TWENTY EIGHT
「impossibility」
＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

  IT WAS THREE days before Thomas woke. As soon as he gained consciousness, he asked Newt to call a Gathering. Sylvia was ready to throttle him. He wouldn't tell anyone what the Gathering was about, just told Newt to get all the Keepers and refused to say anything else.

   As Sylvia sat in her chair, her chest ached. So many people had been replaced. Where Nick once sat, Alby now sat. Instead of Quinn, Gally, and Troye in their respective chairs, sat Oscar in place of Gally and Winston in place of Troye. Zart, the boy who'd become Keeper of the Track-hoes after Quinn, had been taken by the Grievers. They simply hadn't had time to find someone else to take his place.

   Sylvia thought about Troye a lot the past few days. If Troye was not here, who would be the one to make fun of the arguments that ensued? Who would laugh and make absurd suggestions to the Council? Her eyes just kept drifting over to Troye's seat as she waited for the Gathering to start.

   Thomas had vouched to let Teresa into the Gathering—claimed she was an important part of it—but Alby and the others refused. It seemed that Newt and Minho had started to trust the girl. Sylvia wasn't sure where she stood. She had only talked to the girl a couple of times, mostly when Thomas was going through the Changing, but she wasn't sure if she trusted the girl. But Sylvia wanted to. She was the only other girl after all.

   As the last Keeper took his seat, Alby began, "All right, Greenie. Forget all the beat-around-the-bush klunk. Start talking."

   Thomas shifted in his seat a bit, threading his fingers together. He looked considerably better than he did when he was tied to the bed during the Changing. All signs of purplish and greenish veins and pale skin gone. Though he had dark circles beneath his eyes.

   "It's a long story," he began. "We don't have time to go through it all, but I'll tell you the gist of it. When I went through the Changing, I saw flashes of images—hundreds of them—like a slide show in fast forward. A lot came back to me, but only some of it's clear enough to talk about. Other stuff has faded or is fading." He paused, looking around the room. "But I remember enough. The Creators are testing us. The Maze was never meant to be solved. It's all been a trial. They want the winners—or survivors—to do something important." He trailed off.

   "What?" Newt asked.

   Sylvia furrowed her brows. She snarled, "Never meant to be solved? What kind of klunk is that?"

   "Let me start over," Thomas said, rubbing his eyes. "Every single one of us was taken when we were really young. I don't remember how or why—just glimpses and feelings that things had changed in the world, that something really bad happened. I have no idea what. The Creators stole us, and I think they felt justified in doing it. Somehow they figured out that we have above-average intelligence, and that's why they chose us. I don't know, most of this is sketchy and doesn't matter that much anyway.

   "I can't remember anything about my family or what happened to them. But after we were taken, we spent the next few years learning in special schools, living somewhat normal lives until they were finally able to finance and build the Maze. All our names are just stupid nicknames they made up—like Alby for Albert Einstein, Newt for Isaac Newton, and me—Thomas. As in Edison."

   Alby looked like he'd been slapped in the face. "Our names...these ain't even our real names?"

   Sylvia wondered faintly who she had been named after. She shook her head. It didn't matter anyway. She didn't care. The Creators could rot.

   Thomas shook his head. "As far as I can tell, we'll probably never know what our names were."

   "What are you saying?" Frypan asked. "That we're freakin' orphans raised by scientists?"

   "Yes," Thomas said, looking almost sad. "Supposedly we're really smart and they're studying every move we make, analyzing us. Seeing who'd give up and who wouldn't. Seeing who'd survive it all. No wonder we have so many beetle blade spies running around this place. Plus, some of us have had things...altered in our brains."

   Altered? Sylvia thought. She thought about being able to see the dead. Being able to see George, Ronan, Quinn, Nick. She wondered why she hadn't seen Gally or Troye yet. Maybe they were like Nick. They would take longer to adjust to being dead, or something like that.

   "I believe this klunk about as much as I believe Frypan's food is good for you," Winston grumbled, looking tired and indifferent.

   "Why would I make this up?" Thomas said, his voice rising. "Better yet, what do you think is the explanation? That we live on an alien planet?"

   "Just keep talking," Alby said. "But I don't get why none of us remembered this stuff. I've been through the Changing, but everything I saw was..." He looked around quickly, like he'd just said something he shouldn't have. "I didn't learn nothin'."

