The Maze Runner - Chapter 51

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.
“Yes,” Alby finally said. “It’s worse. Better to die than go home.”
Minho snickered and leaned back in his chair. “Man, you are one butt-load of sunshine, let me
tell you. I’m with Thomas. I’m with Thomas one hundred percent. If we’re gonna die, let’s
freakin’ do it fighting.”
“Inside the Maze or out of it,” Thomas added, relieved that Minho was firmly on his side. He
turned to Alby then, and looked at him gravely. “We still live inside the world you remembered.”
Alby stood again, his face showing his defeat. “Do what you want.” He sighed. “Doesn’t
matter. We’ll die no matter what.” And with that, he walked to the door and left the room.
Newt let out a deep breath and shook his head. “He’s never been the same since being stung—
must’ve been one bugger of a memory. What in the world is the Flare?”
“I don’t care,” Minho said. “Anything’s better than dying here. We can deal with the Creators
once we’re out. But for now we gotta do what they planned. Go through the Griever Hole and
escape. If some of us die, so be it.”
Frypan snorted. “You shanks are driving me nuts. Can’t get out of the Maze, and this idea of
hanging with the Grievers at their bachelor pad sounds as stupid as anything I’ve ever heard in
my life. Might as well slit our wrists.”
The other Keepers burst out in argument, everyone talking over everyone else. Newt finally
screamed for them to shut up.
Thomas spoke again once things settled. “I’m going through the Hole or I’ll die trying to get
there. Looks like Minho will, too. And I’m sure Teresa’s in. If we can fight off the Grievers long
enough for someone to punch in the code and shut them down, then we can go through the door
they come through. We’ll have passed the tests. Then we can face the Creators themselves.”
Newt’s grin had no humor in it. “And you think we can fight off Grievers? Even if we don’t
die, we’ll probably all get stung. Every last one of them might be waiting for us when we get to
the Cliff—the beetle blades are out there constantly. The Creators’ll know when we make our
run for it.”
He’d been dreading it, but Thomas knew it was time to tell them the last part of his plan. “I
don’t think they’ll sting us—the Changing was a Variable meant for us while we lived here. But
that part will be over. Plus, we might have one thing going for us.”
“Yeah?” Newt asked, rolling his eyes. “Can’t wait to hear it.”
“It doesn’t do the Creators any good if we all die—this thing is meant to be hard, not
impossible. I think we finally know for sure that the Grievers are programmed to only kill one of
us each day. So somebody can sacrifice himself to save the others while we run to the Hole. I
think this might be how it’s supposed to happen.”
The room went silent until the Blood House Keeper barked a loud laugh. “Excuse me?”
Winston asked. “So your suggestion is that we throw some poor kid to the wolves so the rest of
us can escape? This is your brilliant suggestion?”
Thomas refused to admit how bad that sounded, but an idea hit him. “Yes, Winston, I’m glad
you’re so good at paying attention.” He ignored the glare that got him. “And it seems obvious
who the poor kid should be.”
“Oh, yeah?” Winston asked. “Who?”
Thomas folded his arms. “Me.”

Categories: The Maze Runner

The Maze Runner - Chapter 50

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.”

Categories: The Maze Runner

The Maze Runner - Chapter 49

An hour later, Thomas sat in front of the Keepers for the Gathering, just like he had a week or
two before. They hadn’t let Teresa in, which ticked him off just as much as it did her. Newt and
Minho trusted her now, but the others still had their doubts.
“All right, Greenie,” Alby said, looking much better as he sat in the middle of the semicircle
of chairs, next to Newt. The other chairs were all occupied except two—a stark reminder that
Zart and Gally had been taken by the Grievers. “Forget all the beat-around-the-bush klunk. Start
talking.”
Thomas, still a bit queasy from the Changing, forced himself to take a second and gain his
composure. He had a lot to say, but wanted to be sure it came out sounding as non-stupid as
possible.
“It’s a long story,” he began. “We don’t have time to go through it all, but I’ll tell you the gist
of it. When I went through the Changing, I saw flashes of images—hundreds of them—like a
slide show in fast forward. A lot came back to me, but only some of it’s clear enough to talk
about. Other stuff has faded or is fading.” He paused, gathering his thoughts one last time. “But I
remember enough. The Creators are testing us. The Maze was never meant to be solved. It’s all
been a trial. They want the winners—or survivors—to do something important.” He trailed off,
already confused at what order he should tell things in.
“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 aboveaverage
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.”

