“Hey, people,” Minho said, holding a hand up as if to say slow down. “You think we’re morons? Would we have gone out there fifteen times if we’d lost a finger to a Crank every time or had our privates zapped by radiation? Come on, now.”
Newt waggled his fingers in front of Thomas’s face. “Still got ’em all. And I’m not too worried about down under just yet.” A laugh exploded out of Thomas’s mouth that sent spray everywhere.
“Sorry,” he said, wiping his lips on his sleeve.
Alby took over the conversation with a little more sense of reason. “Things are starting to get better out there. Plus, we’re way up north, which wasn’t hit as badly. A couple of times we’ve seen snow in the trees.”
“Snow?” Teresa repeated, sounding as shocked as if he’d said aliens. “Are you serious?”
“Yep.”
“Enough chitchat,” Newt said. “Minho, open her up.”
“Yes, sir!” Minho barked. He grabbed the handle and pushed it down with a grunt of effort. There was a loud metallic clunk; then the door opened on squealing hinges, swinging outward.
A stiff breeze blew up the ladder chute as pressurized air escaped the complex, as if rushing to freedom. It ruffled Thomas’s clothes as it crossed over him, giving him a slight chill, and the anticipation of what awaited them spiked so hard that he could barely contain himself. Minho went out first, then Alby. Newt gestured for Teresa to go next, and she did so, but not before throwing one last glance at Thomas. Her eyes said a million things, but he couldn’t decipher any of them.
“You’re next, Tommy,” Newt said. “Try not bangin’ your head, all right?”
Thomas ducked through the small opening and stepped onto a wide platform of concrete, the air outside crisp and cool. Every memory of the time before WICKED when he was allowed to go outside came rushing back to him, paired with warmth and heat and sweat. It was odd, but fantastic, to feel such a refreshing bite of fresh air—just as Alby had predicted—and to hear the ocean waves crashing on rocky cliffs in the distance.
“Whatcha think?” Minho asked.
Thomas looked around, though he couldn’t see much in the darkness. Lights shone down from somewhere above, obscuring his vision even more. All he could make out was the platform, a railing around its edge, and a sea of blackness beyond. The sky showed the faintest pinpricks of stars.
“Can’t see a whole lot,” Thomas answered after a moment of silence. “But, man, it feels great.”
“Told ya,” Alby said. Thomas could hear the smile in his voice.
“There’s a drainpipe over here,” Newt said, leaning over the railing at the corner of the platform. “Has notches in it, see? Makes it easy to climb down, but it’s a bit of an effort coming back up. A little sweat’ll be good for you, though.”
“Let’s show them the woods,” Minho said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and see a deer. And maybe it’ll let us pet it.”
Thomas had the feeling he’d never be sure whether Minho was joking or not. He used the exact same tone—his words tinged with amusement—no matter what came out of his mouth.
Alby scrambled over the railing and started his descent. Newt had Thomas go second this time. His fingers ached as he gripped the notches in the drainpipe. Luckily, the trip was nowhere near as long as the climb up the ladder inside. When Thomas’s feet finally landed on the soft earth, it felt as if he’d stepped onto an alien planet.
He stood next to Alby as they waited for the others to join them. There was no snow, but a cool bite to the air hinted it might not be too far away.
“What’s out there?” Thomas asked, gesturing to the wide-open space that ended in the dark wall of the forest. “Can we really just walk away? Why would we even come back?”
“Trust me,” Alby responded, “we’ve thought about it. We’ve talked about hoarding a bunch of food and making a run for it. But…the odds, man. Who knows how long we’d last. But even more than that, we’ve got it pretty good on the inside. We’re fed, it’s warm, no Cranks….Still it’s something we think about.” There seemed to be more on his mind that he chose not to share.
Teresa was the last one to jump the few feet off the bottom of the drainpipe. Thomas saw Alby open his mouth to say something, but before he got a word out, blazing lights ignited from all directions, along with a series of clunks, as if giant switches were being thrown. Thomas shielded his eyes, spun in a circle, but he couldn’t see a thing, blinded by light.
Squinting, he could gradually make out three dark figures piercing the brightness. They approached, hunched over some sort of handheld weapon, and as they got closer, Thomas could see they wore uniforms and helmets. A fourth man appeared behind them, and as he neared, Thomas’s insides felt like they were melting into something toxic. It was a man Thomas hadn’t seen since his naming day.
Randall. And it appeared he’d graduated from the green scrubs.
“You kids really shouldn’t be out here,” he said. He sounded almost sad. “But I don’t think you need me to tell you that. You’re smart enough to have figured it out on your own. It seems we need to teach you a lesson about the dangers of the outside world. Make you appreciate what WICKED does for you just a teeny bit more.” His speech had an odd cadence, as if he were reciting something he’d memorized and practiced beforehand.
He pointed at Newt. “That one’s not immune—get him back to his room and call a doctor in to test him. Pronto!”