Authors: James Dashner
“What?” Newt asked.
“Let me start over,” Thomas said, rubbing his eyes. “Every single one of us was taken when we were really young. I don’t remember how or why—just glimpses and feelings that things had changed in the world, that something really bad happened. I have no idea what. The Creators stole us, and I think they felt justified in doing it. Somehow they figured out that we have above-average intelligence, and that’s why they chose us. I don’t know, most of this is sketchy and doesn’t matter that much anyway.
“I can’t remember anything about my family or what happened to them. But after we were taken, we spent the next few years learning in special schools, living somewhat normal lives until they were finally able to finance and build the Maze. All our names are just stupid nicknames they made up—like Alby for Albert Einstein, Newt for Isaac Newton, and me—Thomas. As in Edison.”
Alby looked like he’d been slapped in the face. “Our names … these ain’t even our real names?”
Thomas shook his head. “As far as I can tell, we’ll probably never know what our names were.”
“What are you saying?” Frypan asked. “That we’re freakin’ orphans raised by scientists?”
“Yes,” Thomas said, hoping his expression didn’t give away just how depressed he felt. “Supposedly we’re really smart and they’re studying every move we make, analyzing us. Seeing who’d give up and who wouldn’t. Seeing who’d survive it all. No wonder we have so many beetle blade spies running around this place. Plus, some of us have had things … altered in our brains.”
“I believe this klunk about as much as I believe Frypan’s food is good for you,” Winston grumbled, looking tired and indifferent.
“Why would I make this up?” Thomas said, his voice rising. He’d gotten stung on
purpose
to remember these things! “Better yet, what do
you
think is the explanation? That we live on an alien planet?”
“Just keep talking,” Alby said. “But I don’t get why none of us remembered this stuff. I’ve been through the Changing, but everything I saw was …” He looked around quickly, like he’d just said something he shouldn’t have. “I didn’t learn nothin’.”
“I’ll tell you in a minute why I think I learned more than others,” Thomas said, dreading that part of the story. “Should I keep going or not?”
“Talk,” Newt said.
Thomas sucked in a big breath, as if he were about to start a race. “Okay, somehow they wiped our memories—not just our childhood, but all the stuff leading up to entering the Maze. They put us in the Box and sent us up here—a big group to start and then one a month over the last two years.”
“But why?” Newt asked. “What’s the bloody point?”
Thomas held up a hand for silence. “I’m getting there. Like I said, they wanted to test us, see how we’d react to what they call the Variables, and to a problem that has no solution. See if we could work together—build a community, even. Everything was provided for us, and the problem was laid out as one of the most common puzzles known to civilization—a maze. All this added up to making us think there
had
to be a solution, just encouraging us to work all the harder while at the same time magnifying our discouragement at not finding one.” He paused to look around, making sure they were all listening. “What I’m saying is, there
is
no solution.”
Chatter broke out, questions overlapping each other.
Thomas held his hands up again, wishing he could just zap his thoughts into everyone else’s brains. “See? Your reaction proves my
point. Most people would’ve given up by now. But I think we’re different. We couldn’t accept that a problem
can’t
be solved—especially when it’s something as simple as a maze. And we’ve kept fighting no matter how hopeless it’s gotten.”
Thomas realized his voice had steadily risen as he spoke, and he felt heat in his face. “Whatever the reason, it makes me sick! All of this—the Grievers, the walls moving, the Cliff—they’re just elements of a stupid
test
. We’re being used and manipulated. The Creators wanted to keep our minds working toward a solution that was never there. Same thing goes for Teresa being sent here, her being used to trigger the Ending—whatever
that
means—the place being shut down, gray skies, on and on and on. They’re throwing crazy things at us to see our response, test our will. See if we’ll turn on each other. In the end, they want the survivors for something important.”
Frypan stood up. “And killing people? That’s a nice little part of their plan?”
Thomas felt a moment of fear, worried that the Keepers might take out their anger on him for knowing so much. And it was only about to get worse. “Yes, Frypan, killing people. The only reason the Grievers are doing it one by one is so we don’t all die before it ends the way it’s supposed to. Survival of the fittest. Only the best of us will escape.”
