“We better get going,” Thomas said. Butterflies swarmed in his gut, and he just wanted to move, to quit thinking about it. After all, going out in the Maze was no worse than staying in the Glade with open Doors. Though the thought didn’t make him feel much better.
“Yeah,” Minho responded evenly. “Let’s go.”
“Well,” Chuck said, looking down at his feet before returning his gaze to Thomas. “Good luck. If your girlfriend gets lonely for you, I’ll give her some lovin’.”
Thomas rolled his eyes. “She’s not my girlfriend, shuck-face.”
“Wow,” Chuck said. “You’re already using Alby’s dirty words.” He was obviously trying hard to pretend he wasn’t scared of all the recent developments, but his eyes revealed the truth. “Seriously, good luck.”
“Thanks, that means a lot,” Minho answered with his own eye roll. “See ya, shank.”
“Yeah, see ya,” Chuck muttered, then turned to walk away.
Thomas felt a pang of sadness—it was possible he might never see Chuck or Teresa or any of them again. A sudden urge gripped him. “Don’t forget my promise!” he yelled. “I’ll get you home!”
Chuck turned and gave him a thumbs-up; his eyes glimmered with tears.
Thomas flipped up double thumbs; then he and Minho pulled on their backpacks and entered the Maze.
CHAPTER 44
Thomas and Minho didn’t stop until they were halfway to the last dead end of Section Eight. They made good time—Thomas was glad for his wristwatch, with the skies being gray—because it quickly became obvious that the walls hadn’t moved from the day before. Everything was exactly the same. There was no need for Mapmaking or taking notes; their only task was to get to the end and start making their way back, searching for things previously unnoticed—anything. Minho allowed a twenty-minute break and then they were back at it.
They were silent as they ran. Minho had taught Thomas that speaking only wasted energy, so he concentrated on his pace and his breaths. Regular. Even. In, out. In, out. Deeper and deeper into the Maze they went, with only their thoughts and the sounds of their feet thumping against the hard stone floor.
In the third hour, Teresa surprised him, speaking in his mind from back in the Glade.
We’re making progress—found a couple more words already. But none of it makes sense yet.
Thomas’s first instinct was to ignore her, to deny once again that someone had the ability to enter his mind, invade his privacy. But he wanted to talk to her.
Can you hear me? he asked, picturing the words in his mind, mentally throwing them out to her in some way he could never have explained. Concentrating, he said it again. Can you hear me?
Yes! she replied. Really clearly the second time you said it.
Thomas was shocked. So shocked he almost quit running. It had worked!
Wonder why we can do this, he called out with his mind. The mental effort of speaking to her was already straining—he felt a headache forming like a bulge in his brain.
Maybe we were lovers, Teresa said.
Thomas tripped and crashed to the ground. Smiling sheepishly at Minho, who’d turned to look without slowing, Thomas got back up and caught up to him. What? he finally asked.
He sensed a laugh from her, a watery image full of color. This is so bizarre, she said. It’s like you’re a stranger, but I know you’re not.
Thomas felt a pleasant chill even though he was sweating. Sorry to break it to you, but we are strangers. I just met you, remember?
Don’t be stupid, Tom. I think someone altered our brains, put something in there so we could do this telepathy thing. Before we came here. Which makes me think we already knew each other.
It was something he’d wondered about, and he thought she was probably right. Hoped it, anyway—he was really starting to like her. Brains altered? he asked. How?
I don’t know—some memory I can’t quite grasp. I think we did something big.
Thomas thought about how he’d always felt a connection to her, ever since she arrived in the Glade. He wanted to dig a little more and see what she said. What are you talking about?
Wish I knew. I’m just trying to bounce ideas off you to see if it sparks anything in your mind.
Thomas thought about what Gally, Ben and Alby had said about him—their suspicions that he was against them somehow, was someone not to trust. He thought about what Teresa had said to him, too, the very first time—that he and she had somehow done all of this to them.
This code has to mean something, she added. And the thing I wrote on my arm—WICKED is good.
Maybe it won’t matter, he answered. Maybe we’ll find an exit. You never know.
Thomas squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds as he ran, trying to concentrate. A pocket of air seemed to float in his chest every time they spoke, a swelling that half annoyed and half thrilled him. His eyes popped back open when he realized she could maybe read his thoughts even when he wasn’t trying to communicate. He waited for a response, but none came.
You still there? he asked.
Yeah, but this always gives me a headache.
Thomas was relieved to hear he wasn’t the only one. My head hurts, too.
Okay, she said. See you later.
No, wait! He didn’t want her to leave; she was helping the time pass. Making the running easier somehow.
Bye, Tom. I’ll let you know if we figure anything out.
Teresa—what about the thing you wrote on your arm?
Several seconds passed. No reply.
Teresa?
She was gone. Thomas felt as if that bubble of air in his chest had burst, releasing toxins into his body. His stomach hurt, and the thought of running the rest of the day suddenly depressed him.