The Maze Runner (21 page)

“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 the Changing. We
need
your memories.”

Thomas barked a sarcastic laugh at the idea, but Newt wasn’t smiling.

The girl seemed to be sleeping peacefully, like she’d wake up at any minute. Thomas had almost expected the skeletal remnant of a person—someone on the verge of death. But her chest rose and fell with even breaths; her skin was full of color.

One of the Med-jacks was there, the shorter one—Thomas couldn’t remember his name—dropping water into the comatose girl’s mouth a few drips at a time. A plate and bowl on the bedside table had the remains of her lunch—mashed potatoes and soup. They were doing everything possible to keep her alive and healthy.

“Hey, Clint,” Newt said, sounding comfortable, like he’d stopped by to visit many times before. “She surviving?”

“Yeah,” Clint answered. “She’s doing fine, though she talks in her sleep all the time. We think she’ll come out of it soon.”

Thomas felt his hackles rise. For some reason, he’d never really considered the possibility that the girl might wake up and be okay. That she might talk to people. He had no idea why that suddenly made him so nervous.

“Have you been writin’ down every word she says?” Newt asked.

Clint nodded. “Most of it’s impossible to understand. But yeah, when we can.”

Newt pointed at a notepad on the nightstand. “Give me an example.”

“Well, the same thing she said when we pulled her out of the Box, about things changing. Other stuff about the Creators and how ‘it all has to end.’ And, uh …” Clint looked at Thomas as if he didn’t want to continue in his company.

“It’s okay—he can hear whatever I hear,” Newt assured him.

“Well … I can’t make it all out, but …” Clint looked at Thomas again. “She keeps saying
his
name over and over.”

Thomas almost fell down at this. Would the references to him never end? How did he know this girl? It was like a maddening itch inside his skull that wouldn’t go away.

“Thanks, Clint,” Newt said in what sounded to Thomas like an obvious dismissal. “Get us a report of all that, okay?”

“Will do.” The Med-jack nodded at both of them and left the room.

“Pull up a chair,” Newt said as he sat on the edge of the bed. Thomas, relieved that Newt still hadn’t erupted into accusations, grabbed the one from the desk and placed it right next to where the girl’s head lay; he sat down, leaning forward to look at her face.

“Anything ring a bell?” Newt asked. “Anything at all?”

Thomas didn’t respond, kept looking, willing his mind to break down the memory barrier and seek out this girl from his past. He thought back to those brief moments when she’d opened her eyes right after being pulled out of the Box.

They’d been blue, richer in color than the eyes of any other person he could remember seeing before. He tried to picture those eyes on her now as he looked at her slumbering face, melding the two images in his mind. Her black hair, her perfect white skin, her full lips…. As he stared at her, he realized once more how truly beautiful she was.

Stronger recognition briefly tickled the back of his mind—a flutter of wings in a dark corner, unseen but there all the same. It lasted only an instant before vanishing into the abyss of his other captured memories. But he had
felt
something.

“I do know her,” he whispered, leaning back in his chair. It felt good to finally admit it out loud.

Newt stood up. “What? Who is she?”

“No idea. But something clicked—I know her from somewhere.” Thomas rubbed his eyes, frustrated that he couldn’t solidify the link.

“Well, keep bloody thinking—don’t lose it. Concentrate.”

“I’m trying, so shut up.” Thomas closed his eyes, searched the darkness of his thoughts, seeking her face in that emptiness. Who
was
she? The irony of the question struck him—he didn’t even know who
he
was.

He leaned forward in his chair and took a deep breath, then looked at Newt, shaking his head in surrender. “I just don’t—”

Teresa
.

Thomas jolted up from the chair, knocked it backward, spun in a circle, searching. He had heard …

“What’s wrong?” Newt asked. “Did ya remember somethin’?”

Thomas ignored him, looked around the room in confusion, knowing he’d heard a voice, then back at the girl.

“I …” He sat back down, leaned forward, staring at the girl’s face. “Newt, did you just say something before I stood up?”

“No.”

Of course not. “Oh. I just thought I heard something … I don’t know. Maybe it was in my head. Did …
she
say anything?”