Categories: The Maze Runner

The Maze Runner - Chapter 48

“Thomas.”
The voice was distant, warbled, like an echo in a long tunnel.
“Thomas, can you hear me?”
He didn’t want to answer. His mind had shut down when it could no longer take the pain; he
feared it would all return if he allowed himself back into consciousness. He sensed light on the
other side of his eyelids, but knew it would be unbearable to open them. He did nothing.
“Thomas, it’s Chuck. Are you okay? Please don’t die, dude.”
Everything came crashing back into his mind. The Glade, the Grievers, the stinging needle, the
Changing. Memories. The Maze couldn’t be solved. Their only way out was something they’d
never expected. Something terrifying. He was crushed with despair.
Groaning, he forced his eyes open, squinting at first. Chuck’s pudgy face was there, staring
with frightened eyes. But then they lit up and a smile spread across his face. Despite it all,
despite the terrible crappiness of it all, Chuck smiled.
“He’s awake!” the boy yelled to no one in particular. “Thomas is awake!”
The booming sound of his voice made Thomas wince; he shut his eyes again. “Chuck, do you
have to scream? I don’t feel so good.”
“Sorry—I’m just glad you’re alive. You’re lucky I don’t give you a big kiss.”
“Please don’t do that, Chuck.” Thomas opened his eyes again and forced himself to sit up in
the bed in which he lay, pushing his back against the wall and stretching out his legs. Soreness
ate at his joints and muscles. “How long did it take?” he asked.
“Three days,” Chuck answered. “We put you in the Slammer at night to keep you safe—
brought you back here during the days. Thought you were dead for sure about thirty times since
you started. But check you out—you look brand-new!”
Thomas could only imagine how non-great he looked. “Did the Grievers come?”
Chuck’s jubilation visibly crashed to the ground as his eyes sank down toward the floor.
“Yeah—they got Zart and a couple others. One a night. Minho and the Runners have scoured the
Maze, trying to find an exit or some use for that stupid code you guys came up with. But nothing.
Why do you think the Grievers are only taking one shank at a time?”
Thomas’s stomach turned sour—he knew the exact answer to that question, and some others
now. Enough to know that sometimes knowing sucked.
“Get Newt and Alby,” he finally said in answer. “Tell them we need to have a Gathering. Soon
as possible.”
“Serious?”
Thomas let out a sigh. “Chuck, I just went through the Changing. Do you think I’m serious?”
Without a word, Chuck jumped up and ran out of the room, his calls for Newt fading the
farther he went.
Thomas closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. Then he called out to her with his
mind.
Teresa.
She didn’t answer at first, but then her voice popped into his thoughts as clearly as if she were
sitting next to him. That was really stupid, Tom. Really, really stupid.
Had to do it, he answered.
I pretty much hated you the last couple days. You should’ve seen yourself. Your skin, your
veins…
You hated me? He was thrilled she’d cared so much about him.
She paused. That’s just my way of saying I would’ve killed you if you’d died.
Thomas felt a burst of warmth in his chest, reached up and actually touched it, surprised at
himself. Well … thanks. I guess.
So, how much do you remember?
He paused. Enough. What you said about the two of us and what we did to them…
It was true?
We did some bad things, Teresa. He sensed frustration from her, like she had a million
questions and no idea where to start.
Did you learn anything to help us get out of here? she asked, as if she didn’t want to know
what part she’d had in all of this. A purpose for the code?
Thomas paused, not really wanting to talk about it yet—not before he really gathered his
thoughts. Their only chance for escape might be a death wish. Maybe, he finally said, but it
won’t be easy. We need a Gathering. I’ll ask for you to be there—I don’t have the energy to say
it all twice.
Neither one of them said anything for a while, a sense of hopelessness wafting between their
minds.
Teresa?
Yeah?
The Maze can’t be solved.
She paused for a long time before answering. I think we all know that now.
Thomas hated the pain in her voice—he could feel it in his mind. Don’t worry; the Creators
meant for us to escape, though. I have a plan. He wanted to give her some hope, no matter how
scarce.
Oh, really.
Yeah. It’s terrible, and some of us might die. Sound promising?
Big-time. What is it?
We have to—
Before he could finish, Newt walked into the room, cutting him off.
I’ll tell you later, Thomas quickly finished.
Hurry! she said, then was gone.
Newt had walked over to the bed and sat down next to him. “Tommy—you barely look sick.”
Thomas nodded. “I feel a little queasy, but other than that, I’m fine. Thought it’d be a lot
worse.”
Newt shook his head, his face a mixture of anger and awe. “What you did was half brave and
half bloody stupid. Seems like you’re pretty good at that.” He paused, shook his head. “I know
why you did it. What memories came back? Anything that’ll help?”
“We need to have a Gathering,” Thomas said, shifting his legs to get more comfortable.
Surprisingly, he didn’t feel much pain, just wooziness. “Before I start forgetting some of this
stuff.”
“Yeah, Chuck told me—we’ll do it. But why? What did you figure out?”
“It’s a test, Newt—the whole thing is a test.”
Newt nodded. “Like an experiment.”
Thomas shook his head. “No, you don’t get it. They’re weeding us out, seeing if we’ll give up,
finding the best of us. Throwing variables at us, trying to make us quit. Testing our ability to
hope and fight. Sending Teresa here and shutting everything down was only the last part, one
more … final analysis. Now it’s time for the last test. To escape.”
Newt’s brow crinkled in confusion. “What do you mean? You know a way out?”
“Yeah. Call the Gathering. Now.”

