Newt snorted. “Tommy, what’s gonna make tomorrow any different? It’s been two bloody years, ya know.”

Thomas had an overwhelming feeling that all of these changes were a spur, a catalyst for the endgame. “Because now we have to solve it. We’ll be forced to. We can’t live that way anymore, day to day, thinking that what matters most is getting back to the Glade before the Doors close, snug and safe.”

Newt thought a minute as he stood there, the bustle of the Glader preparations surrounding both of them. “Dig deeper. Stay out there while the walls move.”

“Exactly,” Thomas said. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. And maybe we could barricade or blow up the entrance to the Griever Hole. Buy time to analyze the Maze.”

“Alby’s the one who won’t let the girl out,” Newt said with a nod toward the Homestead. “That guy’s not too high on you two shanks. But right now we just gotta slim ourselves and get to the wake-up.”

Thomas nodded. “We can fight ’em off.”

“Done it before, haven’t you, Hercules?” Without smiling or even waiting for a response, Newt walked away, yelling at people to finish up and get inside the Homestead.

Thomas was happy with the conversation—it had gone about as well as he could’ve possibly hoped. He decided to hurry and talk to Teresa before it was too late. As he sprinted for the Slammer on the back side of the Homestead, he watched as Gladers started moving inside, most of them with arms full of one thing or another.

Thomas pulled up outside the small jail and caught his breath. “Teresa?” he finally asked through the barred window of the lightless cell.

Her face popped up on the other side, startling him.

He let out a small yelp before he could stop it—it took him a second to recover his wits. “You can be downright spooky, ya know?”

“That’s very sweet,” she said. “Thanks.” In the darkness her blue eyes seemed to glow like a cat’s.

“You’re welcome,” he answered, ignoring her sarcasm. “Listen, I’ve been thinking.” He paused to gather his thoughts.

“More than I can say for that Alby schmuck,” she muttered.

Thomas agreed, but was anxious to say what he’d come to say. “There’s gotta be a way out of this place—we just have to push it, stay out in the Maze longer. And what you wrote on your arm, and what you said about a code, it all has to mean something, right?” It has to, he thought. He couldn’t help feeling some hope.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking the same thing. But first—can’t you get me out of here?” Her hands appeared, gripping the bars of the window. Thomas felt the ridiculous urge to reach out and touch them.

“Well, Newt said maybe tomorrow.” Thomas was just glad he’d gotten that much of a concession. “You’ll have to make it through the night in there. It might actually be the safest place in the Glade.”

“Thanks for asking him. Should be fun sleeping on this cold floor.” She motioned behind her with a thumb. “Though I guess a Griever can’t squeeze through this window, so I’ll be happy, right?”

The mention of Grievers surprised him—he didn’t remember talking about them to her yet. “Teresa, are you sure you’ve forgotten everything?”

She thought a second. “It’s weird—I guess I do remember some stuff. Unless I just heard people talking while I was in the coma.”

“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter right now. I just wanted to see you before I went inside for the night.” But he didn’t want to leave; he almost wished he could get thrown in the Slammer with her. He grinned inside—he could only imagine Newt’s response to that request.

“Tom?” Teresa said.

Thomas realized he was staring off in a daze. “Oh, sorry. Yeah?”

Her hands slipped back inside, disappeared. All he could see were her eyes, the pale glow of her white skin. “I don’t know if I can do this—stay in this jail all night.”

Thomas felt an incredible sadness. He wanted to steal Newt’s keys and help her escape. But he knew that was a ridiculous idea. She’d just have to suffer and make do. He stared into those glowing eyes. “At least it won’t get completely dark—looks like we’re stuck with this twilight junk twenty-four hours a day now.”

“Yeah….” She looked past him at the Homestead, then focused on him again. “I’m a tough girl—I’ll be okay.”

Thomas felt horrible leaving her there, but he knew he had no choice. “I’ll make sure they let you out first thing tomorrow, okay?”

