The Immunity Illness

CHAPTER 3

Dusk prepared to envelop the landscape. His group had stealthily removed itself from a mass congregation of puzzled Immunes to go hide in a tiny, mostly undiscovered cave along the ocean shoreline. People had asked questions, all right, but his clever excuse surprisingly held up. Lightning wasn't a far stretch from the truth. Brenda saw Jorge by the lumber pile as they traveled to the cave and filled him in on their situation. Everyone was too overwhelmed about the new Trials to utter a word, so Minho, staying true to his tattoo, took up the leadership role.
       "Okay, shanks. Back in the Glade, we had a little tradition called a Gathering. If you have no idea what that is, try to keep up and keep your mouth shut." He explained it boredly, like an old professor to a group of students. The Gladers held dutifully expectant postures while the others seemed genuinely intrigued. Minho continued on, "Let's discuss what we already know, shall we? We're in another set of trials, and what number is it?"
       "Five I think. Phase Five," Thomas told him. "First it was the Maze Trials, then the Scorch Trials, next was our individual Trials at WICKED. I'm assuming our escape to Denver was a Trial as well, making that Phase Four."
       "You heard him, ladies and gents," Minho said roughly. "We're on lucky number five and let it be our last."
       "That's what we thought the last time! What if it never ends?" Sonya boomed. Her words reverberated like a siren, so infuriated that she made Thomas jump.
       "They're gonna have to find their sacred cure sometime," Gally grunted. "If they don't, I'm gonna find a nice place in the field to dig my own grave."
       Thomas slumped forward as the cave wall suddenly became too uncomfortable for his liking. Sonya was right. What if it never ended? What if they were going to suffer until they all ended up dead? What if—stop. He needed to stop. Nothing good ever came out of 'what if' questions. He had to be strong not only for himself, but for the two hundred Immunes that got dragged into his mess. He had designed the Maze. He was the one who started the tortuous process, so he was the one who needed to end it.
       "We should see if there's any exits or clues as to how to get out of this place. If it's anything like the Maze, we'll know there's an escape," Harriet theorized.
       Jorge stood up to walk around the shadowy cave. Grumpily, he directed to them,
       "Split yourselves into search parties and head out tomorrow morning."
       "Why not tonight?" Beth retorted anxiously, her tone livid.
       Brenda answered for him,
       "Going at night would be suspicious. We have to be smart about this, guys."
       Jorge gave her a curt nod of recognition. Minho also climbed to his feet, concentrating for a few seconds before issuing,
       "Good that. Frypan and Gally'll patrol the Woods. Brenda and Jorge, take a hike near the Mountains. Group B, the coast. Thomas, you can come with me to the Hill. There might be rubble from the Flat Trans that we can take a peek at."
       The group appeared satisfied, but Jorge broke the contentment, authority plentiful in his voice. "Those mountains are in a desert climate, muchacho. How are we supposed to get up and go without hogging materials and drawing attention to ourselves?"
       "Call it an exploration hike." Minho shrugged, tossing him a dirty look. "The Munies will believe it. They're dumb as a box of rocks and even dumber when they're scared."
       "Well, being trapped in an overprotective city all your life doesn't help much," Aris debated. "Don't act like we're any wiser than them."
       After he earned some irritated glances, Thomas sensed his dislike for Aris returning. He would always be an obnoxious shuck-face. Brassily, he fired back,
       "Says the scientist's overprotected pet."
       Aris cocked his head to squint at him. "Excuse me? Say that about yourself."
       "Slim it. We're not trying to start anything here, so shut your holes," Minho threatened.
       "No, let him speak," Aris prompted, bending his words into a mock. "I'd like to know exactly what you think of me, Tommy boy."
       Thomas dug his nails into his palms.
       "Don't call me that," he hissed.
       Aris smirked when he knew that he'd gotten to him. His actions turned abnormal of his character. "Oops, was that what Newt used to call you? I'm deeply sorry. I'd nearly forgotten about him. We should throw you a pity party for how you left that withered little Crank back in Denv—"
       Aris never got a chance to finish his hideous speech, because Thomas lurched forward and gripped onto his shirt collar. He clutched it with a newfound strength powered by his pounding heart and flaming mind.
