“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.
231.05.05 | 7:13 a.m.
There were eighteen left.
Thomas and his friends stood in the security room once governed by Ramirez and Randall. Dr. Paige and a few of her new staff analyzed the rooms and hallways of Sector D.
“Everyone is still in the same positions,” Dr. Paige said, scanning the security feeds. “Maybe we make a goal for you to reach five of them, then come back here and regroup, assess whether anything has changed.”
Thomas absently watched the camera feeds coming from the maze while the others focused on Sector D. Near the Homestead, despite the late hour, Alby and Newt were locked in an argument with Nick, who’d long ago separated himself from the others as the clear leader. Without sound, the tussle didn’t have any context. At least no punches had been thrown. Most of the other Gladers were asleep.
“They have no idea what’s going on in here,” Thomas said, a little surprised that he’d spoken aloud. “I guess that’s a good thing.”
Teresa looked his way. She seemed ready to reproach him—they had slightly more pressing matters—but then softened. “I know. For once, life is tougher out here than in there.”
“I guess the tables have turned,” Rachel said.
“Guys?” Dr. Paige cut in. She gestured toward the cameras focused on the WICKED complex itself. “The plan?”
“Sorry,” Rachel murmured.
Thomas focused his attention back on the relevant feeds.
A guard pointed at one in particular. “Room D-17. A rec room. A few of them are sleeping on the floor in there. That should be your first stop after entering the Sector.”
“Maybe they’re dead,” Teresa added.
Dr. Paige leaned closer to the screens, her lips moving as she counted. “And there’s our five. It’s a good plan. Go take care of them, then come back here and we’ll show you where to go next.”
Take care of them, Thomas thought. What a nice way to put it.
They grabbed their backpacks full of death and headed out the door toward Sector D.
—
After a guard let them through the locked-down entrance, Thomas and the others headed for the assigned room. They’d almost made it when movement in the hall ahead stopped them in their tracks. Aris had taken the lead and suddenly jumped back, pushing the others around the closest corner.
“There’s a couple of people up there,” he whispered, his back to the wall, panting.
“I saw them, too,” Teresa said. “Which means they probably saw us.”
With perfect timing, a shout rang through the hall.
“Hey, you kids!” A man, his voice on the edge of hysterics. “Come here, my little subjects!”
This filled Thomas with a feeling of such horror that it made him shiver. Sweat broke out on his arms and forehead, a flush of heat making him unbearably hot.
“How many?” he asked.
Aris peeked around the corner, then jerked back to face the others. “Two men. One’s crawling on the ground, the other’s walking, but he’s using the wall to hold him up. They’re getting really close. And, man, they look seriously messed up.”
Thomas appreciated the detailed report, but it only made him feel worse. “Do we go back and regroup?”
“No, we rush them,” Teresa said. “Why put it off? The four of us can take these two easily.”
Rachel was nodding as she spoke, and one look at Aris showed he agreed as well.
Thomas sighed in defeat. “What do you mean by ‘messed up’?”
“The crawling dude is totally naked,” Aris answered, “scratches all over his body. The one stumbling along the wall looks like he puked up about seven breakfasts all over his shirt. And his hair…I think he ripped some of it out. It’s nasty.”
“You think they’re all like this?” Thomas asked, overwhelmed by the task they had before them. “I didn’t know they were so near the Gone.”
A terrible wa
il of anguish sounded down the hall, a long, mewling sound that ended in something close to giggles. They were getting closer.
“You saw Anderson,” Teresa whispered. “Those left have to be as bad as him or a couple of steps away from it.”
Thomas nodded, trying to encourage himself. “Okay, okay. What do we do?”
Teresa swung her backpack off her shoulder just enough to unzip it and look inside. She pulled out a pistol, then two syringes. She handed the syringes to Thomas.
“I’ll be the last resort,” she said, hefting the gun in her right hand, finger already on the trigger. “Aris and Rachel, you hit them first with Launcher grenades. Once they’re down, Thomas you run up to them and inject the poison. I’ll be right beside you. If they make a move, I’ll take care of them.”
Thomas stared at her, half impressed and half terrified of his closest friend. But mostly he was thankful she’d taken charge.