   "I'll tell you in a minute why I think I learned more than others," Thomas said. He looked like he was dreading getting to that part. "Should I keep going or not?"

   "Talk," Newt said

   Thomas inhaled a large breath. "Okay, somehow they wiped our memories—not just our childhood, but all the stuff leading up to entering the Maze. They put us in the Box and sent us up here—a big group to start and then one a month over the last two years."

   "But why?" Newt asked. "What's the bloody point?"

   "I'm getting there. Like I said, they wanted to test us, see how we'd react to what they call the Variables, and to a problem that has no solution. See if we could work together—build a community, even. Everything was provided for us, and the problem was laid out as one of the most common puzzles known to civilization—a maze. All this added up to making us think there had to be a solution, just encouraging us to work all the harder while at the same time magnifying our discouragement at not finding one." He paused to look around, making sure they were all listening. "What I'm saying is, there is no solution."

   An uproar erupted through the room. Sylvia almost strangled him right there. No solution? What was he saying? That everything they had done for the past two years had been for nothing? All the work, the sleepless nights, the boys lost. All for nothing.

   Thomas held his hands up, seeming to become increasingly annoyed. "See? Your reaction proves my point. Most people would've given up by now. But I think we're different. We couldn't accept that a problem can't be solved—especially when it's something as simple as a maze. And we've kept fighting no matter how hopeless it's gotten."

   Thomas shook his head a bit and raised his voice. "Whatever the reason, it makes me sick! All of this—the Grievers, the walls moving, the Cliff—they're just elements of a stupid test. We're being used and manipulated. The Creators wanted to keep our minds working toward a solution that was never there. Same thing goes for Teresa being sent here, her being used to trigger the Ending—whatever that means—the place being shut down, gray skies, on and on and on. They're throwing crazy things at us to see our response, test our will. See if we'll turn on each other. In the end, they want the survivors for something important."

   Frypan stood up. "And killing people? That's a nice little part of their plan?"

   "Yes, Frypan, killing people. The only reason the Grievers are doing it one by one is so we don't all die before it ends the way it's supposed to. Survival of the fittest. Only the best of us will escape."

   Sylvia glared at the boy.

   Frypan kicked his chair. "Well, you better start talking about this magical escape, then!"

   "He will," Newt said, quietly. "Shut up and listen."

   Minho, who'd been mostly silent the whole time, cleared his throat. "Something tells me I'm not gonna like what I'm about to hear."

   "Probably not," Thomas said. He closed his eyes for a second and folded his arms. "The Creators want the best of us for whatever it is they have planned. But we have to earn it." The room fell completely silent, every eye on him. "The code."

   "The code?" Frypan repeated, his voice lighting up with a trace of hope. "What about it?"

   Thomas looked at him, and paused. "It was hidden in the wall movements of the Maze for a reason. I should know—I was there when the Creators did it."

   No one spoke for a long time. Sylvia stared and stared and stared at him, just thinking about how that could be possible. The Greenie. A Creator.

   "What are you saying?" Sylvia spat, being the first one to speak. Disgust filled her voice. "You're one of them?"

   Thomas bowed his head for a second, and looked back up at her with shame washing over his features. "Well, first there's something I have to explain. About me and Teresa. There's a reason Gally accused me of so much stuff, and why everyone who's gone through the Changing recognizes me."

   When no one spoke, he continued. "Teresa and I are...different. We were part of the Maze Trials from the very beginning—but against our will, I swear it."

   Minho was the one to speak up now. "Thomas, what're you talking about?"

   "Teresa and I were used by the Creators. If you had your full memories back, you'd probably want to kill us. But I had to tell you this myself to show you we can be trusted now. So you'll believe me when I tell you the only way we can get out of here."

   Thomas's eyes flitted across the room again, glancing over her briefly. He seemed like he was begging everyone to just try to understand. Sylvia didn't know if she'd be able to, heat rising in her chest.

   Thomas took a deep breath, then said it. "Teresa and I helped design the Maze. We helped create the whole thing."

   Sylvia had been leant forwards in her chair, but now she let her back hit the wood of it. Her eyes still settled on Thomas, gaining a far away look. Thomas and Teresa designed the Maze. They created the Maze. They truly had to be geniuses. But, had they put them in here? Her spine twisted inside her body, urging her to yell or shout or punch. Her hands turned to fists. She made the smallest movement to get up, but a hand landed on her knee, pushing her back down. She looked sharply to her right to see Minho giving her a pointed look. His eyes said, Wait. She huffed.

