WICKED Is Weird (The Fever Code)

We all stood frozen, just staring at the man and his chalkboard.

It was like school, except nothing like school and I don't know why it made me think of that at the time (probably the chalkboard, and the fact that I was 6).

The man pointed at his chalkboard and nodded, looking like he was about to cry; and I was right there with him, this whole night had shucked me up bad.

Then, as suddenly as he'd appeared he turned around and started to leave.

We had no choice but to follow, that was our only way out. Eventually we made it to the gate out of the tunnel, and he opened it up, waiting for us to go first. I didn't like the idea of having my back to this guy, but Minho was still holding my hand in a vice grip, so I didn't have much say in the matter.

The guards were exactly where we'd left them, and locked the gate back up.

I wish I could say that this is where the repression comes back into play, and that I don't remember anything until the next morning, but that would be lying and if I wanted to do that, I wouldn't be telling you any of this, now would I? No, if I wanted to lie I'd be writing a kids book about the magical unicorns who saved us from the Grievers and took us to candyland or some klunk like that. Instead, here I am writing an autobiography, so lucky you.

"You're probably wondering who I am," The man said, almost cheerfully. "As well you should. You've seen the burden that I must bear, the weight that I must carry around with me. 3 words, my friends. Only 3 words. But I hope that tonight has taught you that they are the most important 3 words in the world."

Bull, they'd just thrown us- a group of 6 to 9 year olds -in a tunnel full of Cranks. It didn't matter to me that they hadn't been able to hurt us, I knew I'd be seeing their faces in my nightmares for the rest of my life. Nobody good would do that to kids.

That may have just been my childish optimism and naivete talking, but I think it's still a valid argument.

"Who are you?" Alby asked him. "Do you... work here?"

The man nodded. "My name is John Michael. I..." He let out a painful sounding cough, holding his chest as he did. "I was so... essential to this organization. Once. Once upon a time. It was me. It was... I... who gathered the survivors. The leaders. Gathered them here. I had the idea, my friends. I... had the... idea!"

He screamed the last word and I am not ashamed to say I squeaked a bit out of fright and hid behind my friends as they all took a step back. The man was clearly a lot sicker than he looked.

"But then, you see," He continued, the slightest bit of insanity now filling his voice. "Then I caught the Flare. The... damned... Flare. I fought so hard to help our fellow humans."

He dropped his head and I saw a few tears fall down his face.

"It's not fair that I should be the one to catch it." He said a bit softer. "Soon I'll be living with..."

He looked back into the tunnel, and as scared as I was, the tiny bit of empathy still functioning in my brain that night went out to the half-crazy man.

Nobody deserves that.

"But then..." He went on, apparently still not done. "No. No, we won't allow such an undignified ending for me. Not for me. Not for the man who started the Post-Flares Coalition, fought so hard for its survival, preached its importance. Would you throw someone like that into those pits? I ask you, now. Would you?"

"I wouldn't throw anyone into those pits." I said with a bluntness that can only be delivered by someone under the age of 10 and the courage of a terrified kid. "No matter who they are."