Categories: The Maze Runner

The Maze Runner - Chapter 47

Thomas had no concept of time as he went through the Changing.
It started much like his first memory of the Box—dark and cold. But this time he had no
sensation of anything touching his feet or body. He floated in emptiness, stared into a void of
black. He saw nothing, heard nothing, smelled nothing. It was as if someone had stolen his five
senses, leaving him in a vacuum.
Time stretched on. And on. Fear turned into curiosity, which turned into boredom.
Finally, after an interminable wait, things began to change.
A distant wind picked up, unfelt but heard. Then a swirling mist of whiteness appeared far in
the distance—a spinning tornado of smoke that formed into a long funnel, stretching out until he
could see neither the top nor the bottom of the white whirlwind. He felt the gales then, sucking
into the cyclone so that it blew past him from behind, ripping at his clothes and hair like they
were shredded flags caught in a storm.
The tower of thick mist began to move toward him—or he was moving toward it, he couldn’t
tell—increasing its speed at an alarming rate. Where seconds before he’d been able to see the
distinct form of the funnel, he now could see only a flat expanse of white.
And then it consumed him; he felt his mind taken by the mist, felt memories flood into his
thoughts.
Everything else turned into pain.

Categories: The Maze Runner

The Maze Runner - Chapter 46

Thomas refused to talk to anyone the rest of the day.
Teresa tried several times. But he kept telling her he didn’t feel good, that he just wanted to be
alone and sleep in his spot behind the forest, maybe spend some time thinking. Try to discover a
hidden secret within his mind that would help them know what to do.
But in truth, he was psyching himself up for what he had planned for that evening, convincing
himself it was the right thing to do. The only thing to do. Plus, he was absolutely terrified and he
didn’t want the others to notice.
Eventually, when his watch showed that evening had arrived, he went to the Homestead with
everyone else. He barely noticed he’d been hungry until he started eating Frypan’s hastily
prepared meal of biscuits and tomato soup.
And then it was time for another sleepless night.
The Builders had boarded up the gaping holes left by the monsters who’d carried off Gally and
Adam. The end result looked to Thomas like an army of drunk guys had done the work, but it
was solid enough. Newt and Alby, who finally felt well enough to walk around again, his head
heavily bandaged, insisted on a plan for everyone to rotate where they slept each night.
Thomas ended up in the large living room on the bottom floor of the Homestead with the same
people he’d slept with two nights before. Silence settled over the room quickly, though he didn’t
know if it was because people were actually asleep or just scared, quietly hoping against hope
the Grievers didn’t come again. Unlike two nights ago, Teresa was allowed to stay in the
building with the rest of the Gladers. She was near him, curled up in two blankets. Somehow, he
could sense that she was sleeping. Actually sleeping.
Thomas certainly couldn’t sleep, even though he knew his body needed it desperately. He
tried—he tried so hard to keep his eyes closed, force himself to relax. But he had no luck. The
night dragged on, the heavy sense of anticipation like a weight on his chest.
Then, just as they’d all expected, came the mechanical, haunted sounds of the Grievers
outside. The time had come.
Everyone crowded together against the wall farthest from the windows, doing their best to
keep quiet. Thomas huddled in a corner next to Teresa, hugging his knees, staring at the window.
The reality of the dreadful decision he’d made earlier squeezed his heart like a crushing fist. But
he knew that everything might depend on it.
The tension in the room rose at a steady pace. The Gladers were quiet, not a soul moved. A
distant scraping of metal against wood echoed through the house; it sounded to Thomas like a
Griever was climbing on the back side of the Homestead, opposite where they were. More noises
joined in a few seconds later, coming from all directions, the closest right outside their own
window. The air in the room seemed to freeze into solid ice, and Thomas pressed his fists against
his eyes, the anticipation of the attack killing him.
A booming explosion of ripping wood and broken glass thundered from somewhere upstairs,
shaking the whole house. Thomas went numb as several screams erupted, followed by the
