimandedorremorseful.

“Well,itsoundsbetterthanrunningtothem.”Newtsatbackdown.“Alby.Yougottastarttalkin’reason.”Asmuchashehated toadmit it,Thomasknew theyneededAlby iftheyweregoingtoaccomplishanything.TheGladerslookeduptohim.Albyfinallytookadeepbreath,thenlookedateachoftheminturn.“YouguysknowI’mallscrewedup.Seriously,I’m…sorry.Ishouldn’tbethestupidleaderanymore.”Thomasheldhisbreath.Hecouldn’tbelieveAlbyhadjustsaidthat.“Ohbloody—”Newtstarted.“No!”Albyshouted,hisfaceshowinghumility,surrender.“That’snotwhatImeant.Listentome.Iain’tsayingweshouldswitchoranyofthatklunk. I’m just saying … I think I need to let you guys make thedecisions.Idon’ttrustmyself.So…yeah,I’lldowhatever.”ThomascouldseethatbothMinhoandNewtwereassurprisedashewas.“Uh…okay,”Newtsaidslowly.As ifhewasunsure.“We’llmake itwork,Ipromise.You’llsee.”“Yeah,”Albymuttered.Afteralongpause,hespokeup,ahintofoddexcitement in his voice. “Hey, tell youwhat. Putme in charge of theMaps.I’llfreakingworkeveryGladertothebonestudyingthosethings.”“Worksforme,”Minhosaid.Thomaswantedtoagree,butdidn’tknowifitwashisplace.Albyputhisfeetbackonthefloor,satupstraighter.“Yaknow,itwasreallystupidforustosleepinheretonight.Weshould’vebeenoutintheMapRoom,working.”Thomasthoughtthatwasthesmartestthinghe’dheardAlbysayinalongtime.Minhoshrugged.“Probablyright.”“Well…I’llgo,”Albysaidwithaconfidentnod.“Rightnow.”Newt shook his head. “Forget that, Alby. Already heard the bloodyGrieversmoaningoutthere.Wecanwaittillthewake-up.”Alby leaned forward, elbowsonhisknees. “Hey,you shucksare theones givingme all the pep talks. Don’t start whining when I actuallylisten.IfI’mgonnadothis,Igottadoit,betheoldme.Ineedsomethingtodiveinto.”RelieffloodedThomas.He’dgrownsickofallthecontention.Albystoodup.“Seriously,Ineedthis.”Hemovedtowardthedoorof

theroomasifhereallymeanttoleave.“Youcan’tbeserious,”Newtsaid.“Youcan’tgoouttherenow!”“I’mgoing,andthat’sthat.”Albytookhisringofkeysfromhispocket

and rattled them mockingly—Thomas couldn’t believe the suddenbravery.“Seeyoushucksinthemorning.”Andthenhewalkedout.

Itwasstrangetoknowthatthenightgrewlater,thatdarknessshould’veswallowed theworld around them, but to see only the pale gray lightoutside.ItmadeThomasfeeloff-kilter,asiftheurgetosleepthatgrewsteadily with every passing minute were somehow unnatural. Timeslowed to an agonizing crawl; he felt as if the next day might nevercome.TheotherGladerssettledthemselves,turninginwiththeirpillowsand

blanketsfortheimpossibletaskofsleeping.Noonesaidmuch,themoodsomberandgrim.Allyoucouldhearwerequietshufflesandwhispers.Thomas triedhard to forcehimself to sleep,knowing itwouldmake

thetimepassfaster,butaftertwohourshe’dstillhadnoluck.Helayonthe floor inoneof theupper rooms,on topofa thickblanket, severalotherGladerscrammedintherewithhim,almostbodytobody.ThebedhadgonetoNewt.Chuckhad endedup in another room, and for some reasonThomas

picturedhimhuddledinadarkcorner,crying,squeezinghisblanketstohis chest like a teddybear. The image saddenedThomas sodeeplyhetriedtoreplaceit,buttonoavail.Almost every person had a flashlight by their side in case of

emergency.Otherwise,Newthadorderedalllightsextinguisheddespitethepale,deathlyglowof theirnewsky—no senseattractinganymoreattention than necessary. Anything that could be done on such shortnoticetoprepareforaGrieverattackhadbeendone:windowsboardedup,furnituremovedinfrontofdoors,kniveshandedoutasweapons…ButnoneofthatmadeThomasfeelsafe.The anticipation of what might happen was overpowering, a

suffocatingblanketofmiseryandfearthatbegantotakeonalifeofitsown.Healmostwishedthesuckerswouldjustcomeandgetitoverwith.Thewaitingwasunbearable.

ThedistantwailsoftheGrieversgrewcloserasthenightstretchedon,everyminuteseemingtolastlongerthantheonebeforeit.Another hour passed. Then another. Sleep finally came, but inmiserablefits.Thomasguesseditwasabouttwointhemorningwhenheturnedfromhisbacktohisstomachforthemillionthtimethatnight.Heputhishandsunderhischinandstaredatthefootofthebed,almostashadowinthedimlight.Theneverythingchanged.Amechanizedsurgeofmachinerysoundedfromoutside,followedbythefamiliarrollingclicksofaGrieveronthestonyground,asifsomeonehadscatteredahandfulofnails.Thomasshottohisfeet,asdidmostoftheothers.ButNewtwasupbeforeanyone,wavinghisarms,thenshushingtheroom by putting a finger to his lips. Favoring his bad leg, he tiptoedtoward the lone window in the room, which was covered by threehastilynailedboards.Largecracksallowed forplentyof space topeekoutside.Carefully,Newtleanedintotakealook,andThomascreptovertojoinhim.He crouched below Newt against the lowest of the wooden boards,pressinghiseyeagainstacrack—itwasterrifyingbeingsoclosetothewall.ButallhesawwastheopenGlade;hedidn’thaveenoughspacetolookupordownortotheside,juststraightahead.Afteraminuteorso,hegaveupandturnedtositwithhisbackagainstthewall.Newtwalkedoverandsatbackdownonthebed.A fewminutes passed, various Griever sounds penetrating thewallseverytentotwentyseconds.Thesquealofsmallenginesfollowedbyagrinding spin of metal. The clicking of spikes against the hard stone.Things snapping and opening and snapping. Thomas winced in feareverytimeheheardsomething.Soundedlikethreeorfourofthemwerejustoutside.Atleast.Heheard the twistedanimal-machinescomecloser, soclose,waitingonthestoneblocksbelow.Allhumsandmetallicclatter.Thomas’smouthdriedup—he’dseenthemfacetoface,remembereditalltoowell;hehadtoremindhimselftobreathe.Theothersintheroomwerestill;noonemadeasound.Fearseemedtohoverintheairlikeablizzardofblacksnow.One of the Grievers sounded like it was moving toward the house.

Thentheclickingof itsspikesagainst thestonesuddenlyturnedintoadeeper,hollowersound.Thomascouldpictureitall:thecreature’smetalspikes digging into the wooden sides of the Homestead, the massivecreaturerollingitsbody,climbinguptowardtheirroom,defyinggravitywith its strength. Thomas heard the Grievers’ spikes shred the woodsiding in their path as they tore out and rotated around to take holdonceagain.Thewholebuildingshuddered.The crunching and groaning and snapping of the wood became the

onlysoundsintheworldtoThomas,horrifying.Theygrewlouder,closer—theotherboyshadshuffledacrosstheroomandasfarawayfromthewindow as possible. Thomas finally followed suit, Newt right besidehim;everyonehuddledagainstthefarwall,staringatthewindow.Just when it grew unbearable—just as Thomas realized the Griever

was right outside the window—everything fell silent. Thomas couldalmosthearhisownheartbeating.Lights flickered out there, casting odd beams through the cracks

betweenthewoodenboards.Thena thinshadowinterruptedthe light,moving back and forth. Thomas knew that the Griever’s probes andweaponshadcomeout,searchingforafeast.Heimaginedbeetlebladesoutthere,helpingthecreaturesfindtheirway.Afewsecondslatertheshadowstopped;thelightsettledtoastandstill,castingthreeunmovingplanesofbrightnessintotheroom.The tension in the air was thick; Thomas couldn’t hear anyone

breathing. He thought much the samemust be going on in the otherroomsoftheHomestead.ThenherememberedTeresaintheSlammer.Hewasjustwishingshe’dsaysomethingtohimwhenthedoorfrom

the hallway suddenly whipped open. Gasps and shouts explodedthroughout the room.TheGladershadbeenexpecting something fromthewindow,notfrombehindthem.Thomasturnedtoseewho’dopenedthedoor,expectingafrightenedChuckormaybeareconsideringAlby.But when he saw who stood there, his skull seemed to contract,squeezinghisbraininshock.ItwasGally.

CHAPTER39

Gally’s eyes raged with lunacy; his clothes were torn and filthy. Hedropped to his knees and stayed there, his chest heaving with deep,suckingbreaths.Helookedabouttheroomlikearabiddogsearchingforsomeone to bite.Noone said aword. Itwas as if they all believed asThomasdid—thatGallywasonlyafigmentoftheirimagination.“They’ll kill you!” Gally screamed, spittle flying everywhere. “The

Grieverswillkillyouall—oneeverynighttillit’sover!”Thomaswatched,speechless,asGallystaggeredtohisfeetandwalked

forward,dragginghisright legwithaheavylimp.Nooneintheroommovedamuscleastheywatched,obviouslytoostunnedtodoanything.EvenNewtstoodmouthagape.ThomaswasalmostmoreafraidoftheirsurprisevisitorthanhewasoftheGrieversjustoutsidethewindow.Gallystopped,standingjustafewfeetinfrontofThomasandNewt;

hepointedatThomaswithabloodyfinger.“You,”hesaidwithasneersopronounceditwentpastcomical to flat-outdisturbing.“It’sallyourfault!”Withoutwarningheswunghislefthand,formingitintoafistasit came around and crashed into Thomas’s ear. Crying out, Thomascrumpledtotheground,moretakenbysurprisethanpain.Hescrambledtohisfeetassoonashe’dhitthefloor.Newt had finally snapped out of his daze and pushed Gally away.

Gallystumbledbackwardandcrashedintothedeskbythewindow.Thelampscootedoffthesideandbrokeintopiecesontheground.Thomasassumed Gally would retaliate, but he straightened instead, takingeveryoneinwithhismadgaze.“Itcan’tbesolved,”hesaid,hisvoicenowquietanddistant,spooky.

“TheshuckMaze’llkillallyoushanks….TheGrievers’llkillyou…oneeverynighttillit’sover….I…It’sbetterthisway….”Hiseyesfelltothefloor.“They’llonlykillyouoneanight…theirstupidVariables…”Thomas listened in awe, trying to suppress his fear so he could

memorizeeverythingthecrazedboysaid.Newt took a step forward. “Gally, shut your bloody hole—there’s aGrieverrightoutthewindow.Justsitonyourbuttandbequiet—maybeit’llgoaway.”Gally lookedup,hiseyesnarrowing.“Youdon’tget it,Newt.You’retoostupid—you’vealwaysbeentoostupid.There’snowayout—there’snowaytowin!They’regonnakillyou,allofyou—onebyone!”Screamingthelastword,Gallythrewhisbodytowardthewindowandstartedtearingatthewoodenboardslikeawildanimaltryingtoescapeacage.BeforeThomasoranyoneelse could react,he’dalready rippedoneboardfree;hethrewittotheground.“No!”Newtyelled,runningforward.Thomasfollowedtohelp,inutterdisbeliefatwhatwashappening.GallyrippedoffthesecondboardjustasNewtreachedhim.HeswungitbackwardwithbothhandsandconnectedwithNewt’shead,senthimsprawlingacrossthebedasasmallsprayofbloodsprinkledthesheets.Thomaspulledupshort,readyinghimselfforafight.“Gally!”Thomasyelled.“What’reyoudoing!”The boy spat on the ground, panting like a winded dog. “You shutyourshuck-face,Thomas.Youshutup!Iknowwhoyouare,butIdon’tcareanymore.Icanonlydowhat’sright.”Thomas felt as if his feet were rooted to the ground. He wascompletelybaffledbywhatGallywassaying.Hewatchedtheboyreachback and rip loose the final wooden board. The instant the discardedslabhittheflooroftheroom,theglassofthewindowexplodedinwardlikea swarmofcrystalwasps.Thomascoveredhis faceand fell to thefloor, kicking his legs out to scoot his body as far away as possible.Whenhebumpedintothebed,hegatheredhimselfandlookedup,readytofacehisworldcomingtoanend.AGriever’spulsating,bulbousbodyhadsquirmedhalfwaythroughthedestroyedwindow,metallicarmswithpincerssnappingandclawinginall directions. Thomas was so terrified, he barely registered thateveryoneelseintheroomhadfledtothehallway—allexceptNewt,wholayunconsciousonthebed.Frozen,ThomaswatchedasoneoftheGriever’slongarmsreachedforthe lifeless body. Thatwas all it took to break him from his fear. Hescrambledtohisfeet,searchedtheflooraroundhimforaweapon.Allhe

sawwere knives—they couldn’t help him now. Panic explodedwithinhim,consumedhim.ThenGallywasspeakingagain;theGrieverpulledbackitsarm,asifitneeded the thing to be able to observe and listen. But its body keptchurning,tryingtosqueezeitswayinside.“Nooneeverunderstood!”theboyscreamedoverthehorriblenoiseofthecreature,crunchingitswaydeeperintotheHomestead,rippingthewalltopieces.“NooneeverunderstoodwhatIsaw,whattheChangingdidtome!Don’tgobacktotherealworld,Thomas!Youdon’t…want…toremember!”GallygaveThomasa long,hauntedlook,hiseyes fullof terror; thenhe turned and dove onto the writhing body of the Griever. Thomasyelled out as he watched every extended arm of the monsterimmediatelyretractandclaspontoGally’sarmsandlegs,makingescapeor rescue impossible. The boy’s body sank several inches into thecreature’ssquishyflesh,makingahorrificsquelchingsound.Then,withsurprising speed, the Griever pushed itself back outside the shatteredframeofthewindowandbegandescendingtowardthegroundbelow.Thomas ran to the jagged, gapinghole, lookeddown just in time tosee the Griever land and start scooting across the Glade, Gally’s bodyappearinganddisappearingasthethingrolled.Thelightsofthemonstershonebrightly,castinganeerieyellowglowacrossthestoneoftheopenWestDoor,wheretheGrieverexitedintothedepthsoftheMaze.Then,seconds later, several other monsters followed close behind theircompanion,whirringandclickingasifcelebratingtheirvictory.Thomaswassickenedtothevergeofthrowingup.Hebegantobackaway from the window, but something outside caught his eye. Hequicklyleanedoutofthebuildingtogetabetterlook.Aloneshapewassprinting across the courtyard of the Glade toward the exit throughwhichGallyhadjustbeentaken.Despite thepoor light,Thomas realizedwho itwas immediately.Hescreamed—yelledathimtostop—butitwastoolate.Minho,runningfullspeed,disappearedintotheMaze.

CHAPTER40

Lights blazed throughout the Homestead. Gladers ran about, everyonetalkingatonce.Acoupleofboyscriedinacorner.Chaosruled.Thomasignoredallofit.Heranintothehallway,thenleapeddownthestairsthreeatatime.

He pushed his way through a crowd in the foyer, tore out of theHomesteadandtowardtheWestDoor,sprinting.Hepulledupjustshortof the threshold of theMaze, his instincts forcing him to think twiceaboutentering.Newtcalledtohimfrombehind,delayingthedecision.“Minhofolloweditoutthere!”ThomasyelledwhenNewtcaughtupto

him,asmalltowelpressedagainstthewoundonhishead.Apatchyspotofbloodhadalreadyseepedthroughthewhitematerial.“Isaw,”Newtsaid,pullingthetowelawaytolookatit;hegrimaced

and put it back. “Shuck it, that hurts like a mother. Minho must’vefinally fried his last bit of brain cells—not to mention Gally. Alwaysknewhewascrazy.”ThomascouldonlyworryaboutMinho.“I’mgoingafterhim.”“Timetobeabloodyheroagain?”ThomaslookedatNewtsharply,hurtbytherebuke.“YouthinkIdo

things to impressyoushanks?Please.All Icareabout isgettingoutofhere.”“Yeah,well,you’rearegulartoughie.Butrightnowwe’vegotworse

problems.”“What?”ThomasknewifhewantedtocatchupwithMinhohehadno

timeforthis.“Somebody—”Newtbegan.“There he is!” Thomas shouted.Minho had just turned a corner up

ahead and was coming straight for them. Thomas cupped his hands.“Whatwereyoudoing,idiot!”MinhowaiteduntilhemadeitbackthroughtheDoor,thenbentover,

handsonhisknees,andsuckedinafewbreathsbeforeanswering.“Ijust…wantedto…makesure.”“Makesureofwhat?”Newtasked.“Lottagoodyou’dbe, takenwithGally.”Minho straightened and put his hands on his hips, still breathingheavily.“Slimit,boys!IjustwantedtoseeiftheywenttowardtheCliff.TowardtheGrieverHole.”“And?”Thomassaid.“Bingo.”Minhowipedsweatfromhisforehead.“Ijustcan’tbelieveit,”Newtsaid,almostwhispering.“Whatanight.”Thomas’s thoughts tried to drift toward the Hole and what it allmeant,buthecouldn’tshakethethoughtofwhatNewthadbeenabouttosaybeforetheysawMinhoreturn.“Whatwereyouabouttotellme?”heasked.“Yousaidwehadworse—”“Yeah.”Newtpointedhisthumboverhisshoulder.“Youcanstillseethebuggin’smoke.”Thomas looked in that direction. The heavymetal door of theMapRoomwasslightlyajar,awispytrailofblacksmokedriftingoutandintothegraysky.“Somebody burned the Map trunks,” Newt said. “Every last one of’em.”

For some reason,Thomasdidn’t careabout theMaps thatmuch—theyseemedpointlessanyway.HestoodoutsidethewindowoftheSlammer,havingleftNewtandMinhowhentheywenttoinvestigatethesabotageof the Map Room. Thomas had noticed them exchange an odd lookbeforetheysplitup,almostasifcommunicatingsomesecretwiththeireyes.ButThomascouldthinkofonlyonething.“Teresa?”heasked.Herfaceappeared,handsrubbinghereyes.“Wasanybodykilled?”sheasked,somewhatgroggy.“Wereyou sleeping?” Thomas asked.Hewas relieved to see that sheappearedokay,felthimselfrelax.“Iwas,”sheresponded.“UntilIheardsomethingshredtheHomesteadtobits.Whathappened?”Thomasshookhishead indisbelief.“Idon’tknowhowyoucould’ve

sleptthroughthesoundofallthoseGrieversouthere.”“You try coming out of a coma sometime. See how you do.” Nowanswermyquestion,shesaidinsidehishead.Thomasblinked,momentarilysurprisedbythevoicesinceshehadn’tdoneitinawhile.“Cutthatjunkout.”“Justtellmewhathappened.”Thomassighed;itwassuchalongstory,andhedidn’tfeelliketellingthewholething.“Youdon’tknowGally,buthe’sapsychokidwhoranaway.Heshowedup,jumpedonaGriever,andtheyalltookoffintotheMaze. It was really weird.” He still couldn’t believe it had actuallyhappened.“Whichissayingalot,”Teresasaid.“Yeah.”Helookedbehindhim,hopingtoseeAlbysomewhere.Surelyhe’dletTeresaoutnow.Gladerswerescatteredalloverthecomplex,buttherewasnosignoftheirleader.HeturnedbacktoTeresa.“Ijustdon’tget it. Why would the Grievers have left after getting Gally? He saidsomethingaboutthemkillingusoneanightuntilwewerealldead—hesaiditatleasttwice.”Teresaputherhandsthroughthebars,restedherforearmsagainsttheconcretesill.“Justoneanight?Why?”“Idon’tknow.Healso said ithad todowith…trials.Orvariables.Something like that.”Thomashad the same strangeurgehe’dhad thenight before—to reach out and take one of her hands. He stoppedhimself,though.“Tom,IwasthinkingaboutwhatyoutoldmeIsaid.ThattheMazeisa code.Beingholedup inheredoeswonders formaking thebraindowhatitwasmadefor.”“Whatdoyouthinkitmeans?”Intenselyinterested,hetriedtoblockouttheshoutsandchatterrumblingthroughtheGladeasothersfoundoutabouttheMapRoombeingburned.“Well,thewallsmoveeveryday,right?”“Yeah.”Hecouldtellshewasreallyontosomething.“AndMinhosaidtheythinkthere’sapattern,right?”“Right.”GearswerestartingtoshiftintoplaceinsideThomas’sheadaswell,almostasifapriormemorywasbeginningtobreakloose.“Well,Ican’trememberwhyIsaidthattoyouaboutthecode.IknowwhenIwascomingoutofthecomaallsortsofthoughtsandmemories

swirled throughmyhead like crazy, almost as if I could feel someoneemptyingmymind,suckingthemout.AndIfeltlikeIneededtosaythatthing about the code before I lost it. So there must be an importantreason.”Thomasalmostdidn’thearher—hewasthinkingharderthanhehad

in awhile. “They always compare each section’sMap to theone fromthedaybefore,andthedaybeforethat,andthedaybeforethat,daybyday, each Runner just analyzing their own Section. What if they’resupposed to compare the Maps to other sections …” He trailed off,feelinglikehewasonthecuspofsomething.Teresa seemed to ignore him, doing her own theorizing. “The first

thingthewordcodemakesmethinkofisletters.Lettersinthealphabet.MaybetheMazeistryingtospellsomething.”Everything came together so quickly in Thomas’s mind, he almost

heard an audible click, as if thepieces all snapped intoplace at once.“You’re right—you’re right! But the Runners have been looking at itwrongthiswholetime.They’vebeenanalyzingitthewrongway!”Teresa gripped the bars now, her knuckles white, her face pressed

againsttheironrods.“What?What’reyoutalkingabout?”Thomas grabbed the two bars outside ofwhere she held on,moved

close enough to smell her—a surprisingly pleasant scent of sweat andflowers. “Minho said the patterns repeat themselves, only they can’tfigure outwhat itmeans. But they’ve always studied them section bysection,comparingonedayto thenext.What ifeachday isaseparatepieceofthecode,andthey’resupposedtousealleightsectionstogethersomehow?”“Youthinkmaybeeachdayistryingtorevealaword?”Teresaasked.

“Withthewallmovements?”Thomasnodded.“Ormaybealetteraday,Idon’tknow.Butthey’ve

always thought themovementswould reveal how to escape, not spellsomething. They’ve been studying it like a map, not like a picture ofsomething. We’ve gotta—” Then he stopped, remembering what he’djustbeentoldbyNewt.“Oh,no.”Teresa’seyesflaredwithworry.“What’swrong?”“Ohnoohnoohno…”Thomasletgoofthebarsandstumbledback

a stepas the realizationhithim.He turned to lookat theMapRoom.The smokehad lessened, but it stillwaftedout thedoor, a dark, hazy

cloudcoveringtheentirearea.“What’s wrong?” Teresa repeated. She couldn’t see the Map Roomfromherangle.Thomasfacedheragain.“Ididn’tthinkitmattered….”“What!”shedemanded.“SomeoneburnedalltheMaps.Iftherewasacode,it’sgone.”

CHAPTER41

“I’llbeback,”Thomassaid,turningtogo.Hisstomachwasfullofacid.“IgottafindNewt,seeifanyoftheMapssurvived.”“Wait!”Teresayelled.“Getmeoutofhere!”Buttherewasnotime,andThomasfeltawfulaboutit.“Ican’t—I’llbe

back, I promise.” He turned before she could protest and set off at asprintfortheMapRoomanditsfoggyblackcloudofsmoke.Needlesofpainprickedhisinsides.IfTeresawasright,andthey’dbeenthatcloseto figuring out some kind of clue to get out of there, only to see itliterallylostinflames…Itwassoupsettingithurt.The first thingThomas sawwhenhe ranupwasagroupofGladers

huddled just outside the large steel door, still ajar, its outer edgeblackened with soot. But as he got closer, he realized they weresurroundingsomethingontheground,allofthemlookingdownatit.HespottedNewt,kneelingthereinthemiddle,leaningoverabody.Minho was standing behind him, looking distraught and dirty, and

spottedThomasfirst.“Where’dyougo?”heasked.“TotalktoTeresa—whathappened?”Hewaitedanxiouslyforthenext

dumpofbadnews.Minho’s forehead creased in anger. “OurMapRoomwas set on fire

and you ran off to talk to your shuck girlfriend? What’s wrong withyou?”Thomas knew the rebuke should’ve stung, but his mind was too

preoccupied.“Ididn’tthinkitmatteredanymore—ifyouhaven’tfiguredouttheMapsbynow…”Minho lookeddisgusted, thepale lightand fogof smokemakinghis

faceseemalmostsinister.“Yeah,this’dbeagreatfreakingtimetogiveup.Whatthe—”“I’m sorry—just tell me what happened.” Thomas leaned over the

shoulderof a skinnyboy standing in front ofhim to get a lookat the

bodyontheground.It was Alby, flat on his back, a huge gash on his forehead. Bloodseepeddownbothsidesofhishead,someintohiseyes,crustingthere.Newt was cleaning it with a wet rag, gingerly, asking questions in awhispertoolowtohear.Thomas,concernedforAlbydespitehisrecentill-temperedways,turnedbacktoMinhoandrepeatedhisquestion.“Winstonfoundhimouthere,halfdead,theMapRoomblazing.Someshanksgot inthereandput itout,butwaytoo late.All thetrunksareburnedtoafreakingcrisp.IsuspectedAlbyatfirst,butwhoeverdiditslammed his shuck head against the table—you can see where. It’snasty.”“Whodoyouthinkdidit?”ThomaswashesitanttotellhimaboutthepossiblediscoveryheandTeresahadmade.WithnoMaps,thepointwasmoot.“Maybe Gally before he showed up in the Homestead and wentpsycho? Maybe the Grievers? I don’t know, and I don’t care. Doesn’tmatter.”Thomaswassurprisedatthesuddenchangeofheart.“Nowwho’stheonegivingup?”Minho’shead snappedup soquickly,Thomas tooka stepbackward.There was a flash of anger there, but it quickly melted into an oddexpressionofsurpriseorconfusion.“That’snotwhatImeant,shank.”Thomasnarrowedhiseyesincuriosity.“Whatdid—”“Just shut yourhole for now.”Minhoput his fingers to his lips, hiseyesdartingaroundtoseeifanyonewaslookingathim.“Justshutyourhole.You’llfindoutsoonenough.”Thomastookadeepbreathandthought.Ifheexpectedtheotherboysto be honest, he should be honest too. He decided he’d better shareaboutthepossibleMazecode,MapsornoMaps.“Minho,IneedtotellyouandNewtsomething.AndweneedtoletTeresaout—she’sprobablystarvingandwecoulduseherhelp.”“ThatstupidgirlisthelastthingI’mworriedabout.”Thomasignoredtheinsult.“Justgiveusafewminutes—wehaveanidea.Maybeit’llstillworkifenoughRunnersremembertheirMaps.”This seemed togetMinho’s full attention—butagain, therewas thatsame strange look, as if Thomaswasmissing something very obvious.“Anidea?What?”

