Thomas could hardly contain the curiosity that now raced inside him. "What did happen? Are there new countries, or just one big government? And how does WICKED fit into it all? Are they the government?"
"There are still countries, but they're more ... unified. Once the Flare started spreading like crazy, they combined all their forces, technology, resources, whatever to start up WICKED. They set up this crazy elaborate testing system and have tried really hard to have quarantined areas. They slowed the Flare down, but they can't stop it. I think the only hope is to find a cure. Hope you're right that they've done it―but if they have, they sure haven't shared it with the public yet."
"So where are we?" Thomas asked. "Where are we right now?"
"In a truck." When Thomas didn't laugh, she continued. "Sorry, bad time for jokes. Judging by the labels on the food, we think we're in Mexico. Or what used to be Mexico. It makes the most sense. Now it's called the Scorch. Basically any area between the two Tropics―Cancer and Capricorn―is a complete wasteland now. Central and South Americas, most of Africa, the Middle East and southern Asia. Lots of dead lands, lots of dead people. So, welcome to the Scorch. Isn't it nice of them to send us sweet Cranks down here?"
"Man." Thoughts raced through Thomas's mind, mostly related to how he knew he was a part of WICKED―a huge part―and how the Maze and Groups A and B and all the junk they were going through were parts of it too. But he couldn't remember enough for it to make any sense.
"Man?" Brenda asked. "That's the best you can come up with?"
"I have too many questions―I can't seem to latch on to just one to ask."
"Do you know about the numbing agent?"
Thomas looked over at her, wished he could make out more of her face. "I think Jorge said something about that. What is it?"
"You know how the world is. New disease, new drugs. Even if it doesn't do jack to the illness itself, they still come up with stuff."
"What does it do? Do you have any?"
"Ha!" Brenda shouted it with contempt. "You think they'd give us any? Only the important people, the rich people can get their hands on that junk. They call it the Bliss. Numbs your emotions, numbs your brain processes, slows you down to a drunken stupor so you don't feel much. Keeps the Flare at bay because the virus thrives in your brain. Eats at it, destroys it. If there's not a lot of activity, the virus weakens."
Thomas folded his arms. There was something very important here, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "So ... it's not a cure? Even though it slows the virus down?"
"Not even close. Just delays the inevitable. The Flare always wins in the end. You lose any chance of being rational, having common sense, having compassion. You lose your humanity."
Thomas was quiet. Maybe more strongly than ever before, he felt that a memory―an important one―was trying to squeeze its way through the cracks in the wall blocking him from his past. The Flare. The brain. Going mad. The numbing agent, the Bliss. WICKED. The trials. What Rat Man had said, that their responses to the Variables were what this was all about.
"Did you fall asleep?" Brenda asked him after several minutes of silence.
"No. Just too much information." He felt dimly alarmed at what she had said, but he still couldn't put anything together. "It's hard to process it all."
"Well, I'll shut up, then." She turned away, rested her head against the door. "Push it out of your mind. Won't do you any good. You need rest."
"Uh-huh," Thomas mumbled, frustrated at having so many clues but no real answers. But Brenda was right―he could definitely use a good night's sleep. He got comfortable and did his best, but it took a long time before he finally dozed off. And dreamed.
He's older again, probably fourteen now. He and Teresa are kneeling on the ground, their ears pressed to the crack of a door, listening. Eavesdropping. A man and a woman are talking inside, and Thomas can hear them well enough.
The man first. "Did you get the additions to the Variables list?"
"Last night," the woman responds. "I like what Trent added for the end of the Maze Trials. Brutal, but we need it to happen. Should create some interesting patterns."
"Absolutely. Same with the betrayal scenario, if that ever has to play out."
The woman makes a noise that must be a laugh but that sounds strained and humorless. "Yeah, I had the same thought. I mean, good Lord, how much can these kids take before they'll go crazy on their own?"
"Not just that, it's risky. What if he dies? We all agree that by then he'll surely be one of the top Candidates."
"He won't. We won't let him."
"Still. We're not God. He could die."
There's a long pause. Then the man says, "Maybe it won't come to that. But I doubt it. The Psychs say it will stimulate a lot of the patterns we need."
"Well, there's a lot of emotion involved with something like that," the woman answers. "And according to Trent, some of the hardest patterns to create. I think the plan for those Variables is just about the only thing that will work."
"You really think the Trials are going to work?" the man asks. "Seriously, the scale and logistics of this thing are unbelievable. Think of how much could go wrong!"
"Could, you're right. But what's the alternative? Try it, and if it fails, we'll just be in the same spot as if we'd tried nothing."
"I guess."
Teresa tugs on Thomas's shirt; he looks to see her pointing back down the hall. Time to go. He nods, but leans back in to see if he can catch one last phrase or two. He does. It's the woman.