   "What's that supposed to mean?" Newt finally asked. "You're a bloody sixteen-year-old. How could you have created the Maze?"

   Thomas hesitated as he started. "We were...smart. And I think it might be part of the Variables. But most importantly, Teresa and I have a...gift that made us very valuable as they designed and built this place."

   "Speak!" Newt yelled. "Spit it out!"

   "We're telepathic! We can talk to each other in our freaking heads!"

   Sylvia blinked. Then blinked again.

   "But listen to me," Thomas continued, in a hurry to defend himself. "They forced us to help. I don't know how or why, but they did." He paused. "Maybe it was to see if we could gain your trust despite having been a part of them. Maybe we were meant all along to be the ones to reveal how to escape. Whatever the reason, with your Maps we figured out the code and we need to use it now."

   He looked as if he expected people to be yelling and shouting; namely, Sylvia. She didn't know how to feel. Most Keepers were just looking at him with blank faces, shaking their heads in disbelief. For a reason Sylvia couldn't name, Minho was smiling. She gaped at him. What could he be smiling about?

   "It's true, and I'm sorry," Thomas continued. He looked genuinely apologetic, hazel eyes filled with trepidation. "But I can tell you this—I'm in the same boat with you now. Teresa and I were sent here just like anyone else, and we can die just as easily. But the Creators have seen enough—it's time for the final test. I guess I needed the Changing to add the final pieces of the puzzle. Anyway, I wanted you to know the truth, to know there's a chance we can do this."

   Newt shook his head back and forth, staring at the ground. Then he looked up, took in the other Keepers. "The Creators—those shanks did this to us, not Tommy and Teresa. The Creators. And they'll be sorry."

   "Whatever," Minho said, "who gives a klunk about all that—just get on with the escape already."

   Thomas looked relieved that no one was trying to behead him for treachery. "There's a computer station in a place we've never looked before. The code will open a door for us to get out of the Maze. It also shuts down the Grievers so they can't follow us—if we can just survive long enough to get to that point."

   "A place we've never looked before?" Sylvia asked, still furious. "What do you think we've been doing for two years?"

   "Trust me, you've never been to this spot."

   Minho stood up. "Well, where is it?"

   "It's almost suicide," Thomas said. "The Grievers will come after us whenever we try to do it. All of them. The final test."

   "Spit it out, Greenie." Sylvia's voice was taut with anger and anticipation. "Where is it?"

   "Over the Cliff," Thomas answered. "We have to go through the Griever Hole."

   Alby stood up so quickly his chair fell over backward. His bloodshot eyes stood out against the white bandage on his forehead. He took two steps forward before stopping, as if he'd been about to charge and attack Thomas.

   "Now you're being a shuck idiot," he said, glaring at Thomas. "Or a traitor. How can we trust a word you say if you helped design this place, put us here! We can't handle one Griever on our own ground, much less fight a whole horde of them in their little hole. What are you really up to?"

   Thomas looked furious. "What am I up to? Nothing! Why would I make all this up?"

   Alby's arms stiffened, fists clenched. "For all we know you were sent here to get us all killed. Why should we trust you?"

   Thomas stared, incredulous. "Alby, do you have a short-term memory problem? I risked my life to save you out in the Maze—you'd be dead if it wasn't for me!"

   "Maybe that was a trick to gain our trust. If you're in league with the shucks who sent us here, you wouldn't have had to worry about the Grievers hurting you—maybe it was all an act."

   "Alby," Minho finally interjected. "That's about the dumbest theory I've ever heard. He just about got freaking torn apart three nights ago. You think that's part of the act?"

   Alby nodded once, curtly. "Maybe."

   "I did it," Thomas said, annoyance prominent in his voice, "on the chance that I could get my memories back, help all of us get out of here. Do I need to show you the cuts and bruises all over my body?"

   Alby said nothing, his face still quivering with rage. His eyes watered and veins popped out on his neck. "We can't go back!" he finally yelled, turning to look at everyone in the room. "I've seen what our lives were like—we can't go back!"

   "Is that what this is about?" Newt asked. "Are you kidding?"

   "We can't stay in here, Alby!" Sylvia shouted.

   Alby turned on both of them, fiercely, even held up a clenched fist. But he stopped, lowered his arm, then went over and sank into his chair, put his face in his hands, and broke down. He was crying. In all the time she'd been in the Glade, she had never seen Alby cry. She was so thrown off that she could only stare at him.

