The first thing Thomas saw when he ran up was a group of Gladers huddled just outside the large steel door, still ajar, its outer edge blackened with soot. But as he got closer, he realized they were surrounding something on the ground, all of them looking down at it. He spotted Newt, kneeling there in the middle, leaning over a body.
Minho was standing behind him, looking distraught and dirty, and spotted Thomas first. “Where’d you go?” he asked.
“To talk to Teresa—what happened?” He waited anxiously for the next dump of bad news.
Minho’s forehead creased in anger. “Our Map Room was set on fire and you ran off to talk to your shuck girlfriend? What’s wrong with you?”
Thomas knew the rebuke should’ve stung, but his mind was too preoccupied. “I didn’t think it mattered anymore—if you haven’t figured out the Maps by now …”
Minho looked disgusted, the pale light and fog of smoke making his face seem almost sinister. “Yeah, this’d be a great freaking time to give up. What the—”
“I’m sorry—just tell me what happened.” Thomas leaned over the shoulder of a skinny boy standing in front of him to get a look at the body on the ground.
It was Alby, flat on his back, a huge gash on his forehead. Blood seeped down both sides of his head, some into his eyes, crusting there. Newt was cleaning it with a wet rag, gingerly, asking questions in a whisper too low to hear. Thomas, concerned for Alby despite his recent ill-tempered ways, turned back to Minho and repeated his question.
“Winston found him out here, half dead, the Map Room blazing. Some shanks got in there and put it out, but way too late. All the trunks are burned to a freaking crisp. I suspected Alby at first, but whoever did it slammed his shuck head against the table—you can see where. It’s nasty.”
“Who do you think did it?” Thomas was hesitant to tell him about the possible discovery he and Teresa had made. With no Maps, the point was moot.
“Maybe Gally before he showed up in the Homestead and went psycho? Maybe the Grievers? I don’t know, and I don’t care. Doesn’t matter.”
Thomas was surprised at the sudden change of heart. “Now who’s the one giving up?”
Minho’s head snapped up so quickly, Thomas took a step backward. There was a flash of anger there, but it quickly melted into an odd expression of surprise or confusion. “That’s not what I meant, shank.”
Thomas narrowed his eyes in curiosity. “What did—”
“Just shut your hole for now.” Minho put his fingers to his lips, his eyes darting around to see if anyone was looking at him. “Just shut your hole. You’ll find out soon enough.”
Thomas took a deep breath and thought. If he expected the other boys to be honest, he should be honest too. He decided he’d better share about the possible Maze code, Maps or no Maps. “Minho, I need to tell you and Newt something. And we need to let Teresa out—she’s probably starving and we could use her help.”
“That stupid girl is the last thing I’m worried about.”
Thomas ignored the insult. “Just give us a few minutes—we have an idea. Maybe it’ll still work if enough Runners remember their Maps.”
This seemed to get Minho’s full attention—but again, there was that same strange look, as if Thomas was missing something very obvious. “An idea? What?”
“Just come over to the Slammer with me. You and Newt.”
Minho thought for a second. “Newt!” he called out.
“Yeah?” Newt stood up, refolding his bloody rag to find a clean spot. Thomas couldn’t help noticing that every inch was drenched in red.
Minho pointed down at Alby. “Let the Med-jacks take care of him. We need to talk.”
Newt gave him a questioning look, then handed the rag to the closest Glader. “Go find Clint—tell him we got worse problems than guys with buggin’ splinters.” When the kid ran off to do as he was told, Newt stepped away from Alby. “Talk about what?”
Minho nodded at Thomas, but didn’t say anything.
“Just come with me,” Thomas said. Then he turned and headed for the Slammer without waiting for a response.
“Let her out.” Thomas stood by the cell door, arms folded. “Let her out, and then we’ll talk. Trust me—you wanna hear it.”
Newt was covered in soot and dirt, his hair matted with sweat. He certainly didn’t seem to be in a very good mood. “Tommy, this is—”
“Please. Just open it—let her out. Please.” He wouldn’t give up this time.
Minho stood in front of the door with his hands on his hips. “How can we trust her?” he asked. “Soon as she woke up, the whole place fell to pieces. She even admitted she triggered something.”
“He’s got a point,” Newt said.
Thomas gestured through the door at Teresa. “We can trust her. Every time I’ve talked to her, it’s something about trying to get out of here. She was sent here just like the rest of us—it’s stupid to think she’s responsible for any of this.”
Newt grunted. “Then what the bloody shuck did she mean by sayin’ she triggered something?”
Thomas shrugged, refusing to admit that Newt had a good point. There had to be an explanation. “Who knows—her mind was doing all kinds of weird stuff when she woke up. Maybe we all went through that in the Box, talking gibberish before we came totally awake. Just let her out.”
Newt and Minho exchanged a long look.