What If | tmr, newt ✓

Chapter 35

I trail along behind the woman, my eyes focused on the back of her head and her mousy brown hair. In front of her, over ten more people trudge in silence to wherever we're heading. Like a death march. There's only one person behind me, but whoever it is has their face concealed with a hood, just like me, and walks with heavy footsteps that echo in the narrow halls.

My face is stained with tears, but I can't reach up to wipe them away. My violently shaking hands are clasped around a revolver, the black metal feeling horribly menacing in my fragile fingers. I attempt to drop it but the voice in my head speaks up.

You don't want to drop it.

I nod my head in agreement although nobody is watching.

Keep walking.

Something feels wrong. I don't want to keep walking, do I?

Yes, you do.

I nod again, somehow believing it. But I thought I wanted to escape?

No, you don't.

I shake my head. I don't want to escape.

Tripping momentarily in fear and confusion, I catch up to the people I'm following. Eventually we enter a small room, long and narrow, with technological screens and above them windows lining one of the longer walls. They look out onto a large underground chamber, which must be one of the laboratories, with various equipment along the walls as well as a peculiar, circular opening directly opposite us.

Everyone lines up along these windows, looking out into the room, expectant. I, and the person behind me, follow the strict brown-haired woman to the end of the room, where I notice for the first time a set of double doors opening into the hall.

And then we wait.

***

It takes five minutes for the Gladers to all finally enter the chamber and get their bearings. I knew this would happen: WCKD told me it would. But somehow the reality is worse.

You see, I love to see them safe.

But 'safe' is a strong word.

And I dread what's going to happen now.

The first Glader to come down is Minho, his clothes battered and his body covered in blood. I can tell from his face that he's exhausted, but somehow that is overcome with a mixture of anticipation and a determination to see the end.

He's soon followed by a few others, then Newt, and my heart skips a beat, noticing the long scratch down his face and how unsteady he is on his feet. All I want to do is run to the both of them, tell them they're not safe here, scream at WCKD not to hurt them. Even just lift my head so they can know that I'm here.

Keep your head down and don't say a word.

Hidden behind my hood, the Gladers continue to come down some sort of chute as I keep shifting on my feet. Once no more come down, Teresa and Thomas being the last ones, I feel myself crying involuntarily again; where's Alby? Zart? George? Where's the rest of them?

So many of them are missing and it sends an uncontrollable shudder down my spine.

They scramble from under the pile of boys, forming a tight group on their feet despite the large, open space of the chamber.

"I'm gonna break your faces!" Minho screams suddenly, making me wince. Yes, I think. Please.

A few more murmurs break out before we act, some of the WCKD workers typing away at digital keyboards underneath the windows or communicating silently with each other. A loud beeping sounds, startling me and the Gladers though everyone else appears calm. Confusion was taking over reason in my brain; what's going to happen now? Who is the person with their hood down?

And why do I still have a gun?

The double doors near us swing open, signalling the end of the beeping. I feel myself move. Forwards. My footsteps are heavy, unlike usual, and the revolver is a dead weight in my hand as I tuck it behind my back on command.

"Welcome back," the woman beside me says as we stop before the group. I feel utterly useless not under my own control. "Over three years, and so few dead. Amazing."

I want to scream and batter her to the floor. Did she not see how many boys were missing? Even from just looking down at their feet, I can count them: twenty one. Twenty one.

"Excuse me?" A particular British accented voice says, mirroring my thoughts exactly. The tears fall faster.

"Mostly everything has gone according to plan, Mr Newton. Although we expected a few more of you to give up along the way. And there is, of course, an unexpected variable we thought you all deserve to know about."

Before I can take time to process the words, the woman reaches up and tugs the hood back from my face. No doubt everyone can see the tears staining my cheeks and the expression in my eyes, and I hear the whispers start along with the sharp gasps. I can't bring myself to lift my gaze from the floor.

And then the truly horrifying happens. I speak, but they aren't even my own words.

"My name is Cassia, and I was a variable that WCKD wasn't expecting."

What?

"The reason I was a mistake is because I put myself into the Maze."

If the shock in my own voice isn't the most obvious thing ever, then I don't know what is.

"I was so passionate about what WCKD was doing that I knew I had to help them."

I sob at the end of these words, unable to help myself. Something is wrong.

"So I sent myself into the Maze without them knowing to prove my loyalty."

No. I would never do that. Even the first two things I said had sounded vaguely familiar, a foggy sort of remembrance. But those last two? It was like poison on my lips.

"But now that I'm working for them again, I can do the inevitable."

Finally, I lift my eyes up to face the crowd. Everyone is perfectly silent, staring at me, expectant. I hadn't been given any further orders yet, so them and I just wait. My gaze flicks to my friends', momentarily, and I take in their expressions of confusion and anger with another sob and streams of tears. At least they should be able to tell something is wrong from the way I'm acting.

And then I take the gun from behind my back and point it straight at Thomas.

It's so sudden that it startles me enough to momentarily conquer WCKD's power. "No!" I shout, trying to push the old revolver down, but instead I end up curling my finger over the trigger, poised to shoot.

With one final surge of effort I push WCKD out of my mind and throw the gun on the ground. I can feel the woman tense, not expecting me to be able to do that. But my endeavours are wasted because WCKD only comes back in my mind, blazing with fury.

Pick up the gun.

I nod, kneeling down and taking it back in my hands.

Put your finger around the trigger.

I don't think I even know how to shoot a gun.

Yes you do.

Yes, I do.

Now, point it at the side of your head.

I do as I'm told.

"Addie?"

Pull the trigger.

I shake my head. I can't resist it much longer but I know I don't want to shoot.

Yes, you do. You were unfaithful to us.

I nod.

"Falcon, put the gun down."

We said pull it.

No. I don't want to die.

Pull. The. Trigger.