The Scorch Trials (The Maze Runner Book 2) (20)
CHAPTER
20
Thomas
couldn’t help it. His first instinct was to hope it was her, call out to her.
To hope that against all odds she was there, just a few hundred yards away,
waiting for him.
Teresa?
Nothing.
Teresa?
Teresa!
Nothing.
The abscess left when she disappeared was still in his head—like an empty pool.
But … it could be her. Might be her. Maybe something had happened to
their ability to communicate.
Once
the girl had stepped out from behind the building, or more likely from inside
the building, she just stood there. Despite being obscured completely by
shadow, something about her stance made it obvious she was facing them, staring
at them with arms folded.
“You
think that’s Teresa?” Newt asked, as if he’d read Thomas’s mind.
Thomas
nodded before he knew what he was doing. He quickly looked around to see if
anyone had noticed. Didn’t seem so. “No clue,” he finally said.
“You
think she was the one screaming?” Frypan asked. “It stopped right when
she walked out.”
Minho
grunted. “Better bet is she was the one torturing somebody. Probably killed her
and put her out of her misery when she saw us coming.” Then for some reason he
clapped his hands once. “Okay, then, who wants to go meet this nice young
lady?”
How
Minho could be so lighthearted at times like this just baffled Thomas. “I’ll do
it,” he said, way too loudly. He didn’t want to make it obvious that he hoped
it was Teresa.
“I
was just kidding, shuck-face,” Minho said. “Let’s all go over there. She could
have an army of psycho girl ninjas hiding in that shack of hers.”
“Psycho
girl ninjas?” Newt repeated, his voice showing he was surprised, if not
annoyed, by Minho’s attitude.
“Yeah.
Let’s go.” Minho started walking forward.
Thomas
acted on a sudden and unexpected instinct. “No!” He lowered his voice. “No. You
guys stay here—I’ll go talk to her. Maybe it’s a trap or something. We’d be
idiots to all go over there and fall right into it.”
“And
you’re not an idiot for going by yourself?” Minho asked.
“Well,
we can’t just walk on by without checking it out. I’ll go. If something happens
or gets suspicious, I’ll call for help.”
Minho paused for a long moment. “All right.
Go. Our brave little shank.” He whacked Thomas on the back with his open palm
and it stung.
“This
is bloody stupid,” Newt interrupted, stepping forward. “I’ll go with him.”
“No!”
Thomas snapped. “Just … let me do this. Something tells me we need to be
careful. If I cry like a baby, come save me.” And before anyone could argue, he
took off at a fast walk toward the girl and her building.
He
closed the distance quickly. His shoes crunched against the gritty dirt and
rocks, breaking the silence. He sniffed the raw smells of the desert mixed with
a distant scent of something burning, and as he stared at the silhouette of the
girl next to the building, he suddenly knew for sure. Maybe it was the shape of
her head or body. Maybe it was her stance, the way she held her folded arms
crooked to one side, her hip jutting the other direction. But he knew.
It
was her.
It
was Teresa.
When
he reached a point just a few feet from her, right before the faint light would
finally reveal her face, she turned around and went through an open door,
disappearing inside the small building. It was a rectangle, a slightly tilted
roof tenting in the middle, longways. As far as he could tell, it had no
windows. Large black cubes were hanging from the corners—speakers, perhaps.
Maybe the sound had been broadcast, been a fake. That would explain why they
could hear it from so far away.
The
door, a big slab of wood, stood all the way open and rested against the wall.
It was even darker inside than out.
Thomas
moved. He walked through the door, realizing even as he did so how reckless and
stupid it might be. But it was her. No matter what had happened, no matter the
explanation for her disappearance and refusal to speak with him through their
thoughts, he knew she wouldn’t hurt him. No way. The air was noticeably cooler
inside, almost moist. It felt wonderful. Three steps in, he stopped and listened
in the complete darkness. He could hear her breathing.
“Teresa?”
he asked aloud, pushing away the temptation to ask for her in his mind again.
