The Fever Code (Page 86)

Once again, panic exploded inside him.

But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. He tried to call out to Teresa, but she didn’t exist here.

A large bubble entered his field of vision from the right, just a few feet away. It jiggled and shimmered with an oily sheen, distorting the world behind it as it floated even closer, coming to a stop directly above him. Inside the bubble, an image appeared, a moving image. A complex, three-dimensional image. Even though his senses clearly told him that the image was inside a bubble, it also seemed to consume him, surround him. The whole of it relaxed him, as if opiate drugs had been pumped into his veins.

He was a boy. Sitting on a couch, his dad beside him, an open book shared between their laps. His dad’s lips moved, his eyes lit up with mock drama, reading the story that obviously enraptured the very young version of Thomas. A small spark of joy flashed in his chest. He didn’t want it to end. No, he thought. Please don’t take this away. I’ll do anything. Please don’t do this to me.

The bubble popped.

Tiny drops of liquid sprayed outward, magically hovering in the air, catching light in little winks that made Thomas squint. Confusion made him blink. What had he just seen? Something about his dad. Something about a book. It was fuzzy, but still there. He tried to recall it but stopped when another balloon appeared.

Again, it hovered, colors shimmering across its surface, distorting the clouds beyond. It came to rest directly above him again. A moving image appeared, simultaneously small yet filling his entire world at the same time.

He walked along a street, his hand tiny in his mother’s. Leaves blew across the sidewalk. It was as if he were there. The world had already been devastated by sun flares, and yet little trips outside were okay now. He looked forward to each moment out in the elements, despite the sadness and fear he sensed in his parents’ demeanor. Despite the risk of radiation even a few minutes caused. He’d been so happy at times like—

The bubble popped. More drops of liquid hung suspended in the air, joining the others. Dozens of sparkles in the sun. Thomas’s confusion increased. He was still aware of the Swipe process, that these memories were being taken from him. But they’d only weakened, not disappeared. Despite the rush of sweet bliss, he raged against it, battled with his mind. He screamed silently, mentally.

More bubbles came.

More popped.

Playing tag. Swimming. Baths. Breakfasts. Dinners. Good times. Bad times. Faces. Emotions. Things Dr. Paige had told him. He wanted to cry out when he saw his dad going crazy from the Flare.

That bubble popped.

More of them came, no longer one by one. They flew by in a rush, a sensory overload that numbed his seething mind. Music. Movies. Dancing. Baseball. Food. The kind he loved (pizza, hamburgers, carrots) and the kind he hated (beef stroganoff, squash, peas). Faces in the memories started to blur, the voices to slur. The bubbles came and went so fast he could hardly keep up with them. The residue of their bursts filled the entire sky above him, millions of drops of whatever liquid formed them.

He had forgotten what he’d been so upset about.

A great wind came. A brutal, churning wind. It spun the drops in a grand circle, a cyclone of dew twisting above him. Bubbles popped before they even reached him now, the remnants of their predecessors ripping through them, obliterating them before Thomas could even experience their memories. All of it churned above him, spinning faster and faster. Soon everything blurred together, a writhing tornado of gray mist, devoid of all color.

Thomas felt as if he were a flower wilting from lack of sun. He’d never felt such confusion, such…emptiness. The world spun above him. And he grew ever emptier, his mind being sucked away, lost in the towering twister stealing him. Stealing what made him him.

Gone.

It was all gone.

He closed his eyes. He wept without weeping. A deep blackness consumed his mind and body. Time stretched before him like an endless sea, no horizon ever to come. Nothing ahead, everything left behind.

—

Hours later, he opened his eyes.

He was awake.

He was standing.

Surrounded by cold darkness and stale, dusty air.

WICKED Memorandum, Date 232.1.1, Time 3:12

TO: Leadership Council

FROM: Chancellor Ava Paige

RE: Reasons

I want to briefly thank everyone on the WICKED staff. It’s been ten years, but our pre-trials are finally over. You’ve taught our Elite subjects well, and at this point we are ready to begin the final days of the Maze Trials—what we’ve always known to be most important.

Thomas and Rachel have been fully prepared. Everything leading up to this moment, their insertion into the mazes, would not have been possible without each and every one of you. It took a lot of long hours and meticulous planning and care to get us where we are today. Thank you for the hard work you’ve so tirelessly accomplished over the last decade, and especially over the last two years.

We never knew who the final candidates would be, but today we are happy to celebrate Teresa and Aris and their loyalties to our purpose here. Phase Two is imminent, and I believe our future is brighter than ever.

Again, thank you.

WICKED Memorandum, Date 232.1.1, Time 2:01

TO: All Staff

FROM: Teresa Agnes

RE: A last word

I’ve just said goodbye to Thomas, and he’s now in the Glade, safe and sound. Tomorrow, it will be my turn. Dr. Paige has asked me to send a final note to everyone, sharing my thoughts. I’m more than happy to do so.

I feel good about the plan to leave my and Aris’s memories intact. You need someone in each group with whom you can communicate and plan during the phases of the Trials. Aris and I can also coordinate throughout.