The Right Arm was coming. Newt’s image seared across his mind.
“I need to be alone,” he finally got out. “Please.” For the first time, a part of him actually wanted to give in, let them do this. Even if there was only a small chance that it would work.
“You’ll be doing the right thing,” Dr. Christensen said. “And don’t worry. You’re not going to feel an ounce of pain.”
Thomas didn’t want to hear another word. “I just need some time alone before all this begins.”
“Fair enough,” Janson said, standing up. “We’ll accompany you to the medical facilities and get you in a private room for a while. Though we need to get things started soon.”
Thomas leaned forward and put his head in his hands, staring at the floor. The plan he’d concocted with the Right Arm suddenly seemed foolish beyond measure. Even if he could escape this group—even if he wanted to now—how would he survive until his friends arrived?
“Thomas?” Dr. Wright asked, reaching out to put a hand on his back. “Are you okay? Do you have any more questions?”
Thomas sat up, brushed her hand away. “Just … let’s go where you said.”
The air suddenly seemed to go out of Janson’s office and Thomas’s chest tightened. He stood and walked to the door, opened it and stepped out into the hallway. It was all too much.
CHAPTER 60
Thomas followed the doctors, but his mind was racing. He didn’t know what to do. There was no way to communicate with the Right Arm, and he’d lost his ability to speak inside Teresa’s—or Aris’s—mind.
They turned a couple of corners, and the zigzagging made Thomas think of the Maze. He almost wished he were back there—things were so much simpler then.
“There’s a room right up here on the left,” Janson explained. “I already put a typing pad in there if you’d like to leave any messages for your friends. I’ll figure out a way to deliver them.”
“I’ll make sure you get something to eat, also,” Dr. Wright called from behind.
Their politeness annoyed Thomas. He remembered stories of killers being put to death in the old days. They always got a last meal, too. As fancy as they wanted it.
“I want steak,” he said, stopping to look at her. “And shrimp. And lobster. And pancakes. And a candy bar.”
“I’m sorry—you’ll have to settle for a couple of sandwiches.”
Thomas sighed. “Figures.”
Thomas sat in a soft chair, staring at the typing pad on the small table in front of him. He had no intention of writing a note to anyone, but he didn’t know what else to do. The situation had proven to be way more complicated than he could’ve imagined. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but the notion that they’d dissect him alive had never crossed his mind. He’d figured whatever they did, he could just play along until the Right Arm showed up.
But there wouldn’t be any coming back from playing along now.
He finally typed goodbye messages to Minho and Brenda just in case he ended up dead; then he rested his head in his arms until the food arrived. He ate slowly, then rested again. He could only hope his friends showed up in time. Either way, he certainly wouldn’t leave this room until he absolutely had to.
He dozed as he waited, the minutes stretching on.
A knock at the door startled him awake.
“Thomas?” came the muffled voice of Janson. “We really need to get things started.”
The words lit a fire of panic in Thomas. “I’m … not ready yet.” He knew he sounded ridiculous.
After a long pause, Janson said, “I’m afraid we don’t have much of a choice.”
“But …,” Thomas began, but before he could pull his thoughts together, the door opened and Janson stepped inside.
“Thomas—waiting will only make it worse. We need to go.”
Thomas didn’t know what to do. He was surprised that they’d been so calm with him so far. He realized he’d pushed it to the limit and he’d run out of time. He took a deep breath.
“Let’s get it over with.”
The Rat Man smiled. “Follow me.”
Janson led Thomas to a prep room with a wheeled bed surrounded by all kinds of monitors and several nurses. Dr. Christensen was there, dressed from head to toe in scrubs, a surgical mask already in place on his face. Thomas could only see his eyes, but he looked eager to get started.
“So that’s it?” Thomas asked. A surge of panic raced through his gut, and it felt as if something were trying to chew through his chest. “Time to cut me open?”
“I’m sorry,” the doctor answered. “But we need to begin.”
The Rat Man was just about to speak again when a blaring alarm erupted throughout the building.
Thomas’s heart lurched and relief flooded his system. It had to be the Right Arm.
The door swung open and Thomas turned just in time to see a frantic-looking woman announce, “A Berg arrived with a delivery, but it was a trick to get people inside—they’re trying to take over the main building this very second.”
Janson’s response almost stopped Thomas’s heart.
“Looks like we need to hurry and get this procedure started. Christensen, put him under.”
CHAPTER 61
Thomas’s chest constricted and his throat seemed to swell. Everything was on the line, but he was frozen.
Janson barked orders. “Dr. Christensen, quickly. Who knows what these people are up to, but we can’t waste a second now. I’ll go tell operating personnel to stand their ground, no matter what.”
“Wait,” Thomas finally croaked. “I don’t know if I can do this.” The words felt empty—he knew they wouldn’t stop at this point.
Janson’s face burned red. Instead of answering Thomas, he turned to the doctor. “Do whatever it takes to open this kid up.”
Just as Thomas opened his mouth to speak, something sharp pricked his arm, sending jolts of heat through his body, and he went limp, collapsing onto the gurney. From his neck down he was numb, and terror flared inside him. Dr. Christensen leaned over him and passed a spent syringe to a nurse.
“I’m really sorry, Thomas. We have to do this.”
The doctor and a nurse pushed him farther onto the bed, hoisting his legs up so that he lay flat on his back. Thomas could move his head slightly from side to side, but that was all. The sudden turn of events overwhelmed him as he realized the implications. He was about to die. Unless somehow the Right Arm got to him immediately, he was going to die.
Janson stepped into his view. Nodding approvingly, the Rat Man patted the doctor on the shoulder. “Get it done.” Then he turned and disappeared; Thomas could hear someone shouting in the hallway before the door closed.
“I just need to run a few tests,” Dr. Christensen explained. “Then we’ll get you into the operating room.” He turned to fiddle with some instruments behind him.
It felt like the man spoke to him from a hundred miles away. Thomas lay helpless, his mind spinning as the doctor took blood, measured his skull. The man worked in silence, barely blinking. But the beads of sweat on his forehead showed that he was racing against who-knew-what. Did he have an hour to get this done? Several hours?
Thomas closed his eyes. He wondered if the weapons-disabling device had done its job. Wondered if anyone would find him. Then he realized, did he even want them to? Was it really possible that WICKED almost had a cure? He forced himself to breathe evenly, focus on trying to move his limbs. But nothing happened.
The doctor suddenly straightened and grinned at Thomas. “I believe we’re ready. We’ll wheel you to the operating room now.”
The man walked through the door and Thomas’s gurney was pushed into the hallway. Unable to move, he lay staring up at the lights in the ceiling flashing by as he rolled down the corridor. He finally had to close his eyes.