Frypan stood up. "And killing people? That's a nice little part of their plan?"
Thomas felt a moment of fear, worried that the Keepers might take out their anger on him for knowing so much. And it was only about to get worse. "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."
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 next few minutes were going to be crucial. "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, paused for effect. "It was hidden in the wall movements of the Maze for a reason. I should know—I was there when the Creators did it."
CHAPTER 50
For a long moment, no one said anything, and all Thomas saw were blank faces. He felt the sweat beading on his forehead, slicking his hands; he was terrified to keep going.
Newt looked completely baffled and finally broke the silence. "What are you talking about?"
"Well, first there's something I have to share. 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."
He expected questions—an eruption of voices—but the room was dead silent.
"Teresa and I are . . . different," he continued. "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 quickly scanned the faces of the Keepers, wondering one last time if he should say it, if they would understand. But he knew he had to. He had to.
Thomas took a deep breath, then said it. "Teresa and I helped design the Maze. We helped create the whole thing."
Everyone seemed too stunned to respond. Blank faces stared back at him once again. Thomas figured they either didn't understand or didn't believe him.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Newt finally asked. "You're a bloody sixteen-year-old. How could you have created the Maze?"
Thomas couldn't help doubting it a little himself-—but he knew what he'd remembered. As crazy as it was, he knew it for the truth. "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." He stopped, knowing it must all sound absurd.
"Speak!" Newt yelled. "Spit it out!"
"We're telepathic! We can talk to each other in our freaking heads!" Saying it out loud almost made him feel ashamed, as if he'd just admitted he was a thief.
Newt blinked in surprise; someone coughed.
"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."
Thomas looked around, and surprisingly, astonishingly, no one seemed angry. Most of the Gladers continued to stare blankly at him or shook their heads in wonder or disbelief. And for some odd reason, Minho was smiling.
"It's true, and I'm sorry," Thomas continued. "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."
A lump formed in Thomas's throat. He was so relieved he almost couldn't speak. He'd been sure they'd put him under major heat for his confession, if not throw him off the Cliff. The rest of what he had to say almost seemed easy now. "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?" Alby asked. "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, knowing he was putting off the answer. "The Grievers will come after us whenever we try to do it. All of them. The final test." He wanted to make sure they understood the stakes. The odds of everyone surviving were slim.
"So where is it?" Newt asked, leaning forward in his chair.
"Over the Cliff," Thomas answered. "We have to go through the Griever Hole."
CHAPTER 51
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 was 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."
Thomas's anger lessened slightly at that, turned into pity. Something was odd here—suspicious.
"Alby," Minho finally interjected, relieving Thomas. "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, curdy. "Maybe."
"I did it," Thomas said, throwing all the annoyance he could into 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?"