“Okay,” he said, too smart to argue. Nothing about this was going to be pleasant, and the sooner they got to it, the sooner they’d be done.
“Sounds good,” Aris replied. “You guys ready?”
Thomas, one death-tipped syringe gripped in each hand, nodded. Rachel held up her Launcher in answer. Teresa said, “Go.”
Aris pushed off from the wall with a grunt and ran around the corner, yelling with adrenaline. Rachel went next, her weapon held ready, then Thomas, then Teresa, her gun the last line of defense. The sound of the Launcher charging filled the air, followed by the burst of power as a grenade catapulted toward the man moving along the wall. His hair had indeed been ripped out in spots, leaving red, bloody welts.
The grenade hit him square in his chest. He let out a howl as tiny tendrils of lightning danced across his body, and he fell to the floor. There he suffered spasm after spasm as the Launcher’s power tried to fry him from the inside out.
“Your turn, Thomas!” Aris yelled as he stepped forward, already aiming for the other man in case Rachel missed.
Thomas ran toward the first victim, then slid along the tile floor, coming to a stop just a foot or so from the man’s head. He gripped the syringe, letting it hover just inches above the man’s face, waiting for the streaks of white powder to fade. He heard a second Launcher shot, then a third, followed by rapid thumps of contact. A cry like that of some primal beast pierced the air.
Thomas saw his chance below him, the charges of electricity dwindling. He stabbed the needle of the syringe into the Crank’s neck and released the poison. He scrambled away, kicking at the floor with his feet until his back met the opposite wall, where he stood up. The man’s eyes rolled back in his head and he flopped over—the syringe bounced back and forth as if dancing on its needle, pivoting in the soft folds of the neck.
Seventeen, Thomas thought. There were seventeen Cranks left in the complex.
“Over here!” Rachel yelled. “Hurry!” She stood above the second man, who was still convulsing from her Launcher shot. His battered, purpling body was like a dark storm cloud, sending little bolts of lightning down to die in the floor tiles.
Thomas ran to him. Static and sparks filled the air as he fell to his knees. He knelt forward and plunged the second syringe into the man’s neck, releasing the vial of liquid death.
Teresa was there, two hands tightly gripping her pistol, aiming down at the man’s head just in case. Rachel and Aris stood right behind her, struggling to catch their breath.
“I think that does it,” Thomas said. “We just killed two people without any of us getting a single scratch.”
“Cranks,” Teresa replied, finally letting herself relax as she dropped the gun to her side. “Not people, Cranks.”
Thomas got to his feet. “I didn’t realize those were two different things.”
She gave him a hard look that scared him.
“Room D-17,” Aris said between breaths. “Stick to the plan.”
Teresa turned away from Thomas to lead the way.
231.05.05 | 7:47 a.m.
“D…seventeen…,” Aris said, scanning the rooms as they jogged past. He pointed. “Here it is!”
Thomas, who felt like everyone else had taken much more initiative so far that day, stepped up to the door and placed his ear against the flat surface. He pressed in, hoping to hear nothing. He wanted them asleep or dead.
“Anything?” Teresa asked.
Thomas shook his head. Then, “No, wait.” He pressed his ear to the door again. A low moaning sound was clearer. “Yeah—there’s at least one awake.”
They prepared themselves much as they had for the encounter in the hallway. According to the cameras, five Cranks were on the other side of the door, immobile. Thomas squeezed three syringes in his right hand, two in his left, and Aris and Rachel both held their Launchers, fully charged and loaded behind him. That left Teresa with the gun again, and Thomas had a feeling that this time she’d be forced to use it.
When everyone was ready to go, Teresa used her free hand to push open the door. It swung open into a dimly lit room, the scents of body odor and rotten breath wafting out like a diseased wind.
Thomas scrunched up his face at the foul smell, fighting his gag reflex as he slipped inside. Rachel, Aris, and Teresa followed. Weapons ready. A quick sweep established the scene for Thomas, and his rapidly thumping heart slowed. The room was a gathering spot, filled with chairs and couches, entertainment screens, tables for pool and Ping-Pong. The five people they’d spied earlier were congregated in the corner to his left. A man lay on a couch, arm dangling off the side, another man on the floor at his feet. Two women were sprawled side by side, also on the floor, at the foot of two chairs, their arms draped across each other as if to comfort. The last person, a man, sat in a chair, his head lolling back in sleep, great, booming snores erupting from his wide-open mouth.