She smiled, making him feel better. “That’s a promise, right?”

“Promise.” Thomas tapped his right temple. “And if you get lonely, you can talk to me with your … trick all you want. I’ll try to answer back.” He’d accepted it now, almost wanted it. He just hoped he could figure out how to talk back, so they could have a conversation.

You’ll get it soon, Teresa said in his mind.

“I wish.” He stood there, really not wanting to leave. At all.

“You better go,” she said. “I don’t want your brutal murder on my conscience.”

Thomas managed his own smile at that. “All right. See you tomorrow.”

And before he could change his mind, he slipped away, heading around the corner toward the front door of the Homestead, just as the last couple of Gladers were entering, Newt shooing them in like errant chickens. Thomas stepped inside as well, followed by Newt, who closed the door behind him.

Just before it latched shut, Thomas thought he heard the first eerie moan of the Grievers, coming from somewhere deep in the Maze.

The night had begun.

CHAPTER 38

Most of them slept outside in normal times, so packing all those bodies into the Homestead made for a tight fit. The Keepers had organized and distributed the Gladers throughout the rooms, along with blankets and pillows. Despite the number of people and the chaos of such a change, a disturbing silence hung over the activities, as if no one wanted to draw attention to themselves.

When everyone was settled, Thomas found himself upstairs with Newt, Alby and Minho, and they were finally able to finish their discussion from earlier in the courtyard. Alby and Newt sat on the only bed in the room while Thomas and Minho sat next to them in chairs. The only other furniture was a crooked wooden dresser and a small table, on top of which rested a lamp providing what light they had. The gray darkness seemed to press on the window from outside, with promises of bad things to come.

“Closest I’ve come so far,” Newt was saying, “to hangin’ it all up. Shuck it all and kiss a Griever goodnight. Supplies cut, bloody gray skies, walls not closing. But we can’t give up, and we all know it. The buggers who sent us here either want us dead or they’re givin’ us a spur. This or that, we gotta work our arses off till we’re dead or not dead.”

Thomas nodded, but didn’t say anything. He agreed completely but had no concrete ideas on what to do. If he could just make it to tomorrow, maybe he and Teresa could come up with something to help.

Thomas glanced over at Alby, who was staring at the floor, seemingly lost in his own gloomy thoughts. His face still wore the long, weary look of depression, his eyes sunken and hollow. The Changing had been aptly named, considering what it had done to him.

“Alby?” Newt asked. “Are you gonna pitch in?”

Alby looked up, surprise crossing his face as if he hadn’t known that anyone else was in the room. “Huh? Oh. Yeah. Good that. But you’ve seen what happens at night. Just because Greenie the freaking superboy made it doesn’t mean the rest of us can.”

Thomas rolled his eyes ever so slightly at Minho—so tired of Alby’s attitude.

If Minho felt the same way, he did a good job of hiding it. “I’m with Thomas and Newt. We gotta quit boohooing and feeling sorry for ourselves.” He rubbed his hands together and sat forward in his chair. “Tomorrow morning, first thing, you guys can assign teams to study the Maps full-time while the Runners go out. We’ll pack our stuff shuck-full so we can stay out there a few days.”

“What?” Alby asked, his voice finally showing some emotion. “What do you mean, days?”

“I mean, days. With open Doors and no sunset, there’s no point in coming back here, anyway. Time to stay out there and see if anything opens up when the walls move. If they still move.”

“No way,” Alby said. “We have the Homestead to hide in—and if that ain’t workin’, the Map Room and the Slammer. We can’t freaking ask people to go out there and die, Minho! Who’d volunteer for that?”

“Me,” Minho said. “And Thomas.”

Everyone looked at Thomas; he simply nodded. Although it scared him to death, exploring the Maze—really exploring it—was something he’d wanted to do from the first time he’d learned about it.

“I will if I have to,” Newt said, surprising Thomas; though he’d never talk about it, the older boy’s limp was a constant reminder that something horrible had happened to him out in the Maze. “And I’m sure all the Runners’ll do it.”