       "Don't you ever," he began icily, "speak like that to me again. If you do, I'll mess you up." He was secretly shocked at how foreign his own deterrent sounded.
       "I'd like to watch you try." Aris sneered, leaning toward him. "I was the one who dragged you into a gas chamber, not the other way around, remember?"
       "Not after I mentioned your sweet Rachel and slammed a fist into your stomach."
       At the reference to Rachel, Aris's smirk transformed into a cold snarl. Thomas babbled on, wading treacherous waters,
      "Yeah, doesn't feel so good, does it? Being reminded of the people you care about?"
       "Thomas, I said slim it! And Aris, this situation isn't about you and I'll be jacked if you make it about Newt!" Minho hurled a scowl at both of them. His voice became stricken, affected equally by Aris's words.
       Thomas didn't let go of Aris's shirt. He clenched it tighter in his fist and glowered darkly into his angry green eyes. The boy peered at him strangely, as if he was enlivened by getting under his skin until he could think of a new comeback. When Aris had one, he said it quietly for him to hear and no one else. His warm breath puffed against him with each syllable.
       "You killed him, didn't you Tommy? I can see it in your eyes."
       Thomas's throat swelled at the accusation. He couldn't know that. It was impossible. He'd had to deal with the reminder of Newt enough already, and this put the icing on the cake. He shook the misery away and refuted with the solid, sharp temper that was fueling him,
       "Stop."
       He pronounced the word slowly, intimidatingly, so that something would stick in Aris's head. Unrelenting, his challenger taunted back,
       "What are you gonna do if I don't, kill me? Please, do the honors so I don't live to see another set of trials."
       Disgusted, Thomas took a swift glance around. Everyone surrounding them had frozen up, unsure of what to do—even Minho. Not Gally, though. He harbored a vitalizing expression on his scarred, crooked face, and it was all the motivation Thomas required to stammer out what needed to be said.
       "Not kill you. I'd love to see you suffer, but Newt wasn't like that. Newt saw the good in everyone and was always trying to keep some peace until the shuck Flare rooted itself inside his brain, and then he couldn't defend himself from slintheads like you."
       "Thomas, that's enough. Get up," Minho commanded from behind them. This time, Thomas released his grip on Aris's shirt and let himself be dragged away, but he didn't break eye contact with him. Just by a hair, Aris's mouth moved to form a short, mute, two-word sentence.
       Newt's dead.
       That did it. Something inside of Thomas cracked at the seams and logic slipped from his grasp.
       "Shut up! Shut up, shut up!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. He jolted upward and flew out of the cave, running along the jagged cliff wall. He would have injured Aris if he hadn't. No more confrontations about Newt. He couldn't handle one more confrontation.
       The ocean lapped naturally on his right, spitting foamy waves onto the sand. He knew it was simulated. The ocean led to a wall of holotech like everything else. When he put a fair distance between himself and the cave, he stopped to slide down along the cliffside so that he was sitting again, hands wrapped around his ears and panging temples. His headache was getting worse.
       He didn't cry. The sadness thrived inside of him like a rabid beast, but no tears came. Somehow, this was worse than crying; he was a faucet plugged up. Minutes passed before he heard commotion arise near the cave entrance. He looked up and perceived two silhouettes, Minho and Brenda. The figures interlocked in an argument which barely emanated into audible range. Thomas listened closely, struggling to make out the conversation.
       "Then you go say something to him about it," Brenda snapped. "Newt was your friend, not mine."
       "Which is exactly why this isn't your business." Minho trudged with her along the coastline. "Thomas wouldn't want me telling you what happened in the first place."
       Thomas sank lower against the cliff wall, cursing Minho silently. Now Brenda would never leave him alone about what he'd done. She'd ask him why he did it, when, how, where, and all because he'd pulled the trigger once. Brenda's voice dropped an octave, and although muffled to Thomas, he guessed she said,
       "It's better for all of us that I know."
