The Maze Runner (22 page)

Thomas couldn’t believe how casually Chuck spoke about it. “Ya know, the guy is probably dead. You’re talking about him like he went on vacation.”

A contemplative look came over Chuck. “I don’t think he’s dead.”

“Huh? Then where is he? Aren’t Minho and I the only ones who’ve survived a night out there?”

“That’s what I’m saying. I think his buddies are hiding him inside the Glade somewhere. Gally was an idiot, but he couldn’t possibly be stupid enough to stay out in the Maze all night. Like you.”

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 hates me.” A pause. “Hated me.”

“Well, whatever.” Chuck shrugged as if they were arguing over what to have for breakfast. “If he’s dead, you guys’ll probably find him eventually. If not, he’ll get hungry and show up to eat. I don’t care.”

Thomas picked up his plate and took it to the counter. “All I want is one normal day—one day to relax.”

“Then your bloody wish is granted,” said a voice from the kitchen door behind him.

Thomas turned to see Newt there, smiling. That grin sent a wave of reassurance through Thomas, as if he were finding out the world was okay again.

“Come on, ya buggin’ jailbird,” Newt said. “You can take it easy while you’re hangin’ in the Slammer. Let’s go. Chucky’ll bring ya some lunch at noon.”

Thomas nodded and headed out the door, Newt leading the way. Suddenly a day in prison sounded excellent. A day to just sit and relax.

Though something told him there was a better chance of Gally bringing him flowers than of passing a day in the Glade with nothing strange happening.

The Slammer stood in an obscure place between the Homestead and the north Glade wall, hidden behind thorny, ragged bushes that looked like they hadn’t been trimmed in ages. It was a big block of roughly cut concrete, with one tiny, barred window and a wooden door that was locked with a menacing rusty metal latch, like something out of the Dark Ages.

Newt took out a key and opened it up, then motioned for Thomas to enter. “There’s only a chair in there and nothin’ at all for ya to do. Enjoy yourself.”

Thomas groaned inwardly as he stepped inside and saw the one piece of furniture—an ugly, rickety chair with one leg obviously shorter than the rest, probably on purpose. Didn’t even have a cushion.

“Have fun,” Newt said before closing the door. Thomas turned back to his new home and heard the latch close and the lock click behind him. Newt’s head appeared at the little glassless window, looking through the bars, a smirk on his face. “Nice reward for breakin’ the rules. You saved some lives, Tommy, but ya still need to learn—”

“Yeah, I know.
Order.”

Newt smiled. “You’re not half bad, shank. But friends or no, gotta run things properly, keep us buggers alive. Think about that while ya sit here and stare at the bloody walls.”

And then he was gone.

* * *

The first hour passed, and Thomas felt boredom creep in like rats under the door. By hour number two, he wanted to bang his head against the wall. Two hours after that he started to think having dinner with Gally and the Grievers would beat sitting inside that stupid Slammer. He sat and tried to bring back memories, but every effort evaporated into oblivious mist before anything formed.

Thankfully, Chuck arrived with lunch at noon, relieving Thomas from his thoughts.

After passing some pieces of chicken and a glass of water through the window, he took up his usual role of talking Thomas’s ear off.

“Everything’s getting back to normal,” the boy announced. “The Runners are out in the Maze, everyone’s working—maybe we’ll survive after all. Still no sign of Gally—Newt told the Runners to come back lickety-splickety if they found his body. And, oh, yeah—Alby’s up and around. Seems fine—and Newt’s glad he doesn’t have to be the big boss anymore.”

The mention of Alby pulled Thomas’s attention from his food. He pictured the older boy thrashing around, choking himself the day before. Then he remembered that no one else knew what Alby had said after Newt left the room—before the seizure. But that didn’t mean Alby would keep it between them now that he was up and walking around.

Chuck continued talking, taking a completely unexpected turn. “Thomas, I’m kinda messed up, man. It’s weird to feel sad and homesick, but have no idea what it is you wish you could go back to, ya know? All I know is I don’t want to be here. I want to go back to my family. Whatever’s there, whatever I was taken from. I wanna
remember.”

Thomas was a little surprised. He’d never heard Chuck say something so deep and so true. “I know what you mean,” he murmured.

