The Maze Runner Series Complete Collection (100 page)

The shorter guard shook his head adamantly. “No way. You asked us to find your friend and we did. Give us our money.”

“Does it look like we’re with him yet?” Jorge asked. “No one makes a dollar until you get us all together.”

Brenda didn’t say anything, but she stood next to Jorge and nodded to show her support. Thomas was relieved that everyone was on board to go to Newt despite the message he’d sent.

The two guards didn’t look happy at all, and they whispered back and forth, arguing.

“Hey!” Minho barked. “If you want that money, let’s go!”

“Fine,” the guard with the mustache finally said. His partner gave him an exasperated glare. “Follow us.”

They turned and headed back in the direction they’d come. Minho was right on their heels, and then everyone else.

As they made their way deeper into the compound, Thomas kept thinking things couldn’t get worse, but they did. The buildings were shabbier,
the streets dirtier. He saw several people lying on the sidewalks, their heads resting on filthy bags or wadded-up pieces of clothing. Each one of them stared at the sky with a glazed expression, a look of oblivious glee. The Bliss was aptly named, Thomas thought.

The guards marched ahead, sweeping their Launchers left and right at anyone who got within a dozen feet of them. At one point they passed a ravaged-looking man—his clothes torn, his hair matted with some kind of black goo, skin covered in rashes—as he fell on a drugged-out teenager and started beating him.

Thomas stopped, wondering if they should help.

“Don’t even think about it,” the short guard said before Thomas could get a word out. “Keep moving.”

“But isn’t it your job to—”

The other guard cut him off. “Shut up and let us handle things. If we meddled in every squabble and catfight we saw, we’d never be done. We’d probably be dead. Those two can sort out their own problems.”

“Just get us to Newt,” Minho said evenly.

They continued, and Thomas tried to ignore the gargled scream that suddenly rose behind them.

Finally, they reached a high wall with a big archway that led to an open area full of people. A sign at the top of the arch proclaimed in bright letters that this was the Central Zone. Thomas couldn’t quite make out what was going on inside, but everyone seemed busy.

The guards stopped, and the one with the mustache addressed the group. “I’m only going to ask once. Are you sure you want to go in there?”

“Yes,” Minho answered quickly.

“Okay, then. Your friend is at the bowling alley. As soon as we point him out, I want our money.”

“Let’s just get moving,” Jorge growled.

They followed the guards through the arch and entered the Central Zone. Then they stopped to take it all in.

The first word that popped into Thomas’s mind was
madhouse
, and he realized that it was almost literally true.

Cranks were everywhere.

They milled about in a circular area several hundred feet across that was bordered by what had apparently once been shops and restaurants and entertainment venues. Most of them were run-down and closed. The majority of the infected didn’t seem quite as gone as the matted-hair fellow they’d seen out in the streets, but there was a frenzied air about the groups of people. To Thomas, everyone’s actions and mannerisms seemed … exaggerated. Some people were laughing hysterically, a wildness in their eyes, as they slapped each other’s backs roughly. Others cried uncontrollably, sobbing all alone on the ground or walking in circles, faces in their hands. Small fights had broken out everywhere, and here and there you’d find a man or woman standing still and screaming at the top of their lungs, faces red and necks corded.

There were also those who huddled in groups, arms folded and heads snapping left and right as if they expected to be attacked at any second. And just as Thomas had seen in the outer rings, some of the Cranks were lost in the haze of the Bliss, smiling as they sat or lay on the ground and ignored the chaos. A few guards walked around, weapons held at the ready, but they were vastly outnumbered.

“Remind me not to buy any real estate here,” Minho quipped.

Thomas couldn’t bring himself to laugh. He was filled with anxiety, and he desperately wanted to get this over with.

“Where’s the bowling alley?” he asked.

“Over this way,” the shorter guard said.

He headed to the left, sticking close to the wall as Thomas and the others followed. Brenda walked beside Thomas, their arms brushing
with every step. He wanted to take her hand, but he didn’t want to make any move that would call attention to himself. Everything about this place was so unpredictable he didn’t want to do anything he didn’t absolutely have to.

