Minho rounded on him. “No, you worthless shuck, you don’t get it! I’ve been here two years, and I’ve never seen anything like it. For you to say anything …”
Minho paused, rubbing his eyes, groaning in frustration. Thomas realized his own mouth had dropped wide open. His emotions were scattered: appreciation for Minho standing up to everybody on his behalf, disbelief at Gally’s continuous belligerence, fear of what the final decision would be.
“Gally,” Minho said in a calmer voice, “you’re nothing but a sissy who has never, not once, asked to be a Runner or tried out for it. You don’t have the right to talk about things you don’t understand. So shut your mouth.”
Gally stood up again, fuming. “Say one more thing like that and I’ll break your neck, right here in front of everybody.” Spit flew from his mouth as he spoke.
Minho laughed, then raised the palm of his hand and shoved Gally in the face. Thomas half stood as he watched the Glader crash down into his chair, tipping it over backward, cracking it in two pieces. Gally sprawled across the floor, then scrambled to stand up, struggling to get his hands and feet under him. Minho stepped closer and stomped the bottom of his foot down on Gally’s back, driving his body flat to the ground.
Thomas plopped back into his seat, stunned.
“I swear, Gally,” Minho said with a sneer, “don’t ever threaten me again. Don’t ever speak to me again. Ever. If you do, I’ll break your shuck neck, right after I’m done with your arms and legs.”
Newt and Winston were on their feet and grabbing Minho before Thomas even knew what was going on. They pulled him away from Gally, who jumped up, his face a ruddied mask of rage. But he made no move toward Minho; he just stood there with his chest out, heaving ragged breaths.
Finally Gally backed away, half stumbling toward the exit behind him. His eyes darted around the room, lit with a burning hatred. Thomas had the sickening thought that Gally looked like someone about to commit murder. He backed toward the door, reached behind him to grab the handle.
“Things are different now,” he said, spitting on the floor. “You shouldn’t have done that, Minho. You should not have done that.” His maniacal gaze shifted to Newt. “I know you hate me, that you’ve always hated me. You should be Banished for your embarrassing inability to lead this group. You’re shameful, and any one of you who stays here is no better. Things are going to change. This, I promise.”
Thomas’s heart sank. As if things hadn’t been awkward enough already.
Gally yanked the door open and stepped out into the hall, but before anyone could react, he popped his head back in the room. “And you,” he said, glaring at Thomas, “the Greenbean who thinks he’s friggin’ God. Don’t forget I’ve seen you before—I’ve been through the Changing. What these guys decide doesn’t mean jack.”
He paused, looking at each person in the room. When his malicious stare fell back on Thomas, he had one last thing to say. “Whatever you came here for—I swear on my life I’m gonna stop it. Kill you if I have to.”
Then he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
CHAPTER 26
Thomas sat frozen in his chair, a sickness growing in his stomach like an infestation. He’d been through the whole gamut of emotions in the short time since he’d arrived at the Glade. Fear, loneliness, desperation, sadness, even the slightest hint of joy. But this was something new—to hear a person say they hate you enough that they want to kill you.
Gally’s crazy, he told himself. He’s completely insane. But the thought only increased his worries. Insane people could really be capable of anything.
The Council members stood or sat in silence, seemingly as shocked as Thomas at what they’d just seen. Newt and Winston finally let go of Minho; all three of them sullenly walked to their chairs and sat down.
“He’s finally whacked for good,” Minho said, almost in a whisper. Thomas couldn’t tell if he’d meant for the others to hear him.
“Well, you’re not the bloody saint in the room,” Newt said. “What were you thinking? That was a little overboard, don’t ya think?”
Minho squinched up his eyes and pulled his head back, as if he were baffled by Newt’s question. “Don’t give me that garbage. Every one of you loved seeing that slinthead get his dues, and you know it. It’s about time someone stood up to his klunk.”
“He’s on the Council for a reason,” Newt said.
“Dude, he threatened to break my neck and kill Thomas! The guy is mentally whacked, and you better send someone right now to throw him in the Slammer. He’s dangerous.”
Thomas couldn’t have agreed more and once again almost broke his order to stay quiet, but stopped himself. He didn’t want to get in any more trouble than he was already in—but he didn’t know how much longer he could last.
“Maybe he had a good point,” Winston said, almost too quietly.
“What?” Minho asked, mirroring Thomas’s thoughts exactly.
Winston looked surprised at the acknowledgment that he’d said anything. His eyes darted around the room before he explained. “Well … he has been through the Changing—Griever stung him in the middle of the day just outside the West Door. That means he has memories, and he said the Greenie looks familiar. Why would he make that up?”
Thomas thought about the Changing, and the fact that it brought back memories. The idea hadn’t occurred to him before, but would it be worth it to get stung by the Grievers, go through that horrible process, just to remember something? He pictured Ben writhing in bed and remembered Alby’s screams. No way, he thought.