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.
The group waited quietly as a few minutes passed, Thomas’s anxiety growing with every second. He
tried not to show it, but he suddenly felt like this had been a huge mistake. They should’ve gone
somewhere else less secure, or tried to break in to the city somehow. These people were going to see
right through them. Maybe WICKED had already sent out calls to be on the lookout for fugitives.
Slim it, Thomas, he told himself, and for half a second he worried he’d said it out loud.
The lady’s voice came back. “Papers are in order. Please move to the viral testing station.”
Jorge stepped to the right and a panel on the wall opened. Thomas watched as a mechanical arm came
out of it. It was a strange device with what looked like eye sockets. Jorge leaned forward and pressed his
face to the machine. As soon as his eyes were lined up to the sockets a small wire snaked out and pricked
his neck. There were several hisses and clicks; then the wire retracted back into the device and Jorge
stepped away.
The entire panel rotated back into the wall and the device Jorge had used disappeared, replaced by a
new one that looked just like it.
“Next,” the lady announced.
Brenda exchanged an uneasy glance with Thomas, then stepped up to the machine and leaned into it.
The wire pricked her neck, the device hissed and clicked and it was over. She moved away, taking a very
noticeable breath of relief.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve used one of those,” she whispered to Thomas. “They make me
nervous, like I’m suddenly not gonna be immune anymore.”
Once again the lady said, “Next.”
Minho went through the procedure. Finally it was Thomas’s turn.
He walked over to the testing panel as it rotated again, and as soon as the new apparatus appeared and
locked into place, he leaned forward and placed his eyes where they were supposed to go. He braced
himself for the pain of the wire, but he hardly noticed the prick on his neck before it was gone. All he saw
inside the machine were a few flashes of light and color. He felt a puff of air that made him squeeze his
eyes shut; when he opened them again everything was dark.
After a few seconds, he stepped back and waited for whatever was supposed to happen next.
The lady finally spoke again. “You’ve all been cleared of VCT and confirmed immune. You do realize
that the opportunities for your kind are vast here in Denver. But don’t advertise it too much out on the
streets. Everyone here is healthy and virus-free, but there are many who still don’t take kindly to
Immunes.”
“We’re here for a few simple tasks and then we’ll be heading out again. Probably in a week or so,”
Jorge said. “Hopefully we can keep our little secret a … secret.”
“What’s VCT?” Thomas whispered to Minho.
“You think I know?”
“Viral Contagion Threat,” Brenda answered before Thomas could ask her. “But keep it down. Anyone
who doesn’t know that will seem suspicious here.”
Thomas opened his mouth to say something but was startled by a loud beep as the doors began to slide
open. Another hallway was revealed, its walls made of metal. There was another set of closed doors at
the end of it. Thomas wondered just how long this would go on.
“Enter the detector one at a time, please,” the woman directed. Her voice seemed to follow them to this
third hallway. “Mr. Gallaraga first.”
Jorge entered the small space and the doors slid shut behind him.
“What’s the detector?” Thomas asked.
“It detects stuff,” Brenda replied curtly.
Thomas wrinkled his face at her. Faster than he expected, an alarm buzzed again and the doors opened.
Jorge was no longer there.
“Ms. Despain is next,” their now-bored-sounding announcer said.
Brenda nodded at Thomas and entered the detector. A minute or so later and it was Minho’s turn.
Minho looked at Thomas, a serious expression on his face. “If I don’t see you on the other side,” he
said in a sappy voice, “remember that I love you.” Snickering at Thomas’s eye roll, he went through the
doors and they closed.
Soon the lady called for Thomas to enter.
He stepped inside and the doors closed behind him. A rush of air hit him as several low beeps
sounded; then the doors in front of him slid open and there were people everywhere. His heartbeat picked
up, but he spotted his waiting friends and relaxed. He was struck by all the activity around him as he
joined them. A bustling crowd of men and women—many of whom clutched rags to their mouths—filled a
huge atrium topped with a glass ceiling far above, letting in loads of sunshine. Through one corner he
could see the tops of several skyscrapers—though these looked nothing like the ones they’d come across
in the Scorch. They were brilliant in the sunlight. Thomas was so stunned by everything there was to look
at, he almost forgot how nervous he’d been only a moment before.
“Wasn’t so bad, was it, muchacho?” Jorge asked.
“I kinda liked it,” Minho said.
Thomas was utterly wowed; he couldn’t stop craning his neck to take in the large building they’d
entered. “What is this place?” he finally got out. “Who are all these people?” He looked to his three
partners, waiting for an answer—Jorge and Brenda looked embarrassed to be with him. But Brenda’s
expression changed abruptly, melting into something like sadness.
“I keep forgetting that you’ve lost your memories,” she murmured, then opened her arms to gesture
around herself. “It’s called a mall—basically it runs along the entire wall surrounding the city. It’s mainly
shops and businesses.”
“I’ve just never seen so many …” His voice trailed off. A man in a dark blue jacket was approaching
them, his gaze set on Thomas. And he didn’t look very happy.
“Hey,” Thomas whispered, nodding toward the stranger.
The man reached them before anyone could respond. He gave the group a curt nod and announced, “We
know some people escaped from WICKED. And judging by the Berg you came in on, I’m guessing you’re
a part of that group. I highly recommend you accept the advice I’m about to give you. You have nothing to
be afraid of—we’re only asking for help and you’ll be protected when you arrive.”
He handed Thomas a slip of paper, spun on his heel and walked off without another word.
“What in the world was that all about?” Minho asked. “What does it say?”
Thomas looked down and read it. “It says, ‘You need to come meet me immediately—I’m with a group
called the Right Arm. Corner of Kenwood and Brookshire, Apartment 2792.’ ”
A lump formed in Thomas’s throat when he saw the signature at the bottom of the slip of paper. He
looked up at Minho, sure his face had gone pale. “It’s from Gally.”
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