pounding of fleeing footsteps. Loud creaks and groans announced a whole horde of Gladers
running to the first floor.
“It’s got Dave!” someone yelled, the voice high-pitched with terror.
No one in Thomas’s room moved a muscle; he knew each of them was probably feeling guilty
about their relief—that at least it wasn’t them. That maybe they were safe for one more night.
Two nights in a row only one boy had been taken, and people had started to believe that what
Gally had said was true.
Thomas jumped as a terrible crash sounded right outside their door, accompanied by screams
and the splintering of wood, like some iron-jawed monster was eating the entire stairwell. A
second later came another explosion of ripping wood: the front door. The Griever had come right
through the house and was now leaving.
An explosion of fear ripped through Thomas. It was now or never.
He jumped up and ran to the door of the room, yanking it open. He heard Newt yell, but he
ignored him and ran down the hall, sidestepping and jumping over hundreds of splintered pieces
of wood. He could see that where the front door had been there now stood a jagged hole leading
out into the gray night. He headed straight for it and ran out into the Glade.
Tom! Teresa screamed inside his head. What are you doing!
He ignored her. He just kept running.
The Griever holding Dave—a kid Thomas had never spoken to—was rolling along on its
spikes toward the West Door, churning and whirring. The other Grievers had already gathered in
the courtyard and followed their companion toward the Maze. Without hesitating, knowing the
others would think he was trying to commit suicide, Thomas sprinted in their direction until he
found himself in the middle of the pack of creatures. Having been taken by surprise, the Grievers
hesitated.
Thomas jumped on the one holding Dave, tried to jerk the kid free, hoping the creature would
retaliate. Teresa’s scream inside his mind was so loud it felt as if a dagger had been driven
through his skull.
Three of the Grievers swarmed on him at once, their long pincers and claspers and needles
flying in from all directions. Thomas flailed his arms and legs, knocking away the horrible
metallic arms as he kicked at the pulsating blubber of the Grievers’ bodies—he only wanted to
be stung, not taken like Dave. Their relentless attack intensified, and Thomas felt pain erupt over
every inch of his body—needle pricks that told him he’d succeeded. Screaming, he kicked and
pushed and thrashed, throwing his body into a roll, trying to get away from them. Struggling,
bursting with adrenaline, he finally found an open spot to get his feet under him and ran with all
his power.
As soon as he escaped the immediate reach of the Grievers’ instruments, they gave up and
retreated, disappearing into the Maze. Thomas collapsed to the ground, groaning from the pain.
Newt was on him in a second, followed immediately by Chuck, Teresa, several others. Newt
grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him up, gripping him under both arms. “Get his legs!”
he yelled.
Thomas felt the world swimming around him, felt delirious, nauseated. Someone, he couldn’t
tell who, obeyed Newt’s order; he was being carried across the courtyard, through the front door
of the Homestead, down the shattered hall, into a room, placed on a couch. The world continued
to twist and pitch.
“What were you doing!” Newt yelled in his face. “How could you be so bloody stupid!”
Thomas had to speak before he faded into blackness. “No … Newt … you don’t
understand….”
“Shut up!” Newt shouted. “Don’t waste your energy!”
Thomas felt someone examining his arms and legs, ripping his clothes away from his body,
checking for damage. He heard Chuck’s voice, couldn’t help feeling relief that his friend was
okay. A Med-jack said something about him being stung dozens of times.
Teresa was by his feet, squeezing his right ankle with her hand. Why, Tom? Why would you do
that?
Because… He didn’t have the strength to concentrate.
Newt yelled for the Grief Serum; a minute later Thomas felt a pinprick on his arm. Warmth
spread from that point throughout his body, calming him, lessening the pain. But the world still
seemed to be collapsing in on itself, and he knew it would all be gone from him in just a few
seconds.
The room spun, colors morphing into each other, churning faster and faster. It took all of his
effort, but he said one last thing before the darkness took him for good.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, hoping they could hear him. “I did it on purpose….”