“JustcomeovertotheSlammerwithme.YouandNewt.”Minhothoughtforasecond.“Newt!”hecalledout.“Yeah?”Newtstoodup,refoldinghisbloodyragtofindacleanspot.Thomascouldn’thelpnoticingthateveryinchwasdrenchedinred.MinhopointeddownatAlby.“LettheMed-jackstakecareofhim.Weneedtotalk.”Newtgavehimaquestioninglook,thenhandedtheragtotheclosestGlader.“GofindClint—tellhimwegotworseproblemsthanguyswithbuggin’ splinters.” When the kid ran off to do as he was told, NewtsteppedawayfromAlby.“Talkaboutwhat?”MinhonoddedatThomas,butdidn’tsayanything.“Justcomewithme,”Thomassaid.ThenheturnedandheadedfortheSlammerwithoutwaitingforaresponse.

“Letherout.”Thomasstoodbythecelldoor,armsfolded.“Letherout,andthenwe’lltalk.Trustme—youwannahearit.”Newtwas covered in soot and dirt, his hairmattedwith sweat. Hecertainlydidn’tseemtobeinaverygoodmood.“Tommy,thisis—”“Please. Just open it—let her out. Please.”Hewouldn’t give up thistime.Minhostoodinfrontofthedoorwithhishandsonhiships.“Howcanwetrusther?”heasked.“Soonasshewokeup,thewholeplacefell topieces.Sheevenadmittedshetriggeredsomething.”“He’sgotapoint,”Newtsaid.ThomasgesturedthroughthedooratTeresa.“Wecantrusther.EverytimeI’vetalkedtoher,it’ssomethingabouttryingtogetoutofhere.Shewas sent here just like the rest of us—it’s stupid to think she’sresponsibleforanyofthis.”Newtgrunted. “Thenwhat thebloody shuckdid shemeanby sayin’shetriggeredsomething?”Thomas shrugged, refusing to admit that Newt had a good point.Therehad tobeanexplanation.“Whoknows—hermindwasdoingallkindsofweirdstuffwhenshewokeup.MaybeweallwentthroughthatintheBox,talkinggibberishbeforewecametotallyawake.Justletherout.”NewtandMinhoexchangedalonglook.

“Comeon,”Thomas insisted. “What’s shegonnado, runaroundandstabeveryGladertodeath?Comeon.”Minhosighed.“Fine.Justletthestupidgirlout.”“I’mnotstupid!”Teresashouted,hervoicemuffledbythewalls.“And

Icanheareverywordyoumoronsaresaying!”Newt’seyeswidened.“Realsweetgirlyoupickedup,Tommy.”“Justhurry,”Thomas said. “I’m surewehavea lot todobefore the

Grieverscomebacktonight—iftheydon’tcomeduringtheday.”NewtgruntedandsteppeduptotheSlammer,pullinghiskeysoutas

hedidso.Afewclinkslaterthedoorswungwideopen.“Comeon.”Teresa walked out of the small building, glowering at Newt as she

passed him. She gave a just-as-unpleasant glance toward Minho, thenstopped to stand right next to Thomas. Her arm brushed against his;tinglesshotacrosshisskin,andhefeltmortallyembarrassed.“Allright,talk,”Minhosaid.“What’ssoimportant?”ThomaslookedatTeresa,wonderinghowtosayit.“What?”shesaid.“Youtalk—theyobviouslythinkI’maserialkiller.”“Yeah,you look sodangerous,”Thomasmuttered,buthe turnedhis

attentiontoNewtandMinho.“Okay,whenTeresawasfirstcomingoutof her deep sleep, she hadmemories flashing through hermind. She,um”—hejustbarelystoppedhimselffromsayingshe’dsaiditinsidehismind—”she toldme later that she remembers that theMaze is a code.Thatmaybeinsteadofsolvingittofindawayout,it’stryingtosendusamessage.”“Acode?”Minhoasked.“How’sitacode?”Thomas shookhishead,wishinghecouldanswer. “Idon’tknow for

sure—you’rewaymorefamiliarwiththeMapsthanIam.ButIhaveatheory. That’s why I was hoping you guys could remember some ofthem.”Minho glanced at Newt, his eyebrows raised in question. Newt

nodded.“What?”Thomas asked, fedupwith themkeeping information from

him.“Youguyskeepactinglikeyouhaveasecret.”Minhorubbedhiseyeswithbothhands,tookadeepbreath.“Wehid

theMaps,Thomas.”Atfirstitdidn’tcompute.“Huh?”Minhopointed at theHomestead. “Wehid the freakingMaps in the

weaponsroom,putdummiesintheirplace.BecauseofAlby’swarning.Andbecauseoftheso-calledEndingyourgirlfriendtriggered.”Thomaswas so excited tohear thisnewshe temporarily forgothowawful thingshadbecome.HerememberedMinhoactingsuspicious thedaybefore,sayinghehadaspecialassignment.ThomaslookedoveratNewt,whonodded.“They’re all safe and sound,” Minho said. “Every last one of thosesuckers.Soifyouhaveatheory,gettalking.”“Takemetothem,”Thomassaid,itchingtohavealook.“Okay,let’sgo.”

CHAPTER42

Minhoswitchedon the light,makingThomassquint fora seconduntilhiseyesgotusedtoit.Menacingshadowsclungtotheboxesofweaponsscatteredacross the tableand floor,blades and sticks andothernasty-looking devices seeming towait there, ready to take on a life of theirown and kill the first person stupid enough to come close. The dank,mustysmellonlyaddedtothecreepyfeeloftheroom.“There’sahiddenstorageclosetbackhere,”Minhoexplained,walking

pastsomeshelvesintoadarkcorner.“Onlyacoupleofusknowaboutit.”Thomasheardthecreakofanoldwoodendoor,andthenMinhowas

draggingacardboardboxacrossthefloor;thescrapeofitsoundedlikeaknife on bone. “I put each trunk’s worth in its own box, eight boxestotal.They’reallinthere.”“Whichoneisthis?”Thomasasked;hekneltdownnexttoit,eagerto

getstarted.“Justopenitandsee—eachpageismarked,remember?”Thomas pulled on the crisscrossed lid flaps until they popped open.

TheMapsforSectionTwolayinamessyheap.Thomasreachedinandpulledoutastack.“Okay,” he said. “The Runners have always compared these day to

day, looking to see if there was a pattern that would somehow helpfigureoutawaytoanexit.Youevensaidyoudidn’treallyknowwhatyouwerelookingfor,butyoukeptstudyingthemanyway.Right?”Minhonodded, arms folded.He lookedas if someonewereabout to

revealthesecretofimmortallife.“Well,” Thomas continued, “what if all the wall movements had

nothing to do with a map or a maze or anything like that? What ifinstead the pattern spelled words? Some kind of clue that’ll help usescape.”

MinhopointedattheMapsinThomas’shand,lettingoutafrustratedsigh.“Dude,youhaveany ideahowmuchwe’ve studied these things?Don’t you think we would’ve noticed if it were spelling out freakingwords?”“Maybe it’s too hard to seewith the naked eye, just comparing onedaytothenext.Andmaybeyouweren’tsupposedtocompareonedaytothenext,butlookatitonedayatatime?”Newtlaughed.“Tommy,ImightnotbethesharpestguyintheGlade,butsoundslikeyou’retalkin’straightoutyourbutttome.”While he’d been talking, Thomas’s mind had been spinning evenfaster.Theanswerwaswithinhisgrasp—heknewhewasalmostthere.Itwasjustsohardtoputintowords.“Okay,okay,”hesaid,startingover.“You’vealwayshadoneRunnerassignedtoonesection,right?”“Right,”Minhoreplied.Heseemedgenuinelyinterestedandreadytounderstand.“And that Runnermakes aMap every day, and then compares it toMaps from previous days, for that section. What if, instead, you weresupposed to compare the eight sections to eachother, every day? Eachday being a separate clue or code? Did you ever compare sections toothersections?”Minho rubbed his chin, nodding. “Yeah, kind of.We tried to see iftheymadesomethingwhenputtogether—ofcoursewedidthat.We’vetriedeverything.”Thomaspulledhis legsupunderneathhim,studyingtheMaps inhislap.HecouldjustbarelyseethelinesoftheMazewrittenonthesecondpagethroughthepagerestingontop.Inthatinstant,heknewwhattheyhadtodo.Helookedupattheothers.“Waxpaper.”“Huh?”Minhoasked.“Whatthe—”“Just trust me. We need wax paper and scissors. And every blackmarkerandpencilyoucanfind.”Frypanwasn’t toohappyhaving awhole boxof hiswaxpaper rollstaken away from him, especiallywith their supplies being cut off. Hearguedthatitwasoneofthethingshealwaysrequested,thatheuseditfor baking. They finally had to tell him what they needed it for toconvincehimtogiveitup.

After ten minutes of hunting down pencils and markers—most hadbeen in the Map Room and were destroyed in the fire—Thomas sataround theworktable in theweaponsbasementwithNewt,MinhoandTeresa. They hadn’t found any scissors, so Thomas had grabbed thesharpestknifehecouldfind.“This better be good,”Minho said.Warning laced his voice, but hiseyesshowedsomeinterest.Newtleanedforward,puttinghiselbowsonthetable,asifwaitingforamagictrick.“Getonwithit,Greenie.”“Okay.”Thomaswas eager todo so,butwasalso scared todeath itmightendupbeingnothing.HehandedtheknifetoMinho,thenpointedatthewaxpaper.“Startcuttingrectangles,aboutthesizeof theMaps.Newt andTeresa, you canhelpmegrab the first tenor soMaps fromeachsectionbox.”“Whatisthis,kiddiecrafttime?”Minhohelduptheknifeandlookedatitwithdisgust.“Whydon’tyoujusttelluswhattheklunkwe’redoingthisfor?”“I’m done explaining,” Thomas said, knowing they just had to seewhathewaspicturinginhismind.Hestoodtogorummagethroughthestoragecloset.“It’llbeeasiertoshowyou.IfI’mwrong,I’mwrong,andwecangobacktorunningaroundtheMazelikemice.”Minho sighed, clearly irritated, then muttered something under hisbreath. Teresa had stayed quiet for a while, but she spoke up insideThomas’shead.IthinkIknowwhatyou’redoing.Brilliant,actually.Thomaswasstartled,buthetriedhisbesttocoveritup.Heknewhehadtopretendhedidn’thavevoicesinhishead—theotherswouldthinkhewasalunatic.Just…come…help…me,hetriedtosayback, thinkingeachwordseparately, trying to visualize the message, send it. But she didn’trespond.“Teresa,” he said aloud. “Can you help me a second?” He noddedtowardthecloset.Thetwoofthemwentintothedustylittleroomandopenedupalltheboxes,grabbingasmallstackofMapsfromeachone.Returningtothetable,ThomasfoundthatMinhohadcuttwentysheetsalready,makingamessypiletohisrightashethreweachnewpieceontop.

Thomassatdownandgrabbedafew.Heheldoneofthepapersuptothe light, sawhow it shone throughwithamilkyglow. Itwas exactlywhatheneeded.He grabbed amarker. “All right, everybody trace the last ten or so

daysontoapieceofthisstuff.Makesureyouwritetheinfoontopsowecankeeptrackofwhat’swhat.Whenwe’redone,I thinkwemightseesomething.”“What—”Minhobegan.“Justbloodykeepcutting,”Newtordered.“IthinkIknowwherehe’s

goingwiththis.”Thomaswasrelievedsomeonewasfinallygettingit.They got towork, tracing fromoriginalMaps towax paper, one by

one,tryingtokeepitcleanandcorrectwhilehurryingasfastaspossible.Thomas used the side of a stray slab of wood as a makeshift ruler,keeping his lines straight. Soon he’d completed five maps, then fivemore.Theotherskeptthesamepace,workingfeverishly.AsThomasdrew,hestartedtofeelatickleofpanic,asickfeelingthat

whattheyweredoingwasacompletewasteoftime.ButTeresa,sittingnext tohim,wasa study in concentration,her tongue stickingout thecornerofhermouthasshetracedlinesupanddown,sidetoside.Sheseemedwaymoreconfidentthattheyweredefinitelyontosomething.Boxbybox,sectionbysection,theycontinuedon.“I’vehadenough,”Newt finally announced,breaking thequiet. “My

fingersarebloodyburninglikeamother.Seeifit’sworking.”Thomas put his marker down, then flexed his fingers, hoping he’d

been right about all this. “Okay, give me the last few days of eachsection—make piles along the table, in order from Section One toSection Eight. One here”—he pointed at an end—”to Eight here.” Hepointedattheotherend.Silently,theydidasheasked,sortingthroughwhatthey’dtraceduntil

eightlowstacksofwaxpaperlinedthetable.Jittery and nervous, Thomas picked up one page from each pile,

makingsuretheywereallfromthesameday,keepingtheminorder.HethenlaidthemoneontopoftheothersothateachdrawingoftheMazematched the same day above it and below it, until hewas looking ateightdifferentsectionsoftheMazeatonce.Whathesawamazedhim.Almostmagically,likeapicturecomingintofocus,animagedeveloped.Teresaletoutasmallgasp.

Linescrossedeachother,upanddown,somuchsothatwhatThomasheld inhishands looked likeacheckeredgrid.Butcertain lines in themiddle—lines that happened to appear more often than any other—made a slightly darker image than the rest. It was subtle, but it was,withoutadoubt,there.SittingintheexactcenterofthepagewastheletterF.

CHAPTER43

Thomas felt a rush of different emotions: relief that it had worked,surprise,excitement,wonderatwhatitcouldleadto.“Man,”Minhosaid,summingupThomas’sfeelingswithoneword.“Couldbeacoincidence,”Teresasaid.“Domore,quick.”Thomas did, putting together the eight pages of each day, in order

fromSectionOnetoSectionEight.Eachtime,anobviousletterformedinthecenterofthecrisscrossedmassoflines.AftertheFwasanL,thenanO,thenanA,andaT.ThenC…A…T.“Look,”Thomassaid,pointingdownthelineofstacksthey’dformed,

confused, but happy that the letterswere so obvious. “It spellsFLOATandthenitspellsCAT.”“Floatcat?”Newtasked.“Doesn’tsoundlikeabloodyrescuecodeto

me.”“Wejustneedtokeepworking,”Thomassaid.Another couple of combinations made them realize that the second

wordwasactuallyCATCH.FLOATandCATCH.“Definitelynotacoincidence,”Minhosaid.“Definitelynot,”Thomasagreed.Hecouldn’twaittoseemore.Teresagesturedtowardthestoragecloset.“Weneedtogothroughall

ofthem—allthoseboxesinthere.”“Yeah,”Thomasnodded.“Let’sgetonit.”“Wecan’thelp,”Minhosaid.Allthreeofthemlookedathim.Hereturnedtheirglares.“Atleastnot

meandThomashere.WeneedtogettheRunnersoutintheMaze.”“What?”Thomasasked.“Thisiswaymoreimportant!”“Maybe,”Minhoansweredcalmly,“butwecan’tmissadayoutthere.

Notnow.”Thomasfeltarushofdisappointment.RunningtheMazeseemedlike

suchawasteoftimecomparedtofiguringoutthecode.“Why,Minho?

You said the pattern’s basically been repeating itself for months—onemoredaywon’tmeanathing.”Minhoslammedhishandagainstthetable.“That’sbullcrap,Thomas!Ofalldays,thismightbethemostimportanttogetoutthere.Somethingmight’ve changed, something might’ve opened up. In fact, with thefreakingwalls not closing anymore, I thinkwe should try your idea—stayoutthereovernightanddosomedeeperexploring.”That piqued Thomas’s interest—he had been wanting to do that.Conflicted,heasked,“Butwhataboutthiscode?Whatabout—”“Tommy,”Newtsaidinaconsolingvoice.“Minho’sright.YoushanksgooutandgetRunnin’.I’llroundupsomeGladerswecantrustandgetworkin’onthis.”Newtsoundedmorelikealeaderthaneverbefore.“Metoo,”Teresaagreed.“I’llstayandhelpNewt.”Thomas lookedather. “You sure?”Hewas itching to figureout thecodehimself,buthedecidedMinhoandNewtwereright.Shesmiledandfoldedherarms.“Ifyou’regoingtodecipherahiddencodefromacomplexsetofdifferentmazes,I’mprettysureyouneedagirl’sbrainrunningtheshow.”Hergrinturnedintoasmirk.“Ifyousayso.”Hefoldedhisownarms,staringatherwithasmile,suddenlynotwantingtoleaveagain.“Goodthat.”Minhonoddedandturnedtogo.“Everything’s fineanddandy. Come on.” He started toward the door, but stopped when herealizedThomaswasn’tbehindhim.“Don’t worry, Tommy,” Newt said. “Your girlfriend will be fine.”Thomasfeltamillionthoughtsgothroughhisheadinthatmoment.Anitchtolearnthecode,embarrassmentatwhatNewtthoughtofhimandTeresa,theintrigueofwhattheymightfindoutintheMaze—andfear.But he pushed it all aside.Without even saying goodbye, he finallyfollowedMinhoandtheywentupthestairs.

Thomas helpedMinho gather the Runners to give them the news andorganize them for the big journey. He was surprised at how readilyeveryoneagreedthatitwastimetodosomemorein-depthexploringoftheMazeandstayoutthereovernight.Eventhoughhewasnervousandscared,hetoldMinhohecouldtakeoneofthesectionshimself,buttheKeeperrefused.TheyhadeightexperiencedRunnerstodothat.Thomas

was to go with him—which made Thomas so relieved he was almostashamedofhimself.HeandMinhopackedtheirbackpackswithmoresuppliesthanusual;there was no telling how long they’d be out there. Despite his fear,Thomas couldn’t help being excited as well—maybe this was the daythey’dfindanexit.He and Minho were stretching their legs by the West Door whenChuckwalkedovertosaygoodbye.“I’dgowithyou,” theboysaid ina far too jovialvoice,“but Idon’twannadieagruesomedeath.”Thomas laughed, surprising himself. “Thanks for the words ofencouragement.”“Be careful,” Chuck said, his tone quickly melting into genuineconcern.“IwishIcouldhelpyouguys.”Thomaswastouched—hebetthatifitreallycamedowntoit,Chuckwouldgooutthereifhewereaskedto.“Thanks,Chuck.We’lldefinitelybecareful.”Minho grunted. “Being careful hasn’t gotten us squat. It’s all ornothingnow,baby.”“We better get going,” Thomas said. Butterflies swarmed in his gut,andhejustwantedtomove,toquitthinkingaboutit.Afterall,goingoutin theMazewasnoworse than staying in theGladewithopenDoors.Thoughthethoughtdidn’tmakehimfeelmuchbetter.“Yeah,”Minhorespondedevenly.“Let’sgo.”“Well,”Chucksaid,lookingdownathisfeetbeforereturninghisgazetoThomas.“Goodluck.Ifyourgirlfriendgetslonelyforyou,I’llgivehersomelovin’.”Thomasrolledhiseyes.“She’snotmygirlfriend,shuck-face.”“Wow,”Chucksaid.“You’realreadyusingAlby’sdirtywords.”Hewasobviously trying hard to pretend he wasn’t scared of all the recentdevelopments,buthiseyesrevealedthetruth.“Seriously,goodluck.”“Thanks, thatmeans a lot,”Minho answeredwith his own eye roll.“Seeya,shank.”“Yeah,seeya,”Chuckmuttered,thenturnedtowalkaway.Thomas felt a pang of sadness—it was possible he might never seeChuck or Teresa or any of them again. A sudden urge gripped him.“Don’tforgetmypromise!”heyelled.“I’llgetyouhome!”

Chuck turned and gave him a thumbs-up; his eyes glimmered withtears.Thomasflippedupdoublethumbs;thenheandMinhopulledontheir

backpacksandenteredtheMaze.

CHAPTER44

ThomasandMinhodidn’tstopuntiltheywerehalfwaytothelastdeadend of SectionEight. Theymade good time—Thomaswas glad for hiswristwatch, with the skies being gray—because it quickly becameobvious that the walls hadn’t moved from the day before. Everythingwas exactly the same. There was no need for Mapmaking or takingnotes;theironlytaskwastogettotheendandstartmakingtheirwayback, searching for things previously unnoticed—anything. Minhoallowedatwenty-minutebreakandthentheywerebackatit.Theyweresilentastheyran.MinhohadtaughtThomasthatspeaking

only wasted energy, so he concentrated on his pace and his breaths.Regular. Even. In, out. In, out. Deeper and deeper into theMaze theywent, with only their thoughts and the sounds of their feet thumpingagainstthehardstonefloor.In the third hour, Teresa surprised him, speaking in his mind from

backintheGlade.We’remakingprogress—foundacouplemorewordsalready.Butnoneofit

makessenseyet.Thomas’s first instinct was to ignore her, to deny once again that

someone had the ability to enter hismind, invade his privacy. But hewantedtotalktoher.Canyouhearme?heasked,picturingthewordsinhismind,mentally

throwingthemout toher insomewayhecouldneverhaveexplained.Concentrating,hesaiditagain.Canyouhearme?Yes!shereplied.Reallyclearlythesecondtimeyousaidit.Thomas was shocked. So shocked he almost quit running. It had

worked!Wonderwhywecando this,hecalledoutwithhismind.Themental

effort of speaking to her was already straining—he felt a headacheforminglikeabulgeinhisbrain.

Maybewewerelovers,Teresasaid.Thomas tripped and crashed to the ground. Smiling sheepishly atMinho,who’dturnedtolookwithoutslowing,Thomasgotbackupandcaughtuptohim.What?hefinallyasked.He sensed a laugh fromher, awatery image full of color.This is sobizarre,shesaid.It’slikeyou’reastranger,butIknowyou’renot.Thomas felt a pleasant chill even though he was sweating. Sorry tobreakittoyou,butwearestrangers.Ijustmetyou,remember?Don’tbestupid,Tom.Ithinksomeonealteredourbrains,putsomethingintheresowecoulddothistelepathything.Beforewecamehere.Whichmakesmethinkwealreadykneweachother.It was something he’d wondered about, and he thought she wasprobably right. Hoped it, anyway—he was really starting to like her.Brainsaltered?heasked.How?Idon’tknow—somememoryIcan’tquitegrasp.Ithinkwedidsomethingbig.Thomasthoughtabouthowhe’dalwaysfeltaconnectiontoher,eversince shearrived in theGlade.Hewanted todiga littlemoreand seewhatshesaid.Whatareyoutalkingabout?Wish I knew. I’m just trying to bounce ideas off you to see if it sparksanythinginyourmind.ThomasthoughtaboutwhatGally,BenandAlbyhadsaidabouthim—theirsuspicionsthathewasagainstthemsomehow,wassomeonenotto trust.He thought aboutwhatTeresa had said to him, too, the veryfirsttime—thatheandshehadsomehowdoneallofthistothem.Thiscodehastomeansomething,sheadded.AndthethingIwroteonmyarm—WICKEDisgood.Maybeitwon’tmatter,heanswered.Maybewe’llfindanexit.Youneverknow.Thomassqueezedhiseyesshutforafewsecondsasheran,tryingtoconcentrate.Apocketofairseemedtofloatinhischesteverytimetheyspoke, a swelling that half annoyed and half thrilled him. His eyespoppedbackopenwhenherealizedshecouldmaybereadhisthoughtsevenwhenhewasn’ttryingtocommunicate.Hewaitedforaresponse,butnonecame.Youstillthere?heasked.Yeah,butthisalwaysgivesmeaheadache.

