The Maze Runner (6 page)

Thomas felt dizzy. So many questions splintered his mind he couldn’t keep them straight.

Alby pointed to the southwest corner, the forest area fronted with several sickly trees and benches. “Call that the Deadheads. Graveyard’s back in that corner, in the thicker woods. Ain’t much else. You can go there to sit and rest, hang out, whatever.” He cleared his throat, as if wanting to change subjects. “You’ll spend the next two weeks working one day apiece for our different job Keepers—until we know what you’re best at. Slopper, Bricknick, Bagger, Track-hoe—somethin’ll stick, always does. Come on.”

Alby walked toward the South Door, located between what he’d called the Deadheads and the Blood House. Thomas followed, wrinkling
his nose up at the sudden smell of dirt and manure coming from the animal pens.
Graveyard?
he thought.
Why do they need a graveyard in a place full of teenagers?
That disturbed him even more than not knowing some of the words Alby kept saying—words like
Slopper
and
Bagger
—that didn’t sound so good. He came as close to interrupting Alby as he’d done so far, but willed his mouth shut.

Frustrated, he turned his attention to the pens in the Blood House area.

Several cows nibbled and chewed at a trough full of greenish hay. Pigs lounged in a muddy pit, an occasionally flickering tail the only sign they were alive. Another pen held sheep, and there were chicken coops and turkey cages as well. Workers bustled about the area, looking as if they’d spent their whole lives on a farm.

Why do I remember these animals?
Thomas wondered. Nothing about them seemed new or interesting—he knew what they were called, what they normally ate, what they looked like. Why was stuff like that still lodged in his memory, but not
where
he’d seen animals before, or with whom? His memory loss was baffling in its complexity.

Alby pointed to the large barn in the back corner, its red paint long faded to a dull rust color. “Back there’s where the Slicers work. Nasty stuff, that. Nasty. If you like blood, you can be a Slicer.”

Thomas shook his head. Slicer didn’t sound good at all. As they kept walking, he focused his attention on the other side of the Glade, the section Alby had called the Deadheads. The trees grew thicker and denser the farther back in the corner they went, more alive and full of leaves. Dark shadows filled the depths of the wooded area, despite the time of day. Thomas looked up, squinting to see that the sun was finally visible, though it looked odd—more orange than it should be. It hit him that this was yet another example of the odd selective memory in his mind.

He returned his gaze to the Deadheads, a glowing disk still floating in his vision. Blinking to clear it away, he suddenly caught the red lights again, flickering and skittering about deep in the darkness of the woods.
What
are
those things?
he wondered, irritated that Alby hadn’t answered him earlier. The secrecy was very annoying.

Alby stopped walking, and Thomas was surprised to see they’d reached the South Door; the two walls bracketing the exit towered above them. The thick slabs of gray stone were cracked and covered in ivy, as ancient as anything Thomas could imagine. He craned his neck to see the top of the walls far above; his mind spun with the odd sensation that he was looking
down
, not up. He staggered back a step, awed once again by the structure of his new home, then finally returned his attention to Alby, who had his back to the exit.

“Out there’s the Maze.” Alby jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, then paused. Thomas stared in that direction, through the gap in the walls that served as an exit from the Glade. The corridors out there looked much the same as the ones he’d seen from the window by the East Door early that morning. This thought gave him a chill, made him wonder if a Griever might come charging toward them at any minute. He took a step backward before realizing what he was doing.
Calm down
, he chided himself, embarrassed.

Alby continued. “Two years, I’ve been here. Ain’t none been here longer. The few before me are already dead.” Thomas felt his eyes widen, his heart quicken. “Two years we’ve tried to solve this thing, no luck. Shuckin’ walls move out there at night just as much as these here doors. Mappin’ it out ain’t easy, ain’t easy nohow.” He nodded toward the concrete-blocked building into which the Runners had disappeared the night before.

Another stab of pain sliced through Thomas’s head—there were too many things to compute at once. They’d been here two years? The
walls moved out in the Maze? How many had died? He stepped forward, wanting to see the Maze for himself, as if the answers were printed on the walls out there.

Alby held out a hand and pushed Thomas in the chest, sent him stumbling backward. “Ain’t no goin’ out there, shank.”

