Desire ❃ newt

cнapтer 40

Despite the dead light and everything falling apart, the day in the Glade appeared to be proceeding business as usual—farming, gardening, cleaning. It didn't take long for some of the Gladers to notice Thomas and Minho standing near the West door.

Newt was notified and he came running after I did.

"You're the first to come back," he said as he walked up to them. "What happened?" The childlike look of hope on his face broke my heart—hd obviously thought they'd found something important. "Tell me you've got good news."

Minho's eyes were dead, staring at a spot somewhere in the gray distance. "Nothing," he said. "The Maze is a big freaking joke."

Newt and I looked at Thomas, confused. "What's he talking about?"

"He's just discouraged," Thomas said with a weary shrug. "We didn't find anything different. The walls haven't moved, no exits, nothing. Did the Grievers come last night?"

Newt paused, darkness passing over his face. Finally, he nodded. "Yeah. They took Adam."

I didn't know the name, and felt guilty for feeling nothing.

Just one person again.

Maybe Gally was right.

Newt was about to say something else when Minho freaked out, startling me.

"I'm sick of this!" Minho spat in the ivy, veins popping out of his neck. "I'm sick of it! It's over! It's all over!" He took off his backpack and threw it on the ground. "There's no exit, never was, never will be. We're all shucked."

I watched, my throat dry, as Minho stomped off toward the Homestead. It worried me—if Minho gave up, they were all in big trouble.

Newt didn't say a word. He left me and Thomas standing there, now in our own daze. Despair hung in the air like the smoke from the Map Room, thick and acrid.

The other Runners returned within the hour, and from what I heard, none of them had found anything and they'd eventually given up as well. Glum faces were everywhere throughout the Glade, and most of the workers had abandoned their daily jobs.

I knew that the code of the Maze was their only hope now. It had to reveal something. It had to. And after aimlessly wandering the Glade to hear the other Runners' stories, I snapped out of my funk.

Newt let me and Thomas in.

"Minho still hasn't shown up," he said as we walked down the stairs to the basement. "Sometimes he turns into a buggin' hothead."

I was surprised Minho was wasting time sulking, especially with the code possibilities. I pushed the thought aside as we entered the room. Several Gladers I didn't know were gathered around the table, standing; they all looked exhausted, their eyes sunken. Piles of Maps lay scattered all over the place, including the floor. It looked as if a tornado had touched down right in the middle of the room.

Teresa was leaning against a stack of shelves, reading a single sheet of paper. She glanced up when Thomas entered, but then returned her gaze to whatever it was she held. He looked saddened.

Newt dismissed his helpers—they clomped up the wooden stairs, a couple of them grumbling about doing all that work for nothing.

"Come check this out," Thomas said aloud, barely hiding the smirk that flashed across her face.

"I'll get down on my knees and kiss your bloody feet if you can figure it out," Newt said.

I walked over to Teresa, eager to see what she come up with. She held out the paper, eyebrows raised.
"No doubt this is right," she said. "Just don't have a clue what it means."

Thomas took the paper and scanned it quickly with me examining it over his shoulder. There were numbered circles running down the left side, one to six. Next to each one was a word written in big blocky letters.

FLOAT, CATCH, BLEED, DEATH, STIFF, PUSH.

That was it. Six words.

Disappointment washed over me—I'd been sure the purpose of the code would be obvious once they had it figured out. I looked up at Teresa with a sunken heart. "That's all? Are you sure they're in the right order?"

She took the paper back from me. "The Maze has been repeating those words for months—we finally quit when that became clear. Each time, after the word PUSH, it goes a full week without showing any letter at all, and then it starts over again with FLOAT. So we figured that's the first word, and that's the order."

Thomas folded his arms and leaned against the shelves next to Teresa. Without thinking about it, I
memorized the six words, welded them to his mind.

Float. Catch. Bleed. Death. Stiff. Push.

That didn't sound good.

"Cheerful, don't ya think?" Newt said, mirroring my thoughts exactly.

"Yeah," I replied with a frustrated groan. "We need to get Minho down here—maybe he knows something we don't. If we just had more clues—" I froze, hit by a dizzy spell; I would've fallen to the floor if it hadn't been for Newt to lean on. An idea had just occurred to me. A horrible, terrible, awful idea. The worst idea in the history of horrible, terrible, awful ideas.

But instinct told me I was right. That it was something I had to do.

"Greenbean?" Newt asked, stepping closer with a look of concern creasing his forehead. "What's wrong with you? Your face just went white as a ghost."

I shook my head, composing myself. "Oh . . . nothing, sorry. My eyes are hurting—I think I need some sleep." I rubbed my temples for effect.

"Well," Newt said, reaching out to put an arm on my shoulder. "Go take a nap." He said quietly.

I looked at Thomas, then at Newt. I wanted to share my idea, but decided against it. Instead, I just nodded and headed for the stairs.

All the same, I now had a plan. As bad as it was, I had a plan.

We needed more clues about the code. We needed memories.

So I was going to get stung by a Griever.

Go through the Changing.

On purpose.