The Death Cure - James Dashner [40]
Newt stood up in a blur of speed and punched the wall behind his chair. “First of all, it doesn’t matter if I have the thing in my brain—I’m gonna be past the buggin’ Gone before too long anyway. And I don’t wanna die knowing I ran around a city of healthy people and infected them.”
Thomas remembered the envelope in his pocket, a thing he’d almost forgotten about until now. His fingers twitched to pull it out and read it.
No one said anything.
Newt’s expression darkened. “Well, don’t hurt yourselves tryin’ to talk me into it,” he finally growled. “We all know WICKED’s fancy cure is never gonna work, and I wouldn’t want it to. Not much to live for on this piece-of-klunk planet. I’ll stay on the Berg while you guys go into the city.” He turned and stomped away, disappearing around the corner to the common area.
“That went well,” Minho muttered. “Guess the Gathering is over.” He got up and followed his friend.
Brenda frowned, then focused on Thomas. “You’re—we’re—doing the right thing.”
“I don’t think there is a right or wrong anymore,” Thomas said, hearing the numbness in his own voice. He desperately wanted sleep. “Only horrible and not-quite-so-horrible.”
He got up to join the other two Gladers, fingering the note in his pocket. What could it possibly say? he wondered as he walked out. And how would he ever know when the right time to open it had come?
CHAPTER 23
Thomas hadn’t had much time to think about what the world outside of WICKED’s control would be like. But now that they were actually going to face it, his nerves lit up with anticipation and butterflies filled his stomach. He was about to enter uncharted territory.
“You guys ready for this?” Brenda asked. They stood outside the Berg, at the foot of the cargo door ramp, just a hundred feet or so in front of a cement wall with big iron doors.
Jorge let out a snort. “I forgot what an inviting place they have here.”
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Thomas asked him.
“Just keep your mouth shut, hermano, and leave things to me. We’re using our real first names with fake last names. All they’ll really care about in the end is that we’re immune—they’ll love putting us on record. We won’t have more than a day or two before they hunt us down to do something for the government. We’re valuable. And I can’t stress it enough—Thomas, you need to keep that yapper of yours closed.”
“You too, Minho,” Brenda added. “Got it? Jorge created fake documents for all of us, and he lies like a master thief.”
“No kidding,” Minho muttered.
Jorge and Brenda headed toward the doors with Minho close behind. Thomas hesitated. He looked up at the wall—it reminded him of the Maze, and a quick flash of the horrible memories of that place went through his mind, particularly the night when he’d tied Alby in the thick ivy and hidden from the Grievers. He was thankful that these walls were bare.
The walk to the exit seemed to take forever, the huge wall and doors growing taller and taller as the group approached them. When they finally made it to the foot of the immense doors, an electronic buzz sounded from somewhere, followed by a female voice.
“State your names and your business.”
Jorge answered very loudly. “I’m Jorge Gallaraga, and these are my associates, Brenda Despain, Thomas Murphy and Minho Park. We’re here for some information gathering and field testing. I’m a certified Berg pilot. I have all the necessary paperwork with me, but you can check it out.” He pulled a few data cards from his back pocket and held them up to a camera in the wall.
“Hold, please,” the voice directed. Thomas was sweating—he was sure the lady would sound an alarm any second now. Guards would come rushing out. They’d send him back to WICKED, to the white room, or worse.
He waited, mind racing, for what felt like several minutes before a series of clicks rattled the air, followed by a loud thunk. Then one of the iron doors swung outward,