Thomaswas relieved tohearhewasn’t theonlyone.Myheadhurts,too.Okay,shesaid.Seeyoulater.No,wait!Hedidn’twanthertoleave;shewashelpingthetimepass.Makingtherunningeasiersomehow.Bye,Tom.I’llletyouknowifwefigureanythingout.Teresa—whataboutthethingyouwroteonyourarm?Severalsecondspassed.Noreply.Teresa?Shewas gone. Thomas felt as if that bubble of air in his chest hadburst,releasingtoxinsintohisbody.Hisstomachhurt,andthethoughtofrunningtherestofthedaysuddenlydepressedhim.Insomeways,hewantedtotellMinhoabouthowheandTeresacouldtalk,tosharewhatwashappeningbeforeitmadehisbrainexplode.Buthedidn’tdare.Throwingtelepathyintothewholesituationdidn’tseemlikethegrandestofideas.Everythingwasweirdenoughalready.Thomasputhisheaddownanddrewinalong,deepbreath.Hewouldjustkeephismouthshutandrun.Twobreakslater,Minhofinallyslowedtoawalkastheyheadeddownalongcorridorthatendedinawall.Hestoppedandtookaseatagainstthedeadend.Theivywasespeciallythickthere;itmadetheworldseemgreenandlush,hidingthehard,impenetrablestone.Thomas joined him on the ground and they attacked their modestlunchofsandwichesandslicedfruit.“This is it,” Minho said after his second bite. “We’ve already runthroughthewholesection.Surprise,surprise—noexits.”Thomas already knew this, but hearing itmade his heart sink evenlower.Withoutanotherword—fromhimself orMinho—he finishedhisfoodandreadiedhimselftoexplore.Tolookforwho-knew-what.Forthenextfewhours,heandMinhoscouredtheground,feltalongthewalls,climbeduptheivyinrandomspots.Theyfoundnothing,andThomas grew more and more discouraged. The only thing interestingwas another one of those odd signs that readWorld In Catastrophe—Killzone Experiment Department. Minho didn’t even give it a secondglance.Theyhadanothermeal,searchedsomemore.Theyfoundnothing,andThomaswasbeginningtogetreadytoaccepttheinevitable—thatthere

was nothing to find.Whenwall-closing time rolled around, he startedlooking for signs of Grievers,was struck by an icy hesitation at everycorner.HeandMinhoalwayshadknivesclaspedfirmly inbothhands.Butnothingshowedupuntilalmostmidnight.MinhospottedaGrieverdisappearingaroundacorneraheadofthem;

and itdidn’t comeback.Thirtyminutes later,Thomas sawonedotheexactsamething.Anhourafter that,aGrievercamechargingthroughtheMaze right past them, not even pausing. Thomas almost collapsedfromthesuddenrushofterror.HeandMinhocontinuedon.“Ithinkthey’replayingwithus,”Minhosaidawhilelater.Thomas realized he’d given up on searching thewalls andwas just

headingbacktowardtheGladeinadepressedwalk.Fromthelooksofit,Minhofeltthesameway.“Whatdoyoumean?”Thomasasked.TheKeeper sighed.“I think theCreatorswantus toknowthere’sno

way out. Thewalls aren’t evenmoving anymore—it’s like this has alljustbeensomestupidgameandit’stimetoend.AndtheywantustogobackandtelltheotherGladers.HowmuchyouwannabetwhenwegetbackwefindoutaGrievertookoneofthemjustlikelastnight?IthinkGallywasright—they’regonnajustkeepkillingus.”Thomasdidn’trespond—feltthetruthofwhatMinhosaid.Anyhope

he’dfeltearlierwhenthey’dsetouthadcrashedalongtimeago.“Let’sjustgohome,”Minhosaid,hisvoiceweary.Thomashatedtoadmitdefeat,buthenoddedinagreement.Thecode

seemedliketheironlyhopenow,andheresolvedtofocusonthat.HeandMinhomadetheirwaysilentlybacktotheGlade.Theydidn’t

seeanotherGrieverthewholeway.

CHAPTER45

By Thomas’s watch, it was midmorning when he and Minho steppedthrough the West Door back into the Glade. Thomas was so tired hewantedtoliedownrightthereandtakeanap.They’dbeenintheMazeforroughlytwenty-fourhours.Surprisingly, despite the dead light and everything falling apart, the

dayintheGladeappearedtobeproceedingbusinessasusual—farming,gardening, cleaning. It didn’t take long for someof the boys to noticethemstandingthere.Newtwasnotifiedandhecamerunning.“You’re the first to come back,” he said as he walked up to them.

“What happened?” The childlike look of hope on his face brokeThomas’s heart—he obviously thought they’d found somethingimportant.“Tellmeyou’vegotgoodnews.”Minho’s eyes were dead, staring at a spot somewhere in the gray

distance.“Nothing,”hesaid.“TheMazeisabigfreakingjoke.”NewtlookedatThomas,confused.“What’shetalkingabout?”“He’sjustdiscouraged,”Thomassaidwithawearyshrug.“Wedidn’t

findanythingdifferent.Thewallshaven’tmoved,noexits,nothing.DidtheGrieverscomelastnight?”Newt paused, darkness passing over his face. Finally, he nodded.

“Yeah.TheytookAdam.”Thomasdidn’tknowthename,andfeltguiltyforfeelingnothing.Just

onepersonagain,hethought.MaybeGallywasright.Newt was about to say something else when Minho freaked out,

startlingThomas.“I’msickofthis!”Minhospatintheivy,veinspoppingoutofhisneck.

“I’m sick of it! It’s over! It’s all over!” He took off his backpack andthrewitontheground.“There’snoexit,neverwas,neverwillbe.We’reallshucked.”Thomas watched, his throat dry, as Minho stomped off toward the

Homestead. It worried him—if Minho gave up, they were all in bigtrouble.Newt didn’t say aword. He left Thomas standing there, now in hisowndaze.Despairhungintheair likethesmokefromtheMapRoom,thickandacrid.

The other Runners returned within the hour, and from what Thomasheard,noneofthemhadfoundanythingandthey’deventuallygivenupaswell.GlumfaceswereeverywherethroughouttheGlade,andmostoftheworkershadabandonedtheirdailyjobs.ThomasknewthatthecodeoftheMazewastheironlyhopenow.Ithad to reveal something. It had to.And after aimlesslywandering theGladetoheartheotherRunners’stories,hesnappedoutofhisfunk.Teresa?hesaid inhismind,closinghiseyes,as if thatwoulddothetrick.Whereareyou?Didyoufigureanythingout?Afteralongpause,healmostgaveup,thinkingitdidn’twork.Huh?Tom,didyousaysomething?Yeah,hesaid,excitedhe’dmadecontactagain.Canyouhearme?AmIdoingthisthingright?Sometimesit’schoppy,butit’sworking.Kindafreaky,huh?Thomasthoughtaboutthat—actually,hewassortofgettingusedtoit.It’snot sobad.Areyouguysstill in thebasement? I sawNewtbut thenhedisappearedagain.Stillhere.NewthadthreeorfourGladershelpustracetheMaps.Ithinkwehavethecodeallfiguredout.Thomas’sheartleapedintohisthroat.Serious?Getdownhere.I’mcoming.Hewasalreadymovingashesaidit,somehownotfeelingsoexhaustedanymore.

Newtlethimin.“Minhostillhasn’tshownup,”hesaidastheywalkeddownthestairstothebasement.“Sometimesheturnsintoabuggin’hothead.”Thomas was surprised Minho was wasting time sulking, especiallywith the codepossibilities.Hepushed the thought aside ashe enteredthe room. Several Gladers he didn’t know were gathered around the

table, standing; they all looked exhausted, their eyes sunken. Piles ofMapslayscatteredallovertheplace,includingthefloor.Itlookedasifatornadohadtoucheddownrightinthemiddleoftheroom.Teresawasleaningagainstastackofshelves,readingasinglesheetofpaper.Sheglancedupwhenheentered,but thenreturnedhergaze towhateveritwassheheld.Thissaddenedhimalittle—he’dhopedshe’dbehappytoseehim—butthenhefeltreallystupidforevenhavingthethought.Shewasobviouslybusyfiguringoutthecode.You have to see this, Teresa said to him just as Newt dismissed hishelpers—they clomped up the wooden stairs, a couple of themgrumblingaboutdoingallthatworkfornothing.Thomasstarted,forabriefmomentworriedthatNewtcouldtellwhatwasgoingon.Don’ttalkinmyheadwhileNewt’saround.Idon’twanthimknowingaboutour…gift.“Come check this out,” she said aloud, barely hiding the smirk thatflashedacrossherface.“I’llgetdownonmykneesandkissyourbloodyfeetifyoucanfigureitout,”Newtsaid.Thomas walked over to Teresa, eager to see what they’d come upwith.Sheheldoutthepaper,eyebrowsraised.“No doubt this is right,” she said. “Just don’t have a clue what itmeans.”Thomastookthepaperandscanneditquickly.Therewerenumberedcircles runningdown the left side, one to six.Next to each onewas awordwritteninbigblockyletters.

FLOATCATCHBLEEDDEATHSTIFFPUSH

Thatwasit.Sixwords.DisappointmentwashedoverThomas—he’dbeensurethepurposeofthecodewouldbeobviousoncetheyhaditfiguredout.HelookedupatTeresawithasunkenheart.“That’sall?Areyousurethey’reintheright

order?”She took the paper back from him. “The Maze has been repeating

thosewordsformonths—wefinallyquitwhenthatbecameclear.Eachtime, after the word PUSH, it goes a full week without showing anyletter at all, and then it starts over again with FLOAT. Sowe figuredthat’sthefirstword,andthat’stheorder.”ThomasfoldedhisarmsandleanedagainsttheshelvesnexttoTeresa.

Withoutthinkingaboutit,he’dmemorizedthesixwords,weldedthemto his mind. Float. Catch. Bleed. Death. Stiff. Push. That didn’t soundgood.“Cheerful,don’tyathink?”Newtsaid,mirroringhisthoughtsexactly.“Yeah,” Thomas replied with a frustrated groan. “We need to get

Minhodownhere—maybeheknowssomethingwedon’t.Ifwejusthadmore clues—”He froze,hitbyadizzy spell;hewould’ve fallen to thefloorifhehadn’thadtheshelvestoleanon.Anideahadjustoccurredtohim. A horrible, terrible, awful idea. Theworst idea in the history ofhorrible,terrible,awfulideas.Butinstincttoldhimhewasright.Thatitwassomethinghehadtodo.“Tommy?” Newt asked, stepping closer with a look of concern

creasing his forehead. “What’s wrong with you? Your face just wentwhiteasaghost.”Thomasshookhishead,composinghimself.“Oh…nothing,sorry.My

eyesarehurting—IthinkIneedsomesleep.”Herubbedhistemplesforeffect.Areyouokay?Teresaaskedinhismind.Helookedtoseethatshewas

asworriedasNewt,whichmadehimfeelgood.Yeah.Seriously,I’mtired.Ijustneedsomerest.“Well,”Newt said, reachingout to squeezeThomas’s shoulder. “You

spentallbloodynightoutintheMaze—gotakeanap.”ThomaslookedatTeresa,thenatNewt.Hewantedtosharehisidea,

butdecidedagainstit.Instead,hejustnoddedandheadedforthestairs.Allthesame,Thomasnowhadaplan.Asbadasitwas,hehadaplan.Theyneededmorecluesaboutthecode.Theyneededmemories.SohewasgoingtogetstungbyaGriever.GothroughtheChanging.

Onpurpose.

CHAPTER46

Thomasrefusedtotalktoanyonetherestoftheday.Teresatriedseveraltimes.Buthekepttellingherhedidn’tfeelgood,

thathejustwantedtobealoneandsleepinhisspotbehindtheforest,maybespendsometimethinking.Trytodiscoverahiddensecretwithinhismindthatwouldhelpthemknowwhattodo.Butintruth,hewaspsychinghimselfupforwhathehadplannedfor

thatevening,convincinghimself itwas the right thing todo.Theonlything to do. Plus, he was absolutely terrified and he didn’t want theotherstonotice.Eventually,whenhiswatchshowedthateveninghadarrived,hewent

to the Homestead with everyone else. He barely noticed he’d beenhungryuntilhestartedeatingFrypan’shastilypreparedmealofbiscuitsandtomatosoup.Andthenitwastimeforanothersleeplessnight.The Builders had boarded up the gaping holes left by themonsters

who’dcarriedoffGallyandAdam.TheendresultlookedtoThomaslikeanarmyofdrunkguyshaddonethework,butitwassolidenough.NewtandAlby,who finally feltwellenough towalkaroundagain,hisheadheavilybandaged, insistedonaplanforeveryonetorotatewheretheyslepteachnight.Thomasendedupinthelargelivingroomonthebottomfloorofthe

Homestead with the same people he’d slept with two nights before.Silence settledover the roomquickly, thoughhedidn’t know if itwasbecause people were actually asleep or just scared, quietly hopingagainst hope the Grievers didn’t come again. Unlike two nights ago,TeresawasallowedtostayinthebuildingwiththerestoftheGladers.Shewasnearhim,curledupintwoblankets.Somehow,hecouldsensethatshewassleeping.Actuallysleeping.Thomas certainly couldn’t sleep, even though he knew his body

neededitdesperately.Hetried—hetriedsohardtokeephiseyesclosed,force himself to relax. But he had no luck. The night dragged on, theheavysenseofanticipationlikeaweightonhischest.Then, just as they’d all expected, came the mechanical, hauntedsoundsoftheGrieversoutside.Thetimehadcome.Everyone crowded together against the wall farthest from thewindows, doing their best to keep quiet. Thomas huddled in a cornernexttoTeresa,hugginghisknees,staringatthewindow.Therealityofthe dreadful decision he’d made earlier squeezed his heart like acrushingfist.Butheknewthateverythingmightdependonit.Thetensionintheroomroseatasteadypace.TheGladerswerequiet,not a soul moved. A distant scraping of metal against wood echoedthroughthehouse;itsoundedtoThomaslikeaGrieverwasclimbingonthebacksideoftheHomestead,oppositewheretheywere.Morenoisesjoined in a few seconds later, coming from all directions, the closestrightoutside theirownwindow.Theair in the roomseemed to freezeinto solid ice, and Thomas pressed his fists against his eyes, theanticipationoftheattackkillinghim.A booming explosion of ripping wood and broken glass thunderedfromsomewhereupstairs,shakingthewholehouse.Thomaswentnumbas several screams erupted, followed by the pounding of fleeingfootsteps.LoudcreaksandgroansannouncedawholehordeofGladersrunningtothefirstfloor.“It’sgotDave!”someoneyelled,thevoicehigh-pitchedwithterror.NooneinThomas’sroommovedamuscle;hekneweachofthemwasprobably feeling guilty about their relief—that at least itwasn’t them.Thatmaybetheyweresafeforonemorenight.Twonightsinarowonlyone boy had been taken, and people had started to believe thatwhatGallyhadsaidwastrue.Thomas jumpedasa terrible crash sounded rightoutside theirdoor,accompanied by screams and the splintering of wood, like some iron-jawed monster was eating the entire stairwell. A second later cameanotherexplosionofrippingwood:thefrontdoor.TheGrieverhadcomerightthroughthehouseandwasnowleaving.AnexplosionoffearrippedthroughThomas.Itwasnowornever.He jumpedupandranto thedoorof theroom,yanking itopen.HeheardNewtyell,butheignoredhimandrandownthehall,sidestepping

and jumpingoverhundredsof splinteredpiecesofwood.Hecould seethat where the front door had been there now stood a jagged holeleading out into the gray night.He headed straight for it and ran outintotheGlade.Tom!Teresascreamedinsidehishead.Whatareyoudoing!Heignoredher.Hejustkeptrunning.TheGrieverholdingDave—akidThomashadnever spoken to—wasrollingalongonitsspikestowardtheWestDoor,churningandwhirring.TheotherGrievershadalreadygatheredinthecourtyardandfollowedtheir companion toward the Maze. Without hesitating, knowing theotherswouldthinkhewastryingtocommitsuicide,Thomassprintedintheir direction until he found himself in the middle of the pack ofcreatures.Havingbeentakenbysurprise,theGrievershesitated.Thomas jumpedon the oneholdingDave, tried to jerk the kid free,hopingthecreaturewouldretaliate.Teresa’sscreaminsidehismindwassolouditfeltasifadaggerhadbeendriventhroughhisskull.ThreeoftheGrieversswarmedonhimatonce,theirlongpincersandclaspers and needles flying in from all directions. Thomas flailed hisarmsandlegs,knockingawaythehorriblemetallicarmsashekickedatthe pulsating blubber of the Grievers’ bodies—he only wanted to bestung, not taken like Dave. Their relentless attack intensified, andThomasfeltpaineruptovereveryinchofhisbody—needlepricksthattoldhimhe’dsucceeded.Screaming,hekickedandpushedandthrashed,throwinghisbodyintoaroll,tryingtogetawayfromthem.Struggling,burstingwith adrenaline, he finally foundanopen spot to gethis feetunderhimandranwithallhispower.As soon as he escaped the immediate reach of the Grievers’instruments, they gave up and retreated, disappearing into the Maze.Thomascollapsedtotheground,groaningfromthepain.Newtwasonhiminasecond,followedimmediatelybyChuck,Teresa,several others.Newt grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted himup,grippinghimunderbotharms.“Gethislegs!”heyelled.Thomas felt the world swimming around him, felt delirious,nauseated.Someone,hecouldn’ttellwho,obeyedNewt’sorder;hewasbeing carried across the courtyard, through the front door of theHomestead, down the shattered hall, into a room, placed on a couch.Theworldcontinuedtotwistandpitch.

“Whatwereyoudoing!”Newtyelledinhisface.“Howcouldyoubesobloodystupid!”Thomashadtospeakbeforehefadedintoblackness.“No…Newt…

youdon’tunderstand….”“Shutup!”Newtshouted.“Don’twasteyourenergy!”Thomasfeltsomeoneexamininghisarmsandlegs,rippinghisclothes

away from his body, checking for damage. He heard Chuck’s voice,couldn’t help feeling relief that his friend was okay. A Med-jack saidsomethingabouthimbeingstungdozensoftimes.Teresawasbyhisfeet,squeezinghisrightanklewithherhand.Why,

Tom?Whywouldyoudothat?Because…Hedidn’thavethestrengthtoconcentrate.NewtyelledfortheGriefSerum;aminutelaterThomasfeltapinprick

on his arm. Warmth spread from that point throughout his body,calming him, lessening the pain. But the world still seemed to becollapsinginonitself,andheknewitwouldallbegonefromhiminjustafewseconds.Theroomspun,colorsmorphingintoeachother,churningfasterand

faster. It took all of his effort, but he said one last thing before thedarknesstookhimforgood.“Don’tworry,”hewhispered,hopingtheycouldhearhim.“Ididiton

purpose….”

CHAPTER47

ThomashadnoconceptoftimeashewentthroughtheChanging.Itstartedmuchlikehis firstmemoryof theBox—darkandcold.But

thistimehehadnosensationofanythingtouchinghisfeetorbody.Hefloatedinemptiness,staredintoavoidofblack.Hesawnothing,heardnothing,smellednothing.Itwasasifsomeonehadstolenhisfivesenses,leavinghiminavacuum.Time stretchedon.Andon. Fear turned into curiosity,which turned

intoboredom.Finally,afteraninterminablewait,thingsbegantochange.A distantwind picked up, unfelt but heard. Then a swirlingmist of

whiteness appeared far in the distance—a spinning tornado of smokethatformedintoalongfunnel,stretchingoutuntilhecouldseeneitherthe topnor thebottomof thewhitewhirlwind.He felt thegales then,suckingintothecyclonesothatitblewpasthimfrombehind,rippingathisclothesandhairliketheywereshreddedflagscaughtinastorm.Thetowerofthickmistbegantomovetowardhim—orhewasmoving

toward it, he couldn’t tell—increasing its speed at an alarming rate.Where seconds before he’d been able to see the distinct form of thefunnel,henowcouldseeonlyaflatexpanseofwhite.And then it consumed him; he felt hismind taken by themist, felt

memoriesfloodintohisthoughts.Everythingelseturnedintopain.

CHAPTER48

“Thomas.”Thevoicewasdistant,warbled,likeanechoinalongtunnel.“Thomas,canyouhearme?”Hedidn’twanttoanswer.Hismindhadshutdownwhenitcouldno

longertakethepain;hefeareditwouldallreturnifheallowedhimselfbackintoconsciousness.Hesensedlightontheothersideofhiseyelids,butknewitwouldbeunbearabletoopenthem.Hedidnothing.“Thomas,it’sChuck.Areyouokay?Pleasedon’tdie,dude.”Everythingcamecrashingbackintohismind.TheGlade,theGrievers,

the stinging needle, the Changing. Memories. The Maze couldn’t besolved. Their only way out was something they’d never expected.Somethingterrifying.Hewascrushedwithdespair.Groaning, he forced his eyes open, squinting at first. Chuck’s pudgy

facewasthere,staringwithfrightenedeyes.Butthentheylitupandasmilespreadacrosshisface.Despiteitall,despitetheterriblecrappinessofitall,Chucksmiled.“He’s awake!” the boy yelled to no one in particular. “Thomas is

awake!”TheboomingsoundofhisvoicemadeThomaswince;heshuthiseyes

again.“Chuck,doyouhavetoscream?Idon’tfeelsogood.”“Sorry—I’mjustgladyou’realive.You’reluckyIdon’tgiveyouabig

kiss.”“Please don’t do that, Chuck.” Thomas opened his eyes again and

forced himself to sit up in the bed inwhich he lay, pushing his backagainstthewallandstretchingouthislegs.Sorenessateathisjointsandmuscles.“Howlongdidittake?”heasked.“Threedays,”Chuckanswered.“WeputyouintheSlammeratnight

tokeepyousafe—broughtyoubackhereduringthedays.Thoughtyouweredead forsureabout thirty timessinceyoustarted.Butcheckyou

out—youlookbrand-new!”Thomas could only imagine how non-great he looked. “Did theGrieverscome?”Chuck’sjubilationvisiblycrashedtothegroundashiseyessankdowntowardthefloor.“Yeah—theygotZartandacoupleothers.Oneanight.MinhoandtheRunnershavescouredtheMaze,tryingtofindanexitorsomeuseforthatstupidcodeyouguyscameupwith.Butnothing.WhydoyouthinktheGrieversareonlytakingoneshankatatime?”Thomas’s stomach turned sour—he knew the exact answer to thatquestion, and some others now. Enough to know that sometimesknowingsucked.“GetNewtandAlby,”hefinallysaidinanswer.“TellthemweneedtohaveaGathering.Soonaspossible.”“Serious?”Thomasletoutasigh.“Chuck,I justwentthroughtheChanging.DoyouthinkI’mserious?”Withoutaword,Chuckjumpedupandranoutoftheroom,hiscallsforNewtfadingthefartherhewent.Thomasclosedhiseyesandrestedhisheadagainstthewall.Thenhecalledouttoherwithhismind.Teresa.Shedidn’tansweratfirst,butthenhervoicepoppedintohisthoughtsasclearlyasifsheweresittingnexttohim.Thatwasreallystupid,Tom.Really,reallystupid.Hadtodoit,heanswered.Iprettymuchhatedyouthelastcoupledays.Youshould’veseenyourself.Yourskin,yourveins…Youhatedme?Hewasthrilledshe’dcaredsomuchabouthim.Shepaused.That’s justmywayof saying Iwould’vekilledyou if you’ddied.Thomas felt aburstofwarmth inhis chest, reachedupandactuallytouchedit,surprisedathimself.Well…thanks.Iguess.So,howmuchdoyouremember?Hepaused.Enough.Whatyousaidaboutthetwoofusandwhatwedidtothem…Itwastrue?Wedidsomebadthings,Teresa.Hesensedfrustrationfromher,likeshe

hadamillionquestionsandnoideawheretostart.Did you learn anything to help us get out of here? she asked, as if shedidn’twanttoknowwhatpartshe’dhadinallofthis.Apurposeforthecode?Thomaspaused,notreallywantingtotalkaboutityet—notbeforehereally gathered his thoughts. Their only chance for escapemight be adeath wish. Maybe, he finally said, but it won’t be easy. We need aGathering. I’llaskforyoutobe there—Idon’thave theenergy tosay italltwice.Neitheroneofthemsaidanythingforawhile,asenseofhopelessnesswaftingbetweentheirminds.Teresa?Yeah?TheMazecan’tbesolved.Shepausedforalongtimebeforeanswering.Ithinkweallknowthatnow.Thomashatedthepaininhervoice—hecouldfeelitinhismind.Don’tworry;theCreatorsmeantforustoescape,though.Ihaveaplan.Hewantedtogivehersomehope,nomatterhowscarce.Oh,really.Yeah.It’sterrible,andsomeofusmightdie.Soundpromising?Big-time.Whatisit?Wehaveto—Beforehecouldfinish,Newtwalkedintotheroom,cuttinghimoff.I’lltellyoulater,Thomasquicklyfinished.Hurry!shesaid,thenwasgone.Newthadwalkedovertothebedandsatdownnexttohim.“Tommy—youbarelylooksick.”Thomasnodded.“I feela littlequeasy,butother than that, I’m fine.Thoughtit’dbealotworse.”Newtshookhishead,hisfaceamixtureofangerandawe.“Whatyoudidwashalfbraveandhalfbloodystupid.Seemslikeyou’reprettygoodat that.” He paused, shook his head. “I know why you did it. Whatmemoriescameback?Anythingthat’llhelp?”“WeneedtohaveaGathering,”Thomassaid,shiftinghis legs togetmorecomfortable.Surprisingly,hedidn’tfeelmuchpain,justwooziness.“BeforeIstartforgettingsomeofthisstuff.”

“Yeah, Chuck told me—we’ll do it. But why? What did you figureout?”“It’satest,Newt—thewholethingisatest.”Newtnodded.“Likeanexperiment.”Thomasshookhishead.“No,youdon’tgetit.They’reweedingusout,

seeingifwe’llgiveup,findingthebestofus.Throwingvariablesatus,trying tomake us quit. Testing our ability to hope and fight. SendingTeresa here and shutting everything downwas only the last part, onemore…finalanalysis.Nowit’stimeforthelasttest.Toescape.”Newt’sbrowcrinkledinconfusion.“Whatdoyoumean?Youknowa

wayout?”“Yeah.CalltheGathering.Now.”