Thomas had to suppress his pride. “Why not?”

“You think I sent Newt to ya before the wake-up just for kicks? Freak, that’s the Number One Rule, the only one you’ll never be forgiven for breaking. Ain’t nobody—
nobody
—allowed in the Maze except the Runners. Break that rule, and if you ain’t killed by the Grievers, we’ll kill you ourselves, you get me?”

Thomas nodded, grumbling inside, sure that Alby was exaggerating. Hoping that he was. Either way, if he’d had any doubt about what he’d told Chuck the night before, it had now completely vanished. He wanted to be a Runner. He
would
be a Runner. Deep inside he knew he had to go out there, into the Maze. Despite everything he’d learned and witnessed firsthand, it called to him as much as hunger or thirst.

A movement up on the left wall of the South Door caught his attention. Startled, he reacted quickly, looking just in time to see a flash of silver. A patch of ivy shook as the thing disappeared into it.

Thomas pointed up at the wall. “What was that?” he asked before he could be shut down again.

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. “Beetle blades—it’s how the Creators watch us. You better not—”

He was cut off by a booming, ringing alarm that sounded from all directions. Thomas clamped his hands to his ears, looking around as the siren blared, his heart about to thump its way out of his chest. But when he focused back on Alby, he stopped.

Alby wasn’t acting scared—he appeared … confused. Surprised. The alarm clanged through the air.

“What’s going on?” Thomas asked. Relief flooded his chest that his tour guide didn’t seem to think the world was about to end—but even so, Thomas was getting tired of being hit by waves of panic.

“That’s weird” was all Alby said as he scanned the Glade, squinting. Thomas noticed people in the Blood House pens glancing around, apparently just as confused. One shouted to Alby, a short, skinny kid drenched in mud.

“What’s up with that?” the boy asked, looking to Thomas for some reason.

“I don’t know,” Alby murmured back in a distant voice.

But Thomas couldn’t stand it anymore. “Alby! What’s going on?”

“The Box, shuck-face, the Box!” was all Alby said before he set off for the middle of the Glade at a brisk pace that almost looked to Thomas like panic.

“What about it?” Thomas demanded, hurrying to catch up.
Talk to me!
he wanted to scream at him.

But Alby didn’t answer or slow down, and as they got closer to the box Thomas could see that dozens of kids were running around the courtyard. He spotted Newt and called to him, trying to suppress his rising fear, telling himself things would be okay, that there had to be a reasonable explanation.

“Newt, what’s going on!” he yelled.

Newt glanced over at him, then nodded and walked over, strangely calm 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 if expecting Thomas to be impressed. “Right
now.”

“So?” As Thomas looked more closely at Newt, he realized that
what he’d mistaken for calm was actually disbelief—maybe even excitement.

“So?”
Newt replied, his jaw dropping slightly. “Greenie, we’ve never had two Newbies show up in the same
month
, much less two days in a row.”

And with that, he ran off toward the Homestead.

The alarm finally stopped after blaring for a full two minutes. A crowd was gathered in the middle of the courtyard around the steel doors through which Thomas was startled to realize he’d arrived just yesterday.
Yesterday?
he thought.
Was that really just
yesterday
?

Someone tapped him on the elbow; he looked over to see Chuck by his side again.

“How goes it, Greenbean?” Chuck asked.

“Fine,” he replied, even though nothing could’ve been further from the truth. He pointed toward the doors of the Box. “Why is everyone freaking out? Isn’t this how you all got here?”

Chuck shrugged. “I don’t know—guess it’s always been real regular-like. One a month, every month, same day. Maybe whoever’s in charge realized you were nothing but a big mistake, sent someone to replace you.” He giggled as he elbowed Thomas in the ribs, a high-pitched snicker that inexplicably made Thomas like him more.

Thomas shot his new friend a fake glare. “You’re annoying. Seriously.”

“Yeah, but we’re buddies, now, right?” Chuck fully laughed this time, a squeaky sort of snort.

“Looks like you’re not giving me much choice on that one.” But truth was, he needed a friend, and Chuck would do just fine.