“Teresa, what’s going on?”
She
didn’t respond, but he heard a short intake of breath, followed by a halting
sniff, as if she were crying but trying to hide it from him.
“Teresa,
please. I don’t know what’s happened or what they did to you, but I’m
here now. This is crazy. Just talk to—”
He
cut off when a light blazed to life with a quick flare that then dulled to a
small flame. His eyes naturally went straight to it, to the hand holding a
match. He watched as it dropped, slowly, carefully, to light a candle resting
on a small table. When it caught, and the hand flicked the match until it went
out, Thomas finally looked up and saw her. Saw that he’d been right after all.
But the short and almost overpowering thrill of seeing Teresa alive was soon
cut short, replaced by confusion and pain.
She
was clean, every part of her. He’d expected her to be filthy like he must be
after all this time in the dusty desert. He’d expected her clothes to be ratty
and torn. He’d expected greasy hair and a smudged and sunburned face. But
instead she wore fresh clothes; her clean hair cascaded to her shoulders.
Nothing marred the pale skin of her face or arms. She was more beautiful than
he’d ever seen her in the Maze, than any memories he could pull from the murky
goop of what he’d recovered after the Changing.
But
her eyes sparkled with tears; her lower lip trembled with fear; her hands shook
at her sides. He saw recognition in her eyes, saw that she hadn’t forgotten him
again, but behind that there was pure and absolute terror.
“Teresa,”
he whispered, knotting up inside. “What’s wrong?”
She
didn’t respond, but her eyes flickered to the side, then back to him. A couple
of tears trickled out, slipping down her cheeks, then falling to the floor. Her
lips trembled even more, and her chest lurched with what could only be a
stifled sob.
Thomas
stepped forward, put his hands out to her.
“No!”
she screamed. “Get away from me!”
Thomas
stopped—it was like something massive had just slammed him in the gut. He held
his hands up. “Okay, okay. Teresa, what …” He didn’t know what to say or ask. Didn’t
know what to do. But that terrible feeling of something breaking inside him
intensified, threatened to choke him as it swelled in his throat.
He
stilled, scared to set her off again. All he could do was lock eyes with her,
try to communicate how he felt, beg her to tell him something. Anything.
A
very long moment passed in silence. The way her body shook, the way she almost
seemed to struggle against something unseen … it reminded him of …
It
reminded him of how Gally had been acting, right after they’d escaped from the
Glade and he’d entered the room with the woman in the white shirt. Right before
everything had gone crazy. Right before he’d killed Chuck.
Thomas
had to speak or he’d burst. “Teresa, I’ve thought about you every second since
they took you away. You—”
She
didn’t let him finish. Rushing forward, she was in front of him in two long
strides and reaching out, grabbing his shoulders and pulling herself close to
him. Shocked, Thomas wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, embracing her so
tightly he suddenly worried she couldn’t breathe. Her hands found the back of
his head, then the sides of his face, making him look at her.
And
then they were kissing. Something exploded within his chest, burning away the
tension and confusion and fear. Burning away the hurt of seconds earlier. For a
moment it felt like nothing mattered anymore. Like nothing would matter ever
again. But then she pulled away. She stumbled backward until she hit the wall.
The terror returned to her face, possessed it like a demon. And then she spoke,
her voice a whisper but laced with urgency.
“Get
away from me, Tom,” she said. “All of you need to get … away … from me. Don’t
argue. Just leave. Run.” Her neck tensed with the effort to get those last few
words out.
Thomas
had never hurt so badly. But he shocked himself by what he did next.
He
knew her now, remembered her. And he knew that she was telling the
truth—something wasn’t right here. Something was terribly wrong—far worse than
he’d first imagined. Staying, arguing with her, trying to force her to come
with him would be a slap in the face to the incredible amount of willpower it must’ve
taken her to break away and warn him. He had to do what she said.
“Teresa,”
he said. “I’ll find you.” Tears now welling in his own eyes, he turned from her
and ran from the building.
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