CHAPTER49

Anhourlater,ThomassatinfrontoftheKeepersfortheGathering,justlikehehadaweekortwobefore.Theyhadn’tletTeresain,whichtickedhimoffjustasmuchasitdidher.NewtandMinhotrustedhernow,buttheothersstillhadtheirdoubts.“All right,Greenie,”Alby said, lookingmuchbetter as he sat in the

middleofthesemicircleofchairs,nexttoNewt.Theotherchairswerealloccupiedexcepttwo—astarkreminderthatZartandGallyhadbeentakenbytheGrievers.“Forgetallthebeat-around-the-bushklunk.Starttalking.”Thomas,stillabitqueasyfromtheChanging,forcedhimselftotakea

secondandgainhiscomposure.Hehada lot to say,butwanted tobesureitcameoutsoundingasnon-stupidaspossible.“It’salongstory,”hebegan.“Wedon’thavetimetogothroughitall,

butI’lltellyouthegistofit.WhenIwentthroughtheChanging,Isawflashesofimages—hundredsofthem—likeaslideshowinfastforward.Alotcamebacktome,butonlysomeofit’sclearenoughtotalkabout.Other stuff has faded or is fading.”He paused, gathering his thoughtsonelasttime.“ButIrememberenough.TheCreatorsaretestingus.TheMazewasnevermeanttobesolved.It’sallbeenatrial.Theywantthewinners—or survivors—to do something important.” He trailed off,alreadyconfusedatwhatorderheshouldtellthingsin.“What?”Newtasked.“Letmestartover,”Thomassaid,rubbinghiseyes.“Everysingleone

ofuswastakenwhenwewerereallyyoung. Idon’trememberhoworwhy—justglimpsesand feelings that thingshadchanged in theworld,thatsomethingreallybadhappened.Ihavenoideawhat.TheCreatorsstoleus,andIthinktheyfeltjustifiedindoingit.Somehowtheyfiguredoutthatwehaveabove-averageintelligence,andthat’swhytheychoseus. Idon’tknow,mostof this is sketchyanddoesn’tmatter thatmuch

anyway.“I can’t remember anything about my family or what happened tothem.Butafterweweretaken,wespentthenextfewyearslearninginspecialschools,livingsomewhatnormallivesuntiltheywerefinallyabletofinanceandbuildtheMaze.Allournamesarejuststupidnicknamestheymadeup—likeAlbyforAlbertEinstein,NewtforIsaacNewton,andme—Thomas.AsinEdison.”Alby looked likehe’dbeenslapped in the face.“Ournames…theseain’tevenourrealnames?”Thomas shook his head. “As far as I can tell, we’ll probably neverknowwhatournameswere.”“What are you saying?” Frypan asked. “That we’re freakin’ orphansraisedbyscientists?”“Yes,”Thomassaid,hopinghisexpressiondidn’tgiveawayjusthowdepressed he felt. “Supposedlywe’re really smart and they’re studyingevery move we make, analyzing us. Seeing who’d give up and whowouldn’t. Seeing who’d survive it all. No wonder we have so manybeetlebladespiesrunningaroundthisplace.Plus,someofushavehadthings…alteredinourbrains.”“IbelievethisklunkaboutasmuchasIbelieveFrypan’sfoodisgoodforyou,”Winstongrumbled,lookingtiredandindifferent.“Why would I make this up?” Thomas said, his voice rising. He’dgottenstungonpurposetorememberthesethings!“Betteryet,whatdoyouthinkistheexplanation?Thatweliveonanalienplanet?”“Just keep talking,” Alby said. “But I don’t get why none of usrememberedthisstuff.I’vebeenthroughtheChanging,buteverythingIsawwas…”Helookedaroundquickly,likehe’djustsaidsomethingheshouldn’thave.“Ididn’tlearnnothin’.”“I’ll tell you in a minute why I think I learned more than others,”Thomas said, dreading that part of the story. “Should I keep going ornot?”“Talk,”Newtsaid.Thomas sucked in a big breath, as if hewere about to start a race.“Okay,somehowtheywipedourmemories—notjustourchildhood,butallthestuffleadinguptoenteringtheMaze.TheyputusintheBoxandsentusuphere—abiggrouptostartandthenoneamonthoverthelasttwoyears.”

“Butwhy?”Newtasked.“What’sthebloodypoint?”Thomasheldupahandforsilence.“I’mgettingthere.LikeIsaid,theywanted to testus, seehowwe’d react towhat they call theVariables,andtoaproblemthathasnosolution.Seeifwecouldworktogether—build a community, even. Everything was provided for us, and theproblem was laid out as one of the most common puzzles known tocivilization—amaze.Allthisaddeduptomakingusthinktherehad tobe a solution, just encouraging us towork all the harderwhile at thesame time magnifying our discouragement at not finding one.” Hepaused to lookaround,makingsure theywereall listening.“What I’msayingis,thereisnosolution.”Chatterbrokeout,questionsoverlappingeachother.Thomas held his hands up again, wishing he could just zap histhoughts into everyone else’s brains. “See? Your reaction proves mypoint. Most people would’ve given up by now. But I think we’redifferent.Wecouldn’tacceptthataproblemcan’tbesolved—especiallywhen it’s something as simple as amaze. Andwe’ve kept fighting nomatterhowhopelessit’sgotten.”Thomasrealizedhisvoicehadsteadilyrisenashespoke,andhefeltheatinhisface.“Whateverthereason,itmakesmesick!Allofthis—theGrievers, thewallsmoving, theCliff—they’re just elementsof a stupidtest.We’rebeingusedandmanipulated.TheCreatorswantedtokeepourmindsworkingtowardasolutionthatwasneverthere.Samethinggoesfor Teresa being sent here, her being used to trigger the Ending—whateverthatmeans—theplacebeingshutdown,grayskies,onandonandon.They’rethrowingcrazythingsatustoseeourresponse,testourwill.Seeifwe’llturnoneachother.Intheend,theywantthesurvivorsforsomethingimportant.”Frypanstoodup.“Andkillingpeople?That’sanicelittlepartoftheirplan?”Thomasfeltamomentoffear,worriedthattheKeepersmighttakeouttheirangeronhimforknowingsomuch.Anditwasonlyabouttogetworse. “Yes, Frypan, killing people. The only reason the Grievers aredoing it one by one is sowe don’t all die before it ends theway it’ssupposedto.Survivalofthefittest.Onlythebestofuswillescape.”Frypan kicked his chair. “Well, you better start talking about thismagicalescape,then!”

“Hewill,”Newtsaid,quietly.“Shutupandlisten.”Minho,who’d beenmostly silent thewhole time, clearedhis throat.

“SomethingtellsmeI’mnotgonnalikewhatI’mabouttohear.”“Probably not,” Thomas said. He closed his eyes for a second and

folded his arms. The next fewminuteswere going to be crucial. “TheCreatorswantthebestofusforwhateveritistheyhaveplanned.Butwehavetoearnit.”Theroomfellcompletelysilent,everyeyeonhim.“Thecode.”“The code?” Frypan repeated, his voice lighting up with a trace of

hope.“Whataboutit?”Thomas lookedathim,paused for effect. “Itwashidden in thewall

movementsoftheMazeforareason.Ishouldknow—IwastherewhentheCreatorsdidit.”

CHAPTER50

For a long moment, no one said anything, and all Thomas saw wereblank faces. He felt the sweat beading on his forehead, slicking hishands;hewasterrifiedtokeepgoing.Newt lookedcompletelybaffledand finallybroke the silence. “What

areyoutalkingabout?”“Well, first there’s something Ihave to share.AboutmeandTeresa.

There’sareasonGallyaccusedmeofsomuchstuff,andwhyeveryonewho’sgonethroughtheChangingrecognizesme.”Heexpectedquestions—aneruptionofvoices—buttheroomwasdead

silent.“Teresa and I are… different,” he continued. “Wewere part of the

MazeTrialsfromtheverybeginning—butagainstourwill,Iswearit.”Minhowas the one to speak up now. “Thomas,what’re you talking

about?”“Teresa and I were used by the Creators. If you had your full

memoriesback,you’dprobablywanttokillus.ButIhadtotellyouthismyselftoshowyouwecanbetrustednow.Soyou’llbelievemewhenItellyoutheonlywaywecangetoutofhere.”ThomasquicklyscannedthefacesoftheKeepers,wonderingonelast

timeifheshouldsayit,iftheywouldunderstand.Butheknewhehadto.Hehadto.Thomastookadeepbreath,thensaidit.“TeresaandIhelpeddesign

theMaze.Wehelpedcreatethewholething.”Everyone seemed too stunned to respond.Blank faces staredbackat

himonceagain.Thomasfiguredtheyeitherdidn’tunderstandordidn’tbelievehim.“What’sthatsupposedtomean?”Newtfinallyasked.“You’reabloody

sixteen-year-old.HowcouldyouhavecreatedtheMaze?”Thomascouldn’thelpdoubtingita littlehimself—butheknewwhat

he’dremembered.Ascrazyasitwas,heknewitforthetruth.“Wewere… smart. And I think it might be part of the Variables. But mostimportantly,Teresaand Ihavea…gift thatmadeusveryvaluableasthey designed and built this place.” He stopped, knowing it must allsoundabsurd.“Speak!”Newtyelled.“Spititout!”“We’re telepathic!Wecan talk toeachother inour freakingheads!”Saying it out loud almost made him feel ashamed, as if he’d justadmittedhewasathief.Newtblinkedinsurprise;someonecoughed.“But listen tome,”Thomas continued, in ahurry to defendhimself.“They forced us to help. I don’t know how orwhy, but they did.” Hepaused.“Maybeitwastoseeifwecouldgainyourtrustdespitehavingbeenapartofthem.Maybeweweremeantallalongtobetheonestorevealhowtoescape.Whateverthereason,withyourMapswefiguredoutthecodeandweneedtouseitnow.”Thomaslookedaround,andsurprisingly,astonishingly,nooneseemedangry.Mostof theGladers continued to stareblanklyathimor shooktheirheadsinwonderordisbelief.Andforsomeoddreason,Minhowassmiling.“It’strue,andI’msorry,”Thomascontinued.“ButIcantellyouthis—I’minthesameboatwithyounow.TeresaandIweresentherejustlikeanyoneelse, andwe candie just as easily.But theCreatorshave seenenough—it’stimeforthefinaltest.IguessIneededtheChangingtoaddthefinalpiecesofthepuzzle.Anyway,Iwantedyoutoknowthetruth,toknowthere’sachancewecandothis.”Newt shookhisheadbackand forth, staringat theground.Thenhelookedup, took in theotherKeepers. “TheCreators—those shanksdidthistous,notTommyandTeresa.TheCreators.Andthey’llbesorry.”“Whatever,”Minho said, “whogivesaklunkaboutall that—justgetonwiththeescapealready.”A lump formed in Thomas’s throat. He was so relieved he almostcouldn’tspeak.He’dbeensurethey’dputhimundermajorheatforhisconfession,ifnotthrowhimofftheCliff.Therestofwhathehadtosayalmost seemedeasynow.“There’sacomputer station inaplacewe’veneverlookedbefore.ThecodewillopenadoorforustogetoutoftheMaze.ItalsoshutsdowntheGrieverssotheycan’tfollowus—ifwecan

justsurvivelongenoughtogettothatpoint.”“Aplacewe’veneverlookedbefore?”Albyasked.“Whatdoyouthinkwe’vebeendoingfortwoyears?”“Trustme,you’veneverbeentothisspot.”Minhostoodup.“Well,whereisit?”“It’s almost suicide,” Thomas said, knowing he was putting off theanswer.“TheGrieverswillcomeafteruswheneverwetrytodoit.Allofthem. The final test.” He wanted to make sure they understood thestakes.Theoddsofeveryonesurvivingwereslim.“Sowhereisit?”Newtasked,leaningforwardinhischair.“Over the Cliff,” Thomas answered. “We have to go through theGrieverHole.”

CHAPTER51

Albystoodupsoquicklyhischairfelloverbackward.Hisbloodshoteyesstoodoutagainstthewhitebandageonhisforehead.Hetooktwostepsforward before stopping, as if he’d been about to charge and attackThomas.“Nowyou’rebeinga shuck idiot,”he said,glaringatThomas. “Ora

traitor.Howcanwetrustawordyousayifyouhelpeddesignthisplace,putushere!Wecan’thandleoneGrieveronourownground,muchlessfightawholehordeofthemintheirlittlehole.Whatareyoureallyupto?”Thomaswasfurious.“WhatamIupto?Nothing!WhywouldImake

allthisup?”Alby’sarmsstiffened,fistsclenched.“Forallweknowyouweresent

heretogetusallkilled.Whyshouldwetrustyou?”Thomasstared,incredulous.“Alby,doyouhaveashort-termmemory

problem?IriskedmylifetosaveyououtintheMaze—you’dbedeadifitwasn’tforme!”“Maybethatwasatricktogainourtrust.Ifyou’reinleaguewiththe

shucks who sent us here, you wouldn’t have had to worry about theGrievershurtingyou—maybeitwasallanact.”Thomas’sanger lessenedslightlyat that, turned intopity.Something

wasoddhere—suspicious.“Alby,”Minhofinallyinterjected,relievingThomas.“That’saboutthe

dumbest theory I’ve ever heard. He just about got freaking torn apartthreenightsago.Youthinkthat’spartoftheact?”Albynoddedonce,curtly.“Maybe.”“Idid it,”Thomassaid, throwingall theannoyancehecould intohis

voice,“onthechancethatIcouldgetmymemoriesback,helpallofusgetoutofhere.DoIneedtoshowyouthecutsandbruisesallovermybody?”

Albysaidnothing,hisfacestillquiveringwithrage.Hiseyeswateredandveinspoppedoutonhisneck.“Wecan’tgoback!”hefinallyyelled,turningtolookateveryoneintheroom.“I’veseenwhatourliveswerelike—wecan’tgoback!”“Isthatwhatthisisabout?”Newtasked.“Areyoukidding?”Alby turned on him, fiercely, even held up a clenched fist. But hestopped,loweredhisarm,thenwentoverandsankintohischair,puthisface in his hands, and broke down. Thomas couldn’t have beenmoresurprised.ThefearlessleaderoftheGladerswascrying.“Alby, talk to us,” Newt pressed, notwilling to let it drop. “What’sgoingon?”“Ididit,”Albysaidthrougharackingsob.“Ididit.”“Didwhat?”Newtasked.HelookedasconfusedasThomasfelt.Albylookedup,hiseyeswetwithtears.“IburnedtheMaps.Ididit.Islammedmyheadonthetablesoyou’dthinkitwassomeoneelse,Ilied,burneditall.Ididit!”The Keepers exchanged looks, shock clear in their wide eyes andraised eyebrows. For Thomas, though, it all made sense now. Albyrememberedhowawfulhis lifewasbeforehecamehereandhedidn’twanttogoback.“Well,it’sagoodthingwesavedthoseMaps,”Minhosaid,completelystraight-faced,almostmocking.“ThanksforthetipyougaveusaftertheChanging—toprotectthem.”Thomas looked toseehowAlbywouldrespond toMinho’s sarcastic,almostcruel,remark,butheactedasifhehadn’tevenheard.Newt,insteadofshowinganger,askedAlbytoexplain.Thomasknewwhy Newt wasn’t mad—the Maps were safe, the code figured out. Itdidn’tmatter.“I’mtellingyou.”Albysoundedlikehewasbegging—nearhysterical.“We can’t go back to where we came from. I’ve seen it, rememberedawful,awfulthings.Burnedland,adisease—somethingcalledtheFlare.Itwashorrible—wayworsethanwehaveithere.”“Ifwestayhere,we’llalldie!”Minhoyelled.“It’sworsethanthat?”Alby stared at Minho a long time before answering. Thomas couldonlythinkofthewordshe’djustsaid.TheFlare.Somethingaboutitwasfamiliar, right on the edge of hismind. But he was certain he hadn’trememberedanythingaboutthatwhenhe’dgonethroughtheChanging.

“Yes,”Albyfinallysaid.“It’sworse.Bettertodiethangohome.”Minhosnickeredandleanedbackinhischair.“Man,youareonebutt-loadofsunshine,letmetellyou.I’mwithThomas.I’mwithThomasonehundredpercent.Ifwe’regonnadie,let’sfreakin’doitfighting.”“InsidetheMazeoroutofit,”Thomasadded,relievedthatMinhowasfirmlyonhis side.He turned toAlby then,and lookedathimgravely.“Westillliveinsidetheworldyouremembered.”Albystoodagain,hisfaceshowinghisdefeat.“Dowhatyouwant.”Hesighed. “Doesn’tmatter.We’ll die nomatterwhat.” Andwith that, hewalkedtothedoorandlefttheroom.Newtletoutadeepbreathandshookhishead.“He’sneverbeenthesamesincebeingstung—must’vebeenonebuggerofamemory.WhatintheworldistheFlare?”“Idon’tcare,”Minhosaid.“Anything’sbetterthandyinghere.Wecandealwith the Creators oncewe’re out. But for nowwe gotta dowhattheyplanned.GothroughtheGrieverHoleandescape.Ifsomeofusdie,sobeit.”Frypansnorted.“Youshanksaredrivingmenuts.Can’tgetoutoftheMaze,andthis ideaofhangingwiththeGrieversat theirbachelorpadsoundsasstupidasanythingI’veeverheardinmylife.Mightaswellslitourwrists.”The other Keepers burst out in argument, everyone talking overeveryoneelse.Newtfinallyscreamedforthemtoshutup.Thomasspokeagainoncethingssettled.“I’mgoingthroughtheHoleor I’lldie trying toget there.Looks likeMinhowill, too.And I’msureTeresa’sin.IfwecanfightofftheGrieverslongenoughforsomeonetopunchinthecodeandshutthemdown,thenwecangothroughthedoorthey come through.We’ll have passed the tests. Thenwe can face theCreatorsthemselves.”Newt’s grin had no humor in it. “And you think we can fight offGrievers?Even ifwedon’tdie,we’ll probablyall get stung.Every lastoneofthemmightbewaitingforuswhenwegettotheCliff—thebeetlebladesareoutthereconstantly.TheCreators’llknowwhenwemakeourrunforit.”He’dbeendreadingit,butThomasknewitwastimetotellthemthelastpartofhisplan.“Idon’tthinkthey’llstingus—theChangingwasaVariablemeant foruswhilewe livedhere.But that partwill be over.

Plus,wemighthaveonethinggoingforus.”“Yeah?”Newtasked,rollinghiseyes.“Can’twaittohearit.”“Itdoesn’tdotheCreatorsanygoodifwealldie—thisthingismeant

to be hard, not impossible. I think we finally know for sure that theGrieversareprogrammedtoonlykilloneofuseachday.SosomebodycansacrificehimselftosavetheotherswhileweruntotheHole.Ithinkthismightbehowit’ssupposedtohappen.”The room went silent until the Blood House Keeper barked a loud

laugh. “Excuse me?” Winston asked. “So your suggestion is that wethrowsomepoorkidtothewolvessotherestofuscanescape?Thisisyourbrilliantsuggestion?”Thomasrefusedtoadmithowbadthatsounded,butanideahithim.

“Yes,Winston,I’mgladyou’resogoodatpayingattention.”Heignoredtheglarethatgothim.“Anditseemsobviouswhothepoorkidshouldbe.”“Oh,yeah?”Winstonasked.“Who?”Thomasfoldedhisarms.“Me.”

CHAPTER52

Themeetingeruptedintoachorusofarguments.Newtverycalmlystoodup,walkedovertoThomasandgrabbedhimbythearm;hepulledhimtowardthedoor.“You’releaving.Now.”Thomaswasstunned.“Leaving?Why?”“Think you’ve said enough for one meeting. We need to talk and

decidewhat todo—without youhere.”Theyhad reached thedoorandNewtgavehimagentlepushoutside. “Wait formeby theBox.Whenwe’redone,youandI’lltalk.”Hestartedtoturnaround,butThomasreachedoutandgrabbedhim.

“Yougottabelieveme,Newt.It’stheonlywayoutofhere—wecandoit,Iswear.We’remeantto.”Newtgotinhisfaceandspokeinanangryraspofawhisper.“Yeah,I

especiallylovedthebitwhereyouvolunteeredtogetyourselfkilled.”“I’mperfectlywillingtodoit.”Thomasmeantit,butonlybecauseof

the guilt that racked him. Guilt that he’d somehow helped design theMaze.Butdeepdown,heheldon to thehope thathecould fight longenough for someone topunch in the codeand shutdown theGrieversbeforetheykilledhim.Openthedoor.“Oh,really?”Newtasked,seemingirritated.“Mr.Noblehimself,aren’t

ya?”“I haveplentyofmyown reasons. In someways it’smy faultwe’re

here in the firstplace.”Hestopped, tookabreath tocomposehimself.“Anyway,I’mgoingnomatterwhat,soyoubetternotwasteit.”Newtfrowned,hiseyessuddenlyfilledwithcompassion.“Ifyoureally

didhelpdesigntheMaze,Tommy,it’snotyourfault.You’reakid—youcan’thelpwhattheyforcedyoutodo.”Butitdidn’tmatterwhatNewtsaid.Whatanyonesaid.Thomasbore

the responsibility anyway—and it was growing heavier the more hethoughtaboutit.“Ijust…feellikeIneedtosaveeveryone.Toredeem

myself.”Newtsteppedback,slowlyshakinghishead.“Youknowwhat’sfunny,Tommy?”“What?”Thomasreplied,wary.“Iactuallybelieveyou.Youjustdon’thaveanounceoflyinginthoseeyes of yours. And I can’t bloody believe I’m about to say this.” Hepaused.“ButI’mgoingbackintheretoconvincethoseshanksweshouldgothroughtheGrieverHole, just likeyousaid.MightaswellfighttheGrieversratherthansitaroundlettingthempickusoffonebyone.”Heheldupafinger.“Butlistentome—Idon’twantanotherbuggin’wordaboutyoudyingandallthatheroicklunk.Ifwe’regonnadothis,we’lltakeourchances—allofus.Youhearme?”Thomasheldhishandsup,overwhelmedwithrelief.“Loudandclear.Iwasjusttryingtomakethepointthatit’sworththerisk.Ifsomeone’sgoing to die every night anyway, we might as well use it to ouradvantage.”Newtfrowned.“Well,ain’tthatjustcheery?”Thomasturnedtowalkaway,butNewtcalledouttohim.“Tommy?”“Yeah?”Hestopped,butdidn’tlookback.“IfIcanconvincethoseshanks—andthat’sabig if—thebesttimetogowouldbeatnight.Wecanhopethata lotof theGrieversmightbeoutandaboutintheMaze—notinthatHoleoftheirs.”“Good that.” Thomas agreed with him—he just hoped Newt couldconvincetheKeepers.HeturnedtolookatNewtandnodded.Newtsmiled,abarely-therecrackinhisworriedgrimace.“Weshoulddoittonight,beforeanyoneelseiskilled.”AndbeforeThomascouldsayanything,NewtdisappearedbackintotheGathering.Thomas,alittleshockedatthelaststatement,lefttheHomesteadandwalked to an old bench near the Box and took a seat, his mind awhirlwind.HekeptthinkingofwhatAlbyhadsaidabouttheFlare,andwhatitcouldmean.Theolderboyhadalsomentionedburnedearthandadisease.Thomasdidn’t rememberanything like that,but if itwasalltrue,theworldtheyweretryingtogetbacktodidn’tsoundsogood.Still—what other choice did they have? Besides the fact that the Grieverswereattackingeverynight,theGladehadbasicallyshutdown.Frustrated,worried,tiredofhisthoughts,hecalledouttoTeresa.Canyouhearme?

Yeah,shereplied.Whereareyou?BytheBox.I’llcomeinaminute.Thomasrealizedhowbadlyheneededhercompany.Good.I’lltellyoutheplan;Ithinkit’son.Whatisit?Thomas leaned back on the bench and put his right foot up on hisknee,wonderinghowTeresawouldreact towhathewasgoingtosay.We gotta go through the Griever Hole. Use that code to shut the Grieversdownandopenadooroutofhere.Apause.Ifigureditwassomethinglikethat.Thomasthoughtforasecond,thenadded,Unlessyou’vegotanybetterideas?No.It’sgonnabeawful.Hepunchedhisrightfistagainsthisotherhand,eventhoughheknewshecouldn’tseehim.Wecandothis.Doubtful.Well,wehavetotry.Anotherpause,thisonelonger.Hecouldfeelherresolve.You’reright.I think we’re leaving tonight. Just come out here and we can talkmoreaboutit.I’llbethereinafewminutes.Thomas’s stomach tightened intoaknot.The realityofwhathehadsuggested,theplanNewtwastryingtoconvincetheKeeperstoaccept,was starting to hit him. He knew it was dangerous, but the idea ofactually fighting the Grievers—not just running from them—wasterrifying. The absolute best-case scenario was that only one of themwoulddie—buteventhatcouldn’tbetrusted.MaybetheCreatorswouldjustreprogramthecreatures.Andthenallbetswereoff.Hetriednottothinkaboutit.

Sooner than Thomas expected, Teresa had found him and was sittingnexttohim,herbodypressedagainsthisdespiteplentyofroomonthebench.Shereachedoutandtookhishand.Hesqueezedback,sohardheknewitmust’vehurt.“Tellme,”shesaid.

Thomas did, reciting every word he’d told the Keepers, hating howTeresa’seyes filledwithworry—andterror.“Theplanwaseasy to talkabout,” he said after he’d told her everything. “But Newt thinks weshouldgo tonight. Itdoesn’t soundsogoodnow.” It especially terrifiedhimtothinkaboutChuckandTeresaoutthere—he’dfacedtheGrieversdownalreadyandknewalltoowellwhatitwaslike.Hewantedtobeabletoprotecthisfriendsfromthehorribleexperience,butheknewhecouldn’t.“Wecandoit,”shesaidinaquietvoice.Hearing her say that only made him worry more. “Holy crap, I’m

scared.”“Holycrap,you’rehuman.Youshouldbescared.”Thomasdidn’trespond,andforalongtimetheyjustsatthere,holding

hands, nowords spoken, in theirminds or aloud.He felt the slightesthintofpeace,asfleetingasitwas,andtriedtoenjoyitforhoweverlongitmightlast.