The kid folded his arms, looking very satisfied. “Glad that’s settled, Greenie. Everyone needs a buddy in this place.”

Thomas grabbed Chuck by the collar, joking around. “Okay,
buddy
, then call me by my name. Thomas. Or I’ll throw you down the hole after the Box leaves.” That triggered a thought in his head as he released Chuck. “Wait a minute, have you guys ever—”

“Tried it,” Chuck interrupted before Thomas could finish.

“Tried what?”

“Going down in the Box after it makes a delivery,” Chuck answered. “It won’t do it. Won’t go down until it’s completely empty.”

Thomas remembered Alby telling him that very thing. “I already knew that, but what about—”

“Tried it.”

Thomas had to suppress a groan—this was getting irritating. “Man you’re hard to talk to. Tried what?”

“Going through the hole
after
the Box goes down. Can’t. Doors will open, but there’s just emptiness, blackness, nothing. No ropes, nada. Can’t do it.”

How could that be possible? “Did you—”

“Tried it.”

Thomas did groan this time. “Okay, what?”

“We threw some things into the hole. Never heard them land. It goes on for a long time.”

Thomas paused before he replied, not wanting to be cut off again. “What are you, a mind reader or something?” He threw as much sarcasm as he could into the comment.

“Just brilliant, that’s all.” Chuck winked.

“Chuck, never wink at me again.” Thomas said it with a smile. Chuck
was
a little annoying, but there was something about him that made things seem less terrible. Thomas took a deep breath and looked back toward the crowd around the hole. “So, how long until the delivery gets here?”

“Usually takes about half an hour after the alarm.”

Thomas thought for a second. There
had
to be something they hadn’t tried. “You’re sure about the hole? Have you ever …” He paused, waiting for the interruption, but none came. “Have you ever tried making a rope?”

“Yeah, they did. With the ivy. Longest one they could possibly make. Let’s just say that little experiment didn’t go so well.”

“What do you mean?”
What now?
Thomas thought.

“I wasn’t here, but I heard the kid who volunteered to do it had only gone down about ten feet when something swooshed through the air and cut him clean in half.”

“What?” Thomas laughed. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Oh, yeah, smart guy? I’ve seen the sucker’s bones. Cut in half like a knife through whipped cream. They keep him in a box to remind future kids not to be so stupid.”

Thomas waited for Chuck to laugh or smile, thinking it had to be a joke—who ever heard of someone being cut in half? But it never came. “You’re serious?”

Chuck just stared back at him. “I don’t lie, Gree—uh, Thomas. Come on, let’s go over and see who’s coming up. I can’t believe you only have to be the Greenbean for one day. Klunkhead.”

As they walked over, Thomas asked the one question he hadn’t posed yet. “How do you know it’s not just supplies or whatever?”

“The alarm doesn’t go off when that happens,” Chuck answered, simply. “The supplies come up at the same time every week. Hey, look.” Chuck stopped and pointed to someone in the crowd. It was Gally, staring dead at them.

“Shuck it,” Chuck said. “He does
not
like you, man.”

“Yeah,” Thomas muttered. “Figured that out already.” And the feeling was mutual.

Chuck nudged Thomas with his elbow and the boys resumed their walk to the edge of the crowd, then waited in silence; any questions Thomas had were forgotten. He’d lost the urge to talk after seeing Gally.

Chuck apparently hadn’t. “Why don’t you go ask him what his problem is?” he asked, trying to sound tough.

Thomas wanted to think he was brave enough, but that currently sounded like the worst idea in history. “Well, for one, he has a lot more allies than I do. Not a good person to pick a fight with.”

“Yeah, but you’re smarter. And I bet you’re quicker. You could take him and all his buddies.”

One of the boys standing in front of them looked back over his shoulder, annoyance crossing his face.

Must be a friend of Gally’s
, Thomas thought. “Would you shut it?” he hissed at Chuck.

A door closed behind them; Thomas turned to see Alby and Newt heading over from the Homestead. They both looked exhausted.

Seeing them brought Ben back to his mind—along with the horrific image of him writhing in bed. “Chuck, man, you gotta tell me what this whole Changing business is. What have they been
doing
in there with that poor Ben kid?”