Most of the Cranks stopped their feverish activities and stared at the small group of newcomers as they approached and walked past. Thomas kept his gaze lowered, scared that if he made eye contact with anyone, they might get hostile or try to talk to him. There were catcalls and whistles, lots of crude jokes or insults thrown their way as they kept moving. They passed a dilapidated convenience store, and Thomas could see through the open windows—the glass was long gone—that almost all the shelves were empty. There was a doctor’s office and a sandwich shop, but no lights shone in either one.

Someone grabbed Thomas’s shirt at the shoulder. He spun to see who it was as he swatted the hand away. A woman stood there, her dark hair messy and a scratch on her chin, but otherwise she seemed somewhat normal. Her face was drooping in a frown, and she stared at him for a moment before opening her mouth as wide as it would go, revealing teeth that were in good shape other than looking as if they hadn’t been brushed in a while, and a tongue that was swollen and discolored. Then she closed her mouth again.

“I want to kiss you,” the woman said. “What do you say, Munie?” She laughed, a manic cackle that was full of snorts, and ran her hand lightly down Thomas’s chest.

Thomas jerked away and continued walking—he noticed that the guards hadn’t even stopped to make sure nothing bad happened.

Brenda leaned closer and whispered to him. “That might’ve been the creepiest thing yet.”

Thomas just nodded and kept going.

The bowling alley didn’t have any doors—based on the thick rust that covered the exposed hinges, they’d been taken off and disposed of a long time ago. A large wooden sign hung above the entrance, but any words it had once displayed were gone, leaving only faded scratches of color.

“He’s in there,” the guard with the mustache said. “Now pay up.”

Minho stepped past him to the empty doorway and leaned through the opening, craning his neck to see inside. Then he turned around and looked at Thomas.

“I can see him in the back,” Minho said, his face pinched with worry. “It’s dark in there, but it’s definitely him.”

Thomas had been so worried about finding their old friend, he realized he didn’t have any clue what they’d actually say to him. Why had he told them to get lost?

“We want our money,” the guard repeated.

Jorge appeared completely unfazed. “You’ll get double if you make sure we get back to our Berg safely.”

The two guards consulted; then the shorter one took a turn speaking. “Triple. And we want half of it now to make sure you’re not blowing smoke out your butts.”

“That’s a deal,
muchacho
.”

As Jorge pulled out his card and touched it to the guard’s, transferring the money, Thomas felt a grim satisfaction that they were stealing money from WICKED.

“We’ll wait right here,” the guard said when they were done.

“Come on,” Minho said. He went inside the building without waiting for a response.

Thomas looked at Brenda, who was frowning.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. As if there were just one thing.

“I don’t know,” she responded. “I just have a bad feeling.”

“Yeah, you and me both.”

She gave him a half smile and took his hand, which now he gladly accepted; then they went into the bowling alley with Jorge right behind them.

As with many things since his memory had been wiped, Thomas had images in his mind of what a bowling alley should have looked like and how it functioned, but he couldn’t recall having ever bowled. The room they stepped into was far from what he’d expected.

The lanes where people had once bowled were now completely torn up, most of the wood panels ripped out or broken. Sleeping bags and blankets filled the spaces now, with people either napping or lying in a daze as they stared at the ceiling. Brenda had told Thomas that only the rich could afford the Bliss, so he wondered how people would dare reveal to others that they were using it in a place like this. He imagined it wouldn’t be long before someone decided to do whatever it took to get the drug from them.

In the niches where the bowling pins used to stand, several fires burned, which couldn’t have been very safe. But at least one person sat at each fire, tending it. The smell of burning wood wafted through the air, and a smoky haze choked the darkness.

Minho pointed to the far left lane, about a hundred feet away. Not many people were over there—most seemed to congregate in the middle lanes—but Thomas spotted Newt immediately despite the poor
lighting. It was the flash of his long blond hair in the firelight and the familiar shape of his slumping body. His back was to them.

“Here goes nothing,” Thomas whispered to Brenda.

No one bothered them as they carefully made their way to Newt, picking through the maze of people dozing in blankets until they reached the far lane. Thomas watched where he walked—the last thing he wanted was to step on some Crank and get bitten in the leg.