CHAPTER53

ThomaswasalmostsadwhentheGathering finallyended.WhenNewtcameoutoftheHomesteadheknewthatthetimeforrestwasover.TheKeeper spotted them and approached at a limping run. Thomas

noticed he’d let go of Teresa’s hand without thinking about it. Newtfinallycametoahaltandcrossedhisarmsoverhischestashelookeddownatthemsittingonthebench.“Thisisbloodynuts,youknowthat,right?”Hisfacewasimpossibletoread,butthereseemedtobeahintofvictoryinhiseyes.Thomasstoodup,feelingarushofexcitementfloodinghisbody.“So

theyagreedtogo?”Newtnodded.“Allofthem.Wasn’tashardasIthoughtit’dbe.Those

shanks’veseenwhathappensatnightwiththosebloodyDoorsopen.Wecan’t get out of the stupidMaze. Gotta try something.” He turned andlooked at the Keepers, who’d started to gather their respective workgroups.“NowwejusthavetoconvincetheGladers.”Thomasknewthatwouldbeevenmoredifficult thanpersuadingthe

Keepershadbeen.“You think they’ll go for it?” Teresa asked, finally standing to join

them.“Notallofthem,”Newtsaid,andThomascouldseethefrustrationin

hiseyes.“Some’llstayandtaketheirchances—guaranteeit.”Thomasdidn’tdoubtpeoplewouldblanchatthethoughtofmakinga

run for it. Asking them to fight the Grievers was asking a lot. “WhataboutAlby?”“Whoknows?”Newtresponded,lookingaroundtheGlade,observing

theKeepersandtheirgroups.“I’mconvincedthatbuggerreallyismorescaredtogobackhomethanheisoftheGrievers.ButI’llgethimtogowithus,don’tworry.”Thomas wished he could bring back memories of those things that

were tormenting Alby, but therewas nothing. “How are you going toconvincehim?”Newtlaughed.“I’llmakeupsomeklunk.Tellhimwe’llallfindanewlifeinanotherpartoftheworld,livehappilyeverafter.”Thomasshrugged.“Well,maybewecan.IpromisedChuckI’dgethimhome,youknow.Oratleastfindhimahome.”“Yeah,well,”Teresamurmured.“Anything’sbetterthanthisplace.”Thomas looked around at the arguments breaking out across theGlade,Keepers doing their best to convince people they should take achance and battle their way through the Griever Hole. Some Gladersstompedaway,butmostseemedtolistenandatleastconsider.“Sowhat’snext?”Teresaasked.Newttookadeepbreath.“Figureoutwho’sgoing,who’sstaying.Getready. Food, weapons, all that. Then we go. Thomas, I’d put you incharge since itwas your idea, but it’s going to behard enough to getpeopleonoursidewithoutmakingtheGreenieourleader—nooffense.Sojustlaylow,okay?We’llleavethecodebusinesstoyouandTeresa—youcanhandlethatfromthebackground.”Thomas was more than fine with lying low—finding that computerstationandpunching in thecodewasmore thanenough responsibilityforhim.Evenwiththatmuchonhisshouldershehadtofighttherisingflood of panic he felt. “You suremake it sound easy,” he finally said,tryinghisbesttolightenupthesituation.Oratleastsoundlikehewas.Newt foldedhis armsagain, lookedathimclosely. “Likeyou said—stay here, one shank’ll die tonight. Go, one shank’ll die. What’s thedifference?”HepointedatThomas.“Ifyou’reright.”“Iam.”ThomasknewhewasrightabouttheHole,thecode,thedoor,theneedtofight.Butwhetheronepersonormanywoulddie,hehadnoclue. However, if therewas one thing his gut told him, it was not toadmittoanydoubt.Newtclappedhimontheback.“Goodthat.Let’sgettowork.”

Thenextfewhourswerefrantic.MostoftheGladersendedupagreeingtogo—evenmorethanThomaswould’veguessed.EvenAlbydecided tomake the run.Thoughnooneadmittedit,Thomasbetmostofthemwerebankingonthetheorythat

onlyonepersonwouldbekilledbytheGrievers,andtheyfiguredtheirchancesofnotbeingtheunluckysapweredecent.ThosewhodecidedtostayintheGladewerefewbutadamantandloud.Theymainlywalkedaround sulking, trying to tellothershowstupid theywere.Eventually,theygaveupandkepttheirdistance.As for Thomas and the rest of those committed to the escape, therewasatonofworktobedone.Backpackswerehandedoutandstuffedfullofsupplies.Frypan—NewttoldThomasthattheCookhadbeenoneofthelastKeeperstoagreetogo—was in chargeofgatheringall the foodand figuringout away todistribute it evenly among the packs. Syringes of Grief Serum wereincluded, even though Thomas didn’t think the Grievers would stingthem.Chuckwasinchargeoffillingwaterbottlesandgettingthemouttoeveryone.Teresahelpedhim,andThomasaskedhertosugarcoatthetrip as much as she could, even if she had to flat-out lie, which wasmostly the case. Chuck had tried to act brave from the time he firstfound out theywere going for it, but his sweaty skin and dazed eyesrevealedthetruth.MinhowenttotheCliffwithagroupofRunners,takingivyropesandrockstotesttheinvisibleGrieverHoleonelasttime.Theyhadtohopethe creatures would keep to their normal schedule and not come outduringdaytimehours.Thomashadcontemplated just jumping into theHolerightawayandtryingtopunchinthecodequickly,buthehadnoideawhattoexpectorwhatmightbewaitingforhim.Newtwasright—they’dbetterwaituntilnightandhopethatmostoftheGrieverswereintheMaze,notinsidetheirHole.WhenMinho returned, safe and sound, Thomas thought he seemedveryoptimisticthatitreallywasanexit.Orentrance.Dependingonhowyoulookedatit.Thomas helped Newt distribute the weapons, and even moreinnovativeoneswerecreatedintheirdesperationtobepreparedfortheGrievers.Woodenpoleswerecarvedintospearsorwrappedinbarbwire;theknivesweresharpenedandfastenedwithtwinetotheendsofsturdybrancheshacked fromtrees in thewoods;chunksofbrokenglasswereduct-tapedtoshovels.Bytheendoftheday,theGladershadturnedintoa smallarmy.Averypathetic, ill-preparedarmy,Thomas thought,butanarmyallthesame.

OnceheandTeresaweredonehelping,theywenttothesecretspotintheDeadheadstostrategizeaboutthestationinsidetheGrieverHoleandhowtheyplannedtopunchinthecode.“Wehave tobe theones todo it,”Thomassaidas they leaned their

backsagainstcraggytrees,theonce-greenleavesalreadystartingtoturngrayfromthelackofartificialsunlight.“Thatwayifwegetseparated,wecanbeincontactandstillhelpeachother.”Teresahadgrabbedastickandwaspeelingoffthebark.“Butweneed

backupincasesomethinghappenstous.”“Definitely.Minho and Newt know the codewords—we’ll tell them

they have to get them punched into the computer if we…well, youknow.”Thomasdidn’twanttothinkaboutallthebadthingsthatmighthappen.“Not much to the plan, then.” Teresa yawned, as if life were

completelynormal.“Not much at all. Fight the Grievers, punch in the code, escape

throughthedoor.ThenwedealwiththeCreators—whateverittakes.”“Six codewords,who knowshowmanyGrievers.” Teresa broke the

stickinhalf.“WhatdoyouthinkWICKEDstandsfor,anyway?”Thomas felt like he’d been hit in the stomach. For some reason,

hearing the word at that moment, from someone else, knockedsomething loose inhismind and it clicked.Hewas stunnedhehadn’tmade the connection sooner. “That sign I saw out in the Maze—remember?Themetalonewithwords stampedon it?”Thomas’shearthadstartedtoracewithexcitement.Teresa crinkled her forehead in confusion for a second, but then a

lightseemedtoblinkonbehindhereyes.“Whoa.WorldInCatastrophe:Killzone Experiment Department. WICKED. WICKED is good—what Iwroteonmyarm.Whatdoesthatevenmean?”“Noidea.WhichiswhyI’mscaredtodeaththatwhatwe’reaboutto

doisawholepileofstupid.Couldbeabloodbath.”“Everyoneknowswhat they’regetting into.”Teresa reachedoutand

tookhishand.“Nothingtolose,remember?”Thomas remembered, but for some reason Teresa’s words fell flat—

theydidn’thavemuchhopeinthem.“Nothingtolose,”herepeated.

CHAPTER54

JustbeforethenormalDoor-closingtime,Frypanpreparedonelastmealtocarrythemthroughthenight.ThemoodhangingovertheGladersastheyatecouldn’thavebeenmoresomberorsoddenwithfear.ThomasfoundhimselfsittingnexttoChuck,absentlypickingathisfood.“So…Thomas,”theboysaidthroughahugebiteofmashedpotatoes.

“WhoamInicknamedafter?”Thomas couldn’t help shaking his head—here they were, about to

embarkonprobably themostdangerous taskof their lives,andChuckwas curious where he’d gotten his nickname. “I don’t know, Darwin,maybe?Thedudewhofiguredoutevolution.”“Ibetnoone’severcalledhimadudebefore.”Chucktookanotherbig

bite,andseemedtothinkthatwasthebesttimetotalk,fullmouthandall. “You know, I’m really not all that scared. Imean, last fewnights,sittingintheHomestead,justwaitingforaGrievertocomeinandstealoneofuswastheworstthingI’veeverdone.Atleastnowwe’retakingittothem,tryingsomething.Andatleast…”“At leastwhat?” Thomas asked. He didn’t believe for a second that

Chuckwasn’tscared;italmosthurttoseehimactingbrave.“Well, everyone’s speculating they can only kill one of us.Maybe I

soundlikeashuck,butitgivesmesomehope.Atleastmostofuswillmake it through—just leavesonepoor sucker todie.Better thanallofus.”ItmadeThomassicktothinkpeoplewerehangingontothathopeof

justonepersondying;themorehethoughtaboutit,thelesshebelievedit was true. The Creators knew the plan—they might reprogram theGrievers.Buteven falsehopewasbetter thannothing.“Maybewecanallmakeit.Aslongaseveryonefights.”Chuck stopped stuffing his face for a second and looked at Thomas

carefully.“Youreallythinkthat,oryoujusttryingtocheermeup?”

“We cando it.” Thomas ate his last bite, took a big drink ofwater.He’dneverfeltlikesuchaliarinhislife.Peopleweregoingtodie.ButhewasgoingtodoeverythingpossibletomakesureChuckwasn’toneofthem.AndTeresa.“Don’tforgetmypromise.Youcanstillplanonit.”Chuck frowned. “Big deal—I keep hearing the world is in klunkyshape.”“Hey,maybeso,butwe’ll findthepeoplewhocareaboutus—you’llsee.”Chuckstoodup.“Well,Idon’twannathinkaboutit,”heannounced.“JustgetmeoutoftheMaze,andI’llbeonehappydude.”“Goodthat,”Thomasagreed.A commotion from the other tables caught his attention. Newt andAlbyweregatheringtheGladers,tellingeveryoneitwastimetogo.Albyseemedmostlyhimself,butThomasstillworriedabouttheguy’smentalstate. In Thomas’s mind, Newt was in charge, but he could also be aloosecannonsometimes.TheicyfearandpanicThomashadexperiencedsooftenthelastfewdays swept over him once again in full force. This was it. Theyweregoing.Tryingnottothinkaboutit,tojustact,hegrabbedhisbackpack.Chuckdidthesame,andtheyheadedfortheWestDoor,theoneleadingtotheCliff.Thomas foundMinho and Teresa talking to each other near the leftsideoftheDoor,goingoverthehastilymadeplanstoentertheescapecodeoncetheygotintotheHole.“Youshanksready?”Minhoaskedwhentheycameup.“Thomas,thiswasallyouridea,soitbetterwork.Ifnot,I’llkillyabeforetheGrieverscan.”“Thanks,”Thomassaid.Buthecouldn’t shake the twisting feeling inhisgut.Whatifsomehowhewaswrong?Whatifthememorieshe’dhadwere false ones?Planted somehow? The thought terrified him, and hepusheditaside.Therewasnogoingback.He looked at Teresa, who shifted from foot to foot, wringing herhands.“Youokay?”heasked.“I’m fine,” she answered with a small smile, clearly not fine at all.“Justanxioustogetitoverwith.”“Amen, sister,” Minho said. He looked the calmest to Thomas, themostconfident,theleastscared.Thomasenviedhim.

When Newt finally had everyone gathered, he called for quiet, andThomas turned tohearwhathehad to say. “There’re forty-oneofus.”Hepulledthebackpackhewasholdingontohisshoulders,andhoistedathick wooden pole with barbwire wrapped around its tip. The thinglooked deadly. “Make sure you’ve got yourweapons. Other than that,isn’t a whole lot to buggin’ say—you’ve all been told the plan.We’regonna fight our way through to the Griever Hole, and Tommy here’sgonnapunchinhislittlemagiccodeandthenwe’regonnagetpaybackontheCreators.Simpleasthat.”ThomasbarelyheardNewt,havingseenAlbysulkingovertotheside,away from the main group of the Gladers, alone. Alby picked at thestringofhisbowwhilehestaredattheground.Aquiverofarrowshungoverhisshoulder.ThomasfeltarisingtideofworrythatsomehowAlbywas unstable, that somehow he’d screw everything up. He decided towatchhimcarefullyifhecould.“Shouldn’t someone give a pep talk or something?” Minho asked,pullingThomas’sattentionawayfromAlby.“Goahead,”Newtreplied.Minhonoddedandfacedthecrowd.“Becareful,”hesaiddryly.“Don’tdie.”Thomaswouldhavelaughedifhecould,buthewastooscaredforittocomeout.“Great.We’reallbloodyinspired,”Newtanswered,thenpointedoverhisshoulder,towardtheMaze.“Youallknowtheplan.Aftertwoyearsofbeingtreatedlikemice,tonightwe’remakingastand.Tonightwe’retaking the fight back to the Creators, no matter what we have to gothroughtogetthere.TonighttheGrieversbetterbescared.”Someonecheered,andthensomeoneelse.Soonshoutsandbattlecallsbroke out, rising in volume, filling the air like thunder. Thomas felt atrickle of courage inside him—he grasped it, clung to it, urged it togrow.Newtwasright.Tonight,they’dfight.Tonight,they’dmaketheirstand,onceandforall.Thomaswas ready.Heroaredwith theotherGladers.Heknewtheyshouldprobablybequiet, not bring anymore attention to themselves,buthedidn’tcare.Thegamewason.Newtthrusthisweaponintotheairandyelled,“Hearthat,Creators!We’recoming!”

And with that, he turned and ran into the Maze, his limp barelynoticeable. Into thegrayair thatseemeddarker thantheGlade, fullofshadows and blackness. The Gladers around Thomas, still cheering,pickeduptheirweaponsandranafterhim,evenAlby.Thomasfollowed,fallingintolinebetweenTeresaandChuck,heftingabigwoodenspearwithaknife tiedat its tip.The sudden feelingof responsibility forhisfriends almost overwhelmed him—made it hard to run. But he keptgoing,determinedtowin.Youcandothis,hethought.JustmakeittothatHole.

CHAPTER55

Thomaskepta steadypaceashe ranwith theotherGladersalong thestonepathwaystowardtheCliff.He’dgrownusedtorunningtheMaze,butthiswascompletelydifferent.Thesoundsofshufflingfeetechoedupthewallsandtheredlightsofthebeetlebladesflashedmoremenacinglyintheivy—theCreatorswerecertainlywatching,listening.Onewayoranother,therewasgoingtobeafight.Scared?Teresaaskedhimastheyran.No,Ilovethingsmadeoutofblubberandsteel.Can’twaittoseethem.He

felt nomirth or humor andwondered if there’d ever be a time againwhenhewould.Sofunny,sheresponded.Shewasrightnexttohim,buthiseyesstayedgluedupahead.We’llbe

fine.JuststayclosetomeandMinho.Ah, my Knight in Shining Armor.What, you don’t think I can fend for

myself?Actually, he thought quite the opposite—Teresa seemed as tough as

anybodythere.No,I’mjusttryingtobenice.The group was spread out across the full width of the corridor,

running at a steady but quick pace—Thomas wondered how long thenon-Runnerswouldholdup.Asifinresponsetothethought,Newtfellback, finally tappingMinhoon the shoulder. “You lead thewaynow,”Thomasheardhimsay.Minhonodded and ran to the front, guiding theGladers through all

theturnsnecessary.EverystepwasagonizingforThomas.Whatcouragehe’dgatheredhadturnedtodread,andhewonderedwhentheGrieverswouldfinallygivechase.Wonderedwhenthefightwouldbegin.Andsoitwentforhimastheykeptmoving,thoseGladersnotusedto

runningsuchdistancesgaspinginhugegulpsofair.Butnoonequit.Onand on they ran, with no signs of Grievers. And as the time passed,

Thomaslettheslightesttrickleofhopeenterhissystem—maybethey’dmakeitbeforegettingattacked.Maybe.Finally,afterthelongesthourofThomas’slife,theyreachedthelongalley that led to the last turn before the Cliff—a short corridor to therightthatbranchedofflikethestemoftheletterT.Thomas, his heart thumping, sweat slicking his skin, hadmoved uprightbehindMinho,Teresaathisside.Minhoslowedatthecorner,thenstopped, holding up a hand to tell Thomas and the others to do thesame.Thenheturned,alookofhorroronhisface.“Doyouhearthat?”hewhispered.Thomasshookhishead,tryingtosquashtheterrorMinho’sexpressionhadgivenhim.Minho crept ahead and peeked around the sharp edge of stone,looking toward the Cliff. Thomas had seen him do that before, whenthey’d followed aGriever to this very spot. Just like that time,Minhojerkedbackandturnedtofacehim.“Oh,no,”theKeepersaidthroughamoan.“Oh,no.”ThenThomasheardit.Grieversounds.Itwasasifthey’dbeenhiding,waiting,andnowwerecomingtolife.Hedidn’tevenhavetolook—heknewwhatMinhowasgoingtosaybeforehesaidit.“There’satleastadozenofthem.Maybefifteen.”Hereachedupandrubbed his eyeswith the heels of his hands. “They’re justwaiting forus!”The icy chill of fear bit Thomasharder than ever before.He lookedover at Teresa, about to say something, but stoppedwhen he saw theexpression on her pale face—he’d never seen terror present itself sostarkly.Newt and Alby had moved up the line of waiting Gladers to joinThomasandtheothers.ApparentlyMinho’spronouncementhadalreadybeenwhisperedthroughtheranks,becausethefirstthingNewtsaidwas“Well,we knewwe’d have to fight.” But the tremor in his voice gavehimaway—hewasjusttryingtosaytherightthing.Thomas felt it himself. It’d been easy to talk about—the nothing-to-losefight,thehopethatjustoneofthemwouldbetaken,thechancetofinallyescape.Butnowitwashere, literallyaroundthecorner.Doubtsthat he could go through with it seeped into his mind and heart. Hewondered why the Grievers were just waiting—the beetle blades had

obviously let them know the Gladerswere coming.Were the Creatorsenjoyingthis?Hehadanidea.“Maybethey’vealreadytakenakidbackattheGlade.Maybewecangetpastthem—whyelsewouldtheyjustbesitting—”Aloudnoisefrombehindcuthimoff—hespuntoseemoreGrieversmoving down the corridor toward them, spikes flaring, metal armsgroping,comingfromthedirectionoftheGlade.Thomaswasjustabouttosaysomethingwhenheheardsoundsfromtheotherendofthelongalley—helookedtoseeyetmoreGrievers.Theenemywasonallsides,blockingthemoffcompletely.The Gladers surged toward Thomas, forming a tight group, forcinghimtomoveoutintotheopenintersectionwheretheCliffcorridormetthelongalley.HesawthepackofGrieversbetweenthemandtheCliff,spikesextended,theirmoistskinpulsinginandout.Waiting,watching.Theother twogroupsofGrievershadclosed inandstopped justa fewdozenfeetfromtheGladers,alsowaiting,watching.Thomasslowlyturnedinacircle,foughtthefearashetookitallin.Theyweresurrounded.Theyhadnochoicenow—therewasnowheretogo.Asharppulsingpainthrobbedbehindhiseyes.The Gladers compressed into a tighter group around him, everyonefacing outward, huddled together in the center of the T intersection.Thomas was pressed between Newt and Teresa—he could feel Newttrembling.Noone saidaword.Theonly soundswere theeeriemoansandwhirrs ofmachinery coming from the Grievers, sitting there as ifenjoyingthelittletrapthey’dsetforthehumans.Theirdisgustingbodiesheavedinandoutwithmechanicalwheezesofbreath.What are they doing? Thomas called out to Teresa. What are theywaitingfor?Shedidn’tanswer,whichworriedhim.Hereachedoutandsqueezedherhand.TheGladersaroundhimstoodsilent, clutching theirmeagerweapons.ThomaslookedoveratNewt.“Gotanyideas?”“No,” he replied, his voice just the tiniest bit shaky. “I don’tunderstandwhatthey’rebloodywaitin’for.”“We shouldn’t have come,” Alby said.He’d been so quiet, his voicesoundedodd,especiallywiththehollowechotheMazewallscreated.Thomas was in no mood for whining—they had to do something.

“Well,we’dbenobetteroffintheHomestead.Hatetosayit,butifoneofusdies,that’sbetterthanallofus.”Hereallyhopedtheone-person-a-night thingwas true now. Seeing all theseGrievers close uphit homewithanexplosionofreality—couldtheyreallyfightthemall?A longmomentpassedbeforeAlby replied. “Maybe I should…”He

trailedoff and startedwalking forward—in thedirectionof theCliff—slowly,asifinatrance.Thomaswatchedindetachedawe—hecouldn’tbelievehiseyes.“Alby?”Newtsaid.“Getbackhere!”Insteadof responding,Alby tookoff running—heheadedstraight for

thepackofGrieversbetweenhimandtheCliff.“Alby!”Newtscreamed.Thomasstartedtosaysomethinghimself,butAlbyhadalreadymade

it to themonsters and jumpedon topof one.Newtmovedaway fromThomas’s side and toward Alby—but five or six Grievers had alreadyburst to lifeandattacked theboy inablurofmetalandskin.Thomasreached out and grabbed Newt by the arms before he could go anyfarther,thenpulledhimbackward.“Letgo!”Newtyelled,strugglingtobreakloose.“Areyounuts!”Thomasshouted.“There’snothingyoucando!”Two more Grievers broke from the pack and swarmed over Alby,

pilingontopofeachother,snappingandcuttingattheboy,as if theywanted to rub it in, show their vicious cruelty. Somehow, impossibly,Albydidn’tscream.ThomaslostsightofthebodyashestruggledwithNewt, thankful for the distraction. Newt finally gave up, collapsingbackwardindefeat.Alby’dflippedonceandforall,Thomasthought,fightingtheurgeto

rid his stomach of its contents. Their leader had been so scared to gobacktowhateverhe’dseen,he’dchosentosacrificehimselfinstead.Hewasgone.Totallygone.Thomas helped steady Newt on his feet; the Glader couldn’t stop

staringatthespotwherehisfriendhaddisappeared.“Ican’tbelieveit,”Newtwhispered.“Ican’tbelievehejustdidthat.”Thomas shook his head, unable to reply. Seeing Alby go down like

that…anewkindofpainhe’dneverfeltbeforefilledhisinsides—anill,disturbedpain;itfeltworsethanthephysicalkind.Andhedidn’tevenknowifithadanythingtodowithAlby—he’dnevermuchlikedtheguy.

But the thought that what he’d just seenmight happen to Chuck—orTeresa…MinhomovedclosertoThomasandNewt,squeezedNewt’sshoulder.“We can’twastewhathedid.”He turned towardThomas. “We’ll fight’emifwehaveto,makeapathtotheCliffforyouandTeresa.GetintheHoleanddoyourthing—we’llkeepthemoffuntilyouscreamforustofollow.”ThomaslookedateachofthethreesetsofGrievers—notonehadyetmade a move toward the Gladers—and nodded. “Hopefully they’ll godormantforawhile.Weshouldonlyneedaminuteorsotopunchinthecode.”“Howcanyouguysbesoheartless?”Newtmurmured,thedisgustinhisvoicesurprisingThomas.“Whatdoyouwant,Newt?”Minhosaid.“Shouldwealldressupandhaveafuneral?”Newt didn’t respond, still staring at the spot where the GrieversseemedtobefeedingonAlbybeneaththem.Thomascouldn’thelptakingapeek—hesawasmearofbrightredononeofthecreatures’bodies.Hisstomachturnedandhequicklylookedaway.Minho continued. “Alby didn’t wanna go back to his old life. Hefreakingsacrificedhimselfforus—andtheyaren’tattacking,somaybeitworked.We’dbeheartlessifwewastedit.”Newtonlyshrugged,closedhiseyes.Minho turned and faced the huddled group of Gladers. “Listen up!Numberonepriority is toprotectThomasandTeresa.Get themto theCliffandtheHoleso—”ThesoundsoftheGrieversrevvingtolifecuthimoff.Thomaslookedupinhorror.Thecreaturesonbothsidesoftheirgroupseemedtohavenoticed themagain. Spikeswere popping in and out of blubbery skin;theirbodiesshudderedandpulsed.Then,inunison,themonstersmovedforward, slowly, instrument-tipped appendages unfolding, pointed atThomasand theGladers, ready tokill.Tightening their trap formationlikeanoose,theGrieverssteadilychargedtowardthem.Alby’ssacrificehadfailedmiserably.

CHAPTER56

Thomas grabbedMinho by the arm. “Somehow I have to get throughthat!”HenoddedtowardtherollingpackofGrieversbetweenthemandthe Cliff—they looked like one big mass of rumbling, spiked blubber,glisteningwithflashesoflightsoffsteel.Theywereevenmoremenacinginthefadedgraylight.Thomaswaited for ananswerasMinhoandNewtexchangeda long

glance.Theanticipationoffightingwasalmostworsethanthefearofit.“They’recoming!”Teresayelled.“Wehavetodosomething!”“Youlead,”NewtfinallysaidtoMinho,hisvoicebarelymorethana

whisper.“MakeabloodypathforTommyandthegirl.Doit.”Minho nodded once, a steel look of resolve hardening his features.

