“Come check this out,” she said aloud, barely hiding the smirk that flashed across her face.
“I’ll get down on my knees and kiss your bloody feet if you can figure it out,” Newt said.
Thomas walked over to Teresa, eager to see what they’d come up with. She held out the paper, eyebrows raised.
“No doubt this is right,” she said. “Just don’t have a clue what it means.”
Thomas took the paper and scanned it quickly. There were numbered circles running down the left side, one to six. Next to each one was a word written in big blocky letters. FLOAT CATCH BLEED DEATH STIFF PUSH
That was it. Six words.
Disappointment washed over Thomas-he’d been sure the purpose of the code would be obvious once they had it figured out. He looked up at Teresa with a sunken heart. “That’s all? Are you sure they’re in the right order?”
She took the paper back from him. “The Maze has been repeating those words for months-we finally quit when that became clear. Each time, after the word PUSH, it goes a full week without showing any letter at all, and then it starts over again with FLOAT. So we figured that’s the first word, and that’s the order.”
Thomas folded his arms and leaned against the shelves next to Teresa. Without thinking about it, he’d memorized the six words, welded them to his mind. Float. Catch. Bleed. Death. Stiff. Push. That didn’t sound good.
“Cheerful, don’t ya think?” Newt said, mirroring his thoughts exactly.
“Yeah,” Thomas replied with a frustrated groan. “We need to get Minho down here-maybe he knows something we don’t. If we just had more clues-” He froze, hit by a dizzy spell; he would’ve fallen to the floor if he hadn’t had the shelves to lean on. An idea had just occurred to him. A horrible, terrible, awful idea. The worst idea in the history of horrible, terrible, awful ideas.
But instinct told him he was right. That it was something he had to do.
“Tommy?” Newt asked, stepping closer with a look of concern creasing his forehead. “What’s wrong with you? Your face just went white as a ghost.”
Thomas shook his head, composing himself. “Oh… nothing, sorry. My eyes are hurting-I think I need some sleep.” He rubbed his temples for effect.
Are you okay? Teresa asked in his mind. He looked to see that she was as worried as Newt, which made him feel good.
Yeah. Seriously, I’m tired. I just need some rest.
“Well,” Newt said, reaching out to squeeze Thomas’s shoulder. “You spent all bloody night out in the Maze-go take a nap.”
Thomas looked at Teresa, then at Newt. He wanted to share his idea, but decided against it. Instead, he just nodded and headed for the stairs.
All the same, Thomas now had a plan. As bad as it was, he had a plan.
They needed more clues about the code. They needed memories.
So he was going to get stung by a Griever. Go through the Changing. On purpose.
CHAPTER 46
Thomas refused to talk to anyone the rest of the day.
Teresa tried several times. But he kept telling her he didn’t feel good, that he just wanted to be alone and sleep in his spot behind the forest, maybe spend some time thinking. Try to discover a hidden secret within his mind that would help them know what to do.
But in truth, he was psyching himself up for what he had planned for that evening, convincing himself it was the right thing to do. The only thing to do. Plus, he was absolutely terrified and he didn’t want the others to notice.
Eventually, when his watch showed that evening had arrived, he went to the Homestead with everyone else. He barely noticed he’d been hungry until he started eating Frypan’s hastily prepared meal of biscuits and tomato soup.
And then it was time for another sleepless night.
The Builders had boarded up the gaping holes left by the monsters who’d carried off Gally and Adam. The end result looked to Thomas like an army of drunk guys had done the work, but it was solid enough. Newt and Alby, who finally felt well enough to walk around again, his head heavily bandaged, insisted on a plan for everyone to rotate where they slept each night.
Thomas ended up in the large living room on the bottom floor of the Homestead with the same people he’d slept with two nights before. Silence settled over the room quickly, though he didn’t know if it was because people were actually asleep or just scared, quietly hoping against hope the Grievers didn’t come again. Unlike two nights ago, Teresa was allowed to stay in the building with the rest of the Gladers. She was near him, curled up in two blankets. Somehow, he could sense that she was sleeping. Actually sleeping.
Thomas certainly couldn’t sleep, even though he knew his body needed it desperately. He tried-he tried so hard to keep his eyes closed, force himself to relax. But he had no luck. The night dragged on, the heavy sense of anticipation like a weight on his chest.
Then, just as they’d all expected, came the mechanical, haunted sounds of the Grievers outside. The time had come.
Everyone crowded together against the wall farthest from the windows, doing their best to keep quiet. Thomas huddled in a corner next to Teresa, hugging his knees, staring at the window. The reality of the dreadful decision he’d made earlier squeezed his heart like a crushing fist. But he knew that everything might depend on it.
The tension in the room rose at a steady pace. The Gladers were quiet, not a soul moved. A distant scraping of metal against wood echoed through the house; it sounded to Thomas like a Griever was climbing on the back side of the Homestead, opposite where they were. More noises joined in a few seconds later, coming from all directions, the closest right outside their own window. The air in the room seemed to freeze into solid ice, and Thomas pressed his fists against his eyes, the anticipation of the attack killing him.
A booming explosion of ripping wood and broken glass thundered from somewhere upstairs, shaking the whole house. Thomas went numb as several screams erupted, followed by the pounding of fleeing footsteps. Loud creaks and groans announced a whole horde of Gladers running to the first floor.
“It’s got Dave!” someone yelled, the voice high-pitched with terror.
No one in Thomas’s room moved a muscle; he knew each of them was probably feeling guilty about their relief-that at least it wasn’t them. That maybe they were safe for one more night. Two nights in a row only one boy had been taken, and people had started to believe that what Gally had said was true.
Thomas jumped as a terrible crash sounded right outside their door, accompanied by screams and the splintering of wood, like some iron-jawed monster was eating the entire stairwell. A second later came another explosion of ripping wood: the front door. The Griever had come right through the house and was now leaving.
An explosion of fear ripped through Thomas. It was now or never.
He jumped up and ran to the door of the room, yanking it open. He heard Newt yell, but he ignored him and ran down the hall, sidestepping and jumping over hundreds of splintered pieces of wood. He could see that where the front door had been there now stood a jagged hole leading out into the gray night. He headed straight for it and ran out into the Glade.
Tom! Teresa screamed inside his head. What are you doing!
He ignored her. He just kept running.
The Griever holding Dave-a kid Thomas had never spoken to-was rolling along on its spikes toward the West Door, churning and whirring. The other Grievers had already gathered in the courtyard and followed their companion toward the Maze. Without hesitating, knowing the others would think he was trying to commit suicide, Thomas sprinted in their direction until he found himself in the middle of the pack of creatures. Having been taken by surprise, the Grievers hesitated.
Thomas jumped on the one holding Dave, tried to jerk the kid free, hoping the creature would retaliate.
