The Fever Code (26 page)

231.05.05
|
3:42 a.m.

Nineteen of the one hundred and thirty-one doctors, Psychs, scientists, technicians, nurses, and other staff inside the WICKED complex turned out to be sick. All high-ranking officials, mostly in Anderson's circle. No wonder they'd conspired to keep it from everyone else.

Dr. Paige had whisked Thomas and Teresa back to her room and locked them inside, explaining that she now had to fully initiate the Purge protocol and make sure everything was in motion. That she'd return soon. Two hours later she came back, and she had Aris and Rachel with her. As they came in from the hallway, Dr. Paige dropped four loaded backpacks onto the floor.

“What are those for?” Teresa asked.

“I'll explain everything,” the doctor answered. “I'm going to need the four of you desperately today.”

Thomas gave them a friendly nod, which was returned. Aris seemed to have grown older, lines crossing his face like little marks of worry. Rachel had cut her hair even shorter, and there was a sadness in her dark eyes. But she stood confidently, and something about these two encouraged Thomas.

Dr. Paige showed no signs of wearing down. She'd taken charge with gusto.

“This is what my people have figured out,” she said. “Anderson has all the infected hidden away in Sector D, and judging from their symptoms, a few of them appear to be pretty far along. It explains why we haven't seen their faces around lately. I've locked down that entire wing of the complex.

“I've checked and rechecked the original medical tests from yesterday. Other than Anderson, who's still in his office, and Randall, somewhere out in the forest, it seems that we have all the infected contained. Everyone outside of Sector D is clean.”

She paused for a couple of deep breaths. “But we can't waste a single second. We need to clear those people out, and we need to do it fast. I have some brave guards who are willing to risk infection, but I just can't bring myself to lose another life to this disease. Which is where you come in.”

She stopped speaking, letting her words hang in the air, and the realization of what she was saying suddenly hit Thomas like a lightning bolt.

“You mean…”

She nodded, her expression showing how hard it was to say what came next. “You're all immune, and you're the oldest and strongest of those not in the maze. We're dealing with people who are very sick and weak—more important, though, is that most of them are asleep, which is why we have to act right now. These backpacks have syringes filled with a solution that's been prepared for this task—all it takes is a quick plunge into their necks and the job is done. You should be able to do it with no problems.”

Thomas felt his knees go weak, and sat on the floor to hide it.

Aris finally said the words no one else could.

“So…we're just going to kill them all?”

“They'll die anyway,” Teresa said immediately, shocking Thomas out of his thoughts.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, standing back up. He looked at his friend, wondering if this was some attempt to relieve her of guilt or if she'd really grown such a hard shell around herself for protection. “We have to think this through.”

“No, Tom,” Teresa snapped. “It's
be tough now
or everyone dies later.”

Thomas slumped back to the floor, so dazed his vision had gone a little blurry. He had no response. She'd also cut off their mind connection. All he could do was look at her.

“I'm sorry,” she said, the fierceness melting away. “I'm sorry, Tom. Really. I just…I know this whole thing is awful, but it'll be less awful if we just accept it and get it done.”

“She's right,” Dr. Paige said. “The four of you will be adults soon. You can handle this. We know exactly where the infected are—you just need to go from room to room and inject them.” She gestured toward the backpacks. “We've packed guns, and we have Launchers for you as well. Just in case. I need to stress that. Just in case. I think you'll be able to do this to them as they sleep. And I'll have guards posted, despite the risk of infection, if things go south.”

The room went silent for a long time. Dr. Paige was at least allowing them a moment to think through it.

“Count me in,” Teresa finally said.

“Me too,” Aris added.

“The ends justify the means,” Rachel said somewhat bitterly. “It should be WICKED's official logo. They should have a giant banner draped across the front entrance.
The ends justify the means.
But I'm in.”

“Well, it's true, isn't it?” Aris asked. “If you could save a billion people by killing a million people, shouldn't you do it? You know, hypothetically speaking? If you really had that choice and said no, then aren't you
actually
killing a billion people? I'd rather kill a million than a billion.”

Now it was Aris's turn to get a perplexed look from Thomas. It seemed like the world had started spinning in the opposite direction.

Dr. Paige nodded at the three who'd accepted her challenge. “Thomas?” she asked.

He didn't respond. He stared at the floor.

“Tom?” Teresa said. “I need you with me on this. With
us.
Please.”

He didn't feel well. He didn't feel well at all. He stood up. His thoughts raced as he searched for the perfect words. He knew that they would do what Dr. Paige needed them to do. They'd come too far to turn back now. He had friends out in the Maze, Chuck to think about, a world to think about.

He'd do it. The Purge. It had to be done. And now he needed to say something smart, something profound, something that would bind them together and start the terrible journey.

“This sucks.”

231.05.05
|
4:15 a.m.

After the four of them had agreed to the mission, Dr. Paige went to get a few security guards to give them instruction on the syringes and weapons and to go over the best plan of attack to coordinate the entire effort. While they waited, Teresa reopened their connection.

You okay?
she asked.

I just…I don't know how I feel about this.

