The Scorch Trials (The Maze Runner Book 2) (29)
CHAPTER
29
Thomas
didn’t understand at all how threatening to cut off Minho’s fingers was going to
set the groundwork for them escaping from the rest of the Cranks. And he
certainly wasn’t stupid enough to trust Jorge after just one brief meeting. He
began to panic that things were about to go terribly, horribly wrong.
But
then Jorge looked at him, even as his Crank friends started to hoot and holler,
and there was something there, in his eyes. Something that put Thomas at ease.
Minho,
on the other hand, was a different story. He’d stood up as soon as Jorge had
pronounced his punishment, and would’ve charged if the pretty girl hadn’t
stepped right up to him and placed her blade under his chin. It drew a drop of
blood, bright red in the daylight pouring through the busted doors. He couldn’t
even talk without risking serious bodily harm.
“Here’s
the plan,” Jorge said calmly. “Brenda and I will escort these moochers to the
stash, let ’em eat up. Then we’ll all meet on the Tower, let’s say one hour
from now.” He looked at his watch. “Make that noon on the dot. We’ll bring up lunch
for the rest of you.”
“Why
just you and Brenda?” someone asked. Thomas didn’t see who at first, then
realized a man had said it—probably the oldest person in the room. “What if
they jump you? There’s eleven of them to two of you.”
Jorge
squinted—a scoffing look. “Thanks for the math lesson, Barkley. Next time I
forget how many toes I have, I’ll be sure and spend some counting time with
you. For now, shut your flappin’ lips and lead everybody to the Tower. If these
punks try anything, Brenda will slash Mr. Minho to tiny bits while I beat the
living hell out of the rest of ’em. They can barely stand they’re so weak. Now get!”
Relief
swam through Thomas. Once separated from the others, surely Jorge meant to run.
Surely he didn’t mean to go through with the punishment.
The
man named Barkley was old but looked tough, veined muscles stretching the
sleeves of his shirt. He held a nasty dagger in one hand and a big hammer in
the other. “Fine,” he said after a long stare down with his leader. “But if
they do jump you and slit your throat, we’ll get along just fine without ya.”
“Thanks
for the kind words, hermano. Now get, or we’ll have double the fun on
the Tower.”
Barkley
laughed as if to salvage some dignity, then started off down the same hallway
Thomas and Jorge had used. He waved his arm in a “follow me” gesture and soon
every last Crank was shuffling after him except Jorge and the pretty girl with
the long brown hair. She still had her knife at Minho’s neck, but the good part
was that she had to be Brenda.
Once
the main group of Flare-infected people left the room, Jorge shared an almost
relieved look with Thomas; then he subtly shook his head, as if the others
might still be able to hear them.
Movement
from Brenda grabbed Thomas’s attention. He looked to see her drop the knife
away from Minho and step back, absently wiping the small trace of blood there on
her pants. “I really would’ve killed you, ya know,” she said in a slightly
scratchy voice. Almost husky. “Charge Jorge again and I’ll sever an artery.”
Minho
wiped at his small wound with a thumb, then looked at the bright red smear.
“That’s one sharp knife. Makes me like you more.”
Newt
and Frypan groaned simultaneously.
“Looks
like I’m not the only Crank standing here,” Brenda responded. “You’re even more
gone than me.”
“None
of us are crazy yet,” Jorge added, walking over to stand next to her. “But it
won’t be long. Come on. We need to get over to the stash and put some food in
you people. You all look like a bunch of starved zombies.”
Minho
didn’t seem to like the idea. “You think I’m just gonna waltz over to have a
sit-down with you psychos, then let you cut my freaking fingers off?”
“Just
shut up for once,” Thomas snapped, trying to communicate something different
with his eyes.
“Let’s
go eat. I don’t care what happens to your beautiful hands after that.”
Minho
squinted in confusion, but seemed to pick up that something was off. “Whatever.
Let’s go.”
Brenda
stepped in front of Thomas unexpectedly, her face only a few inches from his.
She had eyes so dark it made the whites seem to glow brightly. “You the
leader?”
Thomas
shook his head. “No—it’s the guy you just nipped with your knife.”
