Aris had recovered and gotten back to his feet; he stood right next to her.

Thomas reared both legs back and kicked out, connecting with a knee on both of them. They screamed and crumpled, falling on top of each other. The physical effort sent a horrible rush of pain raging through Thomas. White flashes blinded him; the world was spinning. He groaned as he struggled to move, got back on his stomach, tried to get his hands under himself. He'd barely pushed a few inches off the ground when Aris landed on his back, slamming him down. Soon the boy's arm wrapped around Thomas's neck, squeezing.

"You're going in that room," Aris spit in his ear. "Help me, Teresa!"

Thomas couldn't find any strength to fight them off. The double blow to his head had somehow sapped him of everything, as if all his muscles had gone dormant because his brain didn't have enough energy to tell them what to do. Soon Teresa had grabbed both of his arms; she started dragging him toward the open doorway, Aris pushing him. Thomas kicked feebly. Rocks dug into his skin.

"Don't do this," he whispered, giving in to desperation. Every word sent a surge of pain across his nerves. "Please ..." All he saw now were flashes of white on black. A concussion, he realized. He had a terrible, terrible concussion.

He was barely aware of his body crossing the threshold, of Teresa resting his arms against the cool metal of the back wall, stepping over him, helping Aris flip his legs up and over so that he now lay in a heap, facing the side. Thomas couldn't even find the strength to look at them.

"No," he said, but it was merely a whisper. The image of the sick boy, Ben, being Banished back in the Glade swam into his brain. An odd time to think it, but now he knew how that kid had felt in those last seconds before the walls slammed shut, trapping him in the Maze forever.

"No," he repeated; it was so quiet he couldn't imagine they heard him. He ached from head to toe.

"You're so stubborn," he heard Teresa say. "You had to make it harder on yourself! Harder on all of us!"

"Teresa," Thomas whispered. He dug through the pain and tried to call out to her telepathically, even though it hadn't worked in a long time. Teresa.

I'm sorry, Tom, she answered back, in his mind once again. But thanks for being our sacrifice.

He hadn't realized the door was swinging closed, but it slammed shut just as that last horrible word floated across his darkening thoughts.

CHAPTER 52

The back of the door they'd shut on him glowed green, turning the small room into a creepy, sickening prison. He might've cried, might've gushed tears and snot and wailed like a baby if his head didn't hurt so much. The pain drilled through his skull, and his eyes felt as if they were boiling in lava.

But even then, through all that, the deeper ache of truly losing Teresa gnawed away at his heart. He just couldn't let himself cry.

He lost all concept of time as he lay there. It was as if whoever was behind it all wanted to give him a chance to reflect on what had happened while he waited for the end. On how Teresa's message to trust her no matter what had ended up being a cruel trick that only magnified her two-faced treachery.

An hour passed. Maybe two or three. Maybe only thirty minutes. He had no idea.

And then the hissing started.

The faint light of the glowing door revealed sprays of mist shooting from the holes that dotted the metal walls in front of him. He turned his head, sending a fresh wave of pain across his skull, and saw that all the openings were expelling similar jets of fog.

And it all hissed like a squirming nest of poisonous vipers.

So this is it? he thought. After everything he'd been through, after all the mysteries and fighting and fleeting moments of hope, they were just going to kill him with some kind of poison gas? Stupid, that was what this was. Stupid. He'd battled Grievers and Cranks, survived a gunshot and infection. WICKED. They were the ones who'd saved him! And now they were just going to gas him to death?

He sat up, actually crying out from the jolt of pain it caused. He looked around, looked for anything he might be able to ...

Tired. So tired.

Something in his chest felt wrong. Sick.

The gas.

Tired. Hurt. Body exhausted.

Breathing in gas.

Couldn't help himself.

So ... tired ...

Inside him. Wrong.

Teresa. Why did it have to end that way?

Tired ...

Somewhere on the edge of his consciousness, he was aware of his head thumping against the floor.

Betrayal.

So ...

Tired ...

CHAPTER 53

Thomas didn't know if he was dead or alive, but it felt like he was asleep. Aware of himself, but as if through a haze. He slipped into yet another memory-dream.

Thomas is sixteen. He's standing in front of Teresa and some girl he doesn't recognize.

And Aris.

Aris?

All three of them are looking at him with grim faces. Teresa is crying.

"It's time to go," Thomas says.

Aris nods. "Into the Swipe, then into the Maze."

Teresa does nothing but wipe away some tears.

Thomas reaches out a hand and Aris shakes it. Then Thomas does the same with the girl he doesn't know.

Then Teresa rushes forward and pulls him into an embrace. She's sobbing, and Thomas realizes that he's also crying. His tears wet her hair as he hugs her tightly.

"You have to go now," Aris says.

Thomas looks at him. Waits. Tries to enjoy this moment with Teresa. His last moment of full memory. They won't be like this again for a very long time.

Teresa looks up at him. "It's going to work. It's all going to work."

