The Scorch Trials (The Maze Runner Book 2) (44)
CHAPTER
44
Thomas
didn’t quite know how to compute what he saw. He felt no surprise or joy at
Teresa’s being alive—he’d already known that she was. She’d spoken to his mind
just the day before. But seeing her in the flesh still lifted his spirits.
Until he remembered her warning that something bad was going to happen. Until
he thought about the fact she was holding a bladed spear.
The
other Gladers noticed right after he did, and soon everyone had stopped to gawk
at Teresa as she marched toward them, her hands gripping that weapon, her face
hard as stone. She looked ready to start stabbing the first thing that moved.
Thomas
took a step forward, not really sure what he planned to do. But then more
movement stopped him.
On
both sides of Teresa, girls appeared; they, too, seemed to come from nowhere.
He turned to look behind him. They were surrounded, by at least twenty girls.
And
they all held weapons, varying knives and rusty swords and jagged machetes.
Several of the girls had bows and arrows, their menacing tips already aimed at
the group of Gladers. Thomas felt an uneasy slice of fear. Regardless of what
Teresa had said about something bad happening, surely she wouldn’t let these
people hurt them. Right?
Group
B popped
into his mind. And his tattoo saying how they were supposed to kill him.
His
thoughts were cut short when Teresa stopped about thirty feet away from the
group. Her companions did the same, forming a complete circle around the
Gladers. Thomas turned again to take it all in. Each one of their new visitors
stood stiffly, eyes squinted, weapons held out in front and ready. The bows
scared him the most—he and the others would have no chance to do anything
before those arrows could fly and find a home inside someone’s chest.
He
stopped, facing Teresa. Her eyes were focused on him.
Minho
spoke first. “What’s this crap about, Teresa? Nice way to greet your long-lost
buddies.”
At
the mention of the name Teresa, Brenda spun and looked sharply at
Thomas. He gave her a quick nod, and the surprise on her face made him sad for
some reason.
Teresa
didn’t answer the question, and an eerie silence swept across the group. The
sun continued to rise, inching toward the point where its heat would beat down
on them unbearably.
Teresa
walked toward them again, and stopped about ten feet from where Minho and Newt
stood side by side.
“Teresa?”
Newt asked. “What the bloody—”
“Shut
up,” Teresa said. She didn’t snap or yell it. She said it calmly and with
conviction, which only made it that much more frightening to Thomas. “And any
of you makes a move, the bows start shooting.”
Teresa
brought her spear up to a better fighting position, swept it back and forth as
she stepped past Newt and Minho and through the Gladers, acting as if she was
searching for something. She came to Brenda, paused. Neither said a word, but
the hatred between them was visible. Teresa moved past her, never dropping her
icy stare.
And
then she was in front of Thomas. He tried to tell himself that she’d never use
that weapon on him, but believing it wasn’t easy when you were looking at the
blade’s sharp edge.
“Teresa,”
he whispered before he could stop himself. Despite the spear, despite the hard
look on her face, despite the way her muscles tensed as if she was about to
slash him, all he wanted was to reach out to her. He couldn’t help but remember
the kiss she’d given him. The way it had felt.
She
didn’t move, just kept staring at him, her face unreadable except for the
obvious anger there.
“Teresa,
what’s—”
“Shut
up.” That same voice of calm. Of utter command. It didn’t sound like her.
“But
what—”
Teresa
reared back and swung the butt of her spear at him, smashing it into his right
cheek. An explosion of pain shot through his skull, his neck; he crumpled to
his knees, a hand to his face where she’d hit him.
“I
said shut up.” She reached down and grabbed him by the shirt, jerked up until
he stood once again. She repositioned her hands on the wooden shaft, pointed it
at him. “Is your name Thomas?”
He
gaped at her. His world was crashing in on him, even though he told himself
she’d warned him. Told him that no matter what, he had to trust her. “You know
who I—”
She
swung the spear even more violently this time, crashing the bladeless end into
the side of his head, right on his ear. The pain was twice as bad as the first
hit; he cried out, clutching his head. But he didn’t fall this time. “You know
who I am!” he screamed.
