Desire ❃ newt

cнapтer 48

I was almost sad when the Gathering finally ended. When Newt came out of the Homestead I knew that the time for rest was over.

The Keeper spotted me, Thomas, and Teresa and approached at a limping run. Newt finally came to a halt and crossed his arms over his chest as he looked down at us sitting on the bench. "This is bloody nuts, you know that, right?" His face was impossible to read, but there seemed to be a hint of victory in his eyes.

I stood up, feeling a rush of excitement flooding my body. "So they agreed to go?"

Newt nodded. "All of them. Wasn't as hard as I thought it'd be. Those shanks've seen what happens at night with those bloody Doors open. We can't get out of the stupid Maze, gotta try something." He turned and looked at the Keepers, who'd started to gather their respective work groups. "Now we just have to convince the Gladers."

I knew that would be even more difficult than persuading the Keepers had been.

"You think they'll go for it?" Teresa asked, finally standing to join us.

"Not all of them," Newt said, and I could see the frustration in his eyes. "Some'll stay and take their chances—guarantee it."

I didn't doubt people would blanch at the thought of making a run for it. Asking them to fight the Grievers was asking a lot. "What about Alby?"

"Who knows?" Newt responded, looking around the Glade, observing the Keepers and their groups. "I'm convinced that bugger really is more scared to go back home than he is of the Grievers but I'll get him to go with us, don't worry."

I wished Icould bring back memories of those things that were tormenting Alby, but there was nothing. "How are you going to convince him?"

Newt laughed. "I'll make up some klunk. Tell him we'll all find a new life in another part of the world, live happily ever after."

I shrugged. "Well, maybe we can. I promised Chuck I'd get him home, you know, or at least find him a home."

"Yeah, well," Teresa murmured. "Anything's better than this place."

I looked around at the arguments breaking out across the Glade, Keepers doing their best to convince people they should take a chance and battle their way through the Griever Hole. Some Gladers stomped away, but most seemed to listen and at least consider.

"So what's next?" Teresa asked.

Newt took a deep breath. "Figure out who's going, who's staying. Get ready. Food, weapons, all that. Then we go. Greenbean, I'd put you in charge since it was your idea, but it's going to be hard enough to get people on our side without making the Greenie our leader—no offense. So just lay low, okay? We'll leave the code business to you, Thomas, and Teresa—you can handle that from the background."

I was more than fine with lying low—finding that computer station and punching in the code was more than enough responsibility for me. Even with that much on my shoulders I had to fight the rising flood of panic I felt. "You sure make it sound easy," I finally said, trying my best to lighten up the situation, or at least sound like I was.

Newt folded his arms again, looked at me closely. "Like you said—stay here, one shank'll die tonight. Go, one shank'll die. What's the difference?" He pointed at me. "If you're right."

"I am." I knew I was right about the Hole, the code, the door, the need to fight but whether one person or many would die, I had no clue. However, if there was one thing my gut told him, it was not to admit to any doubt.

Newt clapped me on the back. "Good that. Let's get to work."

The next few hours were frantic.

Most of the Gladers ended up agreeing to go—even more than I would've guessed. Even Alby decided to make the run. Though no one admitted it, I bet most of them were banking on the theory that only one person would be killed by the Grievers, and they figured their chances of not being the unlucky sap were decent. Those who decided to stay in the Glade were few but adamant and loud. They mainly walked around sulking, trying to tell others how stupid they were. Eventually, they gave up and kept their distance.

As for me and the rest of those committed to the escape, there was a ton of work to be done.

Backpacks were handed out and stuffed full of supplies. Frypan—Newt told me that the Cook had been one of the last Keepers to agree to go—was in charge of gathering all the food and figuring out a way to distribute it evenly among the packs. Syringes of Grief Serum were included, even though I didn't think the Grievers would sting them. Chuck was in charge of filling water bottles and getting them out to everyone. Teresa helped Thomas, and Thomas asked her to sugarcoat the trip as much as she could, even if she had to flat-out lie, which was mostly the case. Chuck had tried to act brave from the time he first found out they were going for it, but his sweaty skin and dazed eyes revealed the truth.

Minho went to the Cliff with a group of Runners, taking ivy ropes and rocks to test the invisible Griever Hole one last time. They had to hope the creatures would keep to their normal schedule and not come out during daytime hours. I had contemplated just jumping into the Hole right away and trying to punch in the code quickly, but I had no idea what to expect or what might be waiting for me. Newt was right—we'd better wait until night and hope that most of the Grievers were in the Maze, not inside their Hole.

When Minho returned, safe and sound, I thought he seemed very optimistic that it really was an exit. Or entrance. Depending on how you looked at it.

I helped Newt distribute the weapons, and even more innovative ones were created in their desperation to be prepared for the Grievers. Wooden poles were carved into spears or wrapped in barbwire; the knives were sharpened and fastened with twine to the ends of sturdy branches hacked from trees in the woods; chunks of broken glass were duct-taped to shovels. By the end of the day, the Gladers had turned into a small army. A very pathetic, ill-prepared army, but an army all the same.

Once Thomas and Teresa were done helping, me and Thomas went to the secret spot in the Deadheads to strategize about the station inside the Griever Hole and how we planned to punch in the code.

"We have to be the ones to do it," Thomas said as we leaned our backs against craggy trees, the once-green leaves already starting to turn gray from the lack of artificial sunlight. "That way if we get separated, we can be in contact and still help each other."

I had grabbed a stick and was peeling off the bark. "But we need backup in case something happens to us."

"Definitely. Minho and Newt know the code words—we'll tell them they have to get them punched into the computer if we . . . well, you know."

I didn't want to think about all the bad things that might happen. "Not much to the plan, then." I yawned, as if life were completely normal.

"Not much at all. Fight the Grievers, punch in the code, escape through the door. Then we deal with the Creators—whatever it takes."

"Six code words, who knows how many Grievers." I broke the stick in half. "What do you think WICKED stands for, anyway?"

"That sign I saw out in the Maze—remember? The metal one with words stamped on it?"

I crinkled my forehead in confusion for a second, but then a light seemed to blink on behind my eyes. "Whoa. World In Catastrophe: Killzone Experiment Department. WICKED. WICKED is good—what Teresa wrote on her arm. What does that even mean?"

"No idea. Which is why I'm scared to death that what we're about to do is a whole pile of stupid. Could be a bloodbath."

"Everyone knows what they're getting into." I reached out and took his hand. "Nothing to lose, remember?"

"Nothing to lose," he repeated.