She paused for what seemed like forever, and he could sense her mind racing. He waited, even though he wanted to say more.

Look,
she finally replied. That word always meant she was about to reveal her soul to him.
Remember when I told you everything about where I came from? When my name was Deedee?

A sharp pain came across with that name, so strong that Thomas had to shift in his seat.
Yeah. I remember.

It was a horrible place, Tom,
she continued.
I can't even…it was horrible. I saw countless people catch the Flare, remember running from Cranks, remember…The point is that I keep telling myself that so many parts of the world are like that right now. So many little girls, just like I used to be, are watching it happen. Dying in the middle of all those horrors. And WICKED wants to save the world from that. Save all those little girls and all those little boys.

I know,
Thomas said.
We all saw bad things.

Not like I did. I was basically at ground zero. The infected were concentrated in one place and the virus hadn't been diluted yet. We're going back to that as it spreads. One day the whole world—every town and city—will be like it was in North Carolina. And then everyone will be dead.

Thomas stood up, wishing he could somehow escape this depressing talk.
I get it, Teresa. I get it. We need to find a cure. You really think I haven't heard this speech a thousand times?

He could tell she was frustrated with him.
Tom, the speech isn't empty. We have to find a cure, and we can't look at things in the short term anymore. We're talking about extinction. All that matters is the end result. How we get there…we just do it. Okay? Whatever it takes.

So we kill them?
Thomas asked.
That's what you're telling me? The four of us are going to walk around these buildings and just slaughter every last person who has the Flare?

Yes. That's what we're going to do.

Thomas tried to offer another solution.
Can't we just move them to the Crank pits?

Seriously? You think they want to be thrown into a cage with monsters? Tom, you're not even thinking straight.
A wave of frustration crashed through their connection, powerful enough to make Thomas wince.

So we kill them.
It felt like letting go of some vital part of being human.

We make sure Dr. Paige can get these facilities under control, keep both mazes running. It's not about killing anyone. It's about
saving.

Thomas sighed.
I'll do my best.
What else was he going to do?

She came over to him, leaned in to whisper in his ear. “This is so important,” she said. “The most important thing in the world.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Because WICKED is good.”

A few minutes later, the door opened. Several uniformed guards came in, followed by Dr. Paige.

“Let's get you prepped,” she said. “Time is running out.”

231.05.05
|
5:44 a.m.

Thomas's backpack was heavy. He and his friends had full packs carrying everything they'd need. Two guns each, replacement cartridges for the Launchers they had strapped across their shoulders, and enough syringes to put down a zoo full of elephants. Better to have too much than not enough.

They ran through the hallways of the complex to their first target—Chancellor Anderson. A good man with whom Thomas had never had much of a problem. A good man who was now utterly insane. They had to take care of him first before heading down to Sector D.

They'd been running for a good five minutes when Aris halted and held a hand up. Teresa almost ran him over before she stopped.

“Did you hear that?” Aris whispered.

Thomas listened, trying to pick out something unusual over the hum of the ventilation system and the sound of their heavy breaths from running.

“Nope,” Thomas said, even as the others shook their heads.

“Just keep listening,” Aris responded, his gaze shifting to the ceiling, as if what he'd heard had come from above. “There.”

A low wail, like a child crying. Now that he heard it, Thomas couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before. High-pitched, sad, it echoed along the corridor, making it impossible to tell what direction it came from. Thomas imagined a child at the bottom of a well.

“Maybe it's coming through the vents from Sector D,” Rachel suggested.

The pitiful noise ceased.

“Or it could be one of the kids,” Thomas said. “Dr. Paige has them all hiding somewhere.”

Teresa spoke up. “We need to get Anderson resolved before we can think about anything else. Let's go.”

Aris had no objection. The four of them set off running again.

The door to Anderson's office was closed, not locked. Teresa stepped forward and opened it. Thomas held his breath, half expecting the man to jump out at them like a zombie.

Nothing but quiet and dark. And a smell. A horrible smell.

Teresa nudged the door wider and stepped inside, Launcher held out in front of her, ready to fire. Aris went next, then Rachel, Thomas last. The blue glow of the workstation still shone—nothing had changed since they'd last been there. Except for the putrid stink of body odor and urine, even feces. The smell assaulted Thomas and he gagged, falling to one knee, as his throat closed. He tried to pull himself together.

You okay?
Teresa asked in his mind.

Yeah. Is he in there?
He nodded toward the back room.

Let's go see.

But Aris had already moved to that door and lightly kicked it open. Another wave of wretched stink came wafting out of the darkness. Thomas got back to his feet and stood behind Aris and Teresa, staring inside, trying to make things out. Rachel was right next to him, holding her nose.

“Is he dead?” she asked.

“No,” came a rasp of a voice. Anderson. It barely sounded human. “No. Not dead. Not your lucky day.” He let out a series of wet, wracking coughs.

“Oh, man,” Thomas said. His stomach was not handling all this very well. “Get a light on in this place.”

“It might hurt his eyes.” This from Aris, who fingered the panel anyway. Lights blazed, as bright as noon.