“I
used to, anyway,” she said in a voice that was both soft and disgusted. “Now
I’m going to ask you one more time. Is your name Thomas?”
“Yes!”
he
yelled back at her. “My name is Thomas!”
Teresa
nodded, then started to back away from him, the tip of the blade once again
aimed at his chest. People got out of her way as she passed the group and
rejoined the circle of girls who surrounded them.
“You’re
coming with us,” she called out. “Thomas. Come on. Remember, anyone tries
something, the arrows fly.”
“No
way!” Minho yelled. “You’re not taking him anywhere.”
Teresa
acted as if she hadn’t heard him, her eyes riveted to Thomas in that strange
squinty-eyed stare. “This isn’t some stupid game. I’m going to start counting.
Every time I hit a multiple of five, we’ll kill one of you with an arrow. We’ll
do it until Thomas is the only one left, then we’ll take him anyway. It’s up to
you.”
For
the first time, Thomas noticed that Aris was acting strange. He stood just a
few feet to Thomas’s right, and he kept turning in a slow circle, staring at
the girls one by one as if he knew them each well. But somehow he kept his
mouth shut.
Of
course,
Thomas thought. If this really was Group B, Aris had been with them. He did know
them.
“One!”
Teresa shouted.
Thomas
wasn’t taking any chances. He walked forward, pushing past people until he
reached the open, then went straight toward Teresa. He ignored the comments
from Minho and the others. He ignored everything. Eyes on Teresa, trying to
show no emotion, he walked until he stood almost nose to nose with her.
It
was what he wanted anyway, right? He wanted to be with her. Even if she’d been
turned against him somehow. Even if she was being manipulated by WICKED, like
Alby and Gally had been. For all he knew, her memory had been wiped again.
Didn’t matter. She looked serious, and he couldn’t risk having someone shoot
one of his friends with a bow and arrow.
“Fine,”
he said. “Take me.”
“I
only made it to one.”
“Yeah.
I’m really brave that way.”
She
hit him with the spear, so hard that he couldn’t help but drop to the ground
again. His jaw and head ached like smoldering fire. He spit, saw blood splatter
on the dirt.
“Bring
the bag,” Teresa said from above.
In
his peripheral vision he saw two girls walking toward him, their weapons hidden
away somewhere. One of them—a dark-skinned girl with hair cut almost to her
scalp—held a large frayed burlap sack. They stopped two feet from him; he got
back to his hands and knees, scared to do anything more for fear of getting
pummeled again.
“We’re
taking him with us!” Teresa yelled. “If anybody follows, I’ll hit him again and
we’ll start shooting you. We won’t really bother aiming. Just let the arrows
fly any old way they feel like.”
“Teresa!”
Minho’s voice. “You catch the Flare that quickly? Your mind’s obviously gone
already.”
The
butt of the spear smashed into the back of Thomas’s head; he collapsed onto his
stomach, black stars swimming in the dirt inches from his face. How could she
do this to him?
“Anything
else you wanna say?” Teresa asked. After a long moment of silence, she said,
“Didn’t think so. Put the bag over him.”
Hands
roughly grabbed his shoulder and spun him onto his back—their grip dug into his
bullet wound enough to send a deep ache flashing through his upper body for the
first time since WICKED had fixed him up.
He
moaned. Faces—they didn’t even look angry—hovered over him as two girls held
the open end of the sack directly above his head.
“Don’t
resist,” the dark-skinned girl said, her face shining with sweat. “Or it’ll
just get worse.”
Thomas
was perplexed. Her eyes and voice held genuine sympathy for him. But her next
words couldn’t have been more different.
“Better
just to go along and let us kill you. Doesn’t do you any good to have a lot of
pain along the way.”
The
bag slipped over his head, and all he could see was ugly brown light.
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