“With your bum leg?” Alby asked, a harsh laugh escaping his lips.

Newt frowned, looked at the ground. “Well, I don’t feel good askin’ Gladers to do something if I’m not bloody willing to do it myself.”

Alby scooted back on the bed and propped his feet up. “Whatever. Do what you want.”

“Do what I want?” Newt asked, standing up. “What’s wrong with you, man? Are you tellin’ me we have a choice? Should we just sit around on our butts and wait to be snuffed by the Grievers?”

Thomas wanted to stand up and cheer, sure that Alby would finally snap out of his doldrums.

But their leader didn’t look in the least bit reprimanded or remorseful. “Well, it sounds better than running to them.”

Newt sat back down. “Alby. You gotta start talkin’ reason.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Thomas knew they needed Alby if they were going to accomplish anything. The Gladers looked up to him.

Alby finally took a deep breath, then looked at each of them in turn. “You guys know I’m all screwed up. Seriously, I’m … sorry. I shouldn’t be the stupid leader anymore.”

Thomas held his breath. He couldn’t believe Alby had just said that.

“Oh bloody—” Newt started.

“No!” Alby shouted, his face showing humility, surrender. “That’s not what I meant. Listen to me. I ain’t saying we should switch or any of that klunk. I’m just saying … I think I need to let you guys make the decisions. I don’t trust myself. So … yeah, I’ll do whatever.”

Thomas could see that both Minho and Newt were as surprised as he was.

“Uh … okay,” Newt said slowly. As if he was unsure. “We’ll make it work, I promise. You’ll see.”

“Yeah,” Alby muttered. After a long pause, he spoke up, a hint of odd excitement in his voice. “Hey, tell you what. Put me in charge of the Maps. I’ll freaking work every Glader to the bone studying those things.”

“Works for me,” Minho said. Thomas wanted to agree, but didn’t know if it was his place.

Alby put his feet back on the floor, sat up straighter. “Ya know, it was really stupid for us to sleep in here tonight. We should’ve been out in the Map Room, working.”

Thomas thought that was the smartest thing he’d heard Alby say in a long time.

Minho shrugged. “Probably right.”

“Well … I’ll go,” Alby said with a confident nod. “Right now.”

Newt shook his head. “Forget that, Alby. Already heard the bloody Grievers moaning out there. We can wait till the wake-up.”

Alby leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Hey, you shucks are the ones giving me all the pep talks. Don’t start whining when I actually listen. If I’m gonna do this, I gotta do it, be the old me. I need something to dive into.”

Relief flooded Thomas. He’d grown sick of all the contention.

Alby stood up. “Seriously, I need this.” He moved toward the door of the room as if he really meant to leave.

“You can’t be serious,” Newt said. “You can’t go out there now!”

“I’m going, and that’s that.” Alby took his ring of keys from his pocket and rattled them mockingly—Thomas couldn’t believe the sudden bravery. “See you shucks in the morning.”

And then he walked out.

It was strange to know that the night grew later, that darkness should’ve swallowed the world around them, but to see only the pale gray light outside. It made Thomas feel off-kilter, as if the urge to sleep that grew steadily with every passing minute were somehow unnatural. Time slowed to an agonizing crawl; he felt as if the next day might never come.

The other Gladers settled themselves, turning in with their pillows and blankets for the impossible task of sleeping. No one said much, the mood somber and grim. All you could hear were quiet shuffles and whispers.

Thomas tried hard to force himself to sleep, knowing it would make the time pass faster, but after two hours he’d still had no luck. He lay on the floor in one of the upper rooms, on top of a thick blanket, several other Gladers crammed in there with him, almost body to body. The bed had gone to Newt.

Chuck had ended up in another room, and for some reason Thomas pictured him huddled in a dark corner, crying, squeezing his blankets to his chest like a teddy bear. The image saddened Thomas so deeply he tried to replace it, but to no avail.