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Minho: It's time for Plan B

Thomas: We have a Plan B?

Minho: No, but it's time for one

-✼-

Luckily, I landed in a snowbank. The deep pile cushioned my fall and caused cold to seep through my denim jeans. As I stood, I brushed the snow off of my rear and tried my best to ignore the fact that my pants were now wet.

The Berg began to take off again, the cargo door closing as it lifted into the air. I brushed my hair out of my face and watched it ascend into the overcast sky. It reminded me of when the sun had disappeared in the Glade and left nothing but gray hanging over us.

Thomas groaned from somewhere. I swept my gaze around before spotting a crumpled figure lying in the snow a few yards from me, staring blankly up at the clouds. The objective of this action wasn't clear; instead, he just seemed to be trapped in some sort of daze.

I was about to snap him out of it when he abruptly blinked and began to push himself to his feet. Thomas shook the snow off of himself, shuddering at the cold. Particles of white stood out jarringly from his raven hair.

"Let's go," he said without much emotion, setting off in the direction Lawrence had indicated without more hesitation. Whatever stupor he'd been in was gone and replaced with determination. We didn't have time to dilly-dally anymore.

As I stomped through the undisturbed snow on the group to catch up, I opened my mouth, but paused before any sound could come out once I caught sight of my brother's face. His expression was glazed like he was purposely fighting any emotions or thoughts from registering in his brain. It was his coping mechanism— he'd had his time to grieve in the van, and now he was forcing himself to recover.

"Thomas," I began carefully. When he didn't acknowledge me, I continued anyway, hoping at least some part of him was listening. "Hey. I don't—" My words tripped over themselves. "Don't think I hate you or something. I don't."

Thomas' eyes stayed trained on the barely-visible path ahead of us. There, the snow was thinner, but the cold was slowly bringing color to both of our pale complexions. His cheeks already appeared a bit rosy.

"Look, I...I understand, okay? I get why you did what you did—"

It took me a moment to realize he was laughing. Probably because it started as huffs from his nose, then chuckles that steadily grew louder until I was staring at him in confusion. Finally, he stopped and spoke.

"Don't say that," he said with conviction and all humor gone from his voice. "You understand. You don't. You don't know what it's like. You're just saying that because you feel like you have to."

"I killed Theo."

Thomas stopped dead in his tracks. The spiteful expression he'd had when speaking to me instantly vanished, replaced with one of shock, then horror, then realization. I watched as he connected the dots before my eyes.

The words were difficult to force out, to admit aloud, to relive as the flashbacks pierced my mind. "He was mauled by Cranks in the Scorch. Jorge told us that the Flare spreads more quickly from a bite, and at the time, we all thought we had the virus..." My throat began to close. I pushed the rest of it out anyway, my voice growing thick. "He asked me to kill him. Two shots and my best friend was gone. So, yes, I do understand."

I plowed on after that, tears brimming in my eyes but refusing to fall. They'd only freeze on my cheeks.

The rest of our journey was spent in silence, but one less tense than it had been since I'd woken up from the electrocution. Some form of peace had settled between us. Thomas now knew that I didn't despise him for his actions and that I could, in fact, empathize with him. Maybe it made him feel less alone.

It took over an hour for us to reach the edge of the forest. By then, my face was so numb I couldn't feel my nose running any longer, my feet ached, and my eyes stung even with my hood drawn over my head. I didn't remember any time when I'd encountered low temperatures like that. In all of my memories from my past, not one of them included me going outside after being taken in by W.I.C.K.E.D.

Thomas and I stopped side-by-side at the tree line. There was an abrupt drop-off that led to a ditch devoid of any vegetation, rocks sticking jaggedly from its edges. Beyond it was a steep cliff that led to the ocean that looked more gray than blue. Just before it lay W.I.C.K.E.D.

The building in my memory of being brought here by our mother couldn't capture the true enormity of the complex. The structure was as white as the snow around us, with a towering center and shorter branches off to the side. It was not beautiful — the severe weather had taken its toll on the exterior — but it served its ultimate purpose anyway. It was intimidating as hell.

The two of us steadily began our descent into the ditch. Luckily, the boots were sturdy, gripping onto the rocks surely, though they sill slid on the loose dirt between them. A faint fluttering noise caught my attention. Lo and behold, a beetle blade landed on a nearby boulder. Its gleaming red eyes shifted between us. I fought the overwhelming urge to flip it off. Maybe the person controlling it would have a good laugh. Best-case scenario, it was Janson.

Thomas waved at it.

We continued. I wondered if the surveillance team was just going to watch us struggle down the ditch until they decided to show themselves and let us into the building. However, we soon landed on the cement sidewalk circling the complex. Although it was better-looking than what we'd just crawled through, the landscaping wasn't the prettiest thing I'd ever seen. The plants were dead. W.I.C.K.E.D really did kill everything beautiful, everything with potential.

