The Maze Runner

Thomas shook his head. “Maybe that’s exactly why he stayed out there. Wanted to prove he could do anything I can do. The guy hates me.” A pause. “Hated me.”

“Well, whatever.” Chuck shrugged as if they were arguing over what to have for breakfast. “If he’s dead, you guys’ll probably find him eventually. If not, he’ll get hungry and show up to eat. I don’t care.”

Thomas picked up his plate and took it to the counter. “All I want is one normal day—one day to relax.”

“Then your bloody wish is granted,” said a voice from the kitchen door behind him.

Thomas turned to see Newt there, smiling. That grin sent a wave of reassurance through Thomas, as if he were finding out the world was okay again.

“Come on, ya buggin’ jailbird,” Newt said. “You can take it easy while you’re hangin’ in the Slammer. Let’s go. Chucky’ll bring ya some lunch at noon.”

Thomas nodded and headed out the door, Newt leading the way. Suddenly a day in prison sounded excellent. A day to just sit and relax.

Though something told him there was a better chance of Gally bringing him flowers than of passing a day in the Glade with nothing strange happening.

CHAPTER 30

The Slammer stood in an obscure place between the Homestead and the north Glade wall, hidden behind thorny, ragged bushes that looked like they hadn’t been trimmed in ages. It was a big block of roughly cut concrete, with one tiny, barred window and a wooden door that was locked with a menacing rusty metal latch, like something out of the Dark Ages.

Newt took out a key and opened it up, then motioned for Thomas to enter. “There’s only a chair in there and nothin’ at all for ya to do. Enjoy yourself.”

Thomas groaned inwardly as he stepped inside and saw the one piece of furniture—an ugly, rickety chair with one leg obviously shorter than the rest, probably on purpose. Didn’t even have a cushion.

“Have fun,” Newt said before closing the door. Thomas turned back to his new home and heard the latch close and the lock click behind him. Newt’s head appeared at the little glassless window, looking through the bars, a smirk on his face. “Nice reward for breakin’ the rules. You saved some lives, Tommy, but ya still need to learn—”

“Yeah, I know. Order.”

Newt smiled. “You’re not half bad, shank. But friends or no, gotta run things properly, keep us buggers alive. Think about that while ya sit here and stare at the bloody walls.”

And then he was gone.

* * *

The first hour passed, and Thomas felt boredom creep in like rats under the door. By hour number two, he wanted to bang his head against the wall. Two hours after that he started to think having dinner with Gally and the Grievers would beat sitting inside that stupid Slammer. He sat and tried to bring back memories, but every effort evaporated into oblivious mist before anything formed.

Thankfully, Chuck arrived with lunch at noon, relieving Thomas from his thoughts.

After passing some pieces of chicken and a glass of water through the window, he took up his usual role of talking Thomas’s ear off.

“Everything’s getting back to normal,” the boy announced. “The Runners are out in the Maze, everyone’s working—maybe we’ll survive after all. Still no sign of Gally—Newt told the Runners to come back lickety-splickety if they found his body. And, oh, yeah—Alby’s up and around. Seems fine—and Newt’s glad he doesn’t have to be the big boss anymore.”

The mention of Alby pulled Thomas’s attention from his food. He pictured the older boy thrashing around, choking himself the day before. Then he remembered that no one else knew what Alby had said after Newt left the room—before the seizure. But that didn’t mean Alby would keep it between them now that he was up and walking around.

Chuck continued talking, taking a completely unexpected turn. “Thomas, I’m kinda messed up, man. It’s weird to feel sad and homesick, but have no idea what it is you wish you could go back to, ya know? All I know is I don’t want to be here. I want to go back to my family. Whatever’s there, whatever I was taken from. I wanna remember.”

Thomas was a little surprised. He’d never heard Chuck say something so deep and so true. “I know what you mean,” he murmured.

Chuck was too short for his eyes to reach where Thomas could see them as he spoke, but from his next statement, Thomas imagined them filling with a bleak sadness, maybe even tears. “I used to cry. Every night.”

This made thoughts of Alby leave Thomas’s mind. “Yeah?”

“Like a pants-wettin’ baby. Almost till the day you got here. Then I just got used to it, I guess. This became home, even though we spend every day hoping to get out.”

“I’ve only cried once since showing up, but that was after almost getting eaten alive. I’m probably just a shallow shuck-face.” Thomas might not have admitted it if Chuck hadn’t opened up.

“You cried?” he heard Chuck say through the window. “Then?”

“Yeah. When the last one finally fell over the Cliff, I broke down and sobbed till my throat and chest hurt.” Thomas remembered all too well. “Everything crushed in on me at once. Sure made me feel better—don’t feel bad about crying. Ever.”

“Kinda does make ya feel better, huh? Weird how that works.”

A few minutes passed in silence. Thomas found himself hoping Chuck wouldn’t leave.

“Hey, Thomas?” Chuck asked.

“Still here.”