Frypan kicked his chair. “Well, you better start talking about this magical escape, then!”
“He will,” Newt said, quietly. “Shut up and listen.”
Minho, who’d been mostly silent the whole time, cleared his throat. “Something tells me I’m not gonna like what I’m about to hear.”
“Probably not,” Thomas said. He closed his eyes for a second and folded his arms. The next few minutes were going to be crucial. “The Creators want the best of us for whatever it is they have planned. But
we have to earn it.” The room fell completely silent, every eye on him. “The code.”
“The code?” Frypan repeated, his voice lighting up with a trace of hope. “What about it?”
Thomas looked at him, paused for effect. “It was hidden in the wall movements of the Maze for a reason. I should know—I was there when the Creators did it.”
For a long moment, no one said anything, and all Thomas saw were blank faces. He felt the sweat beading on his forehead, slicking his hands; he was terrified to keep going.
Newt looked completely baffled and finally broke the silence. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, first there’s something I have to share. About me and Teresa. There’s a reason Gally accused me of so much stuff, and why everyone who’s gone through the Changing recognizes me.”
He expected questions—an eruption of voices—but the room was dead silent.
“Teresa and I are … different,” he continued. “We were part of the Maze Trials from the very beginning—but against our will, I swear it.”
Minho was the one to speak up now. “Thomas, what’re you talking about?”
“Teresa and I were used by the Creators. If you had your full memories back, you’d probably want to kill us. But I had to tell you this myself to show you we can be trusted now. So you’ll believe me when I tell you the only way we can get out of here.”
Thomas quickly scanned the faces of the Keepers, wondering one last time if he should say it, if they would understand. But he knew he had to. He
had
to.
Thomas took a deep breath, then said it. “Teresa and I helped design the Maze. We helped create the whole thing.”
Everyone seemed too stunned to respond. Blank faces stared back at him once again. Thomas figured they either didn’t understand or didn’t believe him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Newt finally asked. “You’re a bloody sixteen-year-old. How could you have created the Maze?”
Thomas couldn’t help doubting it a little himself—but he knew what he’d remembered. As crazy as it was, he knew it for the truth. “We were … smart. And I think it might be part of the Variables. But most importantly, Teresa and I have a … gift that made us very valuable as they designed and built this place.” He stopped, knowing it must all sound absurd.
“Speak!” Newt yelled. “Spit it out!”
“We’re telepathic! We can talk to each other in our freaking heads!” Saying it out loud almost made him feel ashamed, as if he’d just admitted he was a thief.
Newt blinked in surprise; someone coughed.
“But listen to me,” Thomas continued, in a hurry to defend himself. “They
forced
us to help. I don’t know how or why, but they did.” He paused. “Maybe it was to see if we could gain your trust despite having been a part of them. Maybe we were meant all along to be the ones to reveal how to escape. Whatever the reason, with your Maps we figured out the code and we need to use it now.”
Thomas looked around, and surprisingly, astonishingly, no one seemed angry. Most of the Gladers continued to stare blankly at him or shook their heads in wonder or disbelief. And for some odd reason, Minho was smiling.
“It’s true, and I’m sorry,” Thomas continued. “But I can tell you this—I’m in the same boat with you now. Teresa and I were sent here just like anyone else, and we can die just as easily. But the Creators have seen enough—it’s time for the final test. I guess I needed the Changing
to add the final pieces of the puzzle. Anyway, I wanted you to know the truth, to know there’s a chance we can do this.”
Newt shook his head back and forth, staring at the ground. Then he looked up, took in the other Keepers. “The Creators—those shanks did this to us, not Tommy and Teresa. The Creators. And they’ll be sorry.”
“Whatever,” Minho said, “who gives a klunk about all that—just get on with the escape already.”
A lump formed in Thomas’s throat. He was so relieved he almost couldn’t speak. He’d been sure they’d put him under major heat for his confession, if not throw him off the Cliff. The rest of what he had to say almost seemed easy now. “There’s a computer station in a place we’ve never looked before. The code will open a door for us to get out of the Maze. It also shuts down the Grievers so they can’t follow us—if we can just survive long enough to get to that point.”
