Eventually, Thomas and Minho got themselves up and went to sit on a couch in the common area while
Brenda helped Jorge in the cockpit.
With time to think, the full reality of what had happened hit Thomas like a falling boulder. Ever since
Thomas had entered the Maze, Newt had been there for him. Thomas hadn’t realized just how much of a
friend he’d become until now. His heart hurt.
He tried to remind himself that Newt wasn’t dead. But in some ways this was worse. In most ways.
He’d fallen down the slope of insanity, and he was surrounded by bloodthirsty Cranks. And the prospect
of never seeing him again was almost unbearable.
Minho finally spoke in a lifeless voice. “Why did he do that? Why wouldn’t he come back with us?
Why would he point that weapon at my face?”
“He never would’ve pulled the trigger,” Thomas offered, though he doubted it was the truth.
Minho shook his head. “You saw his eyes when they changed. Complete lunacy. I’d be fried if I’d kept
pushing. He’s crazy, man. He’s gone wacker from top to bottom.”
“Maybe it’s a good thing.”
“Come again?” Minho asked as he turned to Thomas.
“Maybe when their minds go, they’re not themselves anymore. Maybe the Newt we know is gone and
he’s not aware of what’s happening to him. So really, he’s not suffering.”
Minho almost looked offended by the notion. “Nice try, slinthead, but I don’t believe it. I think he’ll
always be there just enough to be screaming on the inside, deranged and suffering every shuck second of
it. Tormented like a dude buried alive.”
That image made Thomas not want to talk anymore, and they fell silent again. Thomas stared at the
same spot on the floor, feeling the full dread of Newt’s fate, until the Berg landed with a thump back at the
Denver airport.
Thomas rubbed his face with both hands. “I guess we’re here.”
“I think I understand WICKED a little more now,” Minho said absently. “After seeing those eyes up
close. Seeing the madness. It’s not the same when it’s someone you’ve known for so long. I’ve watched
plenty of friends die, but I can’t imagine anything worse. The Flare, man. If we could find a cure for
that …”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but Thomas knew what he was thinking. Thomas closed his eyes for a
second—nothing about this was black-and-white. It never would be.
Jorge and Brenda joined them after they’d sat awhile in silence.
“I’m sorry,” Brenda murmured.
Minho grunted something; Thomas nodded and gave her a long look, trying to let her know with his
eyes how terrible he felt. Jorge just sat there, staring at the floor.
Brenda cleared her throat. “I know it’s hard, but we need to think about what we’re going to do next.”
Minho flew to his feet and pointed at her. “You can think all you want about whatever shuck thing you
want, Ms. Brenda. We just left our friend with a bunch of psychos.” He stormed out of the room.
Brenda’s eyes fell on Thomas. “Sorry.”
He shrugged. “It’s okay. He was with Newt for two years before I showed up in the Maze. It’ll take
him some time.”
“We’re really spent, muchachos,” Jorge said. “Maybe we should take a couple of days and rest. Think
it all through.”
“Yeah,” Thomas murmured.
Brenda leaned toward him and squeezed his hand. “We’ll figure something out.”
“There’s only one place to start,” Thomas replied. “Gally’s.”
“Maybe you’re right.” She squeezed his hand once more, then let go and stood up. “Come on, Jorge.
Let’s make something to eat.”
The two of them let Thomas be alone with his sorrow.
After a dreadful meal during which no one spoke more than a couple of meaningless words at a time, the
four of them went their separate ways. Thomas couldn’t stop thinking about Newt as he wandered the
Berg aimlessly. His heart sank when he thought about what their lost friend’s life was going to become,
what little left of it he had.
The note.
Thomas stood dazed for a moment, then ran to the bathroom and locked the door. The note! In all the
chaos of the Crank Palace, he’d completely forgotten about it. Newt had said Thomas would know when
the time came to read it. And he should’ve done it before they’d left him in that rancid place. If the time
hadn’t been right then, when would it have ever been?
He pulled the envelope out of his pocket and ripped it open, then took out the slip of paper. The soft
lights that ringed the mirror lit up the message in a warm glow. It was two short sentences:
Kill me. If you’ve ever been my friend, kill me.
Thomas read it over and over, wishing the words would change. To think that his friend had been so
scared that he’d had the foresight to write those words made him sick to his stomach. And he remembered
how angry Newt had been at Thomas specifically when they’d found him in the bowling alley. He’d just
wanted to avoid the inevitable fate of becoming a Crank.
And Thomas had failed him.
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