Alby shook his head. “No way, shank. Ain’t gonna risk stranglin’ myself again. Might be something they got in our brains to control us—just like the memory wipe.”
“Well, if I’m evil, maybe you should leave me locked up.” Thomas half meant it.
“Greenie, you ain’t evil. You might be a shuck-faced slinthead, but you ain’t evil.” Alby showed the slightest hint of a smile, a bare crack in his usually hard face. “What you did—riskin’ your butt to save me and Minho—that ain’t no evil I’ve ever heard of. Nah, just makes me think the Grief Serum and the Changing got somethin’ fishy about ’em. For your sake and mine, I hope so.”
Thomas was so relieved that Alby thought he was okay, he only heard about half of what the older boy had just said. “How bad was it? Your memories that came back.”
“I remembered things from growin’ up, where I lived, that sort of stuff. And if God himself came down right now and told me I could go back home …” Alby looked to the ground and shook his head again. “If it was real, Greenie, I swear I’d go shack up with the Grievers before goin’ back.”
Thomas was surprised to hear it was so bad—he wished Alby would give details, describe something, anything. But he knew the choking was still too fresh in Alby’s mind for him to budge. “Well, maybe they’re not real, Alby. Maybe the Grief Serum is some kind of psycho drug that gives you hallucinations.” Thomas knew he was grasping at straws.
Alby thought for a minute. “A drug … hallucinations …” Then he shook his head. “Doubt it.”
It had been worth a try. “We still have to escape this place.”
“Yeah, thanks, Greenie,” Alby said sarcastically. “Don’t know what we’d do without your pep talks.” Again, the almost-smile.
Alby’s change of mood broke Thomas out of his gloom. “Quit calling me Greenie. The girl’s the Greenie now.”
“Okay, Greenie.” Alby sighed, clearly done with the conversation. “Go find some dinner—your terrible prison sentence of one day is over.”
“One was plenty.” Despite wanting answers, Thomas was ready to get away from the Slammer. Plus, he was starving. He grinned at Alby, then headed straight for the kitchen and food.
Dinner was awesome.
Frypan had known Thomas would be coming late, so he’d left a plate full of roast beef and potatoes; a note announced there were cookies in the cupboard. The Cook seemed fully intent on backing up the support he’d shown for Thomas in the Gathering. Minho joined Thomas as he ate, prepping him a little before his first big day of Runner training, giving him a few stats and interesting facts. Things for him to think about as he went to sleep that night.
When they were finished, Thomas headed back to the secluded place where he’d slept the night before, in the corner behind the Deadheads. He thought about his conversation with Chuck, wondered how it would feel to have parents say good night to you.
Several boys milled about the Glade that night, but for the most part it was quiet, like everyone just wanted to go to sleep, end the day and be done with it. Thomas didn’t complain—that was exactly what he needed.
The blankets someone had left for him the night before still lay there. He picked them up and settled in, snuggling up against the comforting corner where the stone walls met in a mass of soft ivy. The mixed smells of the forest greeted him as he took his first deep breath, trying to relax. The air felt perfect, and it made him wonder again about the weather of the place. Never rained, never snowed, never got too hot or too cold. If it weren’t for the little fact they were torn apart from friends and families and trapped in a Maze with a bunch of monsters, it could be paradise.
Some things here were too perfect. He knew that, but had no explanation.
His thoughts drifted to what Minho had told him at dinner about the size and scale of the Maze. He believed it—he’d realized the massive scale when he’d been to the Cliff. But he just couldn’t fathom how such a structure could have been built. The Maze stretched for miles and miles. The Runners had to be in almost superhuman shape to do what they did every day.
And yet they’d never found an exit. And despite that, despite the utter hopelessness of the situation, they still hadn’t given up.
At dinner Minho had told him an old story—one of the bizarre and random things he remembered from before—about a woman trapped in a maze. She escaped by never taking her right hand off the walls of the maze, sliding it along as she walked. In doing so, she was forced to turn right at every turn, and the simple laws of physics and geometry ensured that eventually she found the exit. It made sense.
But not here. Here, all paths led back to the Glade. They had to be missing something.
Tomorrow, his training would begin. Tomorrow, he could start helping them find that missing something. Right then Thomas made a decision. Forget all the weird stuff. Forget all the bad things. Forget it all. He wouldn’t quit until he’d solved the puzzle and found a way home.
Tomorrow. The word floated in his mind until he finally fell asleep.
CHAPTER 32
Minho woke Thomas before dawn, motioning with a flashlight to follow him back to the Homestead. Thomas easily shook off his morning grogginess, excited to begin his training. He crawled out from under his blanket and eagerly followed his teacher, winding his way through the crowd of Gladers who slept on the lawn, their snores the only sign they weren’t dead. The slightest glow of early morning illuminated the Glade, turning everything dark blue and shadowed. Thomas had never seen the place look so peaceful. A c**k crowed in the Blood House.