The Scorch Trials (The Maze Runner Book 2) (21)
CHAPTER
21
Thomas
stumbled away from the now-dark building, squinting through tear-blurred eyes.
He went back to the Gladers and refused to answer their questions. Told them
they had to go, run, get away as fast as possible. That he’d explain later.
That their lives were in danger.
He
didn’t wait for them. He didn’t offer to take the pack from Aris. He just
started toward the town, sprinting till he finally had to slow down to a
manageable pace, blocking the others out, blocking the whole world out. Running
away from her was the hardest thing he’d ever done, he had no doubt of it. Showing
up at the Glade with his memories wiped, adapting to life there, being trapped
in the Maze, fighting Grievers, watching Chuck die—none of it matched what he
felt now.
She
was there. She’d been in his arms. They’d been together again.
They’d
kissed and he’d felt something he would’ve thought impossible.
And
now he was running away. Leaving her behind.
Choked
sobs burst from him. He groaned, heard the miserable sound of his voice crack.
His heart felt a pain that almost made him stop, collapse to the ground and
give up. Sorrow consumed him, and more than once he was tempted to go back. But
somehow he held true to what she’d ordered him to do, and he held on to the
promise he’d made to find her again.
At
least she was alive. At least she was alive.
That
was what he kept telling himself. That was what kept him running.
She
was alive.
His
body could only take so much. At some point, maybe two hours after he’d left
her, maybe three, he stopped, sure his heart would explode out of his chest if
he went one more step. Turning, he looked behind him and he saw shadows moving
far in the distance—the other Gladers, way back. Breathing huge gulps of dry
air, Thomas knelt, planted his forearms on one knee, then closed his eyes to
rest until they caught up.
Minho
reached him first, and their leader wasn’t happy. Even in the faint light—dawn
was just starting to brighten the eastern sky—he visibly fumed as he walked
around Thomas three full times before he said anything.
“What
… Why … What kind of a shuck idiot are you, Thomas?”
Thomas
didn’t feel like talking about it. About anything.
When
he didn’t answer, Minho knelt down next to him. “How could you do that? How
could you just come out of there and take off like that? Without explaining
anything? Since when is that how we do things? You slinthead.” He let out a big
sigh and fell back to sit on his butt, shaking his head.
“Sorry,”
Thomas finally muttered. “It was kinda traumatizing.”
The
other Gladers had reached them by now, half of them doubling over to catch
their breaths, the other half pressing in to hear what Thomas and Minho were
talking about. Newt was right there, but he seemed content to let Minho do all
the digging to find out what had happened.
“Traumatizing?”
Minho asked. “Who did you see in there? What did they say?”
Thomas
knew he had no choice—this wasn’t something he could or should keep from the
others. “It was … it was Teresa.”
He
expected gasps, exclamations of surprise, accusations of being a freaking liar.
But in the silence that followed, you could hear the morning winds scuttle
across the dusty lands surrounding them.
“What?”
Minho finally said. “You’re serious?”
Thomas
simply nodded, staring at a triangular-shaped rock on the ground. The air had
brightened considerably in just the last few minutes.
Minho
was understandably shocked. “And you left her there? Dude, you need to
start talking and tell us what happened.”
As
much as it pained him, as much as the memory of it tore at his heart, Thomas
told the story. Seeing her, how she trembled and cried, how she acted like
Gally—almost possessed—before he killed Chuck, the warning she’d given. He told
it all; the only thing he left out was the kiss.
“Wow,”
Minho said in a weary voice, somehow wrapping it all up with that one simple
word.
Several
minutes passed. The dry wind scratched across the ground, filling the air with
dust as the bright orange dome of the sun crested the horizon and officially
started the day. No one spoke. Thomas heard sniffs and breaths and a few
coughs. The sounds of people drinking from their water bags. The town seemed to
have grown during the night, its buildings stretching toward the cloudless,
purple-blue sky. It would only take another day or two to reach it.
“It
was some kind of trap,” he finally said. “I don’t know what would’ve happened,
or how many of us would’ve died. Maybe all of us. But I could see that there
wasn’t any doubt in her eyes when she broke away from whatever restrained her.
She saved us, and I bet they make her …” He swallowed. “I bet they make her pay
for it.”
Minho
reached out and squeezed Thomas’s shoulder. “Dude, if those shuck WICKED people
wanted her dead, she’d be rottin’ under a big pile of rocks. She’s just as
tough as anybody else, maybe tougher. She’ll survive.”
Thomas
took in a deep pull of air and let it out. He felt better. Impossibly, he felt
better. Minho was right. “I know. Somehow I know.”
Minho
stood up. “We should’ve stopped a couple hours ago to get some sleep. But
thanks to Mr. Desert Runner down here”—he lightly whacked Thomas in the
head—“we ran ourselves ragged till the freaking sun came back up. I still think
we need to rest for a while. Do it under the sheets, whatever, but let’s try.”
It
ended up being no problem at all for Thomas. The brightening sun making the
backs of his eyelids a murky black-splotched crimson, he fell asleep instantly,
a sheet pulled all the way over his head to protect him from sunburn—and from
his troubles.
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