He keeps going and he doesn’t stop, breathing in and out with the words that he hates.

The dreaming Thomas turns and runs away, runs to the darkness.

CHAPTER 22

Thomas decided he needed to tell everyone more about all the dreams he was having. About what he suspected were memories coming back to him.

As they sat down for the second Gathering of the day, he made them all swear to keep their mouths shut until he was finished. They’d grouped the chairs near the cockpit of the Berg so Jorge could hear it all. Thomas then began to tell them about each dream he’d had—memories of his life as a kid, being taken by WICKED when they found out he was immune, his training with Teresa, all of it. When he got out all that he could remember, he waited for a response.

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Minho said. “Just makes me hate WICKED even more. Good thing we left, and I hope I never have to see Teresa’s shuck face again.”

Newt, who’d been irritable and distant, spoke for the first time since they’d sat down for the Gathering. “Brenda’s a bloody princess compared to that know-it-all.”

“Um … thanks?” Brenda replied with an eye roll.

“When did you change?” Minho blurted out.

“Huh?” Brenda replied.

“When did you become so shuck crazy against WICKED? You’ve worked for them, you did all those things they wanted you to do in the Scorch. You were all ready to help them put that mask on our face and mess with us all over again. When and how did you come so strongly over to our side?”

Brenda sighed; she looked tired, but her words came out laced with some anger. “I have never been on their side. Never. I’ve always disagreed with how they operate—but what could I ever do on my own? Or even with Jorge? I’ve done what I needed to do to survive. But then I lived through the Scorch with you guys and it made me realize … well, it made me realize that we have a chance.”

Thomas wanted to change the subject. “Brenda, do you think WICKED’ll start forcing us to do things? Start messing with us, manipulating us, whatever?”

“That’s why we need to find Hans.” She shrugged. “I can only guess what WICKED will do. Every other time I’ve seen them control someone with the device in their brain, that person has been close and under observation. Since you guys are running and they have no way of seeing exactly what you’re doing, they might not want to risk it.”

“Why not?” Newt asked. “Why don’t they just make us stab ourselves in the leg or chain ourselves to a chair until they find us?”

“Like I said, they’re not close enough,” Brenda answered. “They obviously need you guys. They can’t risk you getting hurt or dying. I bet they have all kinds of people coming after you. Once they get close enough to observe, then they might start doing things to mess with your head. And I have a pretty good feeling they will—which is why getting to Denver is a must.”

Thomas’s mind had already been made up. “We’re going and that’s that. And I say we wait a hundred years before we have another meeting to talk about stuff.”

“Good that,” Minho said. “I’m with you.”

That was two out of three. Everyone looked at Newt.

“I’m a Crank,” the older boy said. “Doesn’t matter what I bloody think.”

“We can get you into the city,” Brenda said, ignoring him. “At least long enough to have Hans work on your head. We’ll just be really careful to keep you away fr—”

Newt stood up in a blur of speed and punched the wall behind his chair. “First of all, it doesn’t matter if I have the thing in my brain—I’m gonna be past the buggin’ Gone before too long anyway. And I don’t wanna die knowing I ran around a city of healthy people and infected them.”

Thomas remembered the envelope in his pocket, a thing he’d almost forgotten about until now. His fingers twitched to pull it out and read it.

No one said anything.

Newt’s expression darkened. “Well, don’t hurt yourselves tryin’ to talk me into it,” he finally growled. “We all know WICKED’s fancy cure is never gonna work, and I wouldn’t want it to. Not much to live for on this piece-of-klunk planet. I’ll stay on the Berg while you guys go into the city.” He turned and stomped away, disappearing around the corner to the common area.

“That went well,” Minho muttered. “Guess the Gathering is over.” He got up and followed his friend.

Brenda frowned, then focused on Thomas. “You’re—we’re—doing the right thing.”

“I don’t think there is a right or wrong anymore,” Thomas said, hearing the numbness in his own voice. He desperately wanted sleep. “Only horrible and not-quite-so-horrible.”

He got up to join the other two Gladers, fingering the note in his pocket. What could it possibly say? he wondered as he walked out. And how would he ever know when the right time to open it had come?

CHAPTER 23

Thomas hadn’t had much time to think about what the world outside of WICKED’s control would be like. But now that they were actually going to face it, his nerves lit up with anticipation and butterflies filled his stomach. He was about to enter uncharted territory.

“You guys ready for this?” Brenda asked. They stood outside the Berg, at the foot of the cargo door ramp, just a hundred feet or so in front of a cement wall with big iron doors.

Jorge let out a snort. “I forgot what an inviting place they have here.”

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Thomas asked him.

“Just keep your mouth shut, hermano, and leave things to me. We’re using our real first names with fake last names. All they’ll really care about in the end is that we’re immune—they’ll love putting us on record. We won’t have more than a day or two before they hunt us down to do something for the government. We’re valuable. And I can’t stress it enough—Thomas, you need to keep that yapper of yours closed.”

“You too, Minho,” Brenda added. “Got it? Jorge created fake documents for all of us, and he lies like a master thief.”

“No kidding,” Minho muttered.

Jorge and Brenda headed toward the doors with Minho close behind. Thomas hesitated. He looked up at the wall—it reminded him of the Maze, and a quick flash of the horrible memories of that place went through his mind, particularly the night when he’d tied Alby in the thick ivy and hidden from the Grievers. He was thankful that these walls were bare.

The walk to the exit seemed to take forever, the huge wall and doors growing taller and taller as the group approached them. When they finally made it to the foot of the immense doors, an electronic buzz sounded from somewhere, followed by a female voice.

“State your names and your business.”

Jorge answered very loudly. “I’m Jorge Gallaraga, and these are my associates, Brenda Despain, Thomas Murphy and Minho Park. We’re here for some information gathering and field testing. I’m a certified Berg pilot. I have all the necessary paperwork with me, but you can check it out.” He pulled a few data cards from his back pocket and held them up to a camera in the wall.

“Hold, please,” the voice directed. Thomas was sweating—he was sure the lady would sound an alarm any second now. Guards would come rushing out. They’d send him back to WICKED, to the white room, or worse.

He waited, mind racing, for what felt like several minutes before a series of clicks rattled the air, followed by a loud thunk. Then one of the iron doors swung outward, its hinges squealing. Thomas peered through the widening crack and was relieved to see that the narrow alley on the other side was empty. At the end stood another huge wall with another set of doors. Those doors looked more modern, though, and several screens and panels were set into the cement to their right.

“Come on,” Jorge said. He walked through the open door as if he did it every day. Thomas, Minho and Brenda followed Jorge down the alley to the outer wall, where he stopped. The screens and panels Thomas had seen from the other side were complex up close. Jorge pressed a button on the largest and began to enter their fake names and identification numbers. He typed in a few other pieces of information, then fed their data cards into a large slot.