ThenheturnedtowardtheGladers.“WeheadstraightfortheCliff!Fightthrough the middle, push the shuckin’ things toward the walls. WhatmattersmostisgettingThomasandTeresatotheGrieverHole!”Thomas lookedaway fromhim,backat theapproachingmonsters—

theywereonlyafewfeetaway.Hegrippedhispoorexcuseforaspear.Wehavetostayclosetogether,hetoldTeresa.Letthemdothefighting—

wehavetogetthroughthatHole.Hefeltlikeacoward,butheknewthatany fighting—andanydeaths—wouldbe invain if theydidn’tget thatcodepunched,thedoortotheCreatorsopened.Iknow,shereplied.Sticktogether.“Ready!”MinhoyellednexttoThomas,raisinghisbarbwire-wrapped

club into the air with one hand, a long silver knife in the other. HepointedtheknifeatthehordeofGrievers;aflashglintedofftheblade.“Now!”The Keeper ran forwardwithoutwaiting for a response. Newtwent

afterhim,rightonhisheels,andthentherestoftheGladersfollowed,atightpackof roaringboys chargingahead toabloodybattle,weaponsraised.ThomasheldTeresa’shand,letthemallgopast,feltthembump

him, smelled their sweat, sensed their terror, waiting for the perfectopportunitytomakehisowndash.JustasthefirstsoundsofboyscrashingintoGrieversfilledtheair—piercedwithscreamsandroarsofmachineryandwoodclackingagainststeel—ChuckranpastThomas,whoquicklyreachedoutandgrabbedhisarm.Chuckstumbledbackward,thenlookedupatThomas,hiseyessofulloffrightThomasfeltsomethingshatterinhisheart.Inthatsplitsecond,he’dmadeadecision.“Chuck, you’re with me and Teresa.” He said it forcefully, withauthority,leavingnoroomfordoubt.Chucklookedaheadattheengagedbattle.“But…”Hetrailedoff,andThomasknewtheboyrelishedtheideathoughhewasashamedtoadmitit.Thomasquickly tried to savehisdignity. “Weneedyourhelp in theGrieverHole,incaseoneofthosethingsisintherewaitingforus.”Chuck nodded quickly—too quickly.Again, Thomas felt the pang ofsadnessinhisheart,felttheurgetogetChuckhomesafelystrongerthanhe’deverfeltitbefore.“Okay,then,”Thomassaid.“HoldTeresa’sotherhand.Let’sgo.”Chuckdidashewas told, trying sohard toactbrave.And,Thomasnoted,notsayingaword,perhapsforthefirsttimeinhislife.They’vemadeanopening!TeresashoutedinThomas’smind—itsentaquick snapof pain shooting throughhis skull. Shepointed ahead, andThomas saw the narrow aisle forming in the middle of the corridor,GladersfightingwildlytopushtheGrieverstowardthewalls.“Now!”Thomasshouted.He sprinted ahead, pullingTeresabehindhim,TeresapullingChuckbehindher, running at full speed, spears andknives cocked for battle,forward into the bloody, scream-filled hallway of stone. Toward theCliff.War raged around them. Gladers fought, panic-induced adrenalinedrivingthemon.Thesoundsechoingoffthewallswereacacophonyofterror—human screams, metal clashing against metal, motors roaring,thehauntedshrieksoftheGrievers,sawsspinning,clawsclasping,boysyelling for help. All was a blur, bloody and gray and flashes of steel;Thomas triednot to look leftor right,onlyahead, through thenarrow

gapformedbytheGladers.Evenas theyran,Thomaswent throughthecodewordsagain inhismind.FLOAT, CATCH, BLEED, DEATH, STIFF, PUSH. They just had tomakeitafewdozenfeetmore.Something just sliced my arm! Teresa screamed. Even as she said it,Thomas felt a sharp stab inhis leg.Hedidn’t lookback,didn’tbotheranswering. The seething impossibility of their predicament was like aheavydelugeofblackwaterfloodingaroundhim,dragginghimtowardsurrender.Hefoughtit,pushedhimselfforward.Therewas theCliff, opening out into a gray-dark sky, about twentyfeetaway.Hesurgedahead,pullinghisfriends.Battlesclashedonbothsidesofthem;Thomasrefusedtolook,refusedtohelp.AGrieverspundirectlyinhispath;aboy,hisfacehiddenfromsight, was clutched in its claws, stabbing viciously into the thick,whalishskin,tryingtoescape.Thomasdodgedtotheleft,keptrunning.He heard a shriek as he passed by, a throat-scorchingwail that couldonlymeantheGladerhadlostthefight,metahorrificend.Thescreamranon,shatteringtheair,overpoweringtheothersoundsofwar,untilitfadedindeath.Thomasfelthishearttremble,hopeditwasn’tsomeoneheknew.Justkeepgoing!Teresasaid.“Iknow!”Thomasshoutedback,thistimeoutloud.Someone sprinted past Thomas, bumped him. A Griever charged infromtheright,bladestwirling.AGladercutitoff,attackeditwithtwolongswords,metalclackingandclangingastheyfought.Thomashearda distant voice, screaming the same words over and over, somethingabouthim.Aboutprotectinghimashe ran. ItwasMinho,desperationandfatigueradiantinhisshouts.Thomaskeptgoing.OnealmostgotChuck!Teresayelled,aviolentechoinhishead.More Grievers came at them, more Gladers helped. Winston hadpicked up Alby’s bow and arrow, flinging the steel-pointed shafts atanythingnonhumanthatmoved,missingmorethanhehit.BoysThomasdidn’t know ran alongside him,whacking at Griever instruments withtheir makeshift weapons, jumping on them, attacking. The sounds—clashes,clangs,screams,moaningwails,roarsofengines,spinningsaws,snapping blades, the screech of spikes against the floor, hair-raising

pleasforhelp—itallgrewtoacrescendo,becameunbearable.Thomasscreamed,buthekeptrunninguntiltheymadeittotheCliff.

Heskiddedtoastop,rightontheedge.TeresaandChuckbumpedintohim,almostsendingallthreeofthemtoanendlessfall.Inasplitsecond,Thomas surveyed his view of the Griever Hole. Hanging out, in themiddleofthinair,wereivyvinesstretchingtonowhere.Earlier,Minho and a couple of Runners had pulled out ropes of ivy

andknottedthemtovinesstillattachedtothewalls.They’dthentossedthelooseendsovertheCliff,untiltheyhittheGrieverHole,wherenowsixorsevenvinesranfromthestoneedgetoaninvisibleroughsquare,hoveringintheemptysky,wheretheydisappearedintonothingness.It was time to jump. Thomas hesitated, feeling one last moment of

starkterror—hearingthehorriblesoundsbehindhim,seeingtheillusioninfrontofhim—thensnappedoutofit.“Youfirst,Teresa.”HewantedtogolasttomakesureaGrieverdidn’tgetherorChuck.To his surprise, she didn’t hesitate. After squeezing Thomas’s hand,

thenChuck’s shoulder, she leaped off the edge, immediately stiffeningher legs,withherarmsbyher sides.Thomasheldhisbreathuntil sheslipped into the spotbetween thecut-off ivy ropesanddisappeared. Itlookedasifshe’dbeenerasedfromexistencewithonequickswipe.“Whoa!” Chuck yelled, the slightest hint of his old self breaking

through.“Whoaisright,”Thomassaid.“You’renext.”Before the boy could argue, Thomas grabbed him under his arms,

squeezedChuck’storso.“PushoffwithyourlegsandI’llgiveyoualift.Ready? One, two, three!” He grunted with effort, heaved him overtowardtheHole.Chuckscreamedasheflewthroughtheair,andhealmostmissedthe

target,buthis feetwent through; thenhis stomachandarms slammedagainstthesidesoftheinvisibleholebeforehedisappearedinside.Theboy’sbraverysolidifiedsomethinginThomas’sheart.Helovedthekid.Helovedhimasiftheyhadthesamemom.Thomas tightened the straps on his backpack, held his makeshift

fighting spear tightly in his right fist. The sounds behind him wereawful,horrible—hefeltguiltyfornothelping.Justdoyourpart,hetoldhimself.Steelinghisnerves,hetappedhisspearagainstthestoneground,then

planted his left foot on the very edge of the Cliff and jumped,catapultingupandintothetwilightair.Hepulledthespearclosetohistorso,pointedhistoesdownward,stiffenedhisbody.ThenhehittheHole.

CHAPTER57

A line of icy cold shot acrossThomas’s skin as he entered theGrieverHole,startingfromhistoesandcontinuinguphiswholebody,asifhe’djumped through a flat plane of freezing water. The world went evendarker around him as his feet thumped to a landing on a slipperysurface, then shot out from under him; he fell backward into Teresa’sarms.SheandChuckhelpedhimstand.ItwasamiracleThomashadn’tstabbedsomeone’seyeoutwithhisspear.The Griever Hole would’ve been pitch-black if not for the beam of

Teresa’s flashlight cutting through the darkness. As Thomas got hisbearings, he realized they were standing in a ten-foot-high stonecylinder.Itwasdamp,andcoveredinshiny,grimyoil,anditstretchedout in frontof them fordozensof yardsbefore it faded intodarkness.Thomas peered up at the Hole throughwhich they’d come—it lookedlikeasquarewindowintoadeep,starlessspace.“Thecomputer’soverthere,”Teresasaid,grabbinghisattention.Several feet down the tunnel, she had aimed her light at a small

square of grimy glass that shone a dull green color. Beneath it, akeyboardwassetintothewall,anglingoutenoughforsomeonetotypeon it with ease if standing. There it was, ready for the code. Thomascouldn’thelpthinkingitseemedtooeasy,toogoodtobetrue.“Put thewords in!”Chuckyelled, slappingThomason the shoulder.

“Hurry!”Thomas motioned for Teresa to do it. “Chuck and I’ll keep watch,

makesureaGrieverdoesn’tcomethroughtheHole.”HejusthopedtheGladershadturnedtheirattentionfrommakingtheaisleintheMazetokeepingthecreaturesawayfromtheCliff.“Okay,”Teresasaid—Thomasknewshewas toosmart towaste time

arguing about it. She stepped up to the keyboard and screen, thenstartedtyping.

Wait!Thomascalledtohermind.Areyousureyouknowthewords?She turned to him and scowled. “I’m not an idiot, Tom. Yes, I’mperfectlycapableofremembering—”Aloudbangfromaboveandbehindthemcutheroff,madeThomasjump.HespunaroundtoseeaGrieverplop throughtheGrieverHole,appearingas ifbymagic fromthedarksquareofblack.The thinghadretracted its spikes and arms to enter—when it landedwith a squishythump, a dozen sharp and nasty objects popped back out, lookingdeadlierthanever.ThomaspushedChuckbehindhimandfacedthecreature,holdingouthis spear as if that would ward it off. “Just keep typing, Teresa!” heyelled.AskinnymetallicrodburstoutoftheGriever’smoistskin,unfoldingintoalongappendagewiththreespinningblades,whichmoveddirectlytowardThomas’sface.Hegrippedtheendofhisspearwithbothhands,squeezingtightlyashe lowered the knife-laced point to the ground in front of him. Thebladedarmmovedwithintwofeet,readytoslicehisskintobits.Whenitwasjustafootaway,Thomastensedhismusclesandswungthespearup,around,andtowardtheceilingashardashecould.Itsmackedthemetal arm and pivoted the thing skyward, revolving in an arc until itslammedbackintothebodyoftheGriever.Themonsterletoutanangryshriek and pulled back several feet, its spikes retracting into its body.Thomasheavedbreathsinandout.MaybeIcanholditoff,hesaidquicklytoTeresa.Justhurry!I’malmostdone,shereplied.TheGriever’sspikesappearedagain;itsurgedaheadandanotherarmpopped out of its skin and shot forward, this one with huge claws,snapping to grab the spear. Thomas swung, this time from above hishead, throwingeverybitofstrengthintotheattack.Thespearcrashedinto the base of the claws. With a loud clunk, and then a squishingsound,theentirearmrippedfreeofitssocket,fallingtothefloor.Then,fromsomekindofmouththatThomascouldn’tsee,theGrieverletoutalong,piercingshriekandpulledbackagain;thespikesdisappeared.“Thesethingsarebeatable!”Thomasshouted.Itwon’tletmeenterthelastword!Teresasaidinhismind.Barelyhearingher,notquiteunderstanding,heyelledoutaroarand

chargedaheadtotakeadvantageoftheGriever’smomentofweakness.Swinginghis spearwildly, he jumpedon topof the creature’s bulbousbody,whacking twometalarmsaway fromhimwitha loudcrack.Heliftedthespearabovehishead,bracedhisfeet—feltthemsinkintothedisgustingblubber—thenthrustthespeardownandintothemonster.Aslimyyellowgooexplodedfromtheflesh,splashingoverThomas’slegsashedrovethespearasfarasitwouldsinkintothething’sbody.Thenhe released thehilt of theweaponand jumpedaway, runningback toChuckandTeresa.Thomas watched in sick fascination as the Griever twitcheduncontrollably,spewingtheyellowoilineverydirection.Spikespoppedin and out of the skin; its remaining arms swung around in massconfusion,attimesimpalingitsownbody.Soonitbegantoslow,losingenergywitheveryounceofblood—orfuel—itlost.A few seconds later, it stoppedmoving altogether. Thomas couldn’tbelieveit.Heabsolutelycouldn’tbelieveit.He’djustdefeatedaGriever,oneof themonsters thathad terrorized theGladers formore than twoyears.HeglancedbehindhimatChuck,standingtherewitheyeswide.“Youkilledit,”theboysaid.Helaughed,asifthatoneacthadsolvedalltheirproblems.“Wasn’t so hard,” Thomas muttered, then turned to see Teresafrantically typing away at the keyboard. He knew immediately thatsomethingwaswrong.“What’s theproblem?”heasked,almost shouting.Heranup to lookoverhershoulderandsawthatshekepttypingthewordPUSHoverandover,butnothingappearedonthescreen.She pointed at the dirty square of glass, empty but for its greenishglowoflife.“Iputinallthewordsandonebyonetheyappearedonthescreen;thensomethingbeepedandthey’ddisappear.Butitwon’tletmetypeinthelastword.Nothing’shappening!”ColdfilledThomas’sveinsasTeresa’swordssankin.“Well…why?”“Idon’tknow!”Shetriedagain,thenagain.Nothingappeared.“Thomas!”Chuckscreamed frombehind them.Thomas turned to seehimpointingattheGrieverHole—anothercreaturewasmakingitswaythrough.Ashewatched,itploppeddownontopofitsdeadbrotherandanotherGrieverstartedenteringtheHole.

“What’stakingsolong!”Chuckcriedfrantically.“Yousaidthey’dturnoffwhenyoupunchedinthecode!”BothGrievershadrighted themselvesandextended their spikes,had

startedmovingtowardthem.“It won’t let us enter the word PUSH,” Thomas said absently, not

reallyspeakingtoChuckbuttryingtothinkofasolution…Idon’tgetit,Teresasaid.TheGrieverswerecoming,onlyafewfeetaway.Feelinghiswillfade

into blackness, Thomas braced his feet and held up his fistshalfheartedly.Itwassupposedtowork.Thecodewassupposedto—“Maybeyoushouldjustpushthatbutton,”Chucksaid.Thomas was so surprised by the random statement that he turned

awayfromtheGrievers,lookedattheboy.Chuckwaspointingataspotnearthefloor,rightunderneaththescreenandkeyboard.Beforehecouldmove,Teresawasalreadydownthere,crouchingon

herknees.Andconsumedbycuriosity,byafleetinghope,Thomasjoinedher,collapsingtothegroundtogetabetterlook.HeheardtheGrievermoanandroarbehindhim,feltasharpclawgrabhisshirt,feltaprickofpain.Buthecouldonlystare.Asmallredbuttonwassetintothewallonlyafewinchesabovethe

floor. Three black words were printed there, so obvious he couldn’tbelievehe’dmisseditearlier.

KilltheMaze

MorepainsnappedThomasoutofhisstupor.TheGrieverhadgrabbedhim with two instruments, had started dragging him backward. TheotheronehadgoneafterChuckandwasjustabouttoswipeatthekidwithalongblade.Abutton.“Push!” Thomas screamed, louder than he’d thought possible for a

humanbeingtoscream.AndTeresadid.She pushed the button and everything went perfectly silent. Then,

fromsomewheredownthedarktunnel,camethesoundofadoorslidingopen.

CHAPTER58

AlmostatoncetheGrievershadshutdowncompletely,theirinstrumentssucked back through their blubbery skin, their lights turned off, theirinsidemachinesdeadquiet.Andthatdoor…Thomasfelltothefloorafterbeingreleasedbyhiscaptor’sclaws,and

despite the pain of several lacerations across his back and shoulders,elationsurgedthroughhimsostronglyhedidn’tknowhowtoreact.Hegasped,thenlaughed,thenchokedonasobbeforelaughingagain.ChuckhadscootedawayfromtheGrievers,bumpingintoTeresa—she

heldhimtightly,squeezinghiminafiercehug.“You did it, Chuck,” Teresa said. “We were so worried about the

stupidcodewords,wedidn’tthinktolookaroundforsomethingtopush—thelastword,thelastpieceofthepuzzle.”Thomaslaughedagain,indisbeliefthatsuchathingcouldbepossible

sosoonafterwhatthey’dgonethrough.“She’sright,Chuck—yousavedus,man!I toldyouweneededyou!”Thomasscrambledtohisfeetandjoined the other two in a group hug, almost delirious. “Chuck’s ashuckinghero!”“Whatabout theothers?”TeresasaidwithanodtowardtheGriever

Hole. Thomas felt his elationwither, and he stepped back and turnedtowardtheHole.Asifinanswertoherquestion,someonefellthroughtheblacksquare

—itwasMinho, lookingas ifhe’dbeenscratchedorstabbedonninetypercentofhisbody.“Minho!” Thomas shouted, filled with relief. “Are you okay? What

abouteverybodyelse?”Minho stumbled toward the curved wall of the tunnel, then leaned

there, gulping big breaths. “We lost a ton of people…. It’s a mess ofbloodupthere…thentheyalljustshutdown.”Hepaused,takinginareallydeepbreathandlettingitgoinarushofair.“Youdidit.Ican’t

believeitactuallyworked.”Newt came through then, followed by Frypan. Then Winston andothers.BeforelongeighteenboyshadjoinedThomasandhisfriendsinthetunnel,makingatotaloftwenty-oneGladersinall.Everylastoneofthosewho’dstayedbehindandfoughtwascoveredinGrieversludgeandhumanblood,theirclothesrippedtoshreds.“Therest?”Thomasasked,terrifiedoftheanswer.“Halfofus,”Newtsaid,hisvoiceweak.“Dead.”Noonesaidawordthen.Noonesaidawordforaverylongtime.“You know what?” Minho said, standing up a little taller. “Halfmight’vedied,buthalfofusshuckinglived.Andnobodygotstung—justlikeThomasthought.We’vegottagetoutofhere.”Toomany,Thomas thought.Toomanyby far.His joydribbledaway,turnedintoadeepmourningforthetwentypeoplewho’dlosttheirlives.Despite the alternative, despite knowing that if they hadn’t tried toescape,all of themmight’ve died, it still hurt, even though he hadn’tknown them very well. Such a display of death—how could it beconsideredavictory?“Let’sgetoutofhere,”Newtsaid.“Rightnow.”“Wheredowego?”Minhoasked.Thomaspointeddownthe longtunnel.“Iheardthedooropendownthatway.”Hetriedtopushawaytheacheof itall—thehorrorsof thebattle they’d just won. The losses. He pushed it away, knowing theywerenowherenearsafeyet.“Well—let’s go,” Minho answered. And the older boy turned andstartedwalkingupthetunnelwithoutwaitingforaresponse.Newtnodded,usheringtheotherGladerspasthimtofollow.OnebyonetheywentuntilonlyheremainedwithThomasandTeresa.“I’llgolast,”Thomassaid.No one argued.Newtwent, thenChuck, thenTeresa, into the blacktunnel. Even the flashlights seemed to get swallowed by the darkness.Thomasfollowed,notevenbotheringtolookbackatthedeadGrievers.After a minute or so of walking, he heard a shriek from ahead,followed by another, then another. Their cries faded, as if they werefalling….Murmursmadetheirwaydowntheline,andfinallyTeresaturnedtoThomas.“Lookslikeitendsinaslideupthere,shootingdownward.”

Thomas’sstomachturnedatthethought.Itseemedlikeitwasagame—forwhoeverhadbuilttheplace,atleast.One by one he heard the Gladers’ dwindling shouts and hoots upahead. Then it was Newt’s turn, then Chuck’s. Teresa shone her lightdownonasteeplydescending,slickblackchuteofmetal.Guesswehavenochoice,shesaidtohismind.Guess not. Thomas had a strong feeling itwasn’t away out of theirnightmare;hejusthopeditdidn’tleadtoanotherpackofGrievers.Teresa slipped down the slide with an almost cheerful shriek, andThomas followed her before he could talk himself out of it—anythingwasbetterthantheMaze.Hisbodyshotdownasteepdecline,slickwithanoilygoothatsmelledawful—likeburntplasticandoverusedmachinery.Hetwistedhisbodyuntilhegothisfeetinfrontofhim,thentriedtoholdhishandsouttoslowhimselfdown.Itwasuseless—thegreasystuffcoveredeveryinchofthestone;hecouldn’tgripanything.ThescreamsoftheotherGladersechoedoffthetunnelwallsastheysliddowntheoilychute.PanicgrippedThomas’sheart.Hecouldn’tfightoff the image that they’d been swallowed by some gigantic beast andwere sliding down its long esophagus, about to land in its stomach atanysecond.Andasifhisthoughtshadmaterialized,thesmellschanged—tosomethingmorelikemildewandrot.Hestartedgagging;ittookallhiseffortnottothrowuponhimself.The tunnel began to twist, turning in a rough spiral, just enough toslow themdown, andThomas’s feet smacked right intoTeresa,hittingherinthehead;herecoiledandafeelingofcompletemiserysankoverhim.Theywerestillfalling.Timeseemedtostretchout,endless.Aroundandaround theywentdown the tube.Nauseaburned inhisstomach—the squishing of the goo against his body, the smell, thecirclingmotion.Hewasjustabouttoturnhisheadtothesidetothrowup when Teresa let out a sharp cry—this time there was no echo. Asecondlater,Thomasflewoutofthetunnelandlandedonher.Bodiesscrambledeverywhere,peopleontopofpeople,groaningandsquirming in confusion as they tried to push away from each other.Thomas wiggled his arms and legs to scoot away from Teresa, thencrawledafewmorefeettothrowup,emptyinghisstomach.Stillshudderingfromtheexperience,hewipedathismouthwithhis

hand, only to realize itwas covered in slimy filth.He sat up, rubbingboth hands on the ground, and he finally got a good look at wherethey’darrived.Ashegaped,hesaw,also,thateveryoneelsehadpulledthemselves together into a group, taking in the new surroundings.Thomas had seen glimpses of it during the Changing, but didn’t trulyrememberituntilthatverymoment.Theywereinahugeundergroundchamberbigenoughtoholdnineor

tenHomesteads.Fromtoptobottom,sidetoside,theplacewascoveredin all kinds ofmachinery andwires andducts and computers.Ononeside of the room—to his right—there was a row of forty or so largewhite pods that looked like enormous coffins.Across from that on theother side stood large glass doors, although the lighting made itimpossibletoseewhatwasontheotherside.“Look!”someoneshouted,buthe’dalreadyseenit,hisbreathcatching

inhisthroat.Goosebumpsbrokeoutalloverhim,acreepyfeartricklingdownhisspinelikeawetspider.Directlyinfrontofthem,arowoftwentyorsodarklytingedwindows

stretchedacrossthecompoundhorizontally,oneaftertheother.Behindeachone,aperson—somemen,somewomen,allofthempaleandthin—sat observing the Gladers, staring through the glass with squintedeyes. Thomas shuddered, terrified—they all looked like ghosts. Angry,starving, sinister apparitions of people who’d never been happywhenalive,muchlessdead.But Thomas knew they were not, of course, ghosts. They were the

peoplewho’dsentthemall totheGlade.Thepeoplewho’dtakentheirlivesawayfromthem.TheCreators.

