Thomas tried hard not to think about things as the next couple of hours passed.
He’d made a stand, but then all that tension and courage and victory kind of trickled away as the group
went through the motions of the most ordinary of activities. Hot food. Cold drinks. Medical attention.
Wonderfully long showers. Fresh clothes.
Through it all, Thomas recognized the chance that it was all happening again. That he and the others
were being pacified, slowly being led to another shock like the one they’d had when they awakened in the
dormitory after being rescued from the Maze. But really, what else was there to do? David and the others
on his staff made no threats, did nothing to raise alarm.
Refreshed and full of food, Thomas ended up sitting on a couch that ran along the narrow middle
section of the Berg, a vast room full of mismatched drab-colored furniture. He’d been avoiding Teresa,
but she came over and sat next to him. He still had a hard time being near her, a hard time talking to her or
anyone else. His insides burned with turmoil.
But he put it all away because there was nothing else to do. He didn’t know how to fly a Berg and
wouldn’t know where to go even if he could take it over. They’d go wherever WICKED took them, they’d
listen, they’d make their decision.
“What’re you thinkin’ about?” Teresa finally asked.
Thomas was glad she’d spoken aloud—he wasn’t sure he wanted to communicate telepathically with
her anymore. “What am I thinking about? Mostly trying not to.”
“Yeah. Maybe we should just enjoy the peace and quiet for a while.”
Thomas looked at Teresa. She sat next to him as if nothing had changed between them at all. As if they
were still best friends. And he couldn’t stand it anymore.
“I hate that you’re acting like nothing happened.”
Teresa looked down. “I’m trying to forget just as much as you probably are. Look, I’m not stupid. I
know that we can never be the same. But I still wouldn’t change anything. It was the plan and it worked.
You’re not dead and that’s worth it to me. Maybe you’ll forgive me someday.”
Thomas almost hated her for sounding so reasonable. “Well, all I care about right now is stopping these
people. It’s not right what they’ve done to us. It doesn’t matter how much I was a part of it. It’s wrong.”
Teresa stretched out a little so she could rest her head against the arm of the couch. “Come on, Tom.
They might’ve erased our memories, but they didn’t remove our brains. We were both part of this, and
when they tell us everything—when we remember why we put ourselves through this—we’re going to do
whatever they tell us to.”
Thomas thought about that for a second and realized he couldn’t possibly have disagreed more. Maybe
at one time he’d felt that way, but not now. Though discussing it with Teresa was the last thing he wanted
to do. “Maybe you’re right,” he murmured.
“When’s the last time we slept?” she asked. “I swear I can’t remember.”
Again with the act that all was well. “I do. For me, anyway. It had something to do with a gas chamber
and you whacking me over the head with a big spear.”
Teresa stretched. “I can only say sorry so many times. At least you got some rest. I didn’t sleep for one
second while you were out. I think I’ve been awake for two full days.”
“Poor baby.” Thomas yawned. He couldn’t help himself—he was tired, too.
“Mmmm?”
He looked over to see her eyes closed, her breathing slowed. She’d fallen asleep just like that. He
glanced around at the other Gladers and Group Bs. Most of them were zonked out, also. Except Minho—
he was trying to talk to some cute girl, but her eyes were closed. Jorge and Brenda were nowhere to be
found—something that struck Thomas as strange, not to mention at least a bit worrisome.
It was then that he realized he missed Brenda terribly, but his own eyelids began to droop, and
weariness and fatigue crept in. As he sank deeper into the couch, he decided he’d have time to look for
her later. Then he finally gave in and allowed the sweet darkness of unconsciousness to take him.
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