The Scorch Trials (The Maze Runner Book 2) (37)
CHAPTER
37
The
next minute or so was a stunned blur of the five senses.
The
welcome statement had shocked Thomas, but before he could respond, the
long-haired man practically pulled him and Brenda inside, then started ushering
them through a tightly packed crowd of dancing bodies, gyrating and jumping and
hugging and spinning. The music was deafening, each beat of the drums like a
hammer to Thomas’s skull. Several flashlights had been strung from the ceiling;
they swayed back and forth as people swatted them, sending beams of light
slashing this way and that.
Long
Hair leaned over and spoke to Thomas as they slowly made their way through the
dancers; Thomas could barely hear him even though he was yelling.
“Thank
God for batteries! Life’s gonna suck when those run out!”
“How
did you know my name?” Thomas yelled back. “Why were you waiting for me?”
The
man laughed. “We watched you all night! Then this morning we saw your reaction
to the sign through a window—figured you had to be the famous Thomas!”
Brenda
had both arms wrapped around Thomas’s waist, clinging to him, probably just so
they wouldn’t get separated. Probably. But when she heard this, she squeezed
even tighter.
Thomas
looked back, saw Blondie and his two friends following on their heels. The gun
had been put away, but Thomas knew it could be brought right back out again.
The
music blared. The bass thumped and rattled the room. People dancing and jumping
all around them, the swords of light crisscrossing the dark air. The Cranks
were slick and shiny with sweat, all that body heat making the room
uncomfortably warm.
Somewhere
right in the middle, Long Hair stopped and turned to face them, his odd white
mane flopping.
“We
really want you to join us!” he shouted. “There’s gotta be something about you!
We’ll protect you from the bad Cranks!”
Thomas
was glad they didn’t know more. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Play
along, pretend to be a special Crank, and maybe he and Brenda would get through
this long enough to slip away unnoticed at the right time.
“I’ll
go and get you a drink!” Long Hair called out. “Enjoy yourselves!” Then he
scuttled off, vanishing into the thick, writhing crowd.
Thomas
turned to see Blondie and his two friends still there, not dancing at all—just
watching. Ponytail caught his attention with a wave of her hand.
“Might
as well dance!” she yelled. But she didn’t follow her own advice.
Thomas
twisted around until he was fully facing Brenda. They needed to talk.
As
though she could read his mind, she brought her arms up and wrapped them around
his neck, pulling him close until her mouth was right next to his ear, her
breath hot and tingling against his sweat.
“How
did we get into this piece-of-crap situation?” she asked.
Thomas
didn’t know what to do but wrap his arms around her back and waist. He felt her
heat through her damp clothes. Something stirred inside him, mixed with guilt
and longing for Teresa.
“I
never could have imagined this an hour ago,” he finally said, speaking through
her hair. It was the only thing he could think of to say.
The
song changed, something dark and haunting. The beat had slowed a bit, the drum
somehow deeper. Thomas couldn’t make out any words—it was as if the singer were
lamenting some horrible tragedy, the voice wailing, high-pitched and sorrowful.
“Maybe
we should just stay with these people for a while,” Brenda said.
Thomas
noticed then that the two of them were dancing, without meaning to or
thinking about it. Moving with the music, slowly turning, their bodies pressed
tightly together, clasping each other.
“What’re
you talking about?” he asked, surprised. “You’re giving up already?”
“No.
Just tired. Maybe we’d be safer here.”
He
wanted to trust her, felt like he could. But something about all this worried
him—had she brought him here on purpose? It seemed a stretch. “Brenda, don’t
quit on me yet. The only option we have is to get to the safe haven. There’s a
cure for this.”
Brenda
shook her head slightly. “It’s just so hard to believe it’s really true. Hard
to hope for it.”
“Don’t
say that.” He didn’t want to think it, and he didn’t want to hear it.
“Why
would they have sent all these Cranks here if there was a cure? It just doesn’t
make any sense.”
Thomas
pulled back to look at her, worried about the sudden change in attitude. Her
eyes were wet with tears.
