Desire ❃ newt

cнapтer 20

I wondered long and hard about Alby. The boy was in intense pain, going through the same things as Ben. And what if he became as psychotic as Ben? Troubling thoughts all around.

Twilight fell upon the Glade and Alby's screams continued to haunt the air. It was impossible to escape the terrible sound.

How could anyone ever be happy in a life like this? Then, how could anyone be evil enough to do this to us? 

I understood more than ever the passion the Gladers felt for finding their way out of the Maze. It wasn't just a matter of escape. For the first time, I felt a hunger to get revenge on the people responsible for sending me here.

But those thoughts just led back to the hopelessness that had filled me so many times already. If Newt and the others hadn't been able to solve the Maze after two years of searching, it seemed impossible there could actually be a solution. The fact that the Gladers hadn't given up said more about these people than anything else.

And now I am one of them.

This is my life. Living in a giant maze, surrounded by hideous beasts.

Sadness filled me like a heavy poison. Alby's screams, now distant but still audible, only made it worse. Ihad to squeeze my hands to my ears every time I heard them.

Eventually, the day dragged to a close, and the setting of the sun brought the now-familiar grinding of the four Doors closing for the night. I had no memory of my life before the Box, but I was positive I finished the worst twenty-four hours of my existence.

Just after dark, Chuck brought me some dinner and a big glass of cold water.

"Thanks," I said, feeling a burst of warmth for the kid. "I so needed this," I mumbled through a huge bite. I took a big swig of my drink, then went back to attacking the food. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until I started eating.

"You're disgusting when you eat," Chuck said, sitting on the bench next to me. "It's like watching a starving pig eat his own klunk."

"That's funny," I said, sarcasm lacing my voice. "You should go entertain the Grievers—see if they laugh."

A quick expression of hurt flashed across Chuck's face, making me feel bad, but vanished almost as fast as it had appeared.

We sat in silence until, a few minutes later, Newt walked up, looking like death on two feet. He sat on the ground in front of us, as sad and worried as any person could possibly appear. Still, I was glad to have him around.

"I think the worst part's over," Newt said. "The bugger should be sleepin' for a couple of days, then wake up okay. Maybe a little screaming now and then."

I couldn't imagine how bad the whole ordeal must be—but the whole process of the Changing was still a mystery to me. I turned to the older boy, trying my best to be casual. "Newt, what's he going through up there? Seriously, I don't get what this Changing thing is."

Newt's response startled me. "You think we do?" he spat, throwing his arms up, then slapping them back down on his knees. "All we bloody know is if the Grievers sting you with their nasty needles, you inject the Grief Serum or you die. If you do get the Serum, then your body wigs out and shakes and your skin bubbles and turns a freaky green color and you vomit all over yourself. Enough explanation for ya there, Greenbean?"

I frowned. I didn't want to make Newt any more upset than he already was, but I needed answers. "Hey, I know it sucks to see your friend go through that, but I just want to know what's really happening up there. Why do you call it the Changing?"

Newt relaxed, seemed to shrink, even, and sighed. "It brings back memories. Just little snippets, but definite memories of before we came to this horrible place. Anyone who goes through it acts like a bloody psycho when it's over—although usually not as bad as poor Ben. Anyway, it's like being given your old life back, only to have it snatched away again."

My mind was churning. "Are you sure?" I asked.

Newt looked confused. "What do you mean? Sure about what?"

"Are they changed because they want to go back to their old life, or is it because they're so depressed at realizing their old life was no better than what we have now?"

Newt stared at me for a second, then looked away, seemingly deep in thought. "Shanks who've been through it'll never really talk about it. They get ... different. Unlikable. There's a handful around the Glade, but I can't stand to be around them." His voice was distant, his eyes having strayed to a certain blank spot in the woods. I knew he was thinking about how Alby might never be the same again.

"Tell me about it," Chuck chimed in. "Gally's the worst of 'em all."

"Anything new on the girl?" I asked, changing the subject. He was in no mood to talk about Gally. "I saw the Med-jacks feeding her upstairs."

"No," Newt answered. "still in the buggin' coma, or whatever it is. Every once in a while she'll mumble something—nonsense, like she's dreaming. She takes the food, seems to be doing all right. It's kind of weird."

A long pause followed, as if the three of them were trying to come up with an explanation for the girl.

Newt finally broke the silence. "Anyway, next up—figure out what we do with Tommy here." Thomas walked by, stopping abruptly when he heard his name.

Thomas perked up at that, confused by the statement. "Do with me? What're you talking about?"

Newt stood, stretched his arms. "Turned this whole place upside down, you bloody shank. Half the Gladers think you're God, the other half wanna throw your butt down the Box Hole. Lotta stuff to talk about."

"Like what?"

"Patience," Newt said. "You'll find out after the wake-up."

"Tomorrow? Why?" Thomas seemed like he didn't like the sound of this.

"I've called a Gathering. And you'll be there and Kameron. You're the only buggin' thing on the agenda."

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving me to wonder why in the world I was needed at a Gathering.