“Her?” Newt asked, his eyes lit up. “No. Why? What did you hear?”

Thomas was scared to admit it. “I … I swear I heard a name. Teresa.”

“Teresa? No, I didn’t hear that. Must’ve sprung loose from your bloody memory blocks! That’s her name, Tommy. Teresa. Has to be.”

Thomas felt … odd—an uncomfortable feeling, like something supernatural had just occurred. “It was … I swear I
heard
it. But in my mind, man. I can’t explain it.”

Thomas
.

This time he jumped from the chair and scrambled as far from the bed as possible, knocking over the lamp on the table; it landed with the crash of broken glass. A voice. A girl’s voice. Whispery, sweet, confident. He’d heard it. He
knew
he’d heard it.

“What’s bloody wrong with you?” Newt asked.

Thomas’s heart was racing. He felt the thumps in his skull. Acid boiled in his stomach. “She’s … she’s freakin’
talking
to me. In my head. She just said my name!”

“What?”

“I swear!” The world spun around him, pressed in, crushing his mind. “I’m … hearing her voice in my head—or something … it’s not really a voice….”

“Tommy, sit your butt down.
What
are you bloody talking about?”

“Newt, I’m serious. It’s … not really a voice … but it
is.”

Tom, we’re the last ones. It’ll end soon. It has to
.

The words echoed in his mind, touched his eardrums—he could
hear
them. Yet they didn’t sound like they were coming from the room, from outside his body. They were literally, in every way,
inside
his mind.

Tom, don’t freak out on me
.

He put his hands up to his ears, squeezed his eyes shut. It was too strange; he couldn’t bring his rational mind to accept what was happening.

My memory’s fading already, Tom. I won’t remember much when I wake up. We can pass the Trials. It has to end. They sent me as a trigger
.

Thomas couldn’t take it anymore. Ignoring Newt’s questions, he stumbled to the door and yanked it open, stepped into the hall, ran. Down the stairs, out the front door, he ran. But it did nothing to shut her up.

Everything is going to change
, she said.

He wanted to scream, run until he could run no more. He made it to the East Door and sprinted through it, out of the Glade. Kept going, through corridor after corridor, deep into the heart of the Maze, rules or no rules. But he still couldn’t escape the voice.

It was you and me, Tom
. We
did this to them. To us
.

Thomas didn’t stop until the voice had gone for good.

It shocked him when he realized he’d been running for almost an hour—the shadows of the walls ran long toward the east, and soon the sun would set for the night and the Doors would close. He had to get back. It only peripherally hit him then that without thinking he’d recognized the direction and the time. That his instincts were strong.

He had to get back.

But he didn’t know if he could face her again. The voice in his head. The strange things she’d said.

He had no choice. Denying the truth would solve nothing. And as bad—as weird—as the invasion of his mind had been, it beat another date with the Grievers any day.

As he ran toward the Glade, he learned a lot about himself. Without meaning to or realizing it, he’d pictured in his mind his exact route through the Maze as he escaped the voice. Not once did he falter on his return, turning left and right and running down long corridors in reverse of the way he had come. He knew what it meant.

Minho had been right. Soon, Thomas would be the best Runner.

The second thing he learned about himself, as if the night in the Maze hadn’t proved it already, was that his body was in perfect shape. Just a day earlier he’d been at the end of his strength and sore from top to bottom. He’d recovered quickly, and ran now with almost no effort, despite nearing the end of his second hour of running. It didn’t take a
math genius to calculate that his speed and time combined meant he’d run roughly half a marathon by the time he returned to the Glade.

Never before had the sheer size of the Maze truly hit him. Miles and miles and miles. With its walls that moved, every night, he finally understood why the Maze was so hard to solve. He’d doubted it until now, wondered how the Runners could be so inept.

On he ran, left and right, straight, on and on. By the time he’d crossed the threshold into the Glade, the Doors were only minutes away from closing for the night. Exhausted, he headed straight for the Deadheads, went deep into the forest until he reached the spot where the trees crowded against the southwest corner. More than anything, he wanted to be alone.

