The Scorch Trials

CHAPTER 47

Thomas slept fitfully for a few hours, tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable position on the hard rock. He finally fell into a deep slumber, and then came the dream.

Thomas is fifteen. He doesn't know how he knows this. Something to do with the timing of the memory. Is it a memory?

He and Teresa are standing in front of a massive bank of screens, each one showing various images from the Glade and the Maze. Some of the views are moving, and he knows why. These camera shots are coming from beetle blades, and every once in a while they have to change position. When they do, it's like looking through the eyes of a rat.

"I can't believe they're all dead," Teresa says.

Thomas is confused. Once again he doesn't quite understand what's happening. He's inside this boy who's supposed to be him, but he doesn't know what Teresa's talking about. Obviously not the Gladers—on one screen he can see Minho and Newt walking toward the forest; on another, Gally sitting on a bench. Then Alby yelling at someone Thomas doesn't recognize.

"We knew it would happen," he finally responds, not sure why he said it.

"It's still hard to take." They aren't looking at each other, just analyzing the screens. "Now it's up to us. And the people in the barracks."

"That's a good thing," Thomas says.

"I almost feel as sorry for them as I do for the Gladers. Almost."

Thomas wonders what this means as his younger dream version clears his throat. "Do you think we've learned enough? Do you really think we can pull this off with all the original Creators dead?"

"We have to, Tom." Teresa steps over to him and grabs his hand. He looks down at her but he can't read her expression. "Everything's in place. We have a year to train the replacements and get ready."

"But it's not right. How can we ask them to—"

Teresa rolls her eyes and squeezes his hand so hard it hurts. "They know what they're getting into. No more talking like that."

"Yeah." Somehow Thomas knows this version of himself in the vision he's seeing feels dead inside. His words mean nothing. "All that matters now are the patterns. The killzone. Nothing else."

Teresa nodded. "No matter how many die or get hurt. If the Variables don't work, they'll end up the same anyway. Everyone will."

"The patterns," Thomas says.

Teresa squeezes his hand. "The patterns."

When he woke up, the light dimming to a dull gray as the sun sank to a horizon he couldn't see, Harriet and Sonya were sitting just a few feet from him. Both staring at him strangely.

"Good evening," he said with false enthusiasm, the troubling dream still fresh in his mind. "Can I help you ladies?"

"We want to know what you know," Harriet said quietly.

The lingering fog of sleep quickly vanished. "Why should I help you?" He wanted to sit and think about what he'd dreamed, but he knew something had changed—he could see it in Harriet's gaze—and he couldn't pass up the chance to save himself.

"I don't think you have much choice," Harriet said. "But if you share whatever you've learned or figured out, maybe we can help you."

Thomas looked around for Teresa but couldn't see her. "Where is—"

Sonya interrupted him. "She said she wanted to scout the area to see if your friends followed us. Been gone for about an hour."

In his mind, Thomas could see the Teresa of his dream. Watching those screens, talking about dead Creators and the killzone. Talking about patterns. How did it all fit together?

"Forget how to talk?"

His eyes focused on Sonya. "No, um . . . does this mean you guys are having second thoughts about killing me?" The words sounded stupid to him, and he wondered how many people in the history of the world had ever asked a question like that.

Harriet smirked. "Don't go jumping to conclusions. And don't think we've gone all righteous. Let's just say we have our doubts and want to talk—but your odds are slim."

Sonya picked up her line of thought. "The smartest thing right now seems to be to do what we were told. There are a lot more of us than you. I mean, come on. If it was your decision, what would you do?"

"Pretty sure I'd choose the option of not killing myself."

"Don't be a jerk. This isn't funny. If you could choose, and the two options were you die or all of us die, which one would you pick? This is all about you or us."

Her face showed she was very serious, and the question hit Thomas like a thump to his chest. She was right, on some level. If that really would happen—they'd all die if they didn't get rid of him—then how could he expect them not to do it?

"You gonna answer?" Sonya pushed.

"I'm thinking." He paused, wiped some sweat off his forehead. Once again, the dream tried to creep to the front of his mind and he had to push it back. "Okay, I'm being honest here. I promise. If I were in your shoes, I'd choose not to kill me."

Harriet rolled her eyes. "Easy for you to say, since it's your life on the line."

"It's not just that. I think it's some kind of test and maybe you're not really supposed to do it." Thomas's heartbeat picked up—he really did mean what he said, but he doubted they'd believe him even if he tried to explain it. "Maybe we should share what we know, figure something out."

Harriet and Sonya exchanged a long look.

Sonya finally nodded; then Harriet said, "We've had our doubts about this whole thing from the beginning. Something about it isn't right. So yeah, you better talk. But let us get everybody over here first." They stood up to go rouse the others.

"Hurry, then," Thomas said, wondering if he really did have a chance to get out of this mess. "We better do this before Teresa gets back."