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 light bulb 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 the darkness.
CHAPTER 30
Thomas didn't notice his heart pounding, or have time to contemplate what could possibly have caused the explosion. All he could think about were the other Gladers, now separated from him. Blind, he ran with Brenda—forced to entrust his life to her completely.
"Here!" she yelled. They made a sharp turn to the right; he almost stumbled and fell but she helped him stay on his feet. Once he had a good pace, she finally let go of his shirt. "Stick close to me."
The sounds of destruction behind them faded as they ran down this new path, and panic lit up inside Thomas. "What about my friends? What if—"
"Just keep going! Better for everyone to split up anyway."
The air cooled as they moved farther down the long hallway. The darkness deepened. Thomas felt his strength slowly returning and he caught his breath quickly. Behind them, the noises had almost stopped. He worried about the Gladers, but instinct told him it was okay to stay with Brenda—that his friends would be able to fend for themselves if they'd gotten out. But what if some of them had been captured by whoever had set off the explosion? Or killed? And who had attacked them? Concern seemed to bleed his heart dry as they ran along.
Brenda took three more turns; Thomas had no idea how she could know where she was going. He was just about to ask when she stopped, p
utting a hand to his chest to hold him back.
"You hear anything?" she said through huffs.
Thomas listened, but all he heard was their own breathing. Everything else was silence and darkness. "No," he told her. "Where are we?"
"A bunch of tunnels and secret passages connect the buildings on this side of town, maybe across the whole city—we haven't explored that far yet. They call it the Underneath."
Thomas couldn't see her face, but she was close enough that he felt and smelled her breath. It didn't reek, which surprised him, considering her living conditions. It kind of had a non scent, somehow pleasant.
"The. Underneath?" he repeated. "Sounds stupid."
"Well, I didn't name it."
"How much of it have you explored?" He didn't like the idea of running around down there without knowing what was ahead.
"Not much. We usually run into Cranks. The really bad ones. Way past Gone."
This made Thomas turn in a circle, searching the darkness for he didn't know what. His whole body tensed with fear as if he'd just jumped into ice water. "Well... are we safe? What happened with that explosion, anyway? We need to go back and find my friends."
"What about Jorge?"
"Huh?"
"Shouldn't we go find Jorge, too?"
Thomas hadn't meant to offend her. "Yeah, Jorge, my friends, all those shanks. We can't leave them behind." "What's a shank?"
"Never mind. Just. . . what do you think happened back there?"
She sighed and stepped even closer to him, pressing her chest against his. He felt her lips brushing his ear as she spoke. "I want you to promise me something." She said it softly, in barely more than a whisper.
Chills broke out all over Thomas's body. "Um . . . what?"
She didn't pull back, just kept speaking into his ear. "No matter what happens, even if we have to go alone, you'll take me all the way back. All the way to WICKED, to that cure you promised Jorge—he told me about it in the storage room. I can't stay here and slowly go insane. I can't do it. I'd rather die."
She grabbed both of his hands in hers, squeezed. Then she rested her head on his shoulder, her nose nestled against his neck—she had to be standing on the tips of her toes. Each breath from her sent a new wave of chills across his skin.
Thomas was enjoying her being so close, but it seemed so bizarre and out of the blue. Then he had a surge of guilt, thinking of Teresa. All this was stupid. He was in the middle of a brutal and ruthless attempt to make it across a wasteland, his life on the line, his friends maybe dead. Teresa could even be dead. To sit here and cuddle with some strange girl in the dark was about the most absurd thing he could think of.
"Hey," he said. He wiggled his hands from her grip and grabbed her upper arms, pushed her away. He still couldn't see anything, but he imagined her there, looking at him. "Don't you think we need to figure things out?"
"You still haven't promised me," she replied.
Thomas wanted to scream, couldn't believe how strange she was acting. "Fine, I promise. Did Jorge tell you everything?"
"Mostly, I think. Though I'd already guessed it the second he told our group to go on without us and meet at the Tower."
"Guessed what?"
"That we were going to help you get through the city in exchange for you taking us back to civilization."
This made Thomas worry. "If you came up with that so quickly, don't you think some of your friends did, too?" "Exactly."
"What do you mean exactly? Sounds like you figured something out."
She reached out and placed her hands on his chest. "I think that's what happened. At first I worried it was a group of longer-gone Cranks, but since no one chased us, I think Barkley and a couple of his buddies rigged an explosion at the Underneath entrance, tried to kill us. They know they can get plenty of food somewhere else, and there're other ways to get down here."
Thomas still didn't understand why she was being so touchy with him. "That doesn't make sense. I mean, kill us? Wouldn't they want to use us, too? Come with us?"
"No, no, no. Barkley and the others are happy here. I think they're a little more gone than we are, starting to lose their rational sides. I doubt the idea even occurred to them. I bet they just thought we were all gonna gang up and . . . eliminate them. That we were making plans down here."
