The New Horizon ~ A Maze Runner Story

- 4 -

He wanted to be alone with her. No distractions from anyone or anything. His head hurt and he had only yet to try and begin to explain himself.
"This wasn't exactly what I expected."
"Shh," Thomas said, leading Brenda into the back entrance of the boys hut. "Just follow me."
"It's not like I could escape with that grip of yours."
He turned to look at Brenda's wrist where his hand clutched around like iron manacles. He loosened his grip, "Sorry."

The hut was devoid of anyone else. Inside hung loosely knit hammocks swaying gently from the pleasant currents of breeze from the seashore that found its way inside the hut.
"Okay . . .," Thomas began as he sat down in one of the hammocks. Its worn, webbed material becoming less and less supportive with every ounce of weight it was forced to endure. Brenda joined him at an adjacent hammock. "I've been thinking a lot about this, about Paradise. I just have to tell someone or I'll go nuts."
Brenda stuck her chin out in a professional gesture, mocking a sophisticated voice. "Thank you for finding the trust to confide in me. Now please, cut to the chase."

Thomas nodded, staring down at the palms of his hands. He dug into his imagination, trying to summon the words in a coherent, understandable way that didn't make him seem like he had become nuts. Willing his mouth to compute the words as well as his brain did, Thomas exhaled the tension. "I don't feel right here in Paradise. It almost feels like . . . like another Glade. We've been here for the past three months, but something just doesn't seem right--" He sucked in a quick breath of air, focusing on Brenda's dark eyes --"I want to find the real world."
Brenda's eyebrows wrinkled in question, as if Thomas's words were as ridiculous as something that came out of a Crank. "Real world? As if."

"Brenda," Thomas continued; he couldn't give up--not now. "There's a real, real world out there."
"And who told you this, Sherlock?"
Thomas's gaze dropped from hers, scanning over the walls of the hut, as if dozens of answers were inscribed on them. "I've been having these . . . thoughts--like voices, but not really. I don't know . . . It's almost like my intuition can sense it. All I know is that the real world is out there."
"Thomas," Brenda laughed, incredulous; clearly finding humor to his words. "Are you feeling okay? Seriously."

Inside, he was itching with frustration. It was maddening. Brenda had to understand. If she didn't, Thomas didn't know who would. "You told me I could always come to you about my thoughts. Right?"
Brenda's disbelieving grin dissolved so suddenly that Thomas pulled back. "I did . . . I just don't know, Thomas."
"I swear. I freaking swear, Brenda. I can't handle it anymore--not knowing what's really out there. I know I said I wouldn't think, I wouldn't wonder anymore, but I can't help it."

Brenda frowned. Something like sympathy shone in her eyes, somehow lighting them up. She grabbed a hold of Thomas's hand, and the warmth Thomas felt was scarily pure. He sucked in another breath, continued his spiel, "We're safe here--yes, but we can't settle. There could be something out there, far, far into the forest or the mountains. But we'd never know. Not unless we go out there and find it."
Brenda sat there, surprisingly silent. She was thinking. Going over it all. Calculating the probabilities. Trying to understand Thomas's theory. Finally, she blew out a breath. "What if WICKED sent us Immunes here on purpose as another test, knowing that eventually this would all happen. That'd you'd lead us into some trap. Then what?"

The probability of that horrifying reality was very possible. Thomas learned long ago that WICKED was powered by inconceivable masterminds, and though they were gone, Thomas wouldn't ever doubt their implausible schemes. But he also refused to let fear sink its teeth into his skin; he was sick of being afraid.
"WICKED's done a heap of damage to us already. What could top that?"
"Death."
Thomas never regretted asking a question more in his entire life--and that was saying a lot. He swallowed hard. "Uh, besides that, Brenda . . . Do you trust me?"

Brenda brushed a foot out against the grimy, dirt-covered floor. Thomas waited desperately for her response--for any response. Finally, she exhaled, "You know I always have. I just think we were put here for a reason. Not to venture out into possible danger. We have no weapons, really. Wooden spears can't save us from those WICKED high-tech Launchers."
Thomas understood all too well how technologically advanced WICKED was. "But I can't rest without making this happen. Something's calling me."

Brenda sighed, shaking her head. A genuine smile curled onto her face. "You are a nutcase. But I'll go with you. This is just crazy. Everything is crazy. But I mean hell, we've been through some tough stuff, what difference could this be?"
Thomas couldn't agree more; living hell was right. He rubbed his hands together, pleased. Ambition surging. "I'm thinking we could leave in a week."
"A week?"
"It's plenty. All we need to do is make spears, gather food, make some gear."
Brenda snorted. "Ah, yeah. Easy stuff. Totally easy."

Thomas ignored the sarcasm. "We can do this."
"Well, you're no genius, but you sure got a lot of ambition. I'll give ya that."
"Gee, thanks."
Brenda suddenly shot up from her hammock and plopped down beside Thomas. Her arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders before he could even register the sudden movement. Physically, it was the closest he had been Brenda with since their abrupt distancing. And Thomas actually felt sad; no matter how unpredictable, no matter how askew their momentary relationship had been, he missed their physicality.

"Just promise me we'll always be friends. Okay?" Brenda's breath was warm and tingly against his neck.
"Of course. Always." It was true. Thomas loved her dearly as a friend.
"Uh, this is still the boys hut, right?" Thomas and Brenda snapped their heads around to the direction where Minho stood, arms folded. A quizzical, curious smirk on his furrowed face. "Guess not."