They were about ten feet away from Newt when he suddenly spoke in a loud voice that echoed off the dark walls of the bowling alley. “I told you bloody shanks to get lost!”

Minho stopped and Thomas almost ran into him. Brenda squeezed Thomas’s hand, then let go, which was when he realized how much he’d been sweating. Hearing those words come out of Newt somehow let him know that it was over and done. Their friend would never be the same—he had only dark days ahead.

“We need to talk to you,” Minho said, moving a couple of feet closer to Newt. He had to step over a skinny woman lying on her side.

“Don’t come any closer,” Newt answered. His voice was soft, but it was full of menace. “Those thugs brought me here for a reason. They thought I was a bloody Immune holed up in that shuck Berg. Imagine their surprise when they could tell I had the Flare eating my brain. Said they were doing their civic duty when they dumped me in this rat hole.”

When Minho didn’t say anything, Thomas spoke up, trying not to let Newt’s words overcome him. “Why do you think we’re here, Newt? I’m sorry you had to stay back and got caught. I’m sorry they brought you here. But we can break you out—it doesn’t look like anyone gives a klunk who comes or goes.”

Newt slowly twisted around to face them. Thomas’s stomach dropped when he saw that the boy had a Launcher clutched in his
hands. And he looked ragged, like he’d been running and fighting and falling down cliffs for three days straight. But despite the anger that had pooled in his eyes, he hadn’t been taken by madness quite yet.

“Whoa, there,” Minho said, taking a half a step back—he barely missed stepping on the lady at his heels. “Slim it nice and calm. There’s no need to point a shuck Launcher at my face while we talk. Where’d you get that thing, anyway?”

“I stole it,” Newt answered. “Took it from a guard who made me … unhappy.”

Newt’s hands were shaking slightly, which made Thomas nervous—the boy’s finger hovered over the trigger of the weapon.

“I’m … not well,” Newt said. “Honestly, I appreciate you buggin’ shanks coming for me. I mean it. But this is where it bloody ends. This is when you turn around and walk back out that door and head for your Berg and fly away. Do you understand me?”

“No, Newt, I don’t understand,” Minho said, the frustration in his voice escalating. “We risked our necks to come to this place and you’re our friend and we’re taking you home. You wanna whine and cry while you go crazy, that’s fine. But you’re gonna do it with us, not with these shuck Cranks.”

Newt suddenly jumped to his feet, so quickly that Thomas almost stumbled backward. Newt lofted the Launcher and pointed it at Minho. “I
am
a Crank, Minho! I
am
a Crank! Why can’t you get that through your bloody head? If you had the Flare and knew what you were about to go through, would you want your friends to stand around and watch? Huh? Would you want that?” He was shouting by the time he finished, and was shaking more with each passing moment.

Minho didn’t say anything, and Thomas knew why. He himself was trying to find words and coming up empty. Newt’s glare shifted to him.

“And
you
, Tommy,” the boy said, lowering his voice. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here and asking me to leave with you. A lot of bloody nerve. The sight of you makes me sick.”

Thomas was stunned silent. Nothing anyone had ever said had hurt so much. Nothing.

Thomas couldn’t think of any possible explanation for the statement. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

Newt didn’t respond, just kept staring at him with hardened eyes, his arms shaking, his Launcher pointed at Thomas’s chest. But then he stilled and his face softened. He lowered the weapon and looked at the floor.

“Newt, I don’t get it,” Thomas persisted quietly. “Why are you saying all this?”

Newt looked up again, and there was none of the bitterness that had been there just seconds earlier. “I’m sorry, guys. I’m sorry. But I need you to listen to me. I’m getting worse by the hour and I don’t have many sane ones left. Please leave.”

When Thomas opened his mouth to argue, Newt held up his hands. “No! No more talking from you. Just … please. Please leave. I’m begging you. I’m begging you to do this one thing for me. As sincerely as I’ve ever asked for anything in my life, I want you to do this for me. There’s a group I’ve met that are a lot like me and they’re planning to break out and head for Denver later today. I’m going with them.”