When he could hear only the sounds of distant Glader conversations, as well as faint echoes of bleating sheep and snorting pigs, his wish was granted; he found the junction of the two giant walls and collapsed into the corner to rest. No one came, no one bothered him. The south wall eventually moved, closing for the night; he leaned forward until it stopped. Minutes later, his back once again comfortably pressed against thick layers of ivy, he fell asleep.

The next morning, someone gently shook him awake.

“Thomas, wake up.” It was Chuck—the kid seemed to be able to find him anywhere.

Groaning, Thomas leaned forward, stretched out his back and arms. A couple of blankets had been placed over him during the night—someone playing the Glade Mother.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“You’re almost too late for breakfast.” Chuck tugged on his arm. “Come on, get up. You need to start acting normal or things’ll just get worse.”

The events of the previous day came crashing into Thomas’s mind, and his stomach seemed to twist inside out.
What are they going to do to me?
he thought.
Those things she said. Something about me and her doing this to them. To us. What did that
mean
?

Then it hit him that maybe he was crazy. Maybe the stress of the Maze had driven him insane. Either way, only
he
had heard the voice inside his head. No one else knew the weird things Teresa had said, or accused him of. They didn’t even know that she had told him her name. Well, no one except Newt.

And he would keep it that way. Things were bad enough—no way he’d make it worse by telling people about voices in his head. The only problem was Newt. Thomas would have to convince him somehow that stress had finally overwhelmed him and a good night’s rest had solved everything.
I’m not crazy
, Thomas told himself. Surely he wasn’t.

Chuck was looking at him with eyebrows raised.

“Sorry,” Thomas said as he stood up, acting as normal as he could. “Just thinking. Let’s eat, I’m starving.”

“Good that,” Chuck said, slapping Thomas on the back.

They headed for the Homestead, Chuck yapping the whole time. Thomas wasn’t complaining—it was the closest thing to normal in his life.

“Newt found you last night and told everyone to let you sleep.
And
he told us what the Council decided about you—one day in the cell, then you’ll enter the Runner training program. Some shanks grumbled, some cheered, most acted like they couldn’t care less. As for me, I think it’s pretty awesome.” Chuck paused to take a breath, then kept going. “That first night, when you were bragging about being a Runner and all that klunk—shuck it, I was laughing inside so hard. I kept telling myself, this sucker’s in for a rude awakening. Well, you proved
me
wrong, huh?”

But Thomas didn’t feel like talking about it. “I just did what anyone else would’ve done. It’s not my fault Minho and Newt want me to be a Runner.”

“Yeah, right. Quit being modest.”

Being a Runner was the last thing on Thomas’s mind. What he couldn’t stop thinking about was Teresa, the voice in his head, what she’d
said
. “I guess I’m a little excited.” Thomas forced a grin, though he cringed at the thought of hanging out in the Slammer by himself all day before he got to start.

“We’ll see how you feel after running your guts out. Anyway, as long as you know old Chucky is proud of you.”

Thomas smiled at his friend’s enthusiasm. “If only you were my mom,” Thomas murmured, “life’d be a peach.”
My mom
, he thought. The world seemed to darken for a moment—he couldn’t even remember his own mother. He pushed the thought away before it consumed him.

They made it to the kitchen and grabbed a quick breakfast, taking two empty seats at the big table inside. Every Glader going in and out the door gave Thomas a stare; a few came up and offered congratulations. Other than a sprinkling of dirty looks here and there, most people seemed to be on his side. Then he remembered Gally.

“Hey, Chuck,” he asked after taking a bite of eggs, trying to sound casual. “Did they ever find Gally?”

“No. I was gonna tell you—someone said they saw him run out into the Maze after he left the Gathering. Hasn’t been seen since.”

Thomas dropped his fork, not knowing what he’d expected or hoped for. Either way, the news stunned him. “What? You’re serious? He went into the Maze?”

“Yeah. Everyone knows he went nuts—some shank even accused you of killing him when you ran out there yesterday.”

“I can’t believe …” Thomas stared at his plate, trying to understand why Gally would do that.

“Don’t worry about it, dude. No one liked him except for his few shuck cronies. They’re the ones accusing you of stuff.”