Dark Days
Alby woke him at dawn.
Thomas blinked blearily, emerging from the dark depths of nightmares he had found himself swimming in the whole night.
Light filtered in from the crimson sun. This time, Alby hadn’t woken him the same way.
He was glad. If Alby had, then Thomas would have most likely already attacked Alby out of fear. His reflexes were too quick, and this was WCKD’s fault.
Still. Nothing would be changed. The memories would never be gone.
He had lost them once, and hated it, but now it was almost a dream. Forgetting everything would be great. But that would mean forgetting everybody: all the dead, all the alive, and...Newt.
But there would be no dead this time around.
He was sure of it.
He had to save everyone. But if Teresa was hanging off of a cliff, he wouldn’t save her.
He would push WICKED off of the cliff, though.
A thousand times over.
Alby looked at him warily, keeping his fair distance. “Follow me.”
They walked for nearly ten minutes, Alby keeping a steady pace and Thomas lagging behind him.
“It’s peaceful, isn’t it?” Alby asked, looking at him. “I know it’s hard to believe, but it wasn’t always this way. We had dark days.” Alby paused.
“We lost a lot of boys to fear. To panic.” He glanced at Thomas.
“We’ve come far since then. Established order…made peace.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Thomas asked.
He was sure his face unnerved Alby. It was too steady, too cold, too accustomed to this. It was the face of a man forever haunted by his ghosts.
“Because you’re not like the others.” Alby said. “You’re curious.”
You mean to tell me no one has ever been curious about this place before me? Everybody’s already used to it? Thomas thought.
“-but you’re one of us now.” Alby continued, bringing Thomas back into reality.
“You need to know what that means.”
Alby handed Thomas the sharp silver knife.
Thomas remembered the first time Alby had handed him that and how his thought had been that he would have to cut his skin as some sort of cult initiation ceremony.
It had been ridiculous, but so was the whole situation.
Alby pointed to the wall where names were etched on, scattered, the larger ones belonging to the more important members of the Glade. Thomas approached the wall.
“What happened to them?”
Alby inhaled, full of grief. “Like I said…dark days, Thomas.”