“Just be glad you ain’t goin’ with her, Thomas,” Alby said; he gave both of them one last glare before leaving. Thomas had never wanted so badly to punch someone.
Billy and Jackson came forward and grabbed Teresa by both arms, started escorting her away.
Before they could enter the trees, though, Newt stopped them. “Stay with her. I don’t care what happens, no one’s gonna touch this girl. Swear your lives on it.”
The two guards nodded, then walked away, Teresa in tow. It hurt Thomas even more to see how willingly she went. And he couldn’t believe how sad he felt—he wanted to keep talking to her. But I just met her, he thought. I don’t even know her. Yet he knew that wasn’t true. He already felt a closeness that could only have come from knowing her before the memory-wiped existence of the Glade.
Come see me, she said in his mind.
He didn’t know how to do it, how to talk to her like that. But he tried anyway.
I will. At least you’ll be safe in there.
She didn’t respond.
Teresa?
Nothing.
The next thirty minutes were an eruption of mass confusion.
Though there had been no discernible change in the light since the sun and blue sky hadn’t appeared that morning, it still felt like a darkness spread over the Glade. As Newt and Alby gathered the Keepers and put them in charge of making assignments and getting their groups inside the Homestead within the hour, Thomas felt like nothing more than a spectator, not sure how he could help.
The Builders—without their leader, Gally, who was still missing—were ordered to put up barricades at each open Door; they obeyed, although Thomas knew there wasn’t enough time and there weren’t materials to do much good. It almost seemed to him as if the Keepers wanted people busy, wanted to delay the inevitable panic attacks. Thomas helped as the Builders gathered every loose item they could find and piled them in the gaps, nailing things together as best they could. It looked ugly and pathetic and scared him to death—no way that’d keep the Grievers out.
As Thomas worked, he caught glimpses of the other jobs going on across the Glade.
Every flashlight in the compound was gathered and distributed to as many people as possible; Newt said he planned for everyone to sleep in the Homestead that night, and that they’d kill the lights, except for emergencies. Frypan’s task was to take all the nonperishable food out of the kitchen and store it in the Homestead, in case they got trapped there—Thomas could only imagine how horrible that’d be. Others were gathering supplies and tools; Thomas saw Minho carrying weapons from the basement to the main building. Alby had made it clear they could take no chances: they’d make the Homestead their fortress, and must do whatever it took to defend it.
Thomas finally snuck away from the Builders and helped Minho, carrying up boxes of knives and barbwire-wrapped clubs. Then Minho said he had a special assignment from Newt, and more or less told Thomas to get lost, refusing to answer any of his questions.
This hurt Thomas’s feelings, but he left anyway, really wanting to talk to Newt about something else. He finally found him, crossing the Glade on his way to the Blood House.
“Newt!” he called out, running to catch up. “You have to listen to me.”
Newt stopped so suddenly Thomas almost ran into him. The older boy turned to give Thomas such an annoyed look he thought twice about saying anything.
“Make it quick,” Newt said.
Thomas almost balked, not sure how to say what he was thinking. “You’ve gotta let the girl go. Teresa.” He knew that she could only help, that she might still remember something valuable.
“Ah, glad to know you guys are buddies now.” Newt started walking off. “Don’t waste my time, Tommy.”
Thomas grabbed his arm. “Listen to me! There’s something about her—I think she and I were sent here to help end this whole thing.”
“Yeah—end it by lettin’ the bloody Grievers waltz in here and kill us? I’ve heard some sucky plans in my day, Greenie, but that’s got ’em all beat.”
Thomas groaned, wanting Newt to know how frustrated he felt. “No, I don’t think that’s what it means—the walls not closing.”
Newt folded his arms; he looked exasperated. “Greenie, what’re you yappin’ about?”
Ever since Thomas had seen the words on the wall of the Maze—world in catastrophe, killzone experiment department—he’d been thinking about them. He knew if there was anyone who would believe him, it would be Newt. “I think … I think we’re here as part of some weird experiment, or test, or something like that. But it’s supposed to end somehow. We can’t live here forever—whoever sent us here wants it to end. One way or another.” Thomas was relieved to get it off his chest.
Newt rubbed his eyes. “And that’s supposed to convince me that everything’s jolly—that I should let the girl go? Because she came and everything is suddenly do-or-die?”
“No, you’re missing the point. I don’t think she has anything to do with us being here. She’s just a pawn—they sent her here as our last tool or hint or whatever to help us get out.” Thomas took a deep breath. “And I think they sent me, too. Just because she was the trigger for the Ending doesn’t make her bad.”
Newt looked toward the Slammer. “You know what, I don’t buggin’ care right now. She can handle one night in there—if anything, she’ll be safer than us.”
Thomas nodded, sensing a compromise. “Okay, we get through tonight, somehow. Tomorrow, when we have a whole day of safety, we can figure out what to do with her. Figure out what we’re supposed to do.”