The Scorch Trials (The Maze Runner Book 2) (6)
CHAPTER
6
“What’s
going on?” Newt asked, looking back and forth between Thomas and Aris. “Why’re
you guys looking at each other like you just fell in love?”
“He
can do it, too,” Thomas answered, not taking his eyes off the new kid, seeing
the others only in his peripheral vision. That final statement by Aris had
terrified him; if they’d killed his telepathy partner …
“Do
what?” Frypan asked.
“What
do you think?” Minho said. “He’s a freak like Thomas. They can talk in each
other’s heads.”
Newt
was glaring at Thomas now. “Serious?”
Thomas
nodded and almost spoke to Aris in his mind again, but said it out loud at the
last second.
“Who
killed
her? What happened?”
“Who
killed who?” Minho said. “No more of your voodoo klunk while we’re around.”
Thomas,
eyes watering now, finally broke his gaze with Aris and looked over at Minho.
“He had someone he could do this with, just like I did. I mean … do. But
he said they killed her. I want to know who they are.”
Aris’s
head had dropped; his eyes looked closed from where Thomas sat. “I don’t really
know who they are. It’s too confusing. I couldn’t tell the bad guys from
the good guys. But I think somehow they made this girl Beth … stab … my friend.
Her name was Rachel. She’s dead, man. She’s dead.” He covered his face with
both hands.
Thomas
felt an almost painful prick of confusion. Everything pointed to Aris’s having
come from another version of the Maze, set up in the same format except with
the ratio of girls to boys being switched. But that would make Aris their
version of Teresa. And this Beth sounded like their version of Gally, who’d
killed Chuck. With a knife. Did that mean that Gally was supposed to have
killed Thomas instead?
But
why was Aris here now? And where was Teresa? Things that had almost started to
click in his mind fell apart again.
“Well,
how’d you end up with us?” Newt asked. “Where are all these girls you keep
talking about? How many of them escaped with you? Did they bring all of you
here or just you?”
Thomas
couldn’t help but feel sorry for Aris. To get grilled with all these questions
after something like that had happened. If the roles were switched, if Thomas
had seen Teresa get killed … Watching it happen to Chuck had been bad enough.
Bad
enough? he
thought. Or was seeing Chuck die worse? Thomas wanted to scream. At that
moment, everything in the world just sucked.
Aris
looked up finally, wiped a couple of tears from his cheeks. He did it without
the slightest hint of shame, and Thomas suddenly knew that he liked this kid.
“Look,”
the boy said. “I’m just as confused as everyone else. About thirty of us
survived, they took us to that gym, fed us, cleaned us up. Then they brought me
to this place last night, saying I should be separate since I’m a guy. That’s
it. Then you sticks show up.”
“Sticks?”
Minho
repeated.
Aris
shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t even know what it means. Just a word they
used when I got there.”
Minho
exchanged a glance with Thomas, half smiling. Looked like both groups had come
up with their own vocabulary.
“Hey,”
one of the Gladers Thomas didn’t really know called out. He was leaning against
the wall behind Aris, pointing at him. “What’s that on the side of your neck?
Something black, right below your collar.”
Aris
tried to look down, but couldn’t bend his neck to see that part of his body.
“What?”
Thomas
saw a dark splotch just above the back neckline of the boy’s pajama shirt as he
shifted around. It appeared to be a thick line, stretching from the hollow of
his collarbone around to his back. And it was broken up, like it might be
lettering.
“Here,
let me look,” Newt offered. He stood from the bed and walked over, his
limp—from something in the past he’d never shared with Thomas—showing more than
usual. He reached out and pulled Aris’s shirt down more so he could see the odd
marking better.
“It’s
a tattoo,” Newt said, squinting as if he didn’t believe his eyes.
“What’s
it say?” Minho asked, though he’d already gotten up from the bed and approached
to get his own look.
When
Newt didn’t answer right away, curiosity forced Thomas to his feet, and soon he
was right beside Minho, leaning over to see the tattoo himself. What he saw
printed there in blocky letters made his heart skip a beat.
Property
of WICKED. Group B, Subject B1. The Partner.
“What’s
that supposed to mean?” Minho asked.
“What
does it say?” Aris asked, reaching around to feel the skin of his neck
and shoulders, pulling his shirt collar down. “I swear it wasn’t there last
night!”
Newt
repeated the words to him, then said, “Property of WICKED? I thought we’d
escaped them. Or you’d escaped them, too. Whatever.” He turned around, visibly
frustrated, and went back to sit down on his bed.
“And
why would it call you the Partner?” Minho said, still staring at the
tattoo.
Aris
shook his head. “I don’t have a clue. I swear. And there’s no way that was
there before last night. I showered, looked in the mirror. I would’ve seen it.
And someone would’ve noticed it back in the Maze for sure.”
“You’re
telling me they tattooed you in the middle of the night?” Minho said. “Without
you noticing? Come on, dude.”
“I
swear!” Aris insisted. Then he got up and went to the bathroom, probably to try
to see the words for himself.
“I
don’t believe a shuck word he says,” Minho whispered to Thomas on his way back
to his seat. Then, just as he leaned forward to plop back down on the mattress,
his shirt shifted enough to reveal a thick line of black on his neck.
“Whoa!”
Thomas said. For a second, he was too stunned to move.
“What?”
Minho asked, looking at Thomas as if he’d just sprouted a third ear on his
forehead.
“Your—your
neck,” Thomas finally got out. “You have it on your neck, too!”
“What
the shuck you talkin’ about?” Minho said, pulling at his shirt, face scrunched
up as he struggled to see something he couldn’t.
Thomas
ran over to Minho, slapped his hands away, then pulled the neckline of the
shirt back. “Holy … It’s right there! Same thing, except …”
Thomas
read the words to himself.
Property
of WICKED. Group A, Subject A7. The Leader.
“What, dude!” Minho
yelled at him.
Most
of the other Gladers had gathered in a tight group behind Thomas, squeezing in
to get a look. Thomas quickly read the tattooed words out loud, surprised he
did it without stumbling on them.
“You’re
kiddin’ me, man,” Minho said, standing up. He pushed his way through the crowd
of boys to follow Aris to the bathroom.
And
then the frenzy began. Thomas felt his own shirt tugged down as he pulled at
others. Everyone started talking over everyone else.
“They
all say Group A.”
“Property
of WICKED, just like his.”
“You’re
Subject A-thirteen.”
“Subject
A-nineteen.”
“A-three.”
“A-ten.”
Thomas
was slowly turning in a circle, dazed as he watched the Gladers discover the
tattoos on each other. Most of them didn’t have the additional designations
like Aris and Minho, just the property line.
Newt
was going from boy to boy, looking for himself, his face set in stone as if he
were concentrating on memorizing the names and numbers. Then, quite by
accident, the two of them stood facing each other.
“What
does mine say?” Newt asked.
Thomas
pulled the neckline of Newt’s shirt to the side, then leaned over to read the
words etched into his skin. “You’re Subject A-five and they called you the Glue.”
Newt
gave him a startled look. “The Glue?”
Thomas
let go of his shirt and stepped back. “Yeah. Probably because you’re kind of
the glue that holds us all together. I don’t know. Read mine.”
“I
already did—”
Thomas
noticed that an odd expression had come over Newt’s face. One of hesitation. Or
dread. Like he didn’t want to tell Thomas what his tattoo said. “Well?”
“You’re
Subject A-two,” Newt answered. Then he lowered his eyes.
“And?”
Thomas
pushed.
Newt
hesitated, then answered without looking at him. “It doesn’t call you anything.
It just says … ‘To be killed by Group B.’ ”
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