CHAPTER59

Thomastookastepbackward,noticingothersdoingthesame.Adeathlysilence sucked the lifeoutof theair as every lastGlader staredat therowofwindows,attherowofobservers.Thomaswatchedoneofthemlookdown towrite something, another reachup andput on a pair ofglasses.Theyallworeblackcoatsoverwhiteshirts,awordstitchedontheir right breast—he couldn’t quite make out what it said. None ofthem wore any kind of discernible facial expression—they were allsallowandgaunt,miserablysadtolookupon.They continued to stare at the Gladers; a man shook his head, a

woman nodded. Anotherman reached up and scratched his nose—themosthumanthingThomashadseenanyofthemdo.“Who are those people?” Chuck whispered, but his voice echoed

throughoutthechamberwitharaspyedge.“The Creators,” Minho said; then he spat on the floor. “I’m gonna

breakyourfaces!”hescreamed,soloudlyThomasalmostheldhishandsoverhisears.“Whatdowedo?”Thomasasked.“Whataretheywaitingon?”“They’veprobablyrevvedtheGrieversbackup,”Newtsaid.“They’re

probablycomingright—”Aloud,slowbeepingsoundcuthimoff, like thewarningalarmofa

huge truck driving in reverse, butmuchmore powerful. It came fromeverywhere,boomingandechoingthroughoutthechamber.“Whatnow?”Chuckasked,nothidingtheconcerninhisvoice.ForsomereasoneveryonelookedatThomas;heshruggedinanswer—

he’d only remembered so much, and now he was just as clueless asanyoneelse.Andscared.Hecranedhisneckashescannedtheplacetopto bottom, trying to find the source of the beeps. But nothing hadchanged.Then,outofthecornerofhiseye,henoticedtheotherGladerslookinginthedirectionofthedoors.Hedidaswell;hisheartquickened

whenhesawthatoneofthedoorswasswingingopentowardthem.Thebeepingstopped,andasilenceasdeepasouterspacesettledonthe chamber. Thomas waited without breathing, braced himself forsomethinghorribletocomeflyingthroughthedoor.Instead,twopeoplewalkedintotheroom.Onewas awoman. An actual grown-up. She seemed very ordinary,wearingblackpantsandabutton-downwhite shirtwitha logoon thebreast—wickedspelledinbluecapitalletters.Herbrownhairwascutatthe shoulder, and she had a thin face with dark eyes. As she walkedtoward thegroup, sheneither smilednor frowned—itwasalmostas ifshedidn’tnoticeorcaretheywerestandingthere.Iknowher,Thomasthought.Butitwasacloudykindofrecollection—hecouldn’trememberhernameorwhatshehadtodowiththeMaze,butsheseemedfamiliar.Andnotjustherlooks,butthewayshewalked,hermannerisms—stiff,withoutahintofjoy.ShestoppedseveralfeetinfrontoftheGladersandslowlylookedlefttoright,takingthemallin.Theotherperson,standingnexttoher,wasaboywearinganoverlylargesweatshirt,itshoodpulledupoverhishead,concealinghisface.“Welcomeback,”thewomanfinallysaid.“Overtwoyears,andsofewdead.Amazing.”Thomasfelthismouthdropopen—feltangerreddenhisface.“Excuseme?”Newtasked.HereyesscannedthecrowdagainbeforefallingonNewt.“Everythinghas gone according to plan,Mr.Newton.Althoughwe expected a fewmoreofyoutogiveupalongtheway.”Sheglancedoverathercompanion,thenreachedoutandpulledthehoodofftheboy.Helookedup,hiseyeswetwithtears.EveryGladerintheroomsuckedinabreathofsurprise.Thomasfelthiskneesbuckle.ItwasGally.Thomas blinked, then rubbed his eyes, like something out of acartoon.Hewasconsumedwithshockandanger.ItwasGally.“What’shedoinghere!”Minhoshouted.“You’resafenow,”thewomanrespondedasifshehadn’theardhim.“Please,beatease.”“Atease?”Minhobarked.“Whoareyou,tellingustobeatease?Wewanna see the police, the mayor, the president—somebody!” Thomas

worriedwhatMinhomightdo—thenagain,Thomaskindofwantedhimtogopunchherintheface.She narrowed her eyes as she looked at Minho. “You have no ideawhatyou’retalkingabout,boy.I’dexpectmorematurityfromsomeonewho’spassedtheMazeTrials.”HercondescendingtoneshockedThomas.Minhostartedtoretort,butNewtelbowedhiminthegut.“Gally,”Newtsaid.“What’sgoingon?”Thedark-hairedboylookedathim;hiseyesflaredforamoment,hishead shaking slightly. But he didn’t respond. Something’s off with him,Thomasthought.Worsethanbefore.Thewomannoddedasifproudofhim.“Onedayyou’llallbegratefulfor what we’ve done for you. I can only promise this, and trust yourminds to accept it. If you don’t, then thewhole thingwas amistake.Darktimes,Mr.Newton.Darktimes.”She paused. “There is, of course, one final Variable.” She steppedback.Thomas focused on Gally. The boy’s whole body trembled, his facepastywhite,makinghiswet,redeyesstandoutlikebloodysplotchesonpaper.Hislipspressedtogether;theskinaroundthemtwitched,asifheweretryingtospeakbutcouldn’t.“Gally?”Thomasasked,tryingtosuppressthecompletehatredhehadforhim.Wordsburst fromGally’smouth.“They…cancontrolme…Idon’t—”Hiseyesbulged,ahandwenttohisthroatasifhewerechoking.“I…have…to…”Eachwordwasacroakingcough.Thenhestilled,hisfacecalming,hisbodyrelaxing.ItwasjustlikeAlbyinbed,backintheGlade,afterhewentthroughtheChanging.Thesametypeofthinghadhappenedtohim.Whatdidit—But Thomas didn’t have time to finish his thought. Gally reachedbehindhimself,pulledsomethinglongandshinyfromhisbackpocket.The lights of the chamber flashed off the silvery surface—a wicked-lookingdagger,grippedtightlyinhisfingers.Withunexpectedspeed,herearedbackandthrewtheknifeatThomas.Ashedidso,Thomasheardashouttohisright,sensedmovement.Towardhim.Thebladewindmilled,itseveryturnvisibletoThomas,asiftheworldhad turned to slow motion. As if it did so for the sole purpose of

allowinghimtofeeltheterrorofseeingsuchathing.Ontheknifecame,flippingoverandover,straightathim.Astrangledcrywasforminginhisthroat;heurgedhimselftomovebuthecouldn’t.Then, inexplicably,Chuckwas there,diving in frontofhim.Thomas

feltasifhisfeethadbeenfrozeninblocksofice;hecouldonlystareatthesceneofhorrorunfoldingbeforehim,completelyhelpless.Withasickening,wetthunk,thedaggerslammedintoChuck’schest,

burying itself to thehilt.Theboy screamed, fell to the floor,his bodyalready convulsing. Blood poured from the wound, dark crimson. Hislegs slapped against the floor, feet kicking aimlessly with onrushingdeath.Redspitoozedfrombetweenhislips.Thomasfeltasiftheworldwerecollapsingaroundhim,crushinghisheart.Hefelltotheground,pulledChuck’sshakingbodyintohisarms.“Chuck!” he screamed; his voice felt like acid ripping through his

throat.“Chuck!”The boy shook uncontrollably, blood everywhere, wetting Thomas’s

hands.Chuck’seyeshadrolledupintheirsockets,dullwhiteorbs.Bloodtrickledoutofhisnoseandmouth.“Chuck …,” Thomas said, this time a whisper. There had to be

somethingtheycoulddo.Theycouldsavehim.They—The boy stopped convulsing, stilled. His eyes slid back into normal

position,focusedonThomas,clingingtolife.“Thom…mas.”Itwasoneword,barelythere.“Hang on, Chuck,” Thomas said. “Don’t die—fight it. Someone get

help!”Nobodymoved, and deep inside, Thomas knewwhy. Nothing could

helpnow.Itwasover.BlackspotsswambeforeThomas’seyes;theroomtilted and swayed.No, he thought.Not Chuck. Not Chuck. Anyone butChuck.“Thomas,” Chuck whispered. “Find … my mom.” A racking cough

burstfromhislungs,throwingasprayofblood.“Tellher…”Hedidn’tfinish.Hiseyesclosed,hisbodywentlimp.Onelastbreath

wheezedfromhismouth.Thomasstaredathim,staredathisfriend’slifelessbody.Something happened within Thomas. It started deep down in his

chest,aseedofrage.Ofrevenge.Ofhate.Somethingdarkandterrible.And then it exploded, bursting through his lungs, through his neck,

throughhisarmsandlegs.Throughhismind.He let go of Chuck, stood up, trembling, turned to face their newvisitors.AndthenThomassnapped.Hecompletelyandutterlysnapped.Herushedforward,threwhimselfonGally,graspingwithhisfingerslikeclaws.Hefoundtheboy’sthroat,squeezed,felltothegroundontopof him.He straddled the boy’s torso, gripped himwith his legs so hecouldn’tescape.Thomasstartedpunching.He held Gally downwith his left hand, pushing down on the boy’sneck, as his right fist rained punches upon Gally’s face, one afteranother.Downanddownanddown,slamminghisballedknucklesintotheboy’scheekandnose.Therewascrunching, therewasblood, therewerehorriblescreams.Thomasdidn’tknowwhichwerelouder—Gally’sorhisown.Hebeathim—beathimashe releasedeveryounceof ragehe’deverowned.AndthenhewasbeingpulledawaybyMinhoandNewt,hisarmsstillflailingevenwhentheyonlyhitair.Theydraggedhimacrossthefloor;hefoughtthem,squirmed,yelledtobeleftalone.HiseyesremainedonGally,lyingthere,still;Thomascouldfeelthehatredpouringout,asifavisiblelineofflameconnectedthem.Andthen, just like that, itallvanished.Therewereonly thoughtsofChuck.HethrewoffMinho’sandNewt’sgrip,rantothelimp,lifelessbodyofhisfriend.Hegrabbedhim,pulledhimbackintohisarms,ignoringtheblood,ignoringthefrozenlookofdeathontheboy’sface.“No!”Thomasshouted,sadnessconsuminghim.“No!”Teresawasthere,putherhandonhisshoulder.Heshookitaway.“I promisedhim!” he screamed, realizing even as he did so that hisvoicewaslacedwithsomethingwrong.Almostinsanity.“IpromisedI’dsavehim,takehimhome!Ipromisedhim!”Teresadidn’trespond,onlynodded,hereyescasttotheground.Thomas hugged Chuck to his chest, squeezed him as tightly aspossible,as if thatcouldsomehowbringhimback,or showthanks forsavinghislife,forbeinghisfriendwhennooneelsewould.Thomas cried, wept like he’d never wept before. His great, rackingsobsechoedthroughthechamberlikethesoundsoftorturedpain.

CHAPTER60

Hefinallypulleditallbackintohisheart,suckinginthepainfultideofhismisery.IntheGlade,Chuckhadbecomeasymbolforhim—abeaconthat somehow they could make everything right again in the world.Sleepinbeds.Getkissedgoodnight.Havebaconandeggsforbreakfast,gotoarealschool.Behappy.ButnowChuckwasgone.Andhis limpbody, towhichThomas still

clung, seemedacold talisman—thatnotonlywould thosedreamsofahopefulfuturenevercometopass,butthatlifehadneverbeenthatwayinthe firstplace.Thateven inescape,drearydays layahead.A lifeofsorrow.His returning memories were sketchy at best. But not much good

floatedinthemuck.Thomasreeledinthepain, lockeditsomewheredeepinsidehim.He

diditforTeresa.ForNewtandMinho.Whateverdarknessawaitedthem,they’dbetogether,andthatwasallthatmatteredrightthen.HeletgoofChuck,slumpedbackward,tryingnottolookattheboy’s

shirt,blackwithblood.Hewipedthetearsfromhischeeks,rubbedhiseyes, thinking he should be embarrassed but not feeling that way.Finally,helookedup.LookedupatTeresaandherenormousblueeyes,heavywithsadness—justasmuchforhimasforChuck,hewassureofit.Shereacheddown,grabbedhishand,helpedhimstand.Oncehewas

up,shedidn’tletgo,andneitherdidhe.Hesqueezed,triedtosaywhathe felt by doing so.No one else said aword,most of them staring atChuck’sbodywithoutexpression,asifthey’dmovedfarbeyondfeeling.NoonelookedatGally,breathingbutstill.ThewomanfromWICKEDbrokethesilence.“All thingshappen for a purpose,” she said, any sign ofmalice now

gonefromhervoice.“Youmustunderstandthis.”

Thomaslookedather,threwallhiscompressedhatredintotheglare.Buthedidnothing.Teresaplacedherotherhandonhisarm,grippedhisbicep.Whatnow?sheasked.Idon’tknow,hereplied.Ican’t—His sentence was cut short by a sudden series of shouts andcommotionoutside the entrance throughwhich thewomanhad come.She visibly panicked, the blood draining from her face as she turnedtowardthedoor.Thomasfollowedhergaze.Severalmenandwomendressedingrimyjeansandsoaking-wetcoatsburst through the entrance with guns raised, yelling and screamingwordsovereachother.Itwasimpossibletounderstandwhattheyweresaying.Their guns—somewere rifles, otherpistols—looked…archaic,rustic. Almost like toys abandoned in the woods for years, recentlydiscoveredbythenextgenerationofkidsreadytoplaywar.ThomasstaredinshockastwoofthenewcomerstackledtheWICKEDwomantothefloor.Thenonesteppedbackanddrewuphisgun,aimed.Noway,Thomasthought.No—Flashes lit the air as several shots exploded from thegun, slammingintothewoman’sbody.Shewasdead,abloodymess.Thomastookseveralstepsbackward,almoststumbled.AmanwalkeduptotheGladersastheothersinhisgroupspreadoutaround them, sweeping their guns left and right as they shot at theobservation windows, shattering them. Thomas heard screams, sawblood,lookedaway,focusedonthemanwhoapproachedthem.Hehaddarkhair,hisfaceyoungbutfullofwrinklesaroundtheeyes,asifhe’dspenteachdayofhislifeworryingabouthowtomakeittothenext.“Wedon’thavetimetoexplain,”themansaid,hisvoiceasstrainedashisface.“Justfollowmeandrunlikeyourlifedependsonit.Becauseitdoes.”Withthatthemanmadeafewmotionstohiscompanions,thenturnedandranoutthebigglassdoors,hisgunheldrigidlybeforehim.Gunfireandcriesofagonystillrattledthechamber,butThomasdidhisbesttoignorethemandfollowinstructions.“Go!”oneoftherescuers—thatwastheonlywayThomascouldthinkofthem—screamedfrombehind.After the briefest hesitation, the Gladers followed, almost stomping

eachotherintheirrushtogetoutofthechamber,asfarawayfromtheGrievers and the Maze as possible. Thomas, his hand still grippingTeresa’s,ranwiththem,bunchedupinthebackofthegroup.TheyhadnochoicebuttoleaveChuck’sbodybehind.Thomas felt no emotion—hewas completely numb. He ran down along hallway, into a dimly lit tunnel. Up a winding flight of stairs.Everything was dark, smelled like electronics. Down another hallway.Upmorestairs.Morehallways.Thomaswanted toache forChuck,getexcitedabout theirescape,rejoice thatTeresawas therewithhim.Buthe’d seen toomuch. There was only emptiness now. A void. He keptgoing.Ontheyran,someofthemenandwomenleadingfromahead,someyellingencouragementfrombehind.Theyreachedanothersetofglassdoorsandwentthroughthemintoamassivedownpourofrain,fallingfromablacksky.Nothingwasvisiblebutdullsparklesflashingoffthepoundingsheetsofwater.Theleaderdidn’tstopmovinguntiltheyreachedahugebus,itssidesdented and scarred, most of the windows webbed with cracks. Rainsluiceddownitall,makingThomasimagineahugebeastcrestingoutoftheocean.“Geton!”themanscreamed.“Hurry!”Theydid, formingintoatightpackbehindthedoorastheyentered,onebyone. It seemedto take forever,Gladerspushingandscramblingtheirwayupthethreestairsandintotheseats.Thomaswasattheback,Teresarightinfrontofhim.Thomaslookedupintothesky,feltthewaterbeatagainsthisface—itwaswarm,almosthot,hadaweird thickness to it.Oddly, ithelpedbreakhimoutofhisfunk,snaphimtoattention.Maybeitwasjusttheferocityofthedeluge.Hefocusedonthebus,onTeresa,onescape.Theywerealmosttothedoorwhenahandsuddenlyslammedagainsthis shoulder, gripping his shirt. He cried out as someone jerked himbackward,rippinghishandoutofTeresa’s—hesawherspinaroundjustintimetowatchasheslammedintotheground,throwingupasprayofwater.Aboltofpainshotdownhisspineasawoman’sheadappearedtwoinchesabovehim,upsidedown,blockingoutTeresa.Greasyhair hungdown, touchingThomas, framing a face hidden inshadow. A horrible smell filled his nostrils, like eggs and milk gone

rotten.Thewomanpulledbackenoughforsomeone’sflashlighttorevealher features—pale,wrinkly skin covered inhorrible sores, oozingwithpus.SheerterrorfilledThomas,frozehim.“Gonna save us all!” the hideouswoman said, spit flying out of her

mouth,sprayingThomas.“GonnasaveusfromtheFlare!”Shelaughed,notmuchmorethanahackingcough.Thewomanyelpedwhenoneof the rescuers grabbedherwithboth

hands and yanked her off of Thomas, who recovered his wits andscrambledtohisfeet.HebackedintoTeresa,staringasthemandraggedthewomanaway,herlegskickingoutweakly,hereyesonThomas.Shepointed at him, called out, “Don’t believe aword they tell ya! GonnasaveusfromtheFlare,yaare!”Whenthemanwasseveralyardsfromthebus,hetossedthewoman

totheground.“StayputorI’llshootyoudead!”heyelledather;thenheturnedtoThomas.“Getonthebus!”Thomas, so terrified by the ordeal that his body shook, turned and

followedTeresa up the stairs and into the aisle of the bus.Wide eyeswatchedhimas theywalkedall theway to theback seatandploppeddown; they huddled together. Blackwater washed down thewindowsoutside.Theraindrummedontheroof,heavy;thundershooktheskiesabovethem.Whatwasthat?Teresasaidinhismind.Thomas couldn’t answer, just shook his head. Thoughts of Chuck

floodedhimagain,replacingthecrazywoman,deadeninghisheart.Hejustdidn’tcare,didn’tfeelanyreliefatescapingtheMaze.Chuck…Oneoftherescuers,awoman,satacrossfromThomasandTeresa;the

leaderwho’d spoken to them earlier climbed onto the bus and took aseat at the wheel, cranked up the engine. The bus started rollingforward.Justas itdid,Thomassawaflashofmovementoutsidethewindow.

Thesore-riddledwomanhadgottentoherfeet,wassprintingtowardthefrontofthebus,wavingherarmswildly,screamingsomethingdrownedoutbythesoundsofthestorm.Hereyeswerelitwithlunacyorterror—Thomascouldn’ttellwhich.Heleanedtowardtheglassofthewindowasshedisappearedfromhis

viewupahead.“Wait!”Thomasshrieked,butnooneheardhim.Oriftheydid,they

didn’tcare.Thedrivergunnedtheengine—thebuslurchedasitslammedintothewoman’sbody.AthumpalmostjoltedThomasoutofhisseatasthefrontwheels ran over her, quickly followed by a second thump—the backwheels.ThomaslookedatTeresa,sawthesickenedlookonherfacethatsurelymirroredhisown.Without a word, the driver kept his foot on the gas and the busplowedforward,drivingoffintotherain-sweptnight.

CHAPTER61

ThenexthourorsowasablurofsightsandsoundsforThomas.The driver drove at reckless speeds, through towns and cities, the

heavy rain obscuring most of the view. Lights and buildings werewarpedandwatery,likesomethingoutofadrug-inducedhallucination.At one point people outside rushed the bus, their clothes ratty, hairmattedtotheirheads,strangesoreslikethoseThomashadseenonthewomancoveringtheirterrifiedfaces.Theypoundedonthesidesofthevehicleasiftheywantedtogeton,wantedtoescapewhateverhorriblelivestheywereliving.Thebusneverslowed.TeresaremainedsilentnexttoThomas.Hefinallygotupenoughnervetospeaktothewomansittingacross

theaisle.“What’sgoingon?”heasked,notsurehowelsetoposeit.The woman looked over at him. Wet, black hair hung in strings

aroundherface.Darkeyesfullofsorrow.“That’saverylongstory.”Thewoman’svoicecameoutmuchkinderthanThomashadexpected,givinghim hope that she truly was a friend—that all of their rescuers werefriends.Despitethefactthatthey’drunoverawomanincoldblood.“Please,”Teresasaid.“Pleasetellussomething.”ThewomanlookedbackandforthbetweenThomasandTeresa,then

letoutasigh.“It’lltakeawhilebeforeyougetyourmemoriesback,ifever—we’renotscientists,wehavenoideawhattheydidtoyou,orhowtheydidit.”Thomas’s heart dropped at the thought of maybe having lost his

memoryforever,buthepressedon.“Whoarethey?”heasked.“It started with the sun flares,” the woman said, her gaze growing

distant.“What—”Teresabegan,butThomasshushedher.Justlethertalk,hesaidtohermind.Shelookslikeshewill.

Okay.Thewomanalmostseemedinatranceasshespoke,nevertakinghereyesoffanindistinctspotinthedistance.“Thesunflarescouldn’thavebeen predicted. Sun flares are normal, but these were unprecedented,massive,spikinghigherandhigher—andoncetheywerenoticed,itwasonlyminutes before their heat slammed into Earth. First our satelliteswere burned out, and thousands died instantly, millions within days,countlessmilesbecamewastelands.Thencamethesickness.”She paused, took a breath. “As the ecosystem fell apart, it becameimpossible to control the sickness—even to keep it in South America.The junglesweregone,but the insectsweren’t.Peoplecall it theFlarenow. It’sahorrible,horrible thing.Only therichestcanbe treated,noonecanbecured.UnlesstherumorsfromtheAndesaretrue.”Thomas almost broke his own advice—questions filled his mind.Horrorgrewinhisheart.Hesatandlistenedasthewomancontinued.“Asforyou,allofyou—you’rejustafewofmillionsorphaned.Theytested thousands, chose you for the big one. The ultimate test.Everything you lived through was calculated and thought through.Catalyststostudyyourreactions,yourbrainwaves,yourthoughts.Allinan attempt to find those capable of helping us find away to beat theFlare.”Shepausedagain,pulledastringofhairbehindherear.“Mostofthephysical effects are causedby somethingelse.First thedelusions start,then animal instincts begin to overpower the human ones. Finally itconsumesthem,destroystheirhumanity.It’sallinthebrain.TheFlarelivesintheirbrains.Itisanawfulthing.Bettertodiethancatchit.”ThewomanbrokehergazeintonothingnessandfocusedonThomas,thenlookedatTeresa,thenThomasagain.“Wewon’tletthemdothistochildren.We’veswornour lives to fightingWICKED.Wecan’t loseourhumanity,nomattertheendresult.”She foldedherhands inher lap, lookeddownat them.“You’ll learnmoreintime.Welivefarinthenorth.We’reseparatedfromtheAndesbythousandsofmiles.TheycallittheScorch—itliesbetweenhereandthere.It’scenteredmainlyaroundwhattheyusedtocalltheequator—it’s just heat anddust now, filledwith savages consumedby the Flarebeyondhelp.We’retryingtocrossthatland—tofindthecure.Butuntilthen, we’ll fight WICKED and stop the experiments and tests.” She

lookedcarefullyatThomas, thenTeresa.“It’sourhope thatyou’ll joinus.”Shelookedawaythen,gazingoutherwindow.ThomaslookedatTeresa,raisedhiseyebrowsinquestion.Shesimplyshookherheadandthenlaiditonhisshoulderandclosedhereyes.I’mtootiredtothinkaboutit,shesaid.Let’sjustbesafefornow.Maybeweare,hereplied.Maybe.Heheardthesoftsoundsofhersleep,butheknewthatsleepwouldbeimpossibleforhim.Hefeltsucharagingstormofconflictingemotions,hecouldn’tidentifyanyofthem.Still—itwasbetterthanthedullvoidhe’dexperiencedearlier.Hecouldonlysitandstareoutthewindowintothe rain and blackness, pondering words like Flare and sickness andexperiment and Scorch andWICKED. He could only sit and hope thatthingsmightbebetternowthanthey’dbeenintheMaze.But as he jiggled and swayed with the movements of the bus, feltTeresa’s head thump against his shoulder every once in awhilewhenthey hit big bumps, heard her stir and fall back to sleep, heard themurmurs of other conversations from other Gladers, his thoughts keptreturningtoonething.Chuck.

Twohourslater,thebusstopped.They had pulled into a muddy parking lot that surrounded anondescript building with several rows of windows. The woman andotherrescuersshuffledthenineteenboysandonegirlthroughthefrontdoorandupaflightofstairs,thenintoahugedormitorywithaseriesofbunkbeds linedup alongone of thewalls.On the opposite sideweresomedressersandtables.Curtain-coveredwindowscheckeredeachwalloftheroom.Thomas took it all inwithadistant andmutedwonder—hewas farpastbeingsurprisedorovercomebyanythingeveragain.The placewas full of color. Bright yellowpaint, red blankets, greencurtains.After thedrabgraynessof theGlade, itwasas if they’dbeentransported to a living rainbow. Seeing it all, seeing the beds and thedressers, all made up and fresh—the sense of normalcy was almostoverwhelming.Toogoodtobetrue.Minhosaiditbestonenteringtheir

newworld:“I’vebeenshuckedandgonetoheaven.”Thomasfoundithardtofeeljoy,asifhe’dbetrayChuckbydoingso.

Buttherewassomethingthere.Something.Theirbus-drivingleaderlefttheGladersinthehandsofasmallstaff—

nineor tenmenandwomendressed inpressedblackpants andwhiteshirts, their hair immaculate, their faces and hands clean. They weresmiling.Thecolors.Thebeds.Thestaff.Thomas feltan impossiblehappiness

trying to break through inside him. An enormous pit lurked in themiddle of it, though. A dark depression that might never leave—memoriesofChuckandhisbrutalmurder.Hissacrifice.Butdespitethat,despite everything, despite all the woman on the bus had told themabouttheworldthey’dreentered,ThomasfeltsafefortheveryfirsttimesincecomingoutoftheBox.Beds were assigned, clothes and bathroom things were passed out,

dinnerwasserved.Pizza.Real,bonafide,greasy-fingerspizza.Thomasdevoured each bite, hunger trumping everything else, the mood ofcontentment and relief around him palpable.Most of the Gladers hadremained quiet through it all, perhaps worried that speaking wouldmake everything vanish. But therewere plenty of smiles. Thomas hadgottensousedtolooksofdespair,itwasalmostunsettlingtoseehappyfaces.Especiallywhenhewashavingsuchahardtimefeelingithimself.Soonaftereating,noonearguedwhentheyweretolditwastimefor

bed.CertainlynotThomas.Hefeltasifhecouldsleepforamonth.

