He approached Newt and Alby, who both knelt beside the girl. Thomas, not wanting to meet their stares, concentrated on the girl; despite her paleness, she was really pretty. More than pretty. Beautiful. Silky hair, flawless skin, perfect lips, long legs. It made him sick to think that way about a dead girl, but he couldn’t look away. Won’t be that way for long, he thought with a queasy twist in his stomach. She’ll start rotting soon. He was surprised at having such a morbid thought.
“You know this girl, shank?” Alby asked, sounding ticked off.
Thomas was shocked by the question. “Know her? Of course I don’t know her. I don’t know anyone. Except for you guys.”
“That’s not …,” Alby began, then stopped with a frustrated sigh. “I meant does she look familiar at all? Any kind of feelin’ you’ve seen her before?”
“No. Nothing.” Thomas shifted, looked down at his feet, then back at the girl.
Alby’s forehead creased. “You’re sure?” He looked like he didn’t believe a word Thomas said, seemed almost angry.
What could he possibly think I have to do with this? Thomas thought. He met Alby’s glare evenly and answered the only way he knew how. “Yes. Why?”
“Shuck it,” Alby muttered, looking back down at the girl. “Can’t be a coincidence. Two days, two Greenies, one alive, one dead.”
Then Alby’s words started to make sense and panic flared in Thomas. “You don’t think I …” He couldn’t even finish the sentence.
“Slim it, Greenie,” Newt said. “We’re not sayin’ you bloody killed the girl.”
Thomas’s mind was spinning. He was sure he’d never seen her before—but then the slightest hint of doubt crept into his mind. “I swear she doesn’t look familiar at all,” he said anyway. He’d had enough accusations.
“Are you—”
Before Newt could finish, the girl shot up into a sitting position. As she sucked in a huge breath, her eyes snapped open and she blinked, looking around at the crowd surrounding her. Alby cried out and fell backward. Newt gasped and jumped up, stumbling away from her. Thomas didn’t move, his gaze locked on the girl, frozen in fear.
Burning blue eyes darted back and forth as she took deep breaths. Her pink lips trembled as she mumbled something over and over, indecipherable. Then she spoke one sentence—her voice hollow and haunted, but clear.
“Everything is going to change.”
Thomas stared in wonder as her eyes rolled up into her head and she fell back to the ground. Her right fist shot into the air as she landed, staying rigid after she grew still, pointing toward the sky. Clutched in her hand was a wadded piece of paper.
Thomas tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry. Newt ran forward and pulled her fingers apart, grabbing the paper. With shaking hands he unfolded it, then dropped to his knees, spreading out the note on the ground. Thomas moved up behind him to get a look.
Scrawled across the paper in thick black letters were five words:
She’s the last one.
Ever.
CHAPTER 9
An odd moment of complete silence hung over the Glade. It was as if a supernatural wind had swept through the place and sucked out all sound. Newt had read the message aloud for those who couldn’t see the paper, but instead of erupting in confusion, the Gladers all stood dumbfounded.
Thomas would’ve expected shouts and questions, arguments. But no one said a word; all eyes were glued to the girl, now lying there as if asleep, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Contrary to their original conclusion, she was very much alive.
Newt stood, and Thomas hoped for an explanation, a voice of reason, a calming presence. But all he did was crumple the note in his fist, veins popping from his skin as he squeezed it, and Thomas’s heart sank. He wasn’t sure why, but the situation made him very uneasy.
Alby cupped his hands around his mouth. “Med-jacks!”
Thomas wondered what that word meant—he knew he’d heard it before—but then he was abruptly knocked aside. Two older boys were pushing their way through the crowd—one was tall with a buzz cut, his nose the size of a fat lemon. The other was short and actually had gray hair already conquering the black on the sides of his head. Thomas could only hope they’d make some sense of everything.
“So what do we do with her?” the taller one asked, his voice much higher pitched than Thomas expected.
“How should I know?” Alby said. “You two shanks are the Med-jacks—figure it out.”
Med-jacks, Thomas repeated in his head, a light going off. They must be the closest thing they have to doctors. The short one was already on the ground, kneeling beside the girl, feeling for her pulse and leaning over to listen to her heartbeat.
“Who said Clint had first shot at her?” someone yelled from the crowd. There were several barks of laughter. “I’m next!”
How can they joke around? Thomas thought. The girl’s half dead. He felt sick inside.
Alby’s eyes narrowed; his mouth pulled into a tight grin that didn’t look like it had anything to do with humor. “If anybody touches this girl,” Alby said, “you’re gonna spend the night sleepin’ with the Grievers in the Maze. Banished, no questions.” He paused, turning in a slow circle as if he wanted every person to see his face. “Ain’t nobody better touch her! Nobody!”
It was the first time Thomas had actually liked hearing something come out of Alby’s mouth.
The short guy who’d been referred to as a Med-jack—Clint, if the spectator had been correct—stood up from his examination. “She seems fine. Breathing okay, normal heartbeat. Though it’s a bit slow. Your guess is as good as mine, but I’d say she’s in a coma. Jeff, let’s take her to the Homestead.”