“Already had a Gathering of the Keepers this morning—made a unanimous decision by the sounds of it. Looks like Ben’ll be wishing that arrow had found a home inside his shuck brain after all.”
Thomas squinted, confused by what Chuck had said. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s being Banished. Tonight, for trying to kill you.”
“Banished? What does that mean?” Thomas had to ask, though he knew it couldn’t be good if Chuck thought it was worse than being dead.
And then Thomas saw perhaps the most disturbing thing he’d seen since he’d arrived at the Glade. Chuck didn’t answer; he only smiled. Smiled, despite it all, despite the sinister sound of what he’d just announced. Then he turned and ran, maybe to tell someone else the exciting news.
That night, Newt and Alby gathered every last Glader at the East Door about a half hour before it closed, the first traces of twilight’s dimness creeping across the sky. The Runners had just returned and entered the mysterious Map Room, clanging the iron door shut; Minho had already gone in earlier. Alby told the Runners to hurry about their business—he wanted them back out in twenty minutes.
It still bothered Thomas how Chuck had smiled when breaking the news about Ben being Banished. Though he didn’t know exactly what it meant, it certainly didn’t sound like a good thing. Especially since they were all standing so close to the Maze. Are they going to put him out there? he wondered. With the Grievers?
The other Gladers murmured their conversations in hushed tones, an intense feeling of dreadful anticipation hanging over them like a patch of thick fog. But Thomas said nothing, standing with arms folded, waiting for the show. He stood quietly until the Runners finally came out of their building, all of them looking exhausted, their faces pinched from deep thinking. Minho had been the first to exit, which made Thomas wonder if he was the Keeper of the Runners.
“Bring him out!” Alby shouted, startling Thomas out of his thoughts.
His arms fell to his sides as he turned, looking around the Glade for a sign of Ben, trepidation building within him as he wondered what the boy would do when he saw him.
From around the far side of the Homestead, three of the bigger boys appeared, literally dragging Ben along the ground. His clothes were tattered, barely hanging on; a bloody, thick bandage covered half his head and face. Refusing to put his feet down or help the progress in any way, he seemed as dead as the last time Thomas had seen him. Except for one thing.
His eyes were open, and they were wide with terror.
“Newt,” Alby said in a much quieter voice; Thomas wouldn’t have heard him if he hadn’t been standing just a few feet away. “Bring out the Pole.”
Newt nodded, already on the move toward a small tool shed used for the Gardens; he’d clearly been waiting for the order.
Thomas turned his focus back to Ben and the guards. The pale, miserable boy still made no effort to resist, letting them drag him across the dusty stone of the courtyard. When they reached the crowd, they pulled Ben to his feet in front of Alby, their leader, where Ben hung his head, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.
“You brought this on yourself, Ben,” Alby said. Then he shook his head and looked toward the shack to which Newt had gone.
Thomas followed his gaze just in time to see Newt walk though the slanted door. He was holding several aluminum poles, connecting the ends to make a shaft maybe twenty feet long. When he was finished, he grabbed something odd-shaped on one of the ends and dragged the whole thing along toward the group. A shiver ran up Thomas’s spine at the metallic scrape of the pole on the stone ground as Newt walked.
Thomas was horrified by the whole affair—he couldn’t help feeling responsible even though he’d never done anything to provoke Ben.
How was any of this his fault? No answer came to him, but he felt the guilt all the same, like a disease in his blood.
Finally, Newt stepped up to Alby and handed over the end of the pole he was holding. Thomas could see the strange attachment now. A loop of rough leather, fastened to the metal with a massive staple. A large button snap revealed that the loop could be opened and closed, and its purpose became obvious.
It was a collar.
CHAPTER 14
Thomas watched as Alby unbuttoned the collar, then wrapped it around Ben’s neck; Ben finally looked up just as the loop of leather snapped closed with a loud pop. Tears glistened in his eyes; dribbles of snot oozed from his nostrils. The Gladers looked on, not a word from any of them.
“Please, Alby,” Ben pleaded, his shaky voice so pathetic that Thomas couldn’t believe it was the same guy who’d tried to bite his throat off the day before. “I swear I was just sick in the head from the Changing. I never would’ve killed him—just lost my mind for a second. Please, Alby, please.”
Every word from the kid was like a fist punching Thomas in the gut, making him feel more guilty and confused.
Alby didn’t respond to Ben; he pulled on the collar to make sure it was both firmly snapped and solidly attached to the long pole. He walked past Ben and along the pole, picking it up off the ground as he slid its length through his palm and fingers. When he reached the end, he gripped it tightly and turned to face the crowd. Eyes bloodshot, face wrinkled in anger, breathing heavily—to Thomas, he suddenly looked evil.
And it was an odd sight on the other side: Ben, trembling, crying, a roughly cut collar of old leather wrapped around his pale, scrawny neck, attached to a long pole that stretched from him to Alby, twenty feet away. The shaft of aluminum bowed in the middle, but only a little. Even from where Thomas was standing, it looked surprisingly strong.