THE SCORCH TRIALS

come up with stuff.'

'What does it do? Do you have any?'

'Ha!' Brenda shouted it with contempt. 'You think they'd give us any? Only the important people, the rich people can get their hands on that junk. They call it the Bliss. Numbs your emotions, numbs your brain processes, slows you down to a drunken stupor so you don't feel much. Keeps the Flare at bay because the virus thrives in your brain. Eats at it, destroys it. If there's not a lot of activity, the virus weakens.'

Thomas folded his arms. There was something very important here, but he couldn't put his finger on it. 'So . . . it's not a cure? Even though it slows the virus down?'

'Not even close. Just delays the inevitable. The Flare always wins in the end. You lose any chance of being rational, having common sense, having compassion. You lose your humanity.'

Thomas was quiet. Maybe more strongly than ever before, he felt that a memory—an important one—was trying to squeeze its way through the cracks in the wall blocking him from his past. The Flare. The brain. Going mad. The numbing agent, the Bliss. WICKED. The trials. What Rat Man had said, that their responses to the Variables were what this was all about.

'Did you fall asleep?' Brenda asked him after several minutes of silence.

'No. Just too much information.' He felt dimly alarmed at what she had said, but he still couldn't put anything together. 'It's hard to process it all.'

'Well, I'll shut up, then.' She turned away, rested her head against the door. 'Push it out of your mind. Won't do you any good. You need rest.

'Uh-huh,' Thomas mumbled, frustrated at having so many clues but no real answers. But Brenda was right —he could definitely use a good night's sleep. He got comfortable and did his best, but it took a long time before he finally dozed off. And dreamed.

He's older again, probably fourteen now. He and Teresa are kneeling on the ground, their ears pressed to the crack of a door, listening. Eavesdropping. A man and a woman are talking inside, and Thomas can hear them well enough.

The man first. 'Did you get the additions to the Variables list?'

'Last night,' the woman responds. 'I like what Trent added for the end of the Maze Trials. Brutal, but we need it to happen. Should create some interesting patterns.'

'Absolutely. Same with the betrayal scenario, if that ever has to play out.'

The woman makes a noise that must be a laugh but that sounds strained and humorless. 'Yeah, I had the same thought. I mean, good Lord, how much can these kids take before they'll go crazy on their own?'

'Not just that, it's risky. What if he dies? We all agree that by then he'll surely be one of the top Candidates.' 'He won't. We won't let him.'

'Still. We're not God. He could die.'

There's a long pause. Then the man says, 'Maybe it won't come to that. But I doubt it. The Psychs say it will stimulate a lot of the patterns we need.'

'Well, there's a lot of emotion involved with something like that,' the woman answers. 'And according to Trent, some of the hardest patterns to create. I think the plan for those Variables is just about the only thing that will work.'

'You really think the Trials are going to work?' the man asks. 'Seriously, the scale and logistics of this thing are unbelievable. Think of how much could go wrong!'

'Could,' you're right. But what's the alternative? Try it, and if it fails, we'll just be in the same spot as if we'd tried nothing.'

'I guess.'

Teresa tugs on Thomas's shirt; he looks to see her pointing back down the hall. Time to go. He nods, but leans back in to see if he can catch one last phrase or two. He does. It's the woman.

'Too bad we'll never see the end of the Trials.'

'I know,' the man answers. 'But the future will thank us.'

The first purple traces of dawn were what woke up Thomas the second time. He couldn't remember stirring once in his sleep since his middle-of-the-night talk with Brenda—not even after the dream.

The dream. It had been the strangest one yet, lots of things said that were already fading, too difficult to grasp and fit into the pieces of his past that were slowly, very slowly, beginning to come together again. He allowed himself to feel a little hope that maybe he wasn't in on as much to do with the Trials as he'd begun to think. Though he hadn't understood much in the dream, the fact that he and Teresa had been spying meant they weren't involved in every aspect of the Trials.

But what could the purpose of all this be? Why would the future thank those people?

He rubbed his eyes and stretched, then looked over at Brenda—her eyes still closed, her chest moving with slow and even breaths, her mouth slightly open. Though his body felt even stiffer than the day before, the restful slumber had done wonders for his spirit. He felt refreshed. Invigorated. Somewhat perplexed and brain-dead over his memory-dream and all the things Brenda had told him about, but invigorated all the same.

He stretched again and was just letting out a long yawn when he saw something on the wall of the alley. A large metal plaque, riveted to die wall. A sign that looked very familiar.

He pushed the door open and stumbled out onto the street and over to it. It was nearly identical to the sign in the Maze that had said

WORLD IN CATASTROPHE-KILLZONE EXPERIMENT DEPARTMENT.

Same dull metal, same lettering. Except this one said something very different. And he stared at it for at least five straight minutes before he moved an inch.

It said:

THOMAS, YOU'RE THE REAL LEADER

CHAPTER 36

Thomas might've gone on looking at the plaque all day if Brenda hadn't come out of the truck.

'I was waiting for the right time to tell you,' she finally said, completely snapping him out of his daze.

He jerked his head to look at her. 'What? What're you talking about?'

She didn't return his gaze, just kept staring at the sign. 'Ever since I found out what your name was. Same with Jorge. It's probably why he decided to take his chances and go with you through the city and to this safe haven of yours.'

'Brenda, what are you talking about?' Thomas repeated.

She finally met his eyes. 'These signs are all over the city. All of them say the same thing. Exactly the same thing.'

Thomas felt a weakening in his knees. He turned around and sank to the ground, resting his back against the wall. 'How . . . how is this even possible? I mean, it looks like it's been there for a while. . . .' He didn't really know what else to say.

'Don't know,' Brenda answered, joining him on the ground. 'None of us knew what it meant. But when you guys showed up and you told us your name . . . well, we figured it wasn't a coincidence.'

Thomas gave her a hard stare, anger fighting its way up inside him. 'Why didn't you tell me about this? You'll hold my hand, tell me about your dad being killed, but not this?'

'I didn't tell you because I was worried about how you'd react. I figured you'd probably run off looking for the signs, forget all about me.'