The Death Cure - James Dashner [18]
Janson raised his eyebrows at Thomas, who was struggling to hide his surprise. Minho’s announcement was so strange—he had to have some sort of plan. Pretending to go along with things would buy them time.
Thomas turned away from the guards and Rat Man and gave Newt a quick wink that only he could see. “Let’s just listen to what they want us to do.” He tried to sound casual, sincere, but it was one of the hardest things he’d done yet. “I worked for these people before the Maze. I couldn’t have been totally wrong, right?”
“Oh, please.” Newt rolled his eyes, but he moved toward the door, and Thomas smiled inwardly at his small victory.
“You’ll all be heroes when this is over,” Janson said as Thomas followed Newt out of the room.
“Oh, shut up,” Thomas replied.
Thomas and his friends followed the Rat Man down the mazelike corridors once again. As they walked, Janson narrated the journey as if he were a tour guide. He explained that the facility didn’t have many windows because of the often fierce weather outside, and the attacks from roaming gangs of infected people. He mentioned the severe rainstorm the night the Gladers been taken from the Maze, and how the group of Cranks had broken through the outer perimeter to watch them board the bus.
Thomas remembered that night all too well. He could still feel the bump of the tires running over the woman who’d accosted him before he boarded the bus, how the driver didn’t even slow down. He could hardly believe that had happened only weeks ago—it felt like it’d been years.
“I really wish you’d just shut your mouth,” Newt finally spat. And the Rat Man did, but he never wiped the slight grin off his face.
When they reached the area they’d been in the day before, the Rat Man stopped and turned to address them. “I hope you will all cooperate today. I’m expecting nothing less.”
“Where is everybody else?” Thomas asked.
“The other subjects have been recovering—”
Before he could finish Newt had pounced, grabbing the Rat Man by the lapels of his white suit coat and slamming him against the nearest door. “Call them subjects again and I’ll break your bloody neck!”
Two guards were on Newt in an instant; they pulled him away from Janson and threw him to the floor, aiming their Launchers at his face.
“Wait!” Janson yelled. “Wait.” He composed himself and straightened his wrinkled shirt and jacket. “Don’t disable him. Let’s just get this over with.”
Newt slowly got to his feet, arms raised. “Don’t call us subjects. We’re not mice trying to find the cheese. And tell your shuck friends to calm down—I wasn’t gonna hurt you. Much.” His eyes fell on Thomas, questioning.
WICKED is good.
For some inexplicable reason, those words popped into Thomas’s mind. It was almost as if his former self—the one who’d believed that WICKED’s objective was worth any depraved action—was trying to convince him that it was true. That no matter how horrible it seemed, they must do whatever it took to find a cure for the Flare.
But something was different now. He couldn’t understand who he’d been before. How he could have thought any of this was okay. He’d changed forever … but he had to give them the old Thomas one last time.
“Newt, Minho,” he said quietly, before the Rat Man could speak again. “I think he’s right. I think it’s time we did what we’re supposed to do. We all agreed to it just last night.”
Minho broke into a nervous smile. Newt’s hands balled into fists.
It was now or never.
CHAPTER 11
Thomas didn’t hesitate. He swung his elbow backward into the face of the guard behind him just as he kicked the knee of the one in front. Both fell to the floor, stunned, but recovered quickly. Out of the corner of his eye Thomas saw Newt tackle a guard to the ground; Minho was punching another. But the fifth—a woman—hadn’t been touched, and she was