Thomas let go of her, leaned his head back against the wall. She pressed in again and wrapped her arms around his middle.
"Uh . . . Brenda?" he asked. Something wasn't right with this girl. "Yeah?" she mumbled against his chest. "What are you doing?" "What do you mean?"
"Don't you think it's a little weird how you're acting?"
She laughed, such an unexpected sound that Thomas thought for a second she'd succumbed to the Flare—become a full-blown Crank or something. She pulled away from him, still chuckling.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing," she said through a schoolgirl snicker. "Guess we came from different places, that's all. Sorry."
"What do you mean?" He suddenly found himself wishing she'd hug him again.
"Don't worry about it," she said, her merriment at his expense finally subsiding. "Sorry for being so forward. It's just. . . pretty normal where I come from."
"No . . . it's okay. I ... I mean, good that. I'm good." He was glad she couldn't see his face, because it must've burned so red she'd start laughing all over again.
He thought of Teresa then. He thought of Minho and the others. He had to take control. Now.
"Look, you said it yourself," he said, trying to pump confidence into his voice. "No one chased us. We need to go back."
"Are you sure?" She had a suspicious tone.
"What do you mean?"
"I could get you through the city. Find enough food to take with us. Why don't we leave all of them? Make it to this safe haven place on our own?"
Thomas wasn't going to have this conversation. "If you won't come back with me, fine. But I'm going." He put his hand against the wall to guide himself and started walking in the direction from which they'd fled.
"Wait!" she called out, then caught up to him. She grabbed his hand and intertwined their fingers, now walking alongside him, hand in hand like old lovers. "I'm sorry. Really. I just... I think it would be easier to make it through with fewer people. I'm not really great friends with any of those Cranks. Not like you and your . . . Gladers."
Had he said that word around her? He didn't remember, but anybody could've at some point without his noticing. "I really think as many of us as possible need to make it to the safe haven. Even if we do get past the city, who knows what'll be next. Maybe then we'll really want numbers."
He thought about what he'd just said. Did he really only care about having numbers in the end so they'd have a better chance to be safe? Was he really that detached?
"Okay" was all she said in response. Something had changed in her. She seemed less confident. Less in charge.
Thomas took his hand from her grip, coughing into it as an excuse. He didn't reach out for her again when he finished.
They didn't talk for the next few minutes. He followed her, sensing her even though he still couldn't see. After several turns, a light appeared up ahead, brightening quickly as they approached.
It turned out to be sunlight, pouring down from jagged holes in the roof—the aftermath of the explosion. Massive chunks of rock and twisted pieces of steel and broken pipes blocked the way to where the stairs had been—and it looked like climbing over the wreckage would be dangerous. A haze of dust clouded everything, making the rays of sunshine appear thick and alive, motes dancing like gnats. The air smelled of plaster and something burnt.
They were also blocked from the stash room with all that food, but Brenda found the two backpacks she'd brought out earlier.
"Doesn't look like anybody's here," she said. "They didn't come back. Jorge and your friends might've even gotten back up and outside somehow."
Thomas didn't really know what he'd been hoping to fi
nd, but at least one piece of good news was obvious. "No bodies, though, right? No one died in the explosion?"
Brenda shrugged. "Cranks could've dragged their bodies off. But I doubt it. No point."
Thomas nodded, as if solidifying her statement, holding on to it. But he had no idea what to do next. Did they go through the tunnels—the Underneath—searching for the other Gladers? Did they go out into the streets? Back to the building where they'd ditched Barkley and the others? Every idea sounded horrible. He looked around, as if the answer would magically present itself.
"We have to go through the Underneath," Brenda announced after a long moment; she'd probably been contemplating their options just like Thomas. "If the others went up top, then they'll be long gone by now. Plus, they'll pull any attention toward themselves and away from us."
"And if they're down here we'll find them, right?" Thomas asked. "These tunnels all come back together eventually, right?"
"Right. Either way, I know Jorge will have them moving toward the other side of the city, toward the mountains. We just have to make it so we can meet up and keep going."
Thomas looked at Brenda, thinking. Maybe only pretending to think, because he really had no option than to stick with her. She was probably his best—maybe only—bet of accomplishing anything other than a quick and horrible death at the hands of long-gone Cranks. What else could he do?
"Okay," he said. "Let's go."
She smiled, a sweet smile that shone through the grime on her face, and Thomas unexpectedly longed for that moment they'd had in the darkness together. Almost as quickly as his thought formed, though, it was gone. Brenda handed him one of the backpacks, then reached into hers and pulled out a flashlight, clicked it on. The beam shot through the dust as she shone it this way and that, finally aiming it down the long tunnel they'd already been down twice. "Shall we?" she asked.
"We shall,"Thomas muttered. He still felt sick about his friends, and he wondered if he was doing the right thing sticking with Brenda. But when she started walking, he followed.
THE SCORCH TRIALS tmr-2 Page 15