Thomas was scanning the tinted windows above while I watched two more beetle blades scuttle along the snow-covered, skeletal remains of shrubbery. They made my gut twist in the most horrid of ways at the memory of watching them in the Glade. The scientists had been watching us then just like they were watching us now. Nothing had really changed after all.

A distant rumble caused Thomas and I to turn around. The sky behind us was dark, signaling a storm already brewing more quickly than one should. Multiple bolts of lightning flashed against the clouds. Instantly, I was touching my hearing aid without realizing it, momentarily taken back to the moment Minho and I had been struck. I had been sure I was going to die. I didn't suppose going back to this place was any better.

Thomas gently touched my elbow to grab my attention and continued along the sidewalk. We made it to the front entrance, stopping before the tinted glass doors. Nothing could be seen through them.

"Do we just..." I trailed off.

Thomas shrugged. "I guess."

He reached out and knocked. Immediately, a series of clicks became audible as the locks disengaged and allowed one of the doors to swing out. It took all of my willpower to suppress the scowl that threatened to pull down my mouth as Janson extended a hand.

"Welcome back," he said with a smug grin. I wanted to punch it off of his face. "No one believed me, but I've been saying all along that you'd return. I'm glad you made the right choice."

"On one condition: you shut your shuck trap," I grumbled, causing the scientist to appear even more amused rather than threatened.

Thomas signed. "Let's just get on with it."

"Sounds like an excellent idea." Janson glanced pointedly at me before stepping aside and bowing slightly. "After you."

I avoiding looking at him entirely as I followed my brother into the complex, simmering with loathing. Could Janson really believe I'd come marching back? He knew I despised him. I'd been resisting his every effort since we escaped the Maze. However, Thomas had done the same, and the Rat Man didn't seem to care all that much. He was just happy to be right.

We stepped into a lobby that appeared incredibly bland compared to what I thought it would look like. A few brightly-colored chairs were placed around, accompanied by wooden tables and even a few fake plants. A desk was pushed against the front desk. There wasn't a secretary.

"I thought we'd spend a few minutes in my office," Janson said, pointing down a hallway that branched off from the main area. We began walking in that direction. "We're terribly sorry about what happened in Denver. A shame to lose a city with such potential. All the more reason we need to get this done and get it done quickly."

A chill went down my spine. I forced myself not to share a terrified look with Thomas.

"What is it you have to do?" my brother asked in a surprisingly level voice.

"We'll discuss everything in my office. Our lead team is there."

"That's fine, but I really need to use the bathroom first."

Clever, Thomas. Hopefully Janson would believe his lie so he could plant the device in his backpack. In fact, I was surprised at the sheer lack of people milling about, and the fact that we hadn't been searched immediately upon arrival. We could have brought in a bomb and Janson wouldn't have a clue.

Luckily, Rat Man complied. "There's one just up ahead." He led us down an even duller corridor with signs for men's and women's restrooms jutting from the walls. "I'll wait out here."

The mere thought of being out here alone with him made me want to choke, so I casually added, "I may as well go, too. It was a long walk and I'm sure you have a lot of crap to tell us."

Without waiting for a response, I pushed the door to the women's restroom open and headed inside. It was as bland as the rest of the building, but maybe once it had been cleaner. Now, the small tiles were rough and cracked in some places, the once-piercing shade of white on the walls becoming a shady gray.

I didn't actually have to use the restroom, surprisingly. I had learned to hold it fairly well from being in the Scorch and from hating the bathrooms in the Glade. Instead, I lingered in an open stall before flushing the toilet with my foot, washing my hands in one of the sinks, and using a hand dryer that made my hands dry within seconds.

When I left, Janson was still alone in the hallway. Thomas must still have been planting the device. Come on, you idiot, I mentally urged him, before he gets suspicious.

But Thomas was outside before Rat Man or I could utter a single word to one another. I stifled a sigh of relief. He didn't outwardly appear like he was freaking out, so either he was an incredible actor to hide his emotions even from me, or he had succeeded in his efforts.

"All finished?" Janson questioned mockingly, a grin lifting one side of his mouth.

"All finished," Thomas answered as if he hadn't noticed. It wiped the smile from the older man's face.

We continued down our original hallway. Pictures of Ava Paige hung on the walls, crooked, giving an even more unkempt appearance to the structure. This place sure had gone downhill since the Maze Trials began— nothing was like this in my memories.

"Am I ever going to meet the Chancellor?" Thomas wondered aloud, and I remembered that while I had spoken with and corresponded with her personally, he had yet to see her in person.

"Chancellor Paige is very busy," Janson replied airily. "You have to remember, Thomas— completing the blueprint and finalizing the cure was only the beginning. We're still organizing the logistics of getting it out to the masses— most of the team is working hard at it as we speak."

"Are you sure this will work?" I asked genuinely. Did W.I.C.K.E.D truly believe that it could administer the cure to so many people, to save what little humanity that was left?

