The Glader

The Final Variable

 The woman, apparently thinking what she had said was okay, reached over and pulled the hood off of the boy next to her.

I was unable to keep in a gasp of surprise.

It was Gally.

Gally?

But he had died! Gotten taken by a Griever! Hadn't he?

Gally had been crying, his face streaked with tears and his black hair ragged.

He didn't appear to have come willingly, from the bruise that stretched over his cheek.

What had the Creators done to him?

"What's he doing here?" Minho yelled.

"You're safe now," the Creator woman replied mechanically, her voice still flat, "Please, be at ease."

"At ease? Who are you, telling us to be at ease?" Minho shouted, his voice pitching up an octave with anger, "We wanna see the police, the mayor, the president- somebody!" His fists curled and uncurled at his sides.

He looked like he might punch the W.I.C.K.E.D. woman in the face.

I kind of wanted him to do that.

"You have no idea what you're talking about, boy," the woman replied, her monotone finally broken by a condescending tone, "I'd expect more maturity from someone who's passed the Maze Trials."

I elbowed Minho before he could throw himself at the Creator and cause all hell to break lose.

"Gally," I said, "What's going on?"

Gally only looked at me as if he didn't know me, his shoulders shaking, his eyes vacant.

There was something very wrong with him.

Gally didn't answer, but the woman did. "One day you'll all be grateful for what we've done for you. I can only promise this, and trust your minds to accept it. If you don't, then the whole thing was a mistake. Dark times, Mr. Newton, dark times."

What was she talking about?

I would never be grateful to the Creators.

And why did she keep calling me Mr. Newton? Had we worked together or something?

"There is, of course, one final variable," the woman said, her eyes gleaming.

My blood ran cold.

Nothing else. Please, I can't take anything else.

"Gally?" Tommy asked.

Gally finally replied, his voice cracked and broken, as if each word was a massive effort to force through his lips.

"They... can control me... I don't-"

Then his strained face relaxed, smoothing into an unnatural smile.

Every muscle in my body screamed that something was wrong. Gally was acting wrong.

This was wrong.

And the Creator woman only stood there.

Then Gally reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife.

It was wickedly curved, horribly sharp.

What's he going to-

Then the knife flew from Gally's hand, spinning towards Tommy's chest.

NO!

I couldn't move a muscle.

I couldn't run, couldn't pull Thomas out of the way.

I couldn't-

Then someone was there, in front of Thomas, the knife sinking up to the handle in the boy's chest.

Chuck.