The Deadliest Generation: The Maze Of Monsters

The Walls of The Maze

Thomas didn't want to see her, talk to her. 

He didn't want to see anybody.

After Newt headed over to River for some reason and started questioning the younger boy, making him go even paler, and Jack was slightly angrily talking back to Newt, seeming to attempt to persuade him to leave, Thomas silently slipped away, hoping no one would notice him in the excitement. With everyone's thoughts on the stranger waking up from her coma, it proved easy. He skirted the edge of the Glade, then, breaking into a run, he headed for his place of seclusion behind the Deadhead forest. 

He crouched in the corner, trying to hide himself, nestled into the ivy and threw his blanket over his head, using it as a childish attempt to hide away from the world. It also seemed like a way to get Teresa's intrusion out of his mind. A few minutes passed in silence, calming his heart rate to a slow roll of thumps.

"Forgetting about you was the worst part."

Instinctively, Thomas curled his hands up to his ears, heart rate quickening again, believing it to be yet another message from the girl. But no, it'd been, different. He heard it with his own ears. A girl's voice. Chills crept through him as he slowly lowered the blanket with trembling hands.

Teresa stood his right, leaning against the massive stone wall. She looked so different now; more awake and alert and standing. 

She was wearing a long-sleeved white shirt, blue jeans and ordinary black sneakers, looking new and clean, seemingly not battered from the Box or the Glade, and she looked even more striking than she had in the coma. Her long, shiny black curls framed her face and went past her shoulders, her snowy white cheeks flushed a delicate pink and her eyes- although beautiful, the colour of blue flames- were almost like ice in a way, hardened and closed, like so many walls had been built up around her true personality. 

"Tom, do you really not remember me?" She said, her voice in a soft tone, a sharp contrast from the crazed, rushed sound he'd heard from her after she first arrived, when she delivered the message everything is going to change.

"You mean... you remember me?" Thomas asked, embarrassed at the squeak that escaped on the last word.

"Yes. No. Maybe." She threw her arms up in disgust. "It's hard to explain. I just... I knew that you were family."

Thomas opened his mouth then closed it again without saying anything. A few seconds passed until he spoke in a soft voice, so quiet that she probably didn't hear it. "You're my sister."

Evidently Teresa hadn't heard, stuck in her own brain's turmoil, and she sat down with a heavy say, muttering vaguely, "I remember remembering." She pulled her legs up to her chest so she could wrap her arms around them. "Feelings. Emotions. Connections. Like I have all these shelves in my head, labelled for memories and faces, but they're empty. As if everything before this is just on the other side of a white curtain. Including you."

"But how do you know me? How did you remember I was your brother?" He felt like the walls were starting to slowly spin out of control around him.

Teresa turned to him, "I don't know. Something about before we came to the Maze. Something about us. It's mostly empty, like I said."

"You know about the Maze? Who told you? You just woke up."

"It's... it's all very confusing right now." She held a hand out, "But I know you're my brother. I know you're my friend."

Almost in a daze, Thomas pulled the blanket completely off of him, and leaned forward to shake her hand. "I like how you call me Tom." As soon as it came out, he realised how stupid it probably sounded.