230.12.17 | 9:06 p.m.
Thomas waited patiently for Dr. Paige to come back after taking his latest blood sample to the lab. In a rare occurrence, there was no one else in the room with him, not even an assistant. After a couple of silent minutes, he got curious.
He got up from his chair and went over to the counter. He opened a few doors, pulled out a few drawers. Nothing looked too out of the ordinary. Vials, syringes, paper-wrapped products. But then, in the last drawer to the right, he found an absolute gold mine.
A research tablet.
The thin, foot-long, rectangular device had a shiny gray screen, ready to reveal a world of information. He knew he’d probably need passwords, but this was an opportunity that might never present itself again. Refusing to consider the consequences, he tucked the device into the back waist of his pants, flopping his shirt over the remaining portion to hide it.
He was in his seat well before Dr. Paige returned.
That evening, he told an orderly he was feeling a little under the weather and wanted to bypass his usual session in the observation room. No one made too much of a fuss about it.
He wanted to dive into his pilfered research tablet. He’d also grabbed a few snacks in the cafeteria to make it a full night of entertainment. Sitting at his desk, no one around to bother him, munching on potato chips, he powered up the tablet and got to work. He hadn’t told Teresa about it yet. He wasn’t going to take the slightest chance of someone taking his treasure away from him before he at least had one shot at it.
To his great disappointment, and just as he’d suspected, most of the information portals on the device required passwords. And he could forget about remotely accessing the main WICKED systems. But there were enough things in plain sight to keep his attention, all filed in an open-access tab labeled History.
He dug through the documents, memorizing as much as he could. He learned the original names of his friends, laughing at some of them. Siggy, aka Frypan, had been named Toby by his parents. Toby. Thomas didn’t know why that struck him as so funny.
There was other interesting information. Schematics on the WICKED complex and its various buildings. An early military report on what would become the Grievers. Climate data going back to the year of the sun flares, as well as comparative charts to the averages before that time. Tons of information on the Flare, its symptoms, stages, prior attempts at treatment.
One seemingly random remark in a memo caught his attention—two staff members reminiscing about the time they had to “tinker with poor A2’s memories because his first meeting with Teresa had been such a disaster.” This made Thomas stop reading. He stared down at the tablet, thinking back.
He remembered the day he’d first officially met Teresa. How he’d been dizzy with déjà vu. Had WICKED been experimenting with their implants and memories that long ago? It made sense, in light of what they did to his friends when they sent them into the maze, something they’d have to be well prepared for. But Thomas felt dizzy considering the possibility—to think that there could be an entire meeting with Teresa that had been erased from his mind. What else might they have taken from him?
The more he thought about it, the more upsetting it was, which wasn’t helping anything, he told himself. So he returned to perusing the tablet for information.
After a few dead ends, he saw a file labeled Deleted Com.
He opened it.
It was a series of memos and correspondence that he had to think had been left out of the secure area by mistake. Communication between higher-ups at WICKED and several other entities that he could only guess were predecessors of the organization. There were a lot of acronyms, some of which he recognized from his various history classes. FIRE (Flares Information Recovery Endeavor), PFC (Post-Flares Coalition), AMRIID (Army Medical Research Institute for Infectious Diseases), and more he didn’t recognize. He scanned them, fascinated at what it must have been like living through that time period.
He stayed at it for hours, his eyes stinging from reading for so long. At a certain point, he started skimming, reading too fast to catch much of what the documents actually said.
Then he stopped on something interesting. A couple of acronyms he’d never seen before, along with the words TOP-SECRET in red letters. This just might be something. He scanned a memo or two, his heart rate picking up with each word he read. Things he couldn’t believe. About a virus. About it being man-made. About it being released on purpose. About a population that had gotten too big to feed.
“Oh, man,” he whispered, reading through the last one again. He could barely believe what it said.
Post-Flares Coalition Memorandum
Date 219.2.12, Time 19:32
TO: All board members
FROM: Chancellor John Michael
RE: EO Draft
Please give me your thoughts on the following draft. It goes out tomorrow.
Executive Order #13 of the Post-Flares Coalition, by recommendation of the Population Control Committee, to be considered TOP-SECRET, of the highest priority, on penalty of capital punishment.
We the Coalition hereby grant the PCC express permission to fully implement their PC Initiative #1 as presented in full and attached below. We the Coalition take full responsibility for this action and will monitor developments and offer assistance to the fullest extent of our resources. The virus will be released in the locations recommended by the PCC and agreed upon by the Coalition. Armed forces will be stationed to ensure that the process ensues in as orderly a manner as possible.
EO #13, PCI #1, is hereby ratified. Begin immediately.
Wow.
That was all he got from Teresa after spilling everything to her.
Yeah, he replied. Wow is right. They thought the virus would only kill a certain percentage of the population—make it more manageable. They had no idea it would mutate and become this monstrous thing that’s basically wiped us out. I just can’t believe all this. Can’t believe it.
Teresa was quiet. She didn’t even broadcast how these revelations made her feel.
The worst part, he continued, is that there are several direct links to WICKED. Like, remember John Michael? That guy we saw at the Crank pits? He was the one who ordered the virus released!
The past is the past, Tom.
Her words stopped him cold.
At least they’re trying to fix what they screwed up, she continued. I mean, there’s nothing we can do about that now.
Teresa…, he started to say, but then stumbled over a void. He had no idea how to respond. Did you…did you already know this stuff?
I’d heard rumors.
And you never told me? He was stunned. How could she have known this and never said anything? She was his best friend. The first person he went to with everything.
I just don’t see the point. Yes, we have reason to hate these people. But how is dwelling on the past going to help anybody? The solution is what matters.
Thomas had never been so blindsided in his life. Didn’t you learn anything from our puzzle lessons with Ms. Denton? To know a solution, you have to know the problem through and through. This is a problem.
The response he got from Teresa was emotionless.
Yeah, I guess you’re right, she answered. I’m really tired, Tom. Can we talk about it tomorrow?
She was gone from his mind before he could respond.
The next day, Teresa refused to talk about it, emphasizing that she’d rather focus on the future than the past. Dr. Paige also blew it off, saying that those decisions had been made well before her time. It was almost like they were both determined to forget.
Thomas wouldn’t forget.
He swore to himself that he’d always remember this.
That he’d always remember that WICKED was trying to fix a problem their predecessors had created in the first place.
