Thomas couldn’t find any words. Despite all the lies he’d been told, he knew that what he’d just heard
was the truth. When placed alongside his recent experiences, it just made too much sense. He, and
probably the other Gladers and everyone in Group B, was immune to the Flare. Which was why they’d
been chosen for the Trials. Everything done to them—every cruel trick played, every deceit, every
monster placed in their paths—it all had been part of an elaborate experiment. And somehow it was
leading WICKED to a cure.
It all fit together. And more—this revelation pricked his memories. It felt familiar.
“I can see that you believe me,” Rat Man finally said, breaking the long silence. “Once we’d
discovered there were people like you—with the virus rooted inside, yet showing no symptoms—we
sought out the best and the brightest among you. This is how WICKED was born. Of course, some in your
trial group are not immune, and were chosen as control subjects. When running an experiment you need a
control group, Thomas. It keeps all the data in context.”
That last part made Thomas’s heart sink. “Who isn’t …” The question wouldn’t come out. He was too
scared to hear the answer.
“Who isn’t immune?” Rat Man asked, eyebrows raised. “Oh, I think they should find out before you,
don’t you? But first things first. You smell like a week-old corpse—let’s get you to the showers and find
some fresh clothes.” With that he picked up his file and turned to the door. He was just about to step out
when Thomas’s mind focused.
“Wait!” he shouted.
His visitor looked back at him. “Yes?”
“Back in the Scorch—why did you lie that there’d be a cure at the safe haven?”
Rat Man shrugged. “I don’t think it was a lie at all. By completing the Trials, by arriving at the safe
haven, you helped us collect more data. And because of that there will be a cure. Eventually. For
everyone.”
“And why are you telling me all this? Why now? Why did you stick me in here for four weeks?”
Thomas motioned around the room, at the padded ceiling and walls, at the pathetic toilet in the corner. His
sparse memories weren’t solid enough to make any sense of the bizarre things that had been done to him.
“Why did you lie to Teresa about me being crazy and violent and keep me in here all this time? What
could possibly be the point?”
“Variables,” Rat Man answered. “Everything we’ve done to you has been carefully calculated by our
Psychs and doctors. Done to stimulate responses in the killzone, where the Flare does its damage. To
study the patterns of different emotions and reactions and thoughts. See how they work within the confines
of the virus that’s inside you. We’ve been trying to understand why in you, there’s no debilitating effect.
It’s all about the killzone patterns, Thomas. Mapping your cognitive and physiological responses to build
a blueprint for the potential cure. It’s about the cure.”
“What is the killzone?” Thomas asked, trying to remember but drawing a blank. “Just tell me that and
I’ll go with you.”
“Why, Thomas,” the man replied. “I’m surprised being stung by the Griever didn’t make you recall at
least that much. The killzone is your brain. It’s where the virus settles and takes hold. The more infected
the killzone, the more paranoid and violent the behavior of the infected. WICKED is using your brain and
those of a few others to help us fix the problem. If you recall, our organization states its purpose right in
its name: World in Catastrophe, Killzone Experiment Department.” Rat Man looked pleased with himself.
Almost happy. “Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up. And just so you know, we’re being watched. Try
anything and there’ll be consequences.”
Thomas sat, attempting to process everything he’d just heard. Again, everything rang true, made sense.
Fit in with the memories that had come back to him in recent weeks. And yet his distrust of Rat Man and
WICKED still sprinkled it all with doubt.
He finally stood, letting his mind work through the new revelations, hoping they’d sort themselves into
nice little stacks for later analysis. Without another word, he walked across the room and followed the
Rat Man through the door, leaving his white-walled cell behind.
Nothing stood out about the building in which he found himself. A long hallway, a tiled floor, beige walls
with framed pictures of nature—waves crashing on a beach, a hummingbird hovering beside a red flower,
rain and mist clouding a forest. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Rat Man led him through several turns
and finally stopped at a door. He opened it and gestured for Thomas to go in. It was a large bathroom
lined with lockers and showers. And one of the lockers was open to show fresh clothes and a pair of
shoes. Even a watch.
“You have about thirty minutes,” Rat Man said. “When you’re done, just sit tight—I’ll come back for
you. Then you’ll be reunited with your friends.”
For some reason, at the words friends, Teresa popped into Thomas’s mind. He tried calling out to her
again with his thoughts, but there was still nothing. Despite his ever-growing disdain for her, the
emptiness of her being gone still floated like an unbreakable bubble within him. She was a link to his past
and, he knew without any doubt, had once been his best friend. It was one of the only things in his world
that he was sure of, and he had a hard time letting go of that completely.
Rat Man nodded. “See you in a half hour,” he said. Then he pulled the door open and closed it behind
him, leaving Thomas alone once more.
Thomas still didn’t have a plan other than finding his friends, but at least he was one step closer to that.
And even though he had no idea what to expect, at least he was out of that room. Finally. For now, a hot
shower. A chance to scrub himself clean. Nothing had ever sounded so good. Letting his cares slip away
for the moment, Thomas took off his nasty clothes and got to work making himself human again.
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