Categories: The Maze Runner

The Maze Runner - Chapter 45

By Thomas’s watch, it was midmorning when he and Minho stepped through the West Door
back into the Glade. Thomas was so tired he wanted to lie down right there and take a nap.
They’d been in the Maze for roughly twenty-four hours.
Surprisingly, despite the dead light and everything falling apart, the day in the Glade appeared
to be proceeding business as usual—farming, gardening, cleaning. It didn’t take long for some of
the boys to notice them standing there. Newt was notified and he came running.
“You’re the first to come back,” he said as he walked up to them. “What happened?” The
childlike look of hope on his face broke Thomas’s heart—he obviously thought they’d found
something important. “Tell me you’ve got good news.”
Minho’s eyes were dead, staring at a spot somewhere in the gray distance. “Nothing,” he said.
“The Maze is a big freaking joke.”
Newt looked at Thomas, confused. “What’s he talking about?”
“He’s just discouraged,” Thomas said with a weary shrug. “We didn’t find anything different.
The walls haven’t moved, no exits, nothing. Did the Grievers come last night?”
Newt paused, darkness passing over his face. Finally, he nodded. “Yeah. They took Adam.”
Thomas didn’t know the name, and felt guilty for feeling nothing. Just one person again, he
thought. Maybe Gally was right.
Newt was about to say something else when Minho freaked out, startling Thomas.
“I’m sick of this!” Minho spat in the ivy, veins popping out of his neck. “I’m sick of it! It’s
over! It’s all over!” He took off his backpack and threw it on the ground. “There’s no exit, never
was, never will be. We’re all shucked.”
Thomas watched, his throat dry, as Minho stomped off toward the Homestead. It worried
him—if Minho gave up, they were all in big trouble.
Newt didn’t say a word. He left Thomas standing there, now in his own daze. Despair hung in
the air like the smoke from the Map Room, thick and acrid.
The other Runners returned within the hour, and from what Thomas heard, none of them had
found anything and they’d eventually given up as well. Glum faces were everywhere throughout
the Glade, and most of the workers had abandoned their daily jobs.
Thomas knew that the code of the Maze was their only hope now. It had to reveal something.
It had to. And after aimlessly wandering the Glade to hear the other Runners’ stories, he snapped
out of his funk.
Teresa? he said in his mind, closing his eyes, as if that would do the trick. Where are you? Did
you figure anything out?
After a long pause, he almost gave up, thinking it didn’t work.
Huh? Tom, did you say something?
Yeah, he said, excited he’d made contact again. Can you hear me? Am I doing this thing right?
Sometimes it’s choppy, but it’s working. Kinda freaky, huh?
Thomas thought about that—actually, he was sort of getting used to it. It’s not so bad. Are you
guys still in the basement? I saw Newt but then he disappeared again.
Still here. Newt had three or four Gladers help us trace the Maps. I think we have the code all
figured out.
Thomas’s heart leaped into his throat. Serious?
Get down here.
I’m coming. He was already moving as he said it, somehow not feeling so exhausted anymore.
Newt let him in.
“Minho still hasn’t shown up,” he said as they walked down the stairs to the basement.
“Sometimes he turns into a buggin’ hothead.”
Thomas was surprised Minho was wasting time sulking, especially with the code possibilities.
He pushed the thought aside as he entered the room. Several Gladers he didn’t know were
gathered around the table, standing; they all looked exhausted, their eyes sunken. Piles of Maps