“A place we’ve never
looked
before?” Alby asked. “What do you think we’ve been doing for two years?”
“Trust me, you’ve never been to this spot.”
Minho stood up. “Well, where is it?”
“It’s almost suicide,” Thomas said, knowing he was putting off the answer. “The Grievers will come after us whenever we try to do it. All of them. The final test.” He wanted to make sure they understood the stakes. The odds of everyone surviving were slim.
“So where is it?” Newt asked, leaning forward in his chair.
“Over the Cliff,” Thomas answered. “We have to go through the Griever Hole.”
Alby stood up so quickly his chair fell over backward. His bloodshot eyes stood out against the white bandage on his forehead. He took two steps forward before stopping, as if he’d been about to charge and attack Thomas.
“Now you’re being a shuck idiot,” he said, glaring at Thomas. “Or a traitor. How can we trust a word you say if you helped design this place, put us here! We can’t handle one Griever on our own ground, much less fight a whole horde of them in their little hole. What are you really up to?”
Thomas was furious. “What am I up to? Nothing! Why would I make all this up?”
Alby’s arms stiffened, fists clenched. “For all we know you were sent here to get us all killed. Why should we trust you?”
Thomas stared, incredulous. “Alby, do you have a short-term memory problem? I risked my life to save you out in the Maze—you’d be dead if it wasn’t for me!”
“Maybe that was a trick to gain our trust. If you’re in league with the shucks who sent us here, you wouldn’t have had to worry about the Grievers hurting you—maybe it was all an act.”
Thomas’s anger lessened slightly at that, turned into pity. Something was odd here—suspicious.
“Alby,” Minho finally interjected, relieving Thomas. “That’s about the dumbest theory I’ve ever heard. He just about got freaking torn apart three nights ago. You think that’s part of the act?”
Alby nodded once, curtly. “Maybe.”
“I
did it,”
Thomas said, throwing all the annoyance he could into his voice, “on the chance that I could get my memories back, help all of us get out of here. Do I need to show you the cuts and bruises all over my body?”
Alby said nothing, his face still quivering with rage. His eyes watered and veins popped out on his neck. “We can’t go back!” he finally yelled, turning to look at everyone in the room. “I’ve seen what our lives were like—we can’t go back!”
“Is
that
what this is about?” Newt asked. “Are you kidding?”
Alby turned on him, fiercely, even held up a clenched fist. But he stopped, lowered his arm, then went over and sank into his chair, put his face in his hands, and broke down. Thomas couldn’t have been more surprised. The fearless leader of the Gladers was crying.
“Alby, talk to us,” Newt pressed, not willing to let it drop. “What’s going on?”
“I did it,” Alby said through a racking sob. “I did it.”
“Did what?” Newt asked. He looked as confused as Thomas felt.
Alby looked up, his eyes wet with tears. “I burned the Maps. I did it. I slammed my head on the table so you’d think it was someone else, I lied, burned it all. I did it!”
The Keepers exchanged looks, shock clear in their wide eyes and raised eyebrows. For Thomas, though, it all made sense now. Alby remembered how awful his life was before he came here and he didn’t want to go back.
“Well, it’s a good thing we saved those Maps,” Minho said, completely straight-faced, almost mocking. “Thanks for the tip you gave us after the Changing—to protect them.”
Thomas looked to see how Alby would respond to Minho’s sarcastic, almost cruel, remark, but he acted as if he hadn’t even heard.
Newt, instead of showing anger, asked Alby to explain. Thomas knew why Newt wasn’t mad—the Maps were safe, the code figured out. It didn’t matter.
“I’m telling you.” Alby sounded like he was begging—near hysterical. “We can’t go back to where we came from. I’ve seen it, remembered awful, awful things. Burned land, a disease—something called the Flare. It was horrible—way worse than we have it here.”
“If we stay
here
, we’ll all die!” Minho yelled. “It’s worse than that?”
Alby stared at Minho a long time before answering. Thomas could only think of the words he’d just said.
The Flare
. Something about it was familiar, right on the edge of his mind. But he was certain he hadn’t remembered anything about that when he’d gone through the Changing.