   "Alby, talk to us," Newt pressed, not willing to let it drop. "What's going on?"

   "I did it," Alby said through a racking sob. "I did it."

   "Did what?" Newt asked. He looked as confused as Sylvia felt.

   Alby looked up, his eyes wet with tears. "I burned the Maps. I did it. I slammed my head on the table so you'd think it was someone else, I lied, burned it all. I did it!"

   Sylvia jumped out of her chair, "Are you kidding me!?" She swiftly stalked over to him and fisted her hands in his shirt. She was about to start screaming in his face when hands closed around her upper arms, dragging her off of Alby. She shouted, "He burned the Map Room! He tried to destroy everything!"

   "Sylvia, slim it." Minho said gruffly against her good ear. Then he talked to the rest of them over her shoulder, almost mockingly. "Well, it's a good thing we saved those Maps. Thanks for the tip you gave us after the Changing—to protect them."

   Newt, instead of showing anger, asked Alby to explain.

   "I'm telling you." Alby sounded like he was begging—near hysterical. "We can't go back to where we came from. I've seen it, remembered awful, awful things. Burned land, a disease—something called the Flare. It was horrible—way worse than we have it here."

   Minho released her, his anger rising to match hers. "If we stay here, we'll all die!" Minho yelled. "It's worse than that?"

   Alby stared at her and Minho for a long time. "Yes," He finally said. "It's worse. Better to die than go home."

   Minho snickered and sat back in his chair. "Man, you are one butt-load of sunshine, let me tell you. Even more than actual sunshine here," He pointed a thumb at her. "I'm with Thomas. I'm with Thomas one hundred percent. If we're gonna die, let's freakin' do it fighting."

   "Inside the Maze or out of it," Thomas added, looking relieved that someone had defended him. He turned to Alby then, and looked at him gravely. "We still live inside the world you remembered."

   Alby stood again, his face showing his defeat. "Do what you want." He sighed. "Doesn't matter. We'll die no matter what." And with that, he walked to the door and left the room.

   Newt let out a deep breath and shook his head. "He's never been the same since being stung—must've been one bugger of a memory. What in the world is the Flare?"

   "I don't care," Minho said. "Anything's better than dying here. We can deal with the Creators once we're out. But for now we gotta do what they planned. Go through the Griever Hole and escape. If some of us die, so be it."

   Frypan snorted. "You shanks are driving me nuts. Can't get out of the Maze, and this idea of hanging with the Grievers at their bachelor pad sounds as stupid as anything I've ever heard in my life. Might as well slit our wrists."

   The other Keepers burst out in argument, everyone talking over everyone else. Newt finally screamed for them to shut up.

   Thomas spoke again once things settled. "I'm going through the Hole or I'll die trying to get there. Looks like Minho will, too. And I'm sure Teresa's in. If we can fight off the Grievers long enough for someone to punch in the code and shut them down, then we can go through the door they come through. We'll have passed the tests. Then we can face the Creators themselves."

   Sylvia glanced at Newt, trying to gauge his reaction. He grinned without any real humor. "And you think we can fight off Grievers? Even if we don't die, we'll probably all get stung. Every last one of them might be waiting for us when we get to the Cliff —the beetle blades are out there constantly. The Creators'll know when we make our run for it."

   Thomas shook his head. "I don't think they'll sting us—the Changing was a Variable meant for us while we lived here. But that part will be over. Plus, we might have one thing going for us."

   "Yeah?" Newt asked, rolling his eyes. "Can't wait to hear it."

   "It doesn't do the Creators any good if we all die—this thing is meant to be hard, not impossible. I think we finally know for sure that the Grievers are programmed to only kill one of us each day. So somebody can sacrifice himself to save the others while we run to the Hole. I think this might be how it's supposed to happen."

   The room was silent until Winston barked a laugh. "Excuse me?" He asked. "So your suggestion is that we throw some poor kid to the wolves so the rest of us can escape? This is your brilliant suggestion?"

   "Yes, Winston, I'm glad you're so good at paying attention." Thomas received a glare from Winston at that. He continued. "And it seems obvious who the poor kid should be."

   "Oh, yeah?" Winston asked. "Who?"

   Thomas folded his arms. "Me."

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

so sorry for not updating in so long!! 😭