Aris and Rachel quietly stepped up to the group, aiming their weapons. A long moment of silence passed; then that familiar electronic whine filled the air, immediately followed by a series of cracks as the Launchers fired in quick succession. Five distinct thumps meant that they’d hit their marks. Blue lightning lit up the air as the Cranks’ bodies convulsed with electricity.
“Now!” Aris yelled at Thomas. “Here, I’ll help you.” He came up to him, took syringes, passed one to Rachel. Teresa kept her gun trained on the five spasming figures as the three approached.
Thomas ran to the two men on the floor by the couch, their spasms lessening as the little tendrils of electricity faded to a few sparks here and there. Gripping a syringe in each hand—his thumb pressed against the dispenser button—he knelt down and stabbed the two needles into the Cranks’ necks. Released the poison. He scooted away and got back to his feet, shocked at how smoothly things had gone down. Rachel had taken care of the man in the chair, and Aris was just finishing up with the women on the ground.
That meant there were only eleven left in the entire Sector. Aware of the horrors of it all on some level—the fact they were murdering actual human beings—Thomas pushed it away, focused on the necessity. He felt an elation that filled his chest. They just might succeed.
The door from the hallway banged open.
Four Cranks burst into the room, all of them looking healthy enough for a fight. They scattered in different directions.
One jumped on Aris before he could get off a shot from his Launcher—he sprawled onto his back as the female straddled him, reaching for the boy’s throat. Rachel gave up trying to aim a shot without hitting her friend and ran in, using the Launcher as a battering ram, slamming its hard tip into the side of the woman’s head. She shrieked and toppled off Aris; then Rachel shot a grenade into her chest.
Aris himself seemed traumatized by the attack, snapping from the strain. From somewhere within his pockets he pulled out a knife and, screaming with rage, swung off his back and rammed the blade’s tip into the chest of the electrified Crank lying next to him. The electricity hadn’t dissipated enough to do this—a jolt of energy made him cry out and fly
backward, knocking Rachel to the floor.
All this, happening so fast. Thomas could see only two of the remaining Cranks, running around the room with no logic to their movements. Thomas had nothing in his hands. Teresa randomly aimed her gun without taking a shot. Probably scared that she’d miss and hit Aris or Rachel.
Someone crashed into Thomas from behind.
Arms wrapped around him as he hit the floor face-first, his nose cracking in pain, the breath whooshing out of his chest, leaving him empty. He panicked, squirmed to get away from whoever had tackled him.
Teresa yelled his name. He saw her feet right next to him.
“Help,” Thomas tried to say, but it came out as nothing more than a muffled grunt. The Crank behind him had released his grip and now put a hand on the back of Thomas’s head, pressing his lips into the carpet to silence him. Thomas had no other thought now than taking his next breath—he couldn’t get the slightest wisp of air into his lungs. Knees dug into his back, pressing his ribs so hard they’d surely break.
The boom of a gunshot rocked the room.
The pressure lessened on top of Thomas. And then it was gone completely. He lifted his head just in time to see the Crank topple off him and slump to the ground. A bloody hole marked the side of his temple, and signs of life had already fled his eyes. Thomas looked up at Teresa, who was trembling, still aiming the gun at the same place where she’d shot it.
“There’s two more,” Thomas said, feeling the detachment in his voice.
Teresa recovered, took a deep breath, and positioned herself defensively, aiming her weapon at the other sections of the room. Thomas, hurting all over, forced himself to his feet, looking around to make sure he didn’t suffer another surprise attack.
There were no signs of the remaining two Cranks—they must’ve hidden behind one of the many couches or chairs clustered around the rec room. Thomas pulled off his backpack to look for syringes while his friends carefully made their way from chair to chair, couch to couch, peeking behind them. So far nothing. Then Teresa screamed, and just as Thomas looked in her direction he saw her disappear behind a couch, dropping with a hard thump.