       Thomas nearly laughed at that. He greatly disagreed.
       "And you'll be the only one to know unless Thomas declares otherwise," Minho warned her. "Go back to the cave."
       Brenda huffed at him. "No. I'm not leaving him over there."
       "I'll be with him."
       "But," she faltered crossly, "I'm his girlfriend. I can't—"
       "I'm his friend. He might've only popped outta the Box over a month ago, but I ain't stupid to how he works. Like it or not, I know him better."
       He felt an odd gratitude for the way Minho stuck up for him despite his desire to see Brenda. She muttered something distastefully and spun around, jogging in the opposite direction. Thomas needily watched her go as Minho slinked toward him. When he got close enough to touch, Thomas let his pupils dip to the sand below, unwilling to interact with him. Minho stayed anyway.
       "Hey, shank," he said. "That was a big scene you put on back there."
       Thomas gave no reply.
       "I'm no Psych guy, but I think making enemies is what WICKED wants from us," he reasoned.
       Thomas finally met his gaze. His tone had a harsh, clipped effect. "I don't give a shuck about what WICKED wants, and Aris is a lowlife jerk."
       Minho knelt to his level nonchalantly. "So you're giving up."
       "Minho, I'm burnt out," Thomas wheezed. "I can't go on falling for sick tricks and getting more people killed. When I said I was done, I meant it."
       Minho's vivid perseverance captured his attention. It was so much different from the hopelessness he'd had on the cliff the other day. "You have a choice," he said. "You can mope around while Paige strikes down our friends or you can use your legs and keep moving. Know what I'd choose?"
       Thomas's lips spread into a thin, expressionless line. "I'm tired of choosing."
       "And I'm not?" Minho burst out, springing up straight. He stretched his arms toward the sky to smite invisible gods. "I choose the latter option. I choose life, and shuck it, I'm gonna get outta this place a free man!" He grabbed for Thomas's elbow and tugged him upright, not without protest. "Promise me you will too."
       "Promises aren't really my thing." He recalled the ones he'd made to Chuck, how he'd needed to get him home, find his mom, and never did.
       Minho's grip on him increased. His wild, desperate eyes pleaded with him, chanting, Grant this one request for me, please. He actually said,
       "Make it your thing. You owe me one, remember?"
       "Fine," Thomas spat.
       "Promise me you won't give up. Mean it."
       He took a moment to absorb what Minho was proposing. His friend looked exactly how he felt—worn, shattered and angry—but there was something else there too. Ambition. It twinkled brightest above all the horrors they had witnessed, a star in the black night. Ambition was the ribbon tying them together.
       Thomas sealed his fate. "I promise."
       Now he had to make sure he'd never break it.
       Minho let go of him. He instructed casually,
       "Good. C'mon, we've got a lot of planning to do."
       Thomas shuddered as a dizzy spell came over him. He wobbled a little, nauseous from it.
       Minho frowned. "Need help?"
       "No. I've been through worse."
       They jogged back to the cave in silence, and the noisy din inside brought a ringing hum to his ears. He picked out segments of dialogue, with Gally suggesting to "Set the whole place on fire" and Frypan demanding they "Check for a Box". Thomas attempted to blend in as he re-entered their group, but the cave melted into a hush. Aris stared directly into his eyes. Thomas glanced past him and sat with Minho, avoiding him and Brenda at all costs.
       Minho cleared his throat to break the tension. "If there's anything we've learnt from the Maze, it's how to keep order and keep our traps shut. And now, in this new 'Maze', we're the informed ones and the Immunes are the newest Newbies. With that spoken, I establish the Number One Rule of the Horizon." He scanned the group warily. "Never let a Newbie know what you know unless your life depends on it. Got it?"
       Every person nodded their head, including Thomas. Gally added in a chirp,
       "Break our Number One Rule and you'll get yourself thrown off of our shiny new Cliff. And this time, we can see what's at the bottom of it."