Brenda
looked over at Minho, then back at Thomas. She grinned. “Well, then that’s
stupid. I know I’m on the verge of crazy, but I would’ve picked you. You seem
like the leader type.”
“Um,
thanks.” Thomas felt a rush of embarrassment, then remembered Minho’s tattoo.
Remembered his own, how he was supposed to be killed. He scrambled to say
something to hide his sudden mood shift. “I, uh, would’ve picked you, too,
instead of Jorge over there.”
The
girl leaned forward and kissed Thomas on the cheek. “You’re sweet. I really
hope we don’t end up killing you, at least.”
“All
right.” Jorge was already motioning everyone toward the broken doors that led
outside. “Enough of this lovefest. Brenda, we have a lot to talk about once we
get to the stash. Come on, let’s go.”
Brenda
didn’t take her eyes off Thomas. As for him, he still felt the tingle that had
shot through his entire body when she’d touched him with her lips.
“I
like you,” she said.
Thomas
swallowed, his mind empty of a comeback. Brenda’s tongue touched the corner of
her mouth and she grinned, then finally turned away from him and walked to the
doors, slipping her knife into a pants pocket. “Let’s go!” she yelled without
looking back.
Thomas
knew every single Glader was staring at him, but he refused to make eye contact
with any of them. Instead, he hitched up his shirt and walked forward, not
caring about the slight smile on his face. Soon the others fell into step
behind him, and the group exited the building and emerged into the white heat
of the sun beating down on the broken pavement outside.
Brenda
led while Jorge took up the rear. Thomas had a hard time adjusting to the brightness,
shielding his eyes and squinting as they walked close to the wall to stay in
the scant shade. The other buildings and streets around him seemed to shine
with unearthly luminescence, as if they were made of some sort of magic stone.
Brenda
moved along the walls of the structure they’d just exited until they reached
what Thomas thought must be the back. There, a set of steps disappeared into
the pavement, reminding him of something in his past life. An entrance to some
kind of underground train system, perhaps.
She
didn’t hesitate. Without waiting to make sure the others were behind her, she
bounced down the stairs. But Thomas noticed that the knife had reappeared in
her right hand, gripped tightly and held a few inches from the side of her
body—a stealthy attempt at being ready to attack—or defend—on a moment’s notice.
He
followed her, eager to get out of the sun and, more importantly, make it to
food. His insides ached more strongly for sustenance with every step he took.
In fact, he was surprised he could still move; the weakness was like a
poisonous growth inside him, replacing his vital parts with a painful cancer.
Darkness
swallowed them eventually, welcome and cool. Thomas followed the sound of
Brenda’s footsteps until they reached a small doorway, through which shone a
glow of orange. She went inside, and Thomas hesitated at the threshold. It was
a small, damp room full of boxes and cans, with a single lightbulb hanging from
the center of the ceiling. It looked far too cramped for all of them to enter.
Brenda
must’ve sensed his thoughts. “You and the others can stay out there in the
hallway, find a wall and sit. I’ll start bringing out some tasty delights for
you in a sec.”
Thomas
nodded even though she wasn’t looking and stumbled back out into the hallway.
He collapsed next to a wall down a ways from the rest of the Gladers, deeper
into the darkness of the tunnel. And he knew for certain he’d never get back up
unless he ate something.
The
“tasty delights” ended up being canned beans and some type of sausage—according
to Brenda, the words on the label were in Spanish. They ate it cold, but it
tasted like the grandest meal ever to Thomas, and he devoured every bite.
They’d already learned it wasn’t smart to eat quickly after such a long period of
fasting, but he didn’t care. If he threw it all up, he’d just enjoy eating all
over again. Hopefully a fresh batch.
After
Brenda passed out the food to the starving Gladers, she walked over to sit by
Thomas, the soft glow from the room illuminating the thin strands on the
fringes of her dark hair. She set down a couple of backpacks—filled with more
of the cans—at her side.
“One
of these is for you,” she said.
“Thanks.”
Thomas had already reached the bottom half of his can, scooping out one bite
after another. No one spoke down the hall from them; the only sounds were
slurping and swallowing.
“Taste
good?” she asked as she dug into her own food.
“Please.