"I know," Thomas says. He feels a sadness that makes every last bit of him ache.

Aris opens a door and beckons for Thomas to follow him. Thomas does, but manages to look back at Teresa one last time. Tries to look hopeful.

"See ya tomorrow," he says.

Which is true, and it hurts.

The dream faded, and Thomas fell into the blackest sleep of his life.

CHAPTER 54

Whispers in the dark.

That was what Thomas heard when he began returning to consciousness. Low but harsh, like sandpaper rubbing across his eardrums. He didn't understand any of it. It was so dark it took him a second to realize that his eyes were open.

Something cool and hard pressed against his face. The ground. He hadn't moved since the gas had knocked him out. Shockingly, his head didn't hurt anymore. In fact, nothing did. Instead, a feeling of refreshed euphoria swam through him, almost made him dizzy. Maybe he was just happy to be alive.

He got his hands under himself and pushed up into a sitting position. A look around did nothing―not even the faintest glimmer of light broke up the utter darkness. He wondered what had happened to the green glow of the door that Teresa had shut on him.

Teresa.

His elation drained away. Remembering what she'd done to him. But then ...

He wasn't dead. Unless the afterlife was just a crappy room of blackness.

He rested for a few minutes, letting his mind wake up and settle before he finally got to his feet and started feeling around. Three cool metal walls with evenly spaced upraised holes. One smooth wall that felt like plastic. He was definitely in that same little room.

He pounded on the door. "Hey! Anybody out there?"

His thoughts started spinning. The memory-dreams, several now―so much to process, so many questions. The things that had first come back to him with the Changing in the Maze were slowly starting to come into focus, solidify. He'd been part of WICKED's plans, part of all this. He and Teresa had been close―best friends, even. All of it had seemed right. Doing these things for the greater good.

Only, Thomas didn't feel so good about it now. All he felt was anger and shame. How could anything justify what they'd done? What WICKED―what they―were doing? Though he certainly didn't think of himself this way, he and the others were just kids. Kids! He didn't like himself very much anymore. He wasn't sure when he'd reached this turning point. But something had cracked within him.

And then there was Teresa. How could he ever have felt so much for her?

Something cracked, then hissed, interrupting his line of thinking.

The door started to open, slowly swinging outward. Teresa stood there in the pale light of early morning, her face streaked with tears. As soon as there was enough room, she threw her arms around him, pressing her face against his neck.

"I'm so sorry, Tom," she said; her tears were wet against his skin. "I'm so, so, so sorry. They said they'd kill you if we didn't do everything just like they told us. No matter how horrible. I'm sorry, Tom!"

Thomas couldn't answer, couldn't bring himself to hug back. Betrayal. The sign on Teresa's door, the conversation between the people in his dreams. Pieces were falling into place. For all he knew, she was just trying to trick him again. The betrayal meant he couldn't trust her anymore, and his heart told him he couldn't forgive her.

On some level, he realized that Teresa had kept her initial promise to him after all. She had done those awful things against her will. What she had said in the shack had been true. But he also knew that things could never, never be the same between them.

He finally pushed Teresa away. The sincerity in her blue eyes did little to diminish his lingering doubt. "Uh ... maybe you should tell me what happened."

"I told you to trust me," she answered. "I told you that bad, bad things would happen to you. But the bad stuff was all an act." She smiled then, and it was so pretty Thomas longed to find a way to forget what she'd done.

"Yeah, but you didn't seem to struggle too much, beating the klunk out of me with a spear and throwing me into a gas chamber." He couldn't hide the mistrust raging in his heart. He glanced at Aris, who looked sheepish, like he'd intruded on a private conversation.

"I'm sorry," the boy said.

"Why didn't you tell me we knew each other before?" Thomas responded. "What ..." He didn't know what to say.

"It was all an act, Tom," Teresa said. "You have to believe us. We were promised from the very beginning that you wouldn't die. That this chamber thing had its own purposes and then it'd be over. I'm so sorry."

Thomas looked back at the still-gaping door. "I think I need some time to process all this." Teresa wanted him to forgive her―for everything to be how it used to be immediately. And instinct told him to hide his bitter feelings, but it was hard.

"What happened in there, anyway?" Teresa asked.

Thomas returned his gaze to her. "How about you talk first, then me. I think I earned that much."

She tried to take his hand but he moved it, pretending he had an itch on his neck. When he saw the flash of hurt cross her face, he felt the slightest bit of vindication.

"Look," she said. "You're right. You deserve an explanation. I think it's okay to tell you everything now―not that we know too much of the why."

Aris cleared his throat, an obvious interjection. "But, um, we better do it while walking. Or running. We only have a few hours left. Today is the day."

Those words jarred Thomas completely out of his stupor. He looked down at his watch. Only five and a half hours remained if Aris was right that they'd reached the end of the two weeks―Thomas had kind of lost track himself, not knowing how long he'd been in the chamber. And none of this other stuff mattered at all if they didn't make it to the safe haven. Hopefully Minho and the others had already found it.