The Scorch Trials (The Maze Runner Book 2) (28)
CHAPTER
28
“No.”
Thomas
said it with every ounce of finality and firmness he could muster.
“No?”
Jorge repeated with a look of surprise. “I offer you a chance to make it
through a city full of vicious Cranks ready to eat you alive, and you say no?
To my one little itsy-bitsy request? That does not make me happy.”
“It
wouldn’t be smart,” Thomas said. He had no idea how he was able to maintain his
calm expression, where this bravery was coming from. But something told him it
was the only way he could survive with this Crank.
Jorge
leaned forward again, placed his elbows on the table. But this time he didn’t
clasp his hands; instead, he balled them into fists. His knuckles cracked. “Is
it your goal in life to piss me off until I cut your arteries open one by one?”
“You
saw what he did to you,” Thomas countered. “You know the guts that took. If you
kill him, you lose the skills he brings. He’s our best fighter, and he’s not
scared of anything. Maybe he’s crazy, but we need him.”
Thomas
was trying to sound so practical. Pragmatic. But if there was a person other
than Teresa on the planet he could truly call a friend, it was Minho. And he
couldn’t handle losing him, too.
“But
he made me angry,” Jorge said tightly; his fists had not relaxed in the
slightest. “He made me look like a little girl in front of my people. And
that’s not … acceptable.”
Thomas
shrugged like he didn’t care, like it was a small and meaningless point. “So
punish him. Make him look like a little girl. But killing him doesn’t
help us. The more bodies we have that can fight, the better our chances. I
mean, you live here. Do I really need to tell you this?”
Finally,
finally, Jorge loosened his white-knuckled grips. He also let out a
breath that Thomas hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“Okay,”
the Crank said. “Okay. But it has nothing to do with your lame attempt to talk
me into it. I’ll spare him because I just made up my mind about something.
Because of two reasons, actually. One of which you should have thought of
yourself.”
“What?”
Thomas didn’t mind his relief showing anymore—the effort to hide things was
exhausting him. Plus, he was now too intrigued by what Jorge had to say.
“First
off, you don’t really know all the details behind this test or experiment or
whatever it is that WICKED is putting you through. Maybe the more of you that
make it back—to that safe haven—the better chances you have of getting the
cure. Ever thought that this Group B you mentioned are probably your competitors?
I think it’s in my best interests to make sure all eleven of you make it now.”
Thomas
nodded, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to take the slightest chance of
ruining the victory here: Jorge believed him about the Rat Man and the cure.
“Which
leads to my second reason,” he continued. “The thing I’ve made up my mind
about.”
“And
what’s that?” Thomas asked.
“I’m
not taking all those Cranks out there with me. With us.”
“Huh?
Why? I thought the whole point was that you guys could help us fight our way
through the city.”
Jorge
adamantly shook his head as he leaned back in his chair and assumed a much less
threatening position, folding his arms across his chest. “No. If we’re gonna do
this, stealth will work way better than muscle. We’ve been sneaking around this
hellhole ever since we got here, and I think our chances of making it
through—and getting all the food and supplies we need—are way better if we take
what we’ve learned and use it. Tiptoe our way past the long-gone-crazy Cranks
instead of slashing through them like a bunch of wannabe warriors.”
“You’re
hard to figure out,” Thomas said. “Not to be rude, but it sure seems like
warriors are exactly what you guys want to be. Ya know, based on all the ugly
outfits and sharp things.”
A
long moment of silence passed, and Thomas was just starting to think he’d made
a mistake when Jorge burst out laughing.
“Oh,
muchacho, you’re one lucky sucker I like you. Not sure why, but I do.
Otherwise I would’ve killed you three times already.”
“Can
you do that?” Thomas asked.
“Huh?”
“Kill
someone three times.”
“I’d
figure out a way.”
“Then
I’ll try to be nicer.”
Jorge
slapped the table and stood up. “Okay. So here’s the deal. We need to get all
eleven of you punks to your safe haven. To do it, I’m only taking one other
person—her name is Brenda, and she’s a genius. We need her mind. And if we do
make it, and it ends up that there’s no cure for us, then I don’t think I need
to tell you what the consequences will be.”
“Come
on,” Thomas said sarcastically. “I thought we were friends now.”
“Pshh.
We ain’t friends, hermano. We’re partners. I’ll deliver you to WICKED.
You get me a cure. That’s the deal or there’s gonna be a lot of death.”
Thomas
stood as well; his chair creaked against the floor. “We already agreed on that,
didn’t we?”
“Yeah.
Yeah, we did. Now listen, don’t you dare say a word out there. Getting away
from those other Cranks is gonna be … tricky.”
“What’s
the plan?”
Jorge
thought for a minute, his eyes glued to Thomas as he did. Then he broke his
silence. “Just keep your tongue-hole shut and let me do my thing.” He started
to move toward the door to the hallway, but stopped short. “Oh, and I don’t
think your compadre Minho is going to like it very much.”
As
they walked down the hallway to join the others, Thomas realized how achingly
hungry he was. The cramps in his stomach had spread to the rest of his body, as
if his internal organs and muscles were starting to eat each other.
“All
right, everybody listen!” Jorge announced when they reentered the large torn-up
room. “Me and the bird-face here have come to a resolution.”
Bird
face? Thomas
thought.
The
Cranks still stood at attention, nasty weapons gripped tightly, glaring at the
Gladers, all of whom sat around the edges of the space, backs against the walls.
Light beamed through the shattered windows and holes above.
Jorge
came to a stop in the middle of the room and slowly turned to address the whole
group. Thomas thought he looked ridiculous—like he was trying too hard.
“First,
we need to get these people food. I know it seems crazy to share our
hard-earned grub with a bunch of strangers, but I think we could use their
help. Give ’em the pork and beans—I’m sick of that horse crap anyway.” One of
the Cranks snickered, a skinny runt of a kid whose eyes darted back and forth. “Second,
being the grand gentleman and saint that I am, I’ve decided not to kill the
punk who attacked me.”
Thomas
heard a few disappointed groans break out and wondered just how far along some
of these people were with the Flare. But one girl, a pretty, older teenager
with long hair that was surprisingly clean, rolled her eyes and shook her head
as if she thought the noise was idiotic. Thomas found himself hoping she was
the Brenda girl Jorge had mentioned.
Jorge
pointed at Minho, who, not shockingly to Thomas at all, smiled and waved at the
crowd.
“Pretty
happy, are you?” Jorge grunted. “That’s good to know. Means you’ll take the
news well.”
“What
news?” Minho asked sharply.
Thomas
glanced over at Jorge, wondering what was about to come out of the guy’s mouth.
The
Crank leader spoke matter-of-factly. “After we get you stragglers fed so you
don’t go dying of starvation on us, you get to have your punishment for
attacking me.”
“Oh
yeah?” If Minho was scared, he didn’t show any sign of it. “And what’s that
gonna be?”
Jorge
just stared back at Minho—a blank expression spread eerily across his face.
“You punched me with both of your fists. So we’re gonna cut a finger off each
hand.”
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