I’d push my own mom down the stairs to eat this stuff. If I still have a
mom.” He couldn’t help thinking of his dream and the brief glimpse he’d seen of
her, but did his best to forget it—it was too depressing.
“You
get sick of it fast,” Brenda said, pulling Thomas out of his head. He noticed
the way she sat, her right knee pressed against his shin, and his thoughts
jumped to the ridiculous idea that she’d moved her leg like that on purpose.
“We only have about four or five options.”
Thomas
concentrated on clearing his mind, bringing his thoughts back to the present.
“Where’d you get the food? And how much is left?”
“Before
this area got scorched by the flares, this city had several food manufacturing
plants, plus a lot of warehouses to hold the food. Sometimes I think that’s why
WICKED sends Cranks here. They can at least tell themselves that we won’t
starve while we slowly go crazy and kill each other.”
Thomas
scooped out the last bit of sauce from the bottom of his can and licked his
spoon clean. “If there’s plenty, why do you only have a few options?” He had
the thought that maybe they’d trusted her too quickly, that they could be
eating poison. But she was eating the same food, so his worries were probably far-fetched.
Brenda
pointed toward the ceiling with her thumb. “We’ve only scoured the closest
ones. Some company that specialized, not much variety. I’d kill your
mother for something fresh out of a garden. A nice salad.”
“Guess
my mom doesn’t have much of a chance if she’s ever standing between us and a
grocery store.”
“Guess
not.”
She
smiled then, though a shadow mostly hid her face. The grin still shone through,
and Thomas found himself liking this girl. She’d just drawn blood from his best
friend, but he liked her. Maybe, in small part, because of that.
“Does
the world still have grocery stores?” he asked. “I mean, what’s it like out
there after all this Flare business? Really hot, with a bunch of crazy people
running around?”
“No.
Well, I don’t know. The sun flares killed a lot of people before they could
escape to the north or south. My family lived in northern Canada. My parents
were some of the first ones to make it to the camps set up by the coalition
between governments. The people who ended up forming WICKED later.”
Thomas
stared for a second, his mouth wide open. She’d just revealed more to him about
the state of the world in those few sentences than anything he’d heard since
having his memory wiped.
“Wait
… wait a second,” he said. “I need to hear all this. Can you start from the
beginning?”
Brenda
shrugged. “Not much to tell—happened a long time ago. The sun flares were
completely unexpected and unpredictable, and by the time the scientists tried
to warn anyone, it was way too late. They wiped out half the planet, killed
everything around the equatorial regions. Changed climates everywhere else. The
survivors gathered, some governments combined. Wasn’t too long before they discovered
that a nasty virus had been unleashed from some disease-control place. Called
it the Flare right from the beginning.”
“Man,”
Thomas muttered. He looked down the hall at the other Gladers, wondering if
they’d heard any of this, but none of them seemed to be listening, all absorbed
in their food. They were probably too far away anyway. “When did—”
She
shushed him, holding a hand up. “Wait,” she said. “Something’s wrong. I think
we have visitors.” Thomas hadn’t heard anything, and the other Gladers didn’t
seem to notice, either. But Jorge was already at Brenda’s side, whispering
something in her ear. She was just moving to stand up when a crash exploded
down the hall—from the stairs they’d used to reach the stash. It was a horribly
loud sound, the crumple and cracking of a structure falling apart, cement
breaking, metal ripping. A cloud of dust fogged its way toward them, choking
off the scant light from the food room.
Thomas
sat and stared, paralyzed by fear. He could just see Minho and Newt and all the
others running back toward the destroyed stairs, then turning down a branching
hallway he hadn’t noticed before. Brenda grabbed him by the shirt and pulled
him to his feet.
“Run!”
she screamed, and started dragging him away from the destruction and deeper
into the underground.
Thomas
snapped out of his stupor and swatted at her hand, though she didn’t let go.
“No! We have to follow my fr—”
Before
he could finish, an entire section of the roof came crashing down onto the
floor in front of him, blocks of cement falling on top of each other with
thunderous cracks. It cut him off from the direction his friends had taken. He
heard more fracturing of rock above him and realized that he no longer had any choice—or
any time.
Reluctantly
he turned and ran with Brenda, her hand still clutching his shirt as they
sprinted into thedarkness.
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