The Immunity Illness

CHAPTER 17, Thomas

His legs fidgeted and twitched when he became aware of the time passing. It crept and crept, and he couldn't sit still. Now that he had time to relax, to breathe, the losses of the past few days hit him the hardest. Brenda. Detained, as Paige had described. That could mean anything. He recoiled, remembering her touch, her laugh, all the things he couldn't have. She had been in his life one day and out the next. The same fact applied to Group B. Harriet, Sonya. They had treated him well under their circumstances, and now they were dead. Gally. Thomas was repulsed by himself that he didn't miss him too much. He'd always been sort of a jerk. But Aris—
       "Maybe you should give sleep a try after all," Minho offered, jolting him out of his recollections.
       "No."
       "I'll wake you up if Teresa's nightmares start."
       "No thanks. You won't know when to do it."
       Minho laid down beside him and closed his eyes. "Uh, yeah, I will."
       "How?"
       "Dude, you twitch a whole bunch and are full on screaming sometimes. Trust me, I'll know."
       Thomas bit his tongue. A few minutes of sleep wouldn't hurt if he woke up in time.
       "And you're sure about this?" he asked.
       "I'll wake you up. I swear it on my grandma's grave, and that's assuming she's dead and not coming to my rescue after kicking some WICKED butts. Hit some z's, man."
       Thomas's heart hammered in his chest, but he adjusted himself and nodded. Colors distorted the black undersides of his eyelids. It was simple to allow them to morph into the blurry images of another hellish dream.
***
       Icy waves crash into his legs, yanking him under the roaring tide. His arms pin to his sides. His legs won't kick normally. He spirals to the bottom of the ocean, flailing, and seaweed patches grapple for his wrists and ankles. Bubbles shoot from his mouth; he twists and bashes at the green enemies, but they entangle him and block out the light from the surface.
       Is this working? Thomas, can you hear me?
      Thomas scrapes at the vines choking him and gags out more bubbles.
       Thomas, dude, I don't have anyone else to contact. I think I flatlined on the Board's monitors. My telepathy with Teresa isn't working either, thankfully, but I'm in trouble.
       Air seeps into Thomas's nose. He takes in more gulps of it, conflicted when the water doesn't breach his esophagus. The voice probes him again,
       Are my messages getting through to you? Please, please, please answer.
       Aris? This is weird. Thomas waves his fingers in front of his face and counts five, six, then seven of them. Shuddering, he glances away. Definitely dreaming.
       Thomas? Oh, come on.
       I'm dreaming. You're supposed to be dead.
       Thomas swirls a piece of seaweed around his finger, admiring the underwater plant life surrounding him. It's not as threatening anymore.
       I'm not dead. I'm hiding in the field near Gate 35, where the stationary cameras can't see me. The beetle blades haven't caught me yet, but I think if I make a sprint for the—
       Can you shut up for a sec? Thomas interrupts him. I think I can get up to the surface and you're messing with my concentration.
       Surface? Thomas, what?
      He wiggles out of the seaweed and pushes himself through the murky water, catching glimpses of speckled sunlight. He breaks the top film of the ocean with a victorious smile. Teenagers swarm the beach of the nearby coast, dancing and chugging from red solo cups. When Thomas swims to dry land, he shakes out his hair and winks at a giggling Brenda. She's been waiting for him.
       What's going on? Aris bleats.
       Unless you wanna be the third wheel, be quiet.
       "Hi, handsome. Want a sip?" Brenda charms him, tilting her cup to his mouth. Thomas knowingly grins at her, and she laughs. "It's fruit punch, silly."
       He sniffs the fruity liquid, not taking his eyes off of her, and drinks from its rim.
       Sand, sewage, seaweed. It tastes foul. Coughing up the liquid, he examines the cup to see brown slosh mixing inside.
       "You don't like it?" Brenda pouts.
       The sky swiftly goes gray, booming with thunder. Lightning flickers across the beach. Five of the happy teens get electrocuted in a millisecond. Thomas power walks backwards, mumbling to himself,
       "Oh no, oh no."
        Brenda darts after him, seemingly unaware of her surroundings. She drops when a bolt of electricity pummels into her—and stands up with her face missing, screeching to him,
       "Wait for me, Thomas!"
       He runs. He runs over bodies and flipped tables, narrowly avoiding a flying umbrella. Minho barrels into his path, attempting to warn him of something, but a lightning bolt fries him into a scorched pile of bones. Thomas cries out. Blackened arms latch onto him.
       "Wait for us!" they weep.
       "Don't leave us, Tom!"
       "Come back!"
       He's dragged down to the sand against his will. The hands engulf him and rip at his flesh.
***
       Minho jerked him out of the dream. He gasped in shock before slumping back onto the rock, physically drained from the experience.
       "It's all right," Minho eased, his voice hushed. Thomas murmured groggily,
       "How long did I sleep?"
       "About an hour."
       Disappointed, he groaned. Minho spoke again,
       "Any memories?"
       "No. Drowning and people getting struck by lightning. They wanted to kill me. Oh, and Aris. He wouldn't stop bugging me about something. I can't remember what it was."
       Minho reverted to laying down and huffed. "Well, that sounds like a freak show."
       "Yeah, it was," Thomas said, beginning to doze off.
       Thomas!
       He sprang up from the rock, shouting out in surprise.  Minho lurched forward with him.
       "You're dead!" Thomas compromised with himself.
       I know you're there! Aris griped.
       You're supposed to be dead!
       I already told you I'm not!
       Thomas staggered to his feet and crossed the rockbed in bewilderment. The insanity was truly kicking in now. He didn't have control over his own thoughts anymore.
       "Thomas, sit back down. You're not thinking straight," Minho instructed earnestly.
       "You're dead, no, no, I saw you," Thomas reasoned aloud, pulling at his hair as if the action would get rid of Aris.
       I'm sitting in this field! You can choose whether or not to show up, but it would be pretty helpful if you did!
       Leave me alone!
      "Leave me alone!" he alternated between his telepathy and reality, not confident on which to trust more.
      Do you seriously want to rot to death in this Dome? I have information, I—
       You aren't real. Get out of my head.
       If you would just come to the stupid field—
       No! Get out! Thomas cupped his hands over his ears.
       "Please sit down," Minho practically begged, and there was something about the way he said it that made him retreat to the rock and sit on its edge like he'd been directed to.
       "Aris is dead," Thomas told him, curling his fingers into compacted fists. "He's dead."
       "I know," Minho acknowledged, placing a supportive palm on his back. "I know he is."
       "He won't get out of my head. The voices won't stop."
       "Everything's gonna be..." Minho broke off in a doubtful exhale, ensnared in his own lie. "Everything's gonna be fine, okay? We'll have the cure soon. We'll make it ourselves if we have to."
       I'll be here in the morning. If you don't come, I'm bringing Minho into this.
       Thomas buried his face into his knees and trembled.
       "The sun'll be up in a couple hours," Minho continued gently. "You can make it. Me and Frypan'll deal with Isaac and Iris so you can give your mind a break."
       He bobbed his head up and down robotically.