lay scattered all over the place, including the floor. It looked as if a tornado had touched down
right in the middle of the room.
Teresa was leaning against a stack of shelves, reading a single sheet of paper. She glanced up
when he entered, but then returned her gaze to whatever it was she held. This saddened him a
little—he’d hoped she’d be happy to see him—but then he felt really stupid for even having the
thought. She was obviously busy figuring out the code.
You have to see this, Teresa said to him just as Newt dismissed his helpers—they clomped up
the wooden stairs, a couple of them grumbling about doing all that work for nothing.
Thomas started, for a brief moment worried that Newt could tell what was going on. Don’t
talk in my head while Newt’s around. I don’t want him knowing about our … gift.
“Come check this out,” she said aloud, barely hiding the smirk that flashed across her face.
“I’ll get down on my knees and kiss your bloody feet if you can figure it out,” Newt said.
Thomas walked over to Teresa, eager to see what they’d come up with. She held out the paper,
eyebrows raised.
“No doubt this is right,” she said. “Just don’t have a clue what it means.”
Thomas took the paper and scanned it quickly. There were numbered circles running down the
left side, one to six. Next to each one was a word written in big blocky letters.
FLOAT
CATCH
BLEED
DEATH
STIFF
PUSH
That was it. Six words.
Disappointment washed over Thomas—he’d been sure the purpose of the code would be
obvious once they had it figured out. He looked up at Teresa with a sunken heart. “That’s all?
Are you sure they’re in the right order?”
She took the paper back from him. “The Maze has been repeating those words for months—
we finally quit when that became clear. Each time, after the word PUSH, it goes a full week
without showing any letter at all, and then it starts over again with FLOAT. So we figured that’s
the first word, and that’s the order.”
Thomas folded his arms and leaned against the shelves next to Teresa. Without thinking about
it, he’d memorized the six words, welded them to his mind. Float. Catch. Bleed. Death. Stiff.
Push. That didn’t sound good.
“Cheerful, don’t ya think?” Newt said, mirroring his thoughts exactly.
“Yeah,” Thomas replied with a frustrated groan. “We need to get Minho down here—maybe
he knows something we don’t. If we just had more clues—” He froze, hit by a dizzy spell; he
would’ve fallen to the floor if he hadn’t had the shelves to lean on. An idea had just occurred to
him. A horrible, terrible, awful idea. The worst idea in the history of horrible, terrible, awful
ideas.
But instinct told him he was right. That it was something he had to do.
“Tommy?” Newt asked, stepping closer with a look of concern creasing his forehead. “What’s
wrong with you? Your face just went white as a ghost.”
Thomas shook his head, composing himself. “Oh … nothing, sorry. My eyes are hurting—I
think I need some sleep.” He rubbed his temples for effect.
Are you okay? Teresa asked in his mind. He looked to see that she was as worried as Newt,
which made him feel good.
Yeah. Seriously, I’m tired. I just need some rest.
“Well,” Newt said, reaching out to squeeze Thomas’s shoulder. “You spent all bloody night
out in the Maze—go take a nap.”
Thomas looked at Teresa, then at Newt. He wanted to share his idea, but decided against it.
Instead, he just nodded and headed for the stairs.
All the same, Thomas now had a plan. As bad as it was, he had a plan.
They needed more clues about the code. They needed memories.
So he was going to get stung by a Griever. Go through the Changing. On purpose.

Categories: The Maze Runner