The Scorch Trials - James Dashner [9]
He was completely perplexed. He thought back to the night before, when they’d all sat there and eaten pizza like the starved people they’d been. Surely they’d seen other doors, a kitchen, something. But the more he thought about it, the more he tried to picture what things had looked like, the fuzzier it became. An alarm went off in his head—their brains had been tinkered with before. Had it happened again? Had their memories been altered or wiped?
And what had happened to Teresa?
Desperate, he thought about crawling across the floor to look for a trapdoor or something—some clue to what had happened. But he couldn’t spend another minute with all those rotting bodies. The only thing left was the new kid. He sighed and turned back to the small room where they’d found him. Aris had to know something that would help.
Just as Newt had ordered, the top beds had been unhooked from the lower ones and placed around the room against the walls, creating enough space for the nineteen other Gladers and Aris to sit in a circle, everyone facing each other.
When Minho saw Thomas, he patted an empty spot next to him. “Told ya, dude. Have a seat and let’s talk. We waited on you. But close that shuck door as much as you can first—smells worse than Gally’s rotting feet out there.”
Without responding, Thomas pulled the door shut, then walked over and sat down. He wanted to sink his head into his hands, but he didn’t. Nothing indicated for sure that any kind of danger threatened Teresa. Something weird was going on, but there could be a million explanations, and plenty of them included her being okay.
Newt was one bed to the right, sitting so far forward that just the edge of his butt rested on the mattress. “All right, let’s get started on the bloody storytellin’ so we can get to the real problem—finding something to eat.”
Right on cue, Thomas felt a hunger pang, heard his stomach growl. That problem hadn’t even occurred to him yet. Water would be fine—they had the bathrooms—but there was no sign of food anywhere.
“Good that,” Minho said. “Talk, Aris. Tell us everything.”
The new boy was directly across the room from Thomas—the Gladers sitting to each side of the stranger had scooted to the far ends of the bed. Aris shook his head. “No way. You guys go first.”
“Yeah?” Minho responded. “How about we all just take turns beating the living klunk out of your shuck face? Then we’ll ask you to talk again.”
“Minho,” Newt said sternly. “There’s no reason—”
Minho pointed sharply at Aris. “Please, dude. For all we know this shank could be one of the Creators. Somebody from WICKED, here to spy on us. He could’ve killed those people out there—he’s the only one we don’t know and the doors and windows are locked! I’m sick of him acting all snooty when we’ve got twenty guys to his one. He should talk first.”
Thomas groaned on the inside. One thing he knew was that the kid would never open up if Minho terrified him.
Newt sighed and looked over at Aris. “He’s got a point. Just tell us what you meant about coming from the buggin’ Maze. That’s where we escaped from, and we obviously haven’t met you.”
Aris rubbed his eyes, then met Newt’s gaze. “Fine, listen. I was thrown into this gigantic maze made out of huge stone walls—but before that my memory was erased. I couldn’t remember anything about my life from before. I just knew my name. I lived there with a bunch of girls. There must’ve been fifty of them, and I was the only boy. We escaped a few days ago—the people who helped kept us in a big gym for a few days, then moved me here last night—but no one explained anything. What’s this stuff about you being in a maze, too?”
Thomas barely heard the last few words of what Aris had said over the sounds of surprise coming from the other Gladers. Confusion swirled in his brain. Aris had announced what he’d been through as simply and quickly as describing a trip to the beach. But it seemed crazy. Monumental, if true. Luckily someone voiced exactly what Thomas was trying to sort