“You’re
talking crazy,” he said, then paused. He had his own doubts, of course, but he
didn’t want to discourage her. “The cure is real. We have to …” He trailed off,
looked over at Blondie, who was still staring at him. The guy probably couldn’t
hear, but better safe than sorry. Thomas leaned back in to speak directly in
Brenda’s ear. “We have to get out of here. You wanna stay with people who pull
guns and screwdrivers on you?”
Before
she could respond, Long Hair was back, a cup in each hand, the brownish liquid
inside sloshing as he got bumped from all directions by the dancers. “Drink
up!” he called out.
Something
inside Thomas seemed to wake up then. Taking a drink from these strangers
suddenly felt like a very, very bad idea. Impossibly, everything about this
place and this situation had become even more uncomfortable.
Brenda
had already started reaching for a drink, though.
“No!”
Thomas yelled before he could stop himself, then raced to cover his mistake. “I
mean, no, I really don’t think we should be drinking that stuff. We’ve gone a
long time without water—we need that first. We, um, just wanna dance for a while.”
He tried to act casual, but was cringing on the inside, knowing he sounded like
an idiot—especially when Brenda gave him a strange look.
Something
small and hard pressed against his side. He didn’t have to turn to see what it
was: Blondie’s pistol.
“I
offered you a drink,” Long Hair said again, this time any sign of kindness gone
from his tattooed face. “It would be very rude to turn such an offer down.” He
held the cups out again.
Panic
swelled in Thomas. Any small doubt had gone—something was wrong with the
drinks.
Blondie
pressed the gun into him even harder. “I’m gonna count to one,” the man said
into his ear. “Just one.”
Thomas
didn’t have to think. He reached out and took the cup, poured the liquid in his
mouth, swallowed all of it at once. It burned like fire, searing his throat and
chest as it went down; he broke into a lurching, wracking cough.
“Now
you,” Long Hair said, handing the other cup to Brenda.
She
looked at Thomas, then took it and drank. It didn’t seem to faze her in the
least; there was just a slight tightening of her eyes as it went down.
Long
Hair took the empty cups back, a huge grin now spread across his face. “That’s
just fine! Back to dancing ya go!”
Thomas
already felt something funny in his gut. A soothing warmth, a calmness, growing
and spreading through his body. He took Brenda back into his arms, held her
tightly as they swayed to the music. Her mouth was against his neck. Every time
her lips bumped against his skin, a wave of pleasure shot through him.
“What
was it?” he asked. He felt more than heard the slur in his voice.
“Something
not good,” she said; he could barely hear her. “Something drugged. It’s doing
funny things to me.”
Yeah. Thomas
thought. Something funny. The room had begun to spin around him, far
faster than their slow turn should have caused it to. People’s faces seemed to
stretch when they laughed, their mouths gaping black holes. The music slowed
and thickened, the singing voice deepened, grew drawn-out.
Brenda
pulled her head away from him, clasped the sides of his face with her hands.
She stared at him, though her eyes seemed to jiggle. She looked beautiful. More
beautiful than anything he’d ever seen before. Everything around them faded to
darkness. His mind was shutting down, he knew it.
“Maybe
it’s better this way,” she said. Her words didn’t match her lips. Her face was
moving in circles, seemingly detached from her neck. “Maybe we can be with them.
Maybe we can be happy until we’re past the Gone.” She smiled then, a sickening,
disturbing smile. “Then you can kill me.”
“No,
Brenda,” he said, but his voice seemed a million miles away, as if it were
coming from an endless tunnel. “Don’t …”
“Kiss
me,” she said. “Tom, kiss me.” Her hands tightened on his face. She started to
pull him down toward her.
“No,”
he said, resisting.
She
stopped, a hurt look washing over her face. Her moving, blurring face.
“Why?”
she asked.
The
darkness almost had him fully now. “You’re not … her.” His voice, distant. A
mere echo. “You could never be her.”
And
then she fell away, and his mind did the same.
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