Chapter 4

228.09.12 / 10:15 a.m.

You knew the day the maze would be finished was drawing closer. You could feel it, in the workers, both groups A and B, every technician you'd worked with in the programming booth. It was like a ticking time bomb. Everyone was secretly excited to see the end result, but common sense told them it couldn't be good, no matter what it turned out to be.

Currently, you were sitting in history class, your head to your desk, fidgeting with the loose eraser on your pencil. Minho sat behind you, and every once-in-awhile a paper football would smack you in the back of the head.

Mr. Glanville, the old history teacher, who had crazy eyebrows but not an inch of hair on his head, was at the front, droning on about FIRE and PFC, which he'd written on the board before him in big, stocky letters.

"P...F...C. That stands for Post Flares Coalition, which was a direct result of FIRE," he told the class. "Once WICKED had heard from as many countries as possible, gathered representatives and so forth, they could start dealing with the spectacular disaster caused by the sun flares. While FIRE figured out the full ramifications of the sun flares and who had been affected, the PFC tried to start fixing things."

Your eyes drooped, only to snap back open at the call of your name.

"I'm sorry, am I boring you, miss (Y/N)?" Mr. Glanville asked tensely. You sat up, rubbing your eyes, willing yourself to stay awake.

"No, no sir," you managed. "Sorry."

With a huff, he turned back to the board, and Minho snickered behind you. You just turned to him and made a show of rolling your eyes.

Alby sat to your right and was obediently copying down the notes, pencil scribbling furiously. Minho aimed his next piece of paper at him, and you muffled your laughter into your hand as Mr. Glanville shot you two another glare.

228.09.12 / 1:32 p.m.

That afternoon you found yourself being escorted to a private conference meeting to discuss something about the maze, which had definitely rendered you surprised, to say the least. Almost always it was only Thomas and Teresa who were invited to these meetings with Dr. Paige. They were the important ones. The special ones she always so carefully favored, so why did she need to talk to you?

The room was already full when you arrived. Chancellor Kevin Anderson at the head of the table, Katie McVoy by his side. Dr. Paige on the other side, flanked by Thomas and Teresa, as well as Aris and Rachel. Psychs, doctors, technicians. Randall and Ramirez and Leavitt. It seemed every important person at WICKED was gathered together.

The guard behind you pulled out a chair for you and you sat down quietly, glancing around and making confused eye contact with Thomas, then Teresa, and you all knew you were in the same boat.

"I suppose you five at the very least, are a tad confused on what this meeting is about," Chancellor Anderson started, rifling through some papers. "I'd like to start out by saying what assets you all have been in this long project -- we're all very, very proud of you, and would like to thank you for all of your hard work and dedication." The room erupted into polite applause. Thomas's face burned.

"Now, as you all know, it's been ten years since the first inkling of WICKED was conceived by John Michael, and we've come a long way in our research since we began gathering those who are immune to the Flare. The progress in those first years was slow, of course. Trying to understand the disease itself, testing our subjects to ensure that they were actually immune, learning about the virus and how it interacts with your bodies and your brains. Slow but steady. Not a year has passed when we didn't have some kind of significant achievement, and I'd say that's better than anyone could have hoped for."

You couldn't help but deflate a little at his words. Ten years was a hell of a long time to go with such little results. All you could think was that this maze thing better work because the world definitely couldn't last another ten years without a cure.

You looked up to see the Chancellor staring at Thomas with raised eyebrows. "Thomas?" he said. "You have the biggest look of doubt on your face I think I've ever seen."

"Oh...um..." Thomas shifted in his chair. "No, I just...it seems like such a long time you guys have been working on this. I don't know. I guess it just hit me that it's not going so well."

You snorted, then tried and failed to cover it up with a cough as the woman beside you shot you a distasteful look.

Anderson looked down at his hands, lips pressed together in a firm line. "Dr. Leavitt, you want to address that?"

The bald man seemed eager to do so. "Read your history, son. I challenge you to find any kind of virus throughout the last few hundred years that was cured within several decades, much less one. Anything from the common cold to Ebola to HIV to the early stages of certain types of cancer. It's a long, long, long process. And those people didn't have a half-destroyed world with mind-sick Cranks running around. The fact that we've had the patience and endurance to work at this with a long-term strategy is pretty much a miracle. But even if there's only ten percent of the population left by the time we do find a cure, at least we'll have saved the human race from extinction."

"When is it scheduled to start?" you asked, as silence broke the conversation. "I mean, we're getting close right? To inserting the first group?"

"Well, (Y/N), I'm glad you asked that," Anderson said, looking a little too pleased. "Thanks to the technician group you've been leading, we're actually a little ahead of schedule, and the Maze Trials are very close to beginning. We've been prepping that for some time. But the progress we've made in the last few years toward our ultimate blueprint of the killzone..." He struggled to find the right words. "I think we've laid a solid foundation through the smaller tests and trials we've accomplished with our subjects so far. The chances are slim, but maybe we'll have a blueprint after the Maze Trials. Who knows? Maybe we can avoid a Phase Two or Three. I'm feeling optimistic today."