"And why just us?" Thomas added.

His awful smile was back. "I believe it with every ounce of my being. And I promise you two will get the credit you deserve."

"I don't want your shuck credit," we glowered simultaneously. Surprised, Thomas and I glanced at one another.

Janson ignored us. "Here we are."

We'd reached a nondescript door and were led inside. A man and a woman sat facing a desk, though I didn't recognize them at all. The woman had long red hair that was perfectly straight, a navy pantsuit bringing out the pale color of her porcelain skin. The man was bald, skinny, and bony, dressed in green scrubs.

"These are my associates," Janson informed us as he sat behind the desk. He gestured for us to sit at the empty chairs between the strangers, and we complied. I kept my arms straight and hands between my knees so I wasn't touching the man. "Dr. Wright" - he pointed at the woman - "is our lead Psych, and Dr. Christensen our lead physician. We have a lot to discuss, so you'll pardon me if I'm short on introductions."

Of course. We'd barely gotten here three minutes ago and he was already preparing more tests. What did I expect? A warm welcome, hospitality, maybe some hot cocoa and a blanket?

"Why are we Final Candidates?" Thomas asked bluntly.

Janson busied himself by pointlessly arranging papers on the surface of his desk as he gathered his thoughts. When he was ready, he folded his hands and looked at us both. "Excellent question. We had a handful of — pardon the term — subjects slated in the beginning to... compete for this honor. Recently it was narrowed down to Thomas and Teresa. However, she has a way of following orders that neither of you have. And with Dylan's... interesting brain activity and sudden immunity, we knew she must replace Teresa. Your tendencies toward freethinking are what ultimately determined that we need both of you to succeed. Dylan has known her status since the Scorch."

Thomas turned to me, a flash of confusion crossing his face. My mouth felt like it was suddenly stuffed with cotton balls from the sudden fear of being singled out. However, my voice was calm. "It's true. Ava Paige told me I could be the one to help them find the cure, but at the time, I didn't know what that meant. I've learned more since then."

I recalled the strange episode during the Flare testing, when I had seen a blueprint of my brain and how it was forming a ring around the disease. Surely they assumed that was what they needed for the cure. To replicate it somehow, to make others do the same.

"Let's just get this over with," Thomas urged, though with fury in his voice. It was directed at Janson, of course, but part of me was convinced he was upset at me for withholding the information from him. It wasn't like I had a moment to tell him or anything.

"Some patience, please." Janson frowned. "This won't take long. Keep in mind that collecting the killzone patterns is a delicate operation. We're dealing with your minds, and the slightest mishap in what you're thinking or interpreting or perceiving can render the resultant findings worthless."

"Yes," Dr. Wright added as she tucked a strand of fiery hair behind her ear. "I know A.D Janson told you about the importance of coming back, and we're glad you made the decision."

Dr. Christensen cleared his throat. "I don't know how you could've made any other decision. The whole world's on the verge of collapse, and you can help save it."

"So you say," Thomas countered.

"Exactly," Janson said. "So we say. Everything is ready. But there's still a little more to tell you so you can understand this decision you've made."

Something in his tone made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my skin crawl. It seemed off somehow, like I wasn't going to like what he had in mind at all.

"A little more to tell us?" Thomas repeated. "Isn't the whole point of the Variables that we don't know everything? Aren't you going to throw us in a cage with the gorillas or something? Make us walk through a field of landmines? Dump us in the ocean, see if I can swim back to shore?"

"Just tell them the rest," Dr. Christensen urged Janson impatiently.

"The rest?" my brother asked.

"Yes, Thomas," Janson sighed. "The rest. After all the Trials, after all the studies, after all the patterns that have been collected and scrutinized, after all the Variables we've put you and your friends through, after we figured out what causes Dylan's memories to resurface, it comes down to this."

I didn't notice I was holding my breath until then. Still, even when I tried to intake air, it caught in my throat. With every word he spoke, a memory rose. Alby thinking he was sacrificing himself to save us only to be gobbled whole by Grievers, my last image of Harvey picking me up from the sand before he died in the storm, the gun, Thomas' gun, the Launcher, even more memories they'd thought they'd fried out of my brain. It caused a swirling of despondency in my gut that twisted my face before he even continued.

Janson leaned forward with his elbows on his desk, a sudden grave expression on his thin face. "One final thing."

Thomas spoke. "And what's that?"

"Thomas, Dylan, we need your brains."

gif is dylan after the last quote

———

oh my god will this book EVER end? i thought i was close but apparently i still have 61 pages left. that's a lot in jdash terms.

i don't have any questions because not much happened in this chapter (for you book fans)

practically my only motivation for writing this book anymore is to just get it over with...oops that sounds horrible but i've been writing this trilogy for almost three and a half years so you can imagine how excited i am to finish it

-kristyn