Desire ❃ newt

cнapтer 49

Just before the normal Door-closing time, Frypan prepared one last meal to carry them through the night. The mood hanging over the Gladers as they ate couldn't have been more somber or sodden with fear. I found myself sitting next to Chuck, absently picking at my food.

"So . . . Kameron," the boy said through a huge bite of mashed potatoes. "Who am I nicknamed after?"

I couldn't help shaking my head—here we were, about to embark on probably the most dangerous task of our lives, and Chuck was curious where he'd gotten his nickname. "I don't know, Darwin, maybe? The dude who figured out evolution."

"I bet no one's ever called him a dude before." Chuck took another big bite, and seemed to think that was the best time to talk, full mouth and all. "You know, I'm really not all that scared. I mean, last few nights, sitting in the Homestead, just waiting for a Griever to come in and steal one of us was the worst thing I've ever done. At least now we're taking it to them, trying something. And at least . . ."

"At least what?" I asked. I didn't believe for a second that Chuck wasn't scared; it almost hurt to see him acting brave.

"Well, everyone's speculating they can only kill one of us. Maybe I sound like a shuck, but it gives me some hope. At least most of us will make it through—just leaves one poor sucker to die. Better than all of us."

It made me sick to think people were hanging on to that hope of just one person dying; the more I thought about it, the less I believed it was true. The Creators knew the plan—they might reprogram the Grievers. But even false hope was better than nothing. "Maybe we can all make it. As long as everyone fights."

Chuck stopped stuffing his face for a second and looked at me carefully. "You really think that, or you just trying to cheer me up?"

"We can do it." I ate my last bite, took a big drink of water. I'd never felt like such a liar in my life. People were going to die but I was going to do everything possible to make sure Chuck wasn't one of them. And Newt. "Don't forget my promise. You can still plan on it."

Chuck frowned. "Big deal—I keep hearing the world is in klunky shape."

"Hey, maybe so, but we'll find the people who care about us—you'll see."

Chuck stood up. "Well, I don't wanna think about it," he announced. "Just get me out of the Maze, and I'll be one happy dude."

"Good that," I agreed.

A commotion from the other tables caught my attention. Newt and Alby were gathering the Gladers, telling everyone it was time to go. Alby seemed mostly himself, but I still worried about the guy's mental state. In my mind, Newt was in charge, but he could also be a loose cannon sometimes.

The icy fear and panic I had experienced so often the last few days swept over me once again in full force. This was it. We were going. Trying not to think about it, to just act, I grabbed my backpack. Chuck did the same, and we headed for the West Door, the one leading to the Cliff.

I found Minho and Teresa talking to each other near the left side of the Door, going over the hastily made plans to enter the escape code once we got into the Hole.

"You shanks ready?" Minho asked when we came up. "Thomas, this was all your idea, so it better work. If not, I'll kill ya before the Grievers can."

"Thanks," I said but I couldn't shake the twisting feeling in my gut. What if somehow I was wrong? What if the memories I'd had were false ones? Planted somehow? The thought terrified me, and I pushed it aside. There was no going back.

I looked at Teresa, who shifted from foot to foot, wringing her hands. "You okay?" I asked.

"I'm fine," she answered with a small smile, clearly not fine at all. "Just anxious to get it over with."

"Amen, sister," Minho said. He looked the calmest to me, the most confident, the least scared. I envied him.

When Newt finally had everyone gathered, he called for quiet, and I turned to hear what he had to say. "There're forty-one of us." He pulled the backpack he was holding onto his shoulders, and hoisted a thick wooden pole with barbwire wrapped around its tip. The thing looked deadly. "Make sure you've got your weapons. Other than that, isn't a whole lot to buggin' say—you've all been told the plan. We're gonna fight our way through to the Griever Hole, and Greenbean here's gonna punch in her little magic code and then we're gonna get payback on the Creators. Simple as that."

I barely heard Newt, having seen Alby sulking over to the side, away from the main group of the Gladers, alone. Alby picked at the string of his bow while he stared at the ground. A quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder. I felt a rising tide of worry that somehow Alby was unstable, that somehow he'd screw everything up. I decided to watch him carefully if I could.

"Shouldn't someone give a pep talk or something?" Minho asked, pulling my attention away from Alby.

"Go ahead," Newt replied.

Minho nodded and faced the crowd. "Be careful," he said dryly. "Don't die." I would have laughed if I could, but I was too scared for it to come out.

"Great. We're all bloody inspired," Newt answered, then pointed over his shoulder, toward the Maze. "You all know the plan. After two years of being treated like mice, tonight we're making a stand. Tonight we're taking the fight back to the Creators, no matter what we have to go through to get there. Tonight the Grievers better be scared."

Someone cheered, and then someone else. Soon shouts and battle calls broke out, rising in volume, filling the air like thunder. I felt a trickle of courage inside me—I grasped it, clung to it, urged it to grow. Newt was right. Tonight, we'd fight. Tonight, we'd make our stand, once and for all.

I was ready. I roared with the other Gladers. I knew they should probably be quiet, not bring any more attention to themselves, but I didn't care. The game was on.

Newt thrust his weapon into the air and yelled, "Hear that, Creators! We're coming!"

And with that, he turned and ran into the Maze, his limp barely noticeable. Into the gray air that seemed darker than the Glade, full of shadows and blackness. The Gladers around me, still cheering, picked up their weapons and ran after him, even Alby. I followed, falling into line between Teresa and Chuck, hefting a big wooden spear with a knife tied at its tip. The sudden feeling of responsibility for my friends almost overwhelmed me—made it hard to run but I kept going, determined to win.

You can do this. Just make it to that Hole.