The Maze Runner

CHAPTER 62

Thomas shared a bunk with Minho, who insisted on sleeping up top; Newt and Frypan were right next to them. The staff put Teresa up in a separate room, shuffling her away before she could even say goodbye. Thomas missed her desperately three seconds after she was gone.

As Thomas was settling into the soft mattress for the night, he was interrupted.

"Hey, Thomas," Minho said from above him.

"Yeah?" Thomas was so tired the word barely came out.

"What do you think happened to the Gladers who stayed behind?"

Thomas hadn't thought about it. His mind had been occupied with Chuck and now Teresa. "I don't know. But based on how many of us died getting here, I wouldn't like to be one of them right now. Grievers are probably swarming all over them." He couldn't believe how nonchalant his voice sounded as he said it.

"You think we're safe with these people?" Minho asked.

Thomas pondered the question for a moment. There was only one answer to hold on to. "Yeah, I think we're safe."

Minho said something else, but Thomas didn't hear. Exhaustion consuming him, his mind wandered to his short time in the Maze, his time as a Runner and how much he'd wanted it—ever since that first night in the Glade. It felt like a hundred years ago. Like a dream.

Murmurs of conversation floated through the room, but to Thomas they seemed to come from another world. He stared at the crossed wooden boards of the bed above him, feeling the pull of sleep. But wanting to talk to Teresa, he fought it off.

How's your room? he asked in his mind. Wish you were in here.

Oh, yeah? she replied. With all those stinky boys? Think not.

Guess you're right. I think Minho's farted three times in the last minute. Thomas knew it was a lame attempt at a joke, but it was the best he could do.

He sensed her laughing, wished he could do the same. There was a long pause. I'm really sorry about Chuck, she finally said.

Thomas felt a sharp pang and closed his eyes as he sank deeper into the misery of the night. He could be so annoying, he said. He paused, thought of that night when Chuck had scared the crap out of Gally in the bathroom. But it hurts. Feels like I lost a brother.

I know.

I promised—

Stop, Tom.

What? He wanted Teresa to make him feel better, say something magic to make the pain go away.

Stop with the promise stuff. Half of us made it. We all would've died if we'd stayed in the Maze.

But Chuck didn't make it, Thomas said. Guilt racked him because he knew for a certainty he would trade any one of the Gladers in that room for Chuck.

He died saving you, Teresa said. He made the choice himself. Just don't ever waste it.

Thomas felt tears swell under his eyelids; one escaped and trickled down his right temple, into his hair. A full minute passed without any words between them. Then he said, Teresa?

Yeah?

Thomas was scared to share his thoughts, but did. I wanna remember you. Remember us. Ya know, before. Me too.

Seems like we . . . He didn't know how to say it after all. I know.

Wonder what tomorrow'll be like. We'll find out in a few hours.

Yeah. Well, good night. He wanted to say more, much more. But nothing came.

Good night, she said, just as the lights went out.

Thomas rolled over, glad it was dark so no one could see the look that had settled across his face.

It wasn't a smile, exactly. Not quite a happy expression. But almost.

And for now, almost was good enough.