Chuck was too short for his eyes to reach where Thomas could see them as he spoke, but from his next statement, Thomas imagined them filling with a bleak sadness, maybe even tears. “I used to cry. Every night.”

This made thoughts of Alby leave Thomas’s mind. “Yeah?”

“Like a pants-wettin’ baby. Almost till the day you got here. Then I just got used to it, I guess. This became home, even though we spend every day hoping to get out.”

“I’ve only cried once since showing up, but that was after almost getting eaten alive. I’m probably just a shallow shuck-face.” Thomas might not have admitted it if Chuck hadn’t opened up.

“You cried?” he heard Chuck say through the window. “Then?”

“Yeah. When the last one finally fell over the Cliff, I broke down and sobbed till my throat and chest hurt.” Thomas remembered all too well. “Everything crushed in on me at once. Sure made
me
feel better—don’t feel bad about crying. Ever.”

“Kinda
does
make ya feel better, huh? Weird how that works.”

A few minutes passed in silence. Thomas found himself hoping Chuck wouldn’t leave.

“Hey, Thomas?” Chuck asked.

“Still here.”

“Do you think I have parents?
Real
parents?”

Thomas laughed, mostly to push away the sudden surge of sadness the statement caused. “Of course you do, shank. You need me to explain the birds and bees?” Thomas’s heart hurt—he could remember getting that lecture but not who’d given it to him.

“That’s not what I meant,” Chuck said, his voice completely devoid of cheer. It was low and bleak, almost a mumble. “Most of the
guys who’ve gone through the Changing remember terrible things they won’t even talk about, which makes me doubt I have anything good back home. So, I mean, you think it’s really possible I have a mom and a dad out in the world somewhere, missing me? Do you think
they
cry at night?”

Thomas was completely shocked to realize his eyes had filled with tears. Life had been so crazy since he’d arrived, he’d never really thought of the Gladers as real people with real families, missing them. It was strange, but he hadn’t even really thought of himself that way. Only about what it all meant, who’d sent them there, how they’d ever get out.

For the first time, he felt something for Chuck that made him so angry he wanted to kill somebody. The boy should be in school, in a home, playing with neighborhood kids. He deserved to go home at night to a family who loved him, worried about him. A mom who made him take a shower every day and a dad who helped him with homework.

Thomas hated the people who’d taken this poor, innocent kid from his family. He hated them with a passion he didn’t know a human could feel. He wanted them dead, tortured, even. He wanted Chuck to be happy.

But happiness had been ripped from their lives.
Love
had been ripped from their lives.

“Listen to me, Chuck.” Thomas paused, calming down as much as he could, making sure his voice didn’t crack. “I’m sure you have parents. I know it. Sounds terrible, but I bet your mom is sitting in your room right now, holding your pillow, looking out at the world that stole you from her. And yeah, I bet she’s crying. Hard. Puffy-eyed, snotty-nosed crying. The real deal.”

Chuck didn’t say anything, but Thomas thought he heard the slightest of sniffles.

“Don’t give up, Chuck. We’re gonna solve this thing, get out of here. I’m a Runner now—I promise on my life I’ll get you back to that room of yours. Make your mom quit crying.” And Thomas meant it. He felt it
burn
in his heart.

“Hope you’re right,” Chuck said with a shaky voice. He showed a thumbs-up sign in the window, then walked away.

Thomas stood up to pace around the little room, fuming with an intense desire to keep his promise. “I swear, Chuck,” he whispered to no one. “I swear I’ll get you back home.”

Just after Thomas heard the grind and rumble of stone against stone announce the closing of the Doors for the day, Alby showed up to release him, which was a huge surprise. The metal of key and lock jingled; then the door to the cell swung wide open.

“Ain’t dead, are ya, shank?” Alby asked. He looked so much better than the day before, Thomas couldn’t help staring at him. His skin was back to full color, his eyes no longer crisscrossed with red veins; he seemed to have gained fifteen pounds in twenty-four hours.

Alby noticed him goggling. “Shuck it, boy, what you lookin’ at?”

Thomas shook his head slightly, feeling like he’d been in a trance. His mind was racing, wondering what Alby remembered, what he knew, what he might say about him. “Wha—Nothing. Just seems crazy you healed so quickly. You’re fine now?”

Alby flexed his right bicep. “Ain’t never been better—come on out.”