He paused a minute, and into the silence, Dr. Paige began to clap. It spread once again around the table as others joined in. Anderson beamed and motioned for them to quiet down. "All right, all right. That applause, of course, is for all of us. And for all those subjects in Groups A and B. I really do feel like we're on the right path. I really do." He smiled, seemed to gather himself, then let out a big breath. "Okay, it's time to get to work. We're a month or two—four at most—from sending our first people into the mazes."

You felt a twinge at this, knowing full well that most of your friends would be that first group sent into the maze. You didn't want to think about that yet, though. It was too soon.

They went on to discuss what specific killzone patterns they would be looking for and recording. At some point, someone handed you a packet with programming instructions for various workings in the maze.

"You'll be in charge of a few operations in the maze," Anderson said. "You're one of our best programmers, plus it's a free ticket to watch your friends down there to your heart's content."

You tried to smile, but all you could think was how you couldn't imagine life at WICKED without your friends. Minho's jokes, Chuck's innocent, light-hearted comments. Newt. God, how long would you have to go without seeing him?

You were glad when they finally let everyone go because once you sprinted from the room, leaving your guards to scramble to follow, it was all you could do to not burst into tears.

Stupidly, it was like you were having those thoughts for the very first time. But what had you expected, really?

That night, tossing and turning in your bed, you calmed yourself by reasoning that they would be safer down in the maze than in your disease infested world. Safe from being poked and prodded with needles three times a day. The Homestead was a peaceful place, and they would have food and water and shelter, and each other. They would be out of danger.

228.09.25 / 3:51 p.m.

The next few days passed in a blur. Instead of letting worry for your friends consume you, you threw yourself into your work. In fact, you'd unknowingly distanced yourself from them almost totally since the meeting, for reasons unbeknownst to you. You supposed you were just too busy.

But when Newt appeared by your side the next day, as you were finishing up with work, and you felt your heart plummet to your feet, you knew this wasn't true.

"(Y/N)!" His face lit up as he saw you, and this only made your chest ache harder.

"Hey, Newt," you muttered, turning your back to him as you worked to shut off all the computers for the night.

"Wait," he said, walking up to you as you reached for the sky switch. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you to your feet. "I was wondering if you'd grace me with your company for a few minutes before you shut the sky off? Have you ever seen it at night?"

This caught you totally off guard, and Newt took this opportunity to lead you from the room without protest, dragging you by the hand. A few flights of stairs and you burst into the open Homestead, which was completely dark, quiet though. Somehow very far from creepy.

You slowed your pace as Newt dropped your hand, moving his to your shoulder instead.

"Now," he said, grinning as if he were about to unveil some big secret. "Look up."

You weren't gonna lie, the sky looked gorgeous, and you made a mental note to commend Thomas and Teresa for their work when you got the chance.

Thousands of stars were scattered among the inky black, shining so brightly it was hard to believe it wasn't real. You even spotted a few constellations. WICKED really was trying to make this as realistic as possible.

"Isn't it fantastic?" Newt breathed beside you. "It's been ages since I've been able to appreciate a sky like this. Maybe not ever."

"Yeah," you added lamely. "It's breathtaking."

"Bet we'll look up at this all the time in the maze. It's programmed so there are never any clouds. Just sun and the clear night sky."

"I know," you muttered playfully. "I'm the one that made it that way. That was last week's project." He smiled good-naturedly and you continued to walk until you'd reached the center of the Glade.

"Can you believe it's finally finished?" Newt whispered in awe. "After so many years. And we're going to be living down here."

"I'm sure it won't be too bad," you assured him. "WICKED just needs to gather enough data to finish their blueprint -- then they'll let everyone go."

Even as you spoke, you felt your words weigh heavy with doubt, and Newt seemed to sense it too.

"Well, at least we'll all be together," was all he said, and the realization hit you immediately.

Newt didn't know you weren't going into the maze with him. He probably didn't know Thomas wasn't either, or Teresa. The guilt came fast, burrowing into the pit of your stomach, and you began to feel sick.

"Yeah," you muttered, chewing the inside of your cheek. You knew that if WICKED hadn't told him, or any of the future Gladers, there had to be a reason for it -- and you weren't about to be the one to compromise it.

And you hated it; lying to your friends, people you'd known for most of your life and faced some of the worst parts with. But then that itch in the back of your mind would remind you of the cure and what WICKED was trying to do, and you would push the guilt back again.

You looked over a Newt, whose head was still upturned at the stars, and felt your chest ache. An ache like you missed him already, though he wouldn't be gone for months still; it was a connection you didn't quite understand. All you wanted was to assure him you'd be there, though it was a blatant lie and could very well ruin everything. Instead, you settled for taking his hand and squeezing it reassuringly, which he responded to immediately. Together, you did one more circle around the Glade, then headed back out the metal door through which you'd entered, which you knew would disappear as soon as the trials began.