CHAPTER62

Thomas shared a bunk with Minho, who insisted on sleeping up top;NewtandFrypanwererightnexttothem.ThestaffputTeresaupinaseparate room, shufflingher awaybefore she could even saygoodbye.Thomasmissedherdesperatelythreesecondsaftershewasgone.As Thomaswas settling into the softmattress for the night, hewas

interrupted.“Hey,Thomas,”Minhosaidfromabovehim.“Yeah?”Thomaswassotiredthewordbarelycameout.“WhatdoyouthinkhappenedtotheGladerswhostayedbehind?”Thomas hadn’t thought about it. His mind had been occupied with

Chuck and now Teresa. “I don’t know. But based on howmany of usdiedgettinghere,Iwouldn’tliketobeoneofthemrightnow.Grieversare probably swarming all over them.” He couldn’t believe hownonchalanthisvoicesoundedashesaidit.“Youthinkwe’resafewiththesepeople?”Minhoasked.Thomas pondered the question for a moment. There was only one

answertoholdonto.“Yeah,Ithinkwe’resafe.”Minho said something else, but Thomas didn’t hear. Exhaustion

consuminghim,hismindwandered tohis short time in theMaze, histime as a Runner and howmuch he’dwanted it—ever since that firstnightintheGlade.Itfeltlikeahundredyearsago.Likeadream.Murmurs of conversation floated through the room, but to Thomas

they seemed to come from another world. He stared at the crossedwooden boards of the bed above him, feeling the pull of sleep. ButwantingtotalktoTeresa,hefoughtitoff.How’syourroom?heaskedinhismind.Wishyouwereinhere.Oh,yeah?shereplied.Withallthosestinkyboys?Thinknot.Guess you’re right. I thinkMinho’s farted three times in the lastminute.

Thomas knew itwas a lame attempt at a joke, but itwas the best he

coulddo.He sensed her laughing,wished he could do the same. Therewas alongpause.I’mreallysorryaboutChuck,shefinallysaid.Thomasfeltasharppangandclosedhiseyesashesankdeeper intothemisery of the night.He could be so annoying, he said. He paused,thoughtofthatnightwhenChuckhadscaredthecrapoutofGallyinthebathroom.Butithurts.FeelslikeIlostabrother.Iknow.Ipromised—Stop,Tom.What?HewantedTeresatomakehimfeelbetter,saysomethingmagictomakethepaingoaway.Stopwith the promise stuff.Half of usmade it.We allwould’ve died ifwe’dstayedintheMaze.But Chuck didn’tmake it, Thomas said. Guilt racked him because heknewforacertaintyhewouldtradeanyoneoftheGladersinthatroomforChuck.Hedied savingyou,Teresasaid.Hemade the choicehimself. Justdon’teverwasteit.Thomas felt tears swell under his eyelids; one escaped and trickleddownhis right temple, intohishair.A fullminutepassedwithoutanywordsbetweenthem.Thenhesaid,Teresa?Yeah?Thomaswasscaredtosharehis thoughts,butdid. Iwanna rememberyou.Rememberus.Yaknow,before.Metoo.Seemslikewe…Hedidn’tknowhowtosayitafterall.Iknow.Wonderwhattomorrow’llbelike.We’llfindoutinafewhours.Yeah. Well, good night. He wanted to say more, much more. Butnothingcame.Goodnight,shesaid,justasthelightswentout.Thomasrolledover,gladitwasdarksonoonecouldseethelookthathadsettledacrosshisface.Itwasn’tasmile,exactly.Notquiteahappyexpression.Butalmost.Andfornow,almostwasgoodenough.

EPILOGUE

WICKEDMemorandum,Date232.1.27,Time22:45TO:MyAssociatesFROM:AvaPaige,ChancelorRE:THOUGHTSONMAZETRIALS,GroupA

Byanyreckoning,Ithinkwe’dallagreethattheTrialswereasuccess.Twenty survivors, all well qualified for our planned endeavor. TheresponsestotheVariablesweresatisfactoryandencouraging.Theboy’smurderand the“rescue”proved tobeavaluable finale.Weneeded toshock their systems, see their responses. Honestly, I’m amazed that inthe end, despite everything, we were able to collect such a largepopulationofkidsthatjustnevergaveup.Oddlyenough,seeingthemthisway,thinkingalliswell,hasbeenthe

hardest thingformetoobserve.Butthere’snotimeforregret.Forthegoodofourpeople,wewillmoveforward.I know I havemy own feelings as to who should be chosen as the

leader,butI’llrefrainfromsayingatthistimesoasnottoinfluenceanydecisions.Buttome,it’sanobviouschoice.Weareallwellawareofwhat’sat stake. I, forone,amencouraged.

Rememberwhat thegirlwroteonher armbefore losinghermemory?Theonethingshechosetoclasponto?WICKEDisgood.Thesubjectswilleventuallyrecallandunderstandthepurposeofthe

hard things we have done and plan to do to them. The mission ofWICKEDistoserveandpreservehumanity,nomatterthecost.Weare,indeed,“good.”Pleaserespondwithyourownreactions.Thesubjectswillbeallowed

one fullnight’s sleepbeforeStage2 implementation.At this time, let’sallowourselvestofeelhopeful.

Group B’s trial results were alsomost extraordinary. I need time toprocessthedata,butwecantouchonitinthemorning.Untiltomorrow,then.

ENDOFBOOKONE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Editorand friendStacyWhitman, forhelpingme seewhat I couldnotsee.

FaithfulfanJacobyNielsen,forhisfeedbackandconstantsupport.

FellowauthorsBrandonSanderson,AprilynnePike,JulieWright,J.ScottSavage,SaraZarr,EmilyWingSmith,andAnneBowen,forbeingthere.

Myagent,MichaelBourret,formakingmydreamareality.

Also, sincere thanks to Lauren Abramo and everyone at Dystel &Goderich.

AndKristaMarino,foraneditingjobthatdefiesdescription.Youareagenius,andyournameshouldbeonthecoverwithmine.

HEREISASPECIALLOOKATTHESEQUELTOTHEMAZERUNNER

Excerptcopyright©2010byJamesDashner.PublishedbyDelacortePress,animprintofRandomHouseChildren’sBooks,adivisionofRandomHouseLLC,aPenguinRandomHouse

Company,NewYork.

Thomas!Shescreamedit.Apiercingrattleinhishead.Hefeltthefirsttrickleof

fear,butitwasmorelikeadream.Hecouldonlysleep.Andtheyweresafenow,nothingtoworryaboutanymore.Yeah,ithadtobeadream.Teresawasfine,theywereallfine.Herelaxedagain,lethimselfdrowninslumber.Other sounds snuck their way into his consciousness. Thumps. The

clangofmetalagainstmetal.Somethingshattering.Boysshouting.Moreliketheechoofshouts,verydistant,muted.Suddenlytheybecamemorelikescreams.Unearthlycriesofanguish.Butstilldistant.Asifhe’dbeenwrappedinathickcocoonofdarkvelvet.Finally something pricked the comfort of sleep. This wasn’t right.

Teresahadcalledforhim,toldhimsomethingwaswrong!Hefoughtthedeepsleepthathadconsumedhim,clawedattheheavyweightpinninghimdown.Wakeup!heyelledathimself.Wakeup!Thensomethingdisappearedfrominsidehim.Thereoneinstant,gone

thenext.Hefeltasifamajororganhadjustbeenrippedfromhisbody.Ithadbeenher.Shewasgone.Teresa!hescreamedoutwithhismind.Teresa!Areyouthere?Buttherewasnothing,andhenolongerfeltthatcomfortingsenseof

hercloseness.Hecalledhernameagain,thenagain,ashecontinuedtostruggleagainstthedarkpullofsleep.Finally, reality swept in, washed away the darkness. Engulfed in

terror,Thomasopenedhiseyesandshottoasittingpositiononhisbed,scooted out until he got his feet under him and jumped up. Lookedaround.Everythinghadgonecrazy.The other Gladers in the roomwere running around, shouting. And

terrible,horrible,awfulsoundsfilledtheair,likethewretchedsquealsofanimals being tortured.Therewas Frypan, pointingout awindow,his

face pale.Newt andMinhowere running to the door.Winston, handshelduptohis frightened,acne-plaguedface likehe’d justseena flesh-eating zombie. Others stumbling over each other to look out thedifferentwindows,butkeeping theirdistance fromtheglass.Achingly,Thomasrealizedhedidn’tevenknowmostof thenamesof the twentyboyswho’dsurvivedtheMaze,anoddthoughttohaveinthemiddleofallthatchaos.Somethingatthecornerofhiseyemadehimturntolooktowardthewall.Whathesawimmediatelywipedawayanypeaceandsafetyhe’dfelttalkingtoTeresainthenight.Madehimdoubtsuchemotionscouldevenexistinthesameworldinwhichhenowstood.Threefeetfromhisbed,drapedbycolorfulcurtains,awindowlookedout into a bright, blinding light. The glass was broken, jagged shardsleaning against crisscrossed steel bars. Aman stood on the other side,grippingthebarswithbloodyhands.Hiseyeswerewideandbloodshot,filledwithmadness.Soresandscarscoveredhisthin,sunburntface.Hehadnohair,onlydiseasedsplotchesofwhatlookedlikegreenishmoss.A vicious slit stretched across his right cheek; Thomas could see teeththroughtheraw,festeringwound.Pinksalivadribbledinswayinglinesfromtheman’schin.“I’maCrank!”thehorrorofamanyelled.“I’mabloodyCrank!”Andthenhestartedscreamingtwowordsoverandoverandover,spitflyingwitheveryshriek.“Killme!Killme!Killme!…”

AhandslammeddownonThomas’sshoulderfrombehind;hecriedoutandspunaroundtoseeMinhostaringpasthimatthemaniacscreamingthroughthewindow.“They’re everywhere,”Minho said.His voice had a gloom to it thatperfectlymatched how Thomas felt. It seemed as if everything they’ddaredhopeforthepreviousnighthaddissolvedtonothing.“Andthere’snosignofthoseshankswhorescuedus,”headded.Thomashadlivedinfearandterrorthepastfewweeks,butthiswasalmost toomuch. To feel safe only to have that snatched away again.Shocking even himself, though, he quickly set aside that small part ofhim thatwanted to jumpback intohisbedandbawlhis eyesout.He

pushedawaythelingeringacheofrememberinghismomandthestuffabouthisdadandpeoplegoingcrazy.Thomasknewthatsomeonehadto take charge—theyneededaplan if theyweregoing to survive this,too.“Haveanyofthemgotteninyet?”heasked,astrangecalmwashingoverhim.“Doallthewindowshavethesebars?”Minho nodded toward one of themany lining thewalls of the longrectangular room. “Yeah. It was too dark to notice them last night,especiallywiththosestupidfrillycurtains.ButI’msuregladfor’em.”Thomas looked at the Gladers around them, some running fromwindow to window to get a look outside, others huddling in smallgroups. Everyone had a look of half disbelief, half terror. “Where’sNewt?”“Righthere.”Thomas turned to see the older boy, not knowing how he’dmissedhim.“What’sgoin’on?”“YouthinkIhaveabloodyclue?Bunchofcrazieswanttoeatusforbreakfast, by the looks of it. We need to find another room, have aGathering.Allthisnoiseisdrivingnailsthroughmybuggin’skull.”Thomasnoddedabsently;heagreedwiththeplanbuthopedNewtandMinhowouldtakecareofit.HewaseagertomakecontactwithTeresa—hehopedherwarninghadjustbeenpartofadream,ahallucinationfrom the drug of deep and exhausted slumber. And that vision of hismom…His two friends moved away, calling out and waving their arms tocollectGladers. Thomas took a tremulous glance back at the shreddedmadman at the window, then looked away immediately, wishing hehadn’tremindedhisbrainof thebloodandtornflesh, the insaneeyes,thehystericalscreaming.Killme!Killme!Killme!Thomasstumbledtothefarthestwall,leanedheavilyagainstit.Teresa,hecalledoutagainwithhismind.Teresa.Canyouhearme?Hewaited,closinghiseyestoconcentrate.Reachingoutwithinvisiblehands, trying to grasp some trace of her.Nothing.Not even a passingshadoworbrushoffeeling,muchlessaresponse.Teresa, he said more urgently, clenching his teeth with the effort.Whereareyou?Whathappened?

Nothing.Hisheartseemedtoslowuntilitalmoststopped,andhefeltlikehe’dswallowedabighairylumpofcotton.Somethinghadhappenedtoher.He opened his eyes to see the Gladers gathered around the green-

painteddoorthatledtothecommonareawherethey’deatenpizzathenightbefore.Minhowasjerkingontheroundbrasshandletonoavail.Locked.Theonlyotherdoorwastoashowerandlockerroom,fromwhichno

other exits existed. There was that, and the windows. All with thosemetalbars.Thankgoodness.Eachonehadraginglunaticsscreamingandyellingontheotherside.Even thoughworryateathim like spilledacid inhisveins,Thomas

gaveupmomentarilyon trying to contactTeresa and joined theotherGladers.Newtwashavingagoatthedoor,withthesameuselessresult.“It’s locked,” hemutteredwhen he finally gave up, his arms falling

weaklytohissides.“Really, genius?” Minho said, his powerful arms folded and tensed,

veinsbulgingall over theplace.Thomas thought for a split secondhecould actually see the blood pumping through them. “Nowonder youwerenamedafterIsaacNewton—suchanamazingabilitytothink.”Newt wasn’t in the mood. Or maybe he’d just learned long ago to

ignoreMinho’ssmart-aleckremarks.“Let’sbreakthisbloodyhandleoff.”He looked around as if he expected someone to give him asledgehammer.“Iwishthoseshuck…Crankswouldshutup!”Minhoyelled,turning

toglowerat the closestone, awomanwho lookedevenmorehideousthanthefirstmanThomashadseen.Ableedingwoundcrossedherface,endingonthesideofherhead.“Cranks?”Frypanrepeated.Thehairycookhadbeensilentuntilthen,

barelynoticeable.Thomasthoughthelookedevenmorefrightenedthanwhen they’d been about to battle the Grievers to escape the Maze.Maybe this was worse. When they’d settled into bed last night,everythinghad seemedgoodand safe.Yeah,maybe thiswasworse, tohavethatsuddenlytakenaway.Minho pointed at the screaming, bloody woman. “That’s what they

keepcallingthemselves.Haven’tyouheardit?”“Idon’tcareifyoucall’empussywillows,”Newtsnapped.“Findme

somethingtobreakthroughthisstupiddoor!”“Here,” a shorter boy said, carrying a slender but solid fireextinguisher he’d taken off the wall—Thomas remembered seeing itearlier.Again,hefeltguiltyfornotevenknowingthiskid’sname.Newt grabbed the red cylinder, ready to pile-drive the door handle.Thomasstoodascloseashecould,eagertoseewhatwasontheothersideofthedoor,thoughhehadaverybadfeelingthatwhateveritwas,theyweren’tgoingtolikeit.Newtliftedtheextinguisher,thenslammeditdownontheroundbrasshandle.Theloudcrackwasaccompaniedbyadeepercrunch,andittookonlythreemorewhacksbeforetheentireunitofthehandlecrashedtothefloorwithajangleofbrokenmetalpieces.Thedoorinchedoutward,crackedopenjustenoughtoshowdarknessontheotherside.Newtstoodquietly,staringatthatlong,narrowgapofblacknessasifhe expected demons from the underworld to come flying through.Absently, he handed the extinguisher back to the boywho’d found it.“Let’sgo,”hesaid.Thomasthoughtheheardtheslightestquaverinhisvoice.“Wait,”Frypancalledout. “Wesurewewannagoout there?Maybethatdoorwaslockedforareason.”Thomascouldn’thelpbutagree;somethingfeltwrongaboutthis.Minho stepped up to stand right next to Newt; he looked back atFrypan, thenmade eye contactwith Thomas. “What else’rewe gonnado?Sithereandwaitforthoselooniestogetin?Comeon.”“Thosefreaksaren’tbreakingthroughthewindowbarsanytimesoon,”Frypanretorted.“Let’sjustthinkforasecond.”“Time for thinking’s done,”Minho said.Hekickedoutwithhis footand the door swung completely open; if anything, it seemed to growevendarkerontheotherside.“Plus,youshould’vespokenupbeforeweblastedthelocktobits,slinthead.Toolatenow.”“Ihatewhenyou’reright,”Frypangrumbledunderhisbreath.Thomascouldn’tquitstaringpasttheopendoor,intothepoolofinkydarkness.Hefeltanow-all-too-familiarclenchofapprehension,knowingthat something had to be wrong or the people who’d rescued themwould’ve come for them a long time ago. But Minho and Newt wereright—theyhadtogooutthereandfindsomeanswers.“Shuckit,”Minhosaid.“I’llgofirst.”

Withoutwaitingforaresponsehewalkedthroughtheopendoor,hisbody vanishing in the gloom almost instantly. Newt gave Thomas ahesitantlook,thenfollowed.ForsomereasonThomasthoughtitshouldbeuptohimtogonext,sohedid.Stepbystep,he left thedormroomandentered thedarknessof the

commonarea,handsreachingoutinfrontofhim.The glowof light coming frombehinddidn’t domuch to illuminate

things;hemightaswellhavebeenwalkingwithhiseyessqueezedshut.Andtheplacesmelled.Horrible.Minho yelped up ahead, then called back. “Whoa, be careful.

Something…weird’shangingfromtheceiling.”Thomas heard a slight squeak or groan, something creaking. As if

Minho had bumped into a low-hanging chandelier, sending it swayingbackandforth.AgruntfromNewtsomewheretotherightwasfollowedbythesquealofmetaldraggingacrossthefloor.“Table,”Newtannounced.“Watchoutfortables.”FrypanspokeupbehindThomas.“Doesanyonerememberwherethe

lightswitcheswere?”“That’s where I’m heading,” Newt responded. “I swear I remember

seeingasetofthemsomewhereoverhere.”Thomas continuedwalking blindly forward.His eyes had adjusted a

little; where before, everything had been awall of blackness, now hecouldseetracesofshadowsagainstshadows.Yetsomethingwasoff.Hewas still a little disoriented, but things seemed to be in places theyshouldn’tbe.Itwasalmostasif—“Bluh-huh-huh,”Minhogroaned,ashudderofrepulsion,likehe’djust

steppedinapileofklunk.Anothercreakingsoundcutthroughtheroom.Before Thomas could ask what had happened, he bumped into

somethinghimself.Hard.Awkwardlyshaped.Thefeelofcloth.“Foundit!”Newtshouted.A few clicks were heard; then the room suddenly blazed with

fluorescentlights,temporarilyblindingThomas.Hestumbledawayfromthe thing he’d bumped into, rubbing his eyes, ran into another stifffigure,sentitswayingawayfromhim.“Whoa!”Minhoyelled.Thomassquinted;hisvisioncleared.Heforcedhimselftolookatthe

sceneofhorroraroundhim.

Throughoutthe largeroom,peoplehungfromtheceiling—at leastadozen. They’d all been strung up by the neck, the ropes twisted andtrenchedintopurple,bloatedskin.Thestiffbodiesswungtoandfroeverso slightly, pale pink tongues lolling out of theirwhite-lippedmouths.Allofthemhadeyesopen,thoughglazedoverwithcertaindeath.Bythelooks of it, they’d been thatway for hours. Their clothes and someoftheirfaceslookedfamiliar.Thomasdroppedtohisknees.Heknewthesedeadpeople.Theyweretheoneswho’drescuedtheGladers.Justthedaybefore.

IfyouloveTHEMAZERUNNER,

turnthepageforalookatthefirstbookinJamesDashner’snewseries,theMortalityDoctrine:

Excerptcopyright©2013byJamesDashner.PublishedbyDelacortePress,animprintofRandomHouseChildren’sBooks,adivisionofRandomHouseLLC,aPenguinRandomHouse

Company,NewYork.

CHAPTER1THECOFFIN

Michaelspokeagainstthewind,toagirlnamedTanya.“Iknowit’swaterdownthere,butitmightaswellbeconcrete.You’ll

beflatasapancakethesecondyouhit.”Not the most comforting choice of words when talking to someone

whowantedtoendherlife,butitwascertainlythetruth.TanyahadjustclimbedovertherailingoftheGoldenGateBridge,carszoomingbyontheroad,andwasleaningbacktowardtheopenair,hertwitchyhandsholdingontoapolewetwithmist.EvenifsomehowMichaelcouldtalkher out of jumping, those slippery fingers might get the job doneanyway. And then it’d be lights-out. He pictured some poor sap of afishermanthinkinghe’dfinallycaughtthebigone,onlytoreelinanastysurprise.“Stop joking,” the trembling girl responded. “It’s not a game—not

anymore.”MichaelwasinsidetheVirtNet—theSleep,topeoplewhowentinas

often as he did. He was used to seeing scared people there. A lot ofthem.Yetunderneath the fearwasusually theknowing. Knowing deepdownthatnomatterwhatwashappeningintheSleep,itwasn’treal.NotwithTanya.Tanyawasdifferent.Atleast,herAura,hercomputer-

simulated counterpart, was. Her Aura had this bat-crazy look of pureterroronher face,and it suddenlygaveMichaelchills—madehimfeellikehewastheonehoveringoverthatlongdroptodeath.AndMichaelwasn’tabigfanofdeath,fakeornot.“Itisagame,andyouknowit,”hesaidlouderthanhe’dwantedto—

he didn’t want to startle her. But a cold wind had sprung up, and itseemedtograbhiswordsandwhisk themdownto thebay.“Getback

over here and let’s talk.We’ll both get our Experience Points, andwecangoexplorethecity,gettoknoweachother.Findsomecraziestospyon.Maybeevenhacksomefreefoodfromtheshops.It’llbegoodtimes.Andwhenwe’re done, we’ll find you a Portal, and you can Lift backhome.Takeabreakfromthegameforawhile.”“ThishasnothingtodowithLifeblood!”Tanyascreamedathim.Thewindpulledatherclothes,andherdarkhairfannedoutbehindherlikelaundryonaline.“Justgoawayandleavemealone.Idon’twantyourpretty-boyfacetobethelastthingIsee.”MichaelthoughtofLifebloodDeep,thenextlevel,thegoalofallgoals.Whereeverythingwasathousandtimesmorereal,moreadvanced,moreintense.Hewas three years away fromearninghisway inside.Maybetwo.Butrightthenheneededtotalkthisdopeygirloutof jumpingtoherdatewiththefishesorhe’dbesentbacktotheSuburbsforaweek,makingLifebloodDeepthatmuchfurtheraway.“Okay,look…”Hewastryingtochoosehiswordscarefully,buthe’dalreadymadeaprettybigmistakeandknewit.Goingoutofcharacterandusingthegameitselfasareasonforhertostopwhatshewasdoingmeanthe’dbedockedpointsbig-time.Anditwasallabout thepoints.Butthisgirlwaslegitimatelystartingtoscarehim.Itwasthatface—paleandsunken,asifshe’dalreadydied.“Justgoaway!”sheyelled.“Youdon’tgetit.I’mtrappedhere.PortalsornoPortals.I’mtrapped!Hewon’tletmeLift!”Michael wanted to scream right back at her—she was talkingnonsense.Adarkpartofhimwantedtosayforgetit,tellhershewasaloser,lethernosedive.Shewasbeingsostubborn—itwasn’tlikeanyofitwasreallyhappening.It’sjustagame.Hehadtoremindhimselfofthatallthetime.Buthecouldn’tmessthisup.Heneededthepoints.“Allright.Listen.”He took a step back, held his hands up like he was trying to calm ascared animal. “We justmet—give it some time. I promise Iwon’t doanythingnutty.Youwanna jump, I’ll letyou jump.Butat least talk tome.Tellmewhy.”Tears lined her cheeks; her eyes had gone red and puffy. “Just goaway.Please.”Her voicehad takenon the softness of defeat. “I’mnotmessingaroundhere.I’mdonewiththis—allofthis!”“Done?Okay,that’sfinetobedone.Butyoudon’thavetoscrewitup

forme,too,right?”Michaelfiguredmaybeitwasokaytotalkaboutthegameafterall,sinceshewasusingitasherreasontoendit—tocheckout of the Virtual-Flesh-and-Bones Hotel and never come back.“Seriously.WalkbacktothePortalwithme,Liftyourself,doittherightway.You’redonewiththegame,you’resafe,Igetmypoints.Ain’tthatthehappiestendingyoueverheardof?”“Ihateyou,”shespat.Literally.Asprayofmistysaliva.“Idon’tevenknowyouandIhateyou.ThishasnothingtodowithLifeblood!”“Thentellmewhatitdoeshavetodowith.”Hesaiditkindly,tryingtokeephiscomposure.“You’vegotalldaytojump.Justgivemeafewminutes.Talktome,Tanya.”Sheburiedherheadinthecrookofherrightarm.“I justcan’tdoitanymore.” She whimpered and her shoulders shook, making Michaelworryabouthergripagain.“Ican’t.”Somepeoplearejustweak,hethought,thoughhewasn’tstupidenoughtosayit.LifebloodwasbyfarthemostpopulargameintheVirtNet.Yeah,youcouldgoofftosomenastybattlefieldintheCivilWarorfightdragonswithamagicsword,flyspaceships,explorethefreakyloveshacks.Butthatstuffgotoldquick. In theend,nothingwasmore fascinating thanbare-bones, dirt-in-your-face, gritty, get-me-out-of-here real life.Nothing. And there were some, like Tanya, who obviously couldn’thandleit.Michaelsurecould.He’drisenupitsranksalmostasquicklyaslegendarygamerGunnerSkale.“Come on, Tanya,” he said. “How can it hurt to talk tome?And ifyou’re going to quit, why would you want to end your last game bykillingyourselfsoviolently?”Her head snapped up and she looked at him with eyes so hard heshiveredagain.“Kaine’shauntedmeforthelasttime,”shesaid.“Hecan’tjusttrapmehereandusemeforanexperiment—sictheKillSimsonme.I’mgonnaripmyCoreout.”Those lastwords changed everything.Michaelwatched in horror asTanya tightenedher grip on the polewith onehand, then reachedupwiththeotherandstarteddiggingintoherownflesh.

James Dashner is the author of theNew York Times bestselling MazeRunnerseriesaswellas theMortalityDoctrineseries, the13thRealityseries,and twobooks in the InfinityRing series:AMutiny inTimeandThe IronEmpire.Hewasbornand raised inGeorgiabutnow livesandwrites in the Rocky Mountains. To learn more about James and hisbooks, visit JamesDashner.com, follow @jamesdashner on Twitter, orfinddashnerjamesonInstagram.