Anderson screamed, clawing at his eyes. He writhed on the floor in front of the couch, which looked like he'd been lying on it for months. “Turn it off! Turn it off!”

Aris dimmed the lights, which Thomas silently thanked him for. The sight before them was almost too much for Thomas to bear. He stared at the man who'd once been their leader. Blood covered his face and his clothes, and his hair was matted and greasy. He'd lost weight, his skin pale and sweaty. He lay on his side, his mouth set in a permanent grimace, baring teeth that were rimmed in red. And then Thomas saw why.

The man only had two fingers left.

Bloody nubs remained where the others had once been.

“Oh my…,” Aris said when he noticed, covering his face with the crook of one arm. “He didn't. He didn't.”

“He did,” replied Rachel, her voice cold.

Thomas couldn't look. He turned away from it all and went to the display screen on the former chancellor's desk. It showed the communications system, and there on the screen was a memo that Anderson had been writing. Luckily, it appeared to have never been sent. Because the memo itself was harrowing.

“Guys,” he said. “Listen to what Anderson almost sent to everybody while we were gone.” And then Thomas read it to them.

WICKED Memorandum, Date 231.5.5

TO:

FROM:

RE:

I only have two fingers left.

I wrote the lies of my farewell with two fingers.

That is the truth.

We are evil.

They are kids.

We are evil.

We should stop, let the Munies have the world.

We are evil.

We can't play God.

We can't do this to kids.

You're evil, I'm evil.

My two fingers tell me so.

How can we lie to our replacements?

We give them hope when there is none.

Everyone will die.

No matter what.

Let nature win.

“He's so messed up,” Teresa said over Thomas's shoulder as he read Anderson's last words.

“I'd say it's beyond that,” Thomas replied.

“My fingers,” Anderson moaned from the other room. “Why'd you eat my fingers?”

Thomas felt a crushing heartbreak as he followed Teresa to Anderson's side again. The man had curled himself up into a ball and was rocking back and forth.

“Only two left,” the man said, his words floating with delirium. “I hope the other eight were tasty. I always thought it'd be me that ate them. But no. It had to be you, didn't it?”

Thomas shared a glance with each of his friends. After all they'd seen, was this the saddest? To see a man who'd led this giant operation with such vigor turn into a sniveling lunatic?

Anderson's body contorted, seemingly every muscle twisting in on itself. He twitched for a few seconds, then relaxed. His wild glare slowly left the floor and followed the line of Thomas's body from his feet to his thighs to his torso and finally met his gaze.

“They'll take your brain in the end,” Anderson said. “They'll take it out, look at it for a few hours, then probably eat it. You should've run when you had the chance.”

Thomas couldn't move; the sudden clarity in the man's eyes scared him more than anything else that day.

“What do we do?” Aris asked. Their former chancellor kept talking, but he'd shrunk back into a fetal position and his words were lost in his moans of agony. He stared at the floor right in front of his face.

“We have to put him out of his misery,” Teresa answered. “And then I think it'll be easier for us to…take care of everyone else. But we need to get moving.”

A month or two ago Thomas would have been shocked at her callousness. Even a few days ago. But not anymore. They were now dealing with the cold, hard truth of their situation. Whoever these people had been—they were no more.

Thomas suddenly decided that he had to do it. He had to be the one, right here, right now. If someone else did the deed, he might never build up the nerve again.

“It has to be me,” he whispered, mostly to himself. He wasn't even sure they'd heard him. But they certainly noticed when he swung the backpack off his shoulders and set it beside him. He knelt down right next to Anderson, and blood from the man's injuries seeped into the knees of his pants.

The others made no move to stop him.

Thomas unzipped his pack, rummaged inside it, and pulled out one of the syringes filled with Dr. Paige's concoction. He snapped off the protective tab of plastic on the end of the needle, then positioned it in his hand, his thumb lightly pressed against the button that controlled the electronic plunger.

“Are we sure about this?” Rachel asked. “I mean…we're
sure
?”

“Yes,” Thomas replied, short and curt. Nothing else to say.

Anderson rolled over onto his back, trembling now. His eyes widened as he stared at the ceiling, murmuring unintelligibly. Thomas leaned in closer, syringe out over the man's head. There was no sign of awareness in Anderson's expression, no sign of humanity left.

Teresa touched Thomas on the shoulder, startling him. He looked back at her, and her eyes were brimming with tears.

Sorry,
she said in his mind.
I'm with you on this. You can do it.

He nodded, then turned to Anderson, still shaking ever so slightly on the ground, nothing more than simple shivering. Thomas brought the silver tip of the needle to the side of the former chancellor's neck. Hesitated.

Anderson's gaze shifted, his eyes falling on Thomas. He whispered something, a word. Repeated it, over and over. Saliva foaming at the corners of his mouth.

“Please, please, please, please, please, please…”

Thomas didn't know if he was encouraging him to do it or begging him to stop. But he slowly slid the needle into the soft flesh of the man's neck and pressed the button that controlled the plunger. A hiss sounded as the deadly fluid in the vial drained out of the syringe and into Anderson's body.

They all watched in silence as the former leader of WICKED grew still, let out one last, long breath, and closed his eyes.