Thomas did, hoping his eyes weren’t flickering, making his concern obvious.

Alby closed the Slammer door and locked it, then turned to face him. “Actually, nothin’ but a lie. I feel like a piece of klunk twice crapped by a Griever.”

“Yeah, you looked it yesterday.” When Alby glared, Thomas hoped it was in jest and quickly clarified. “But today you look brand-new. I swear.”

Alby put the keys in his pocket and leaned back against the Slammer’s door. “So, quite the little talk we had yesterday.”

Thomas’s heart pounded. He had no idea what to expect from Alby at that point. “Uh … yeah, I remember.”

“I saw what I saw, Greenie. It’s kinda fadin’, but I ain’t never gonna forget. It was terrible. Tried to talk about it, somethin’ starts choking me. Now the images are gettin’ up and gone, like that same somethin’ don’t like me remembering.”

The scene from the day before flashed in Thomas’s mind. Alby thrashing, trying to strangle himself—Thomas wouldn’t have believed it had happened if he hadn’t seen it himself. Despite fearing an answer, he knew he had to ask the next question. “What was it about me—you kept saying you saw me. What was I doing?”

Alby stared at an empty space in the distance for a while before answering. “You were with the … Creators. Helping them. But that ain’t what got me shook up.”

Thomas felt like someone had just rammed their fist in his abdomen.
Helping them?
He couldn’t form the words to ask what that meant.

Alby continued. “I hope the Changing doesn’t give us real memories—just plants fake ones. Some suspect it—I can only hope. If the world’s the way I saw it …” He trailed off, leaving an ominous silence.

Thomas was confused, but pressed on. “Can’t you tell me what you saw about me?”

Alby shook his head. “No way, shank. Ain’t gonna risk stranglin’ myself again. Might be something they got in our brains to control us—just like the memory wipe.”

“Well, if I’m evil, maybe you should leave me locked up.” Thomas half meant it.

“Greenie, you ain’t evil. You might be a shuck-faced slinthead, but you ain’t evil.” Alby showed the slightest hint of a smile, a bare crack in his usually hard face. “What you did—riskin’ your butt to save me and Minho—that ain’t no evil I’ve ever heard of. Nah, just makes me think the Grief Serum and the Changing got somethin’ fishy about ’em. For your sake and mine, I hope so.”

Thomas was so relieved that Alby thought he was okay, he only heard about half of what the older boy had just said. “How bad
was
it? Your memories that came back.”

“I remembered things from growin’ up, where I lived, that sort of stuff. And if God himself came down right now and told me I could go back home …” Alby looked to the ground and shook his head again. “If it was real, Greenie, I swear I’d go shack up with the Grievers before goin’ back.”

Thomas was surprised to hear it was so bad—he wished Alby would give details, describe something, anything. But he knew the choking was still too fresh in Alby’s mind for him to budge. “Well, maybe they’re not real, Alby. Maybe the Grief Serum is some kind of psycho drug that gives you hallucinations.” Thomas knew he was grasping at straws.

Alby thought for a minute. “A drug … hallucinations …” Then he shook his head. “Doubt it.”

It had been worth a try. “We still have to escape this place.”

“Yeah, thanks, Greenie,” Alby said sarcastically. “Don’t know what we’d do without your pep talks.” Again, the almost-smile.

Alby’s change of mood broke Thomas out of his gloom. “Quit calling me Greenie. The girl’s the Greenie now.”

“Okay, Greenie.” Alby sighed, clearly done with the conversation. “Go find some dinner—your terrible prison sentence of
one day
is over.”

“One was plenty.” Despite wanting answers, Thomas was ready to
get away from the Slammer. Plus, he was starving. He grinned at Alby, then headed straight for the kitchen and food.

Dinner was awesome.

Frypan had known Thomas would be coming late, so he’d left a plate full of roast beef and potatoes; a note announced there were cookies in the cupboard. The Cook seemed fully intent on backing up the support he’d shown for Thomas in the Gathering. Minho joined Thomas as he ate, prepping him a little before his first big day of Runner training, giving him a few stats and interesting facts. Things for him to think about as he went to sleep that night.

When they were finished, Thomas headed back to the secluded place where he’d slept the night before, in the corner behind the Deadheads. He thought about his conversation with Chuck, wondered how it would feel to have parents say good night to you.