The Death Cure (The Maze Runner Book 3) (14)
CHAPTER
14
Thomas
blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the darkness. The alarm rang in shrill,
deafening bursts.
He
sensed Minho stand up, then heard him shuffling about. “The guard’s gone!” his
friend shouted. “I can’t find her!”
As
soon as he said the last word, that sound of power charging filled the gaps
between the whines of the alarm, followed by the pop of a grenade exploding
against the ground. The bolts of electricity lit up the room; Thomas saw a
shadowy figure running away from them back down the hall, gradually disappearing
in the gloom.
“My
fault,” Minho muttered, barely audible.
“Get
back in position,” Thomas said, fearing what the alarm might mean. “Feel for
the crack where the doors open. I’ll use the Rat Man’s key card. Be ready!”
He
felt around on the wall until he found the right place, then swiped the card;
there was an audible click, and one of the doors began to swing inward.
“Start
shooting!” Minho shouted.
Newt,
Brenda and Minho began to launch grenades through the doorway into the
darkness. Thomas carefully got into position and followed suit, shooting into
the fray of dancing electricity that now crackled on the far side of the doors.
It took a few seconds between rounds, but soon they had created a blinding
display of light and explosions. There was no sign of people anywhere, no
answering fire.
Thomas
let his gun drop to his side. “Stop!” he yelled. “Don’t waste any more
ammunition!”
Minho
let one last grenade fly, but then they all stood and waited for some of the
energy to die down so they could safely enter the room.
Thomas
turned to Brenda, speaking loudly to be heard over the noise. “We’re a little
short on memories. Do you know anything that’ll help us? Where is everyone? Why
the alarm?”
She
shook her head. “I have to be honest—something definitely feels off.”
“I
bet this is another one of their bloody tests!” Newt yelled. “All of this is
meant to happen and we’re being analyzed all over again.”
Thomas
could barely hear himself think, and Newt wasn’t helping.
He
held his Launcher up and walked through the doorway. He wanted to get somewhere
safer before the light from the grenade blasts disappeared entirely. From the shallow
pool of his few returned memories, he knew he’d grown up in this place—he just
wished he could remember the layout. He realized again how important Brenda was
to their freedom. Jorge, too—if he was willing to fly them out of there.
The
alarm stopped.
“What—”
Thomas had started too loud, and quieted himself. “What now?”
“They
probably got sick of their ears bleeding from the noise,” Minho answered. “Just
because they turned it off doesn’t mean anything.”
The
glow from the electric bolts had disappeared, but the room on this side of the
doorway had emergency lights that cast everything in a red haze. They stood in
a large reception area with couches and chairs and a couple of desks. Nobody
was in sight.
“I’ve
never seen one person in these waiting rooms,” Thomas said, the space suddenly
familiar. “The whole place is empty and creepy.”
“It’s
been a long time since they allowed visitors here, I’m sure,” Brenda responded.
“What’s
next, Tommy?” Newt asked. “We can’t just stand here all day.”
Thomas
thought for a second. They had to find their friends, but ensuring that they
had a way out seemed the first priority.
“Okay,”
he said. “Brenda, we really need your help. We need to get to the hangar and
find Jorge, get him prepping a Berg. Newt and Minho—you guys can stay with him
for backup and Brenda and I will search the place for our friends. Brenda—do
you know where we can stock up on weapons?”
“Weapons
depot’s on the way to the hangar,” Brenda said. “But it’s probably guarded.”
“We’ve
seen worse,” Minho offered. “We’ll start firing till they drop or we drop.”
“We’ll
cut through ’em all,” Newt added, almost with a growl. “Every last one of those
buggers.”
Brenda
pointed down one of two hallways that branched off the reception room. “It’s
that way.”
Brenda
led Thomas and his friends through turn after turn, the dull red emergency
beacons lighting the way. They met no resistance, though every so often a
beetle blade skittered by, click-clacking across the floor as it scurried
along. Minho tried firing a shot at one of them, missing badly and almost
scorching Newt, who yelped and wanted to fire back, judging by the look on his
face.
After
a good fifteen minutes of jogging, they reached the weapons depot. Thomas
stopped in the hallway, surprised to find the door swung wide open. From what
he could see, the shelves inside seemed fully stocked.
“That
does it,” Minho said. “No more doubt.”
Thomas
knew exactly what he meant. He’d been through too much not to. “Someone’s
setting us up,” he muttered.
“Has
to be,” Minho added. “Everyone suddenly disappears, doors are unlocked, weapons
sitting here for us. And they’re obviously observing us through those shuck
beetle blades.”
“Definitely
fishy,” Brenda added.
At
her voice, Minho turned on her. “How do we know you’re not in on it?” he
demanded.
She
answered in a weary voice. “All I can say is that I swear I’m not. I have no
idea what’s happening.”
Thomas
hated to admit it, but what Newt had hinted at earlier—that this whole escape
so far might be nothing but an orchestrated exercise—was looking more and more
likely. They’d been reduced once again to mice, scuttling about in a different
kind of maze. Thomas hoped so badly that it wasn’t true.
Newt
had already wandered into the weapons room. “Look at this,” he called.
When
Thomas entered the room Newt was pointing to a section of empty wall space and
shelves. “Look at the dust patterns. It’s pretty obvious that a bunch of stuff
was taken recently. Maybe even within the last hour or so.”
Thomas
inspected the area. The room was pretty dusty—enough to make you sneeze if you
moved around too much—but the spots Newt pointed out were completely clean. He
was dead on.
“Why
is that so important?” Minho asked from behind them.
Newt
turned on him. “Can’t you figure something out yourself for once, you bloody
shank!”
Minho
winced. He looked more shocked than angry.
“Whoa,
Newt,” Thomas said. “Things suck, yeah, but slim it. What’s wrong?”
“I’ll
tell ya what’s bloody wrong. You go all tough-guy without a plan, leading us
around like a bunch of chickens lookin’ for feed. And Minho can’t take a bloody
step without askin’ which foot he should use.”
Minho
had finally recovered enough to get ticked. “Look, shuck-face. You’re the one
acting like a genius because you figured out some guards took weapons from the weapons
room. I thought I’d give you the benefit of the doubt, act like maybe you’d
discovered something deeper than that. Next time I’ll pat you on the freaking
back for stating the obvious.”
Thomas
looked back at Newt in time to see his friend’s expression change. He seemed
stricken, almost teary.
“I’m
sorry,” Newt murmured, then turned and walked out of the room.
“What
was that?” Minho whispered.
Thomas
didn’t want to say what he was thinking: that Newt’s sanity was slowly being
eaten away. And luckily he didn’t have to—Brenda spoke up. “You guys were missing
his point.”
“Which
was?” Minho asked.
“There
had to have been two or three dozen guns and Launchers in this section, and now
they’re all gone. Very recently. In the last hour or so, like Newt said.”
“Yeah?”
Minho prodded, just as it clicked for Thomas.
Brenda
held her hands out as though the answer should be obvious. “Guards only come here
when they need a replacement or want to use something besides a Launcher. Why
would they all need to do that at the same time? Today? And
Launchers are so heavy, you can’t fire them if you’re carrying another weapon,
too. Where are the weapons they would have left behind?”
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