The man pushed him back a few inches, then pulled him forward again. Pushed and pulled again. And again, slamming Thomas's face into the wall each time. Thomas couldn't believe the strength of the Crank— it seemed impossible based on how he looked. Weak and horribly injured.
Brenda had her knife out, was trying to crawl over him, get in position to slash at the hand.
"Careful!"Thomas yelled. That knife was awfully close. He grabbed the man's wrist and wriggled it back and forth, trying to loosen that iron grip. Nothing worked, and the man kept pulling and pushing, battering Thomas's body as he hit the wall.
Brenda screamed and went for it. She swept across Thomas and her blade flashed as she drove it right into the Crank's forearm. The man let out a demonic wail and let go of Thomas's shirt. His hand disappeared through the doorway, leaving a trail of blood on the floor. His shrieks of pain continued, loud with trailing echoes.
"We can't let him get away!" Brenda yelled. "Hurry, get out there!"
Thomas, hurting all over, knew she was right and was already squirming to get his body in position. If the man reached the other Cranks, they'd all come back. They might have heard the commotion and already be turning around.
Thomas finally got his arms and head through the opening; then it became easier. He used the wall for leverage and pushed himself the rest of the way out, his eyes glued to the Crank, waiting for another attack. The man was only a few feet away, cradling his wounded arm against his chest. Their eyes met, and the Crank snarled like a wounded animal, bit at the air.
Thomas started to stand up but his head banged into the bottom of the table. "Shuck!" he yelled, then scrambled out from under the old slab of wood. Brenda was right on his heels, and soon they were both standing over the Crank, who lay on the ground in a fetal position, whimpering. Blood dripped from his wound onto the floor, already forming a small puddle.
Brenda held her flashlight in one hand, the knife in the other, its point aimed at the Crank. "Should've gone with your psycho friends, old man. Should've known better than to mess with us."
Instead of responding, the man suddenly spun on his shoulder, kicking his good leg out with shocking speed and strength. He hit Brenda first, sent her crashing into Thomas, and they both crumpled to the floor. Thomas heard the knife and flashlight clatter across the cement. Shadows danced on the walls.
The Crank staggered to his feet, ran for the knife, which had come to rest by the door to the hallway. Thomas pushed himself up and dove forward, crashing into the backs of the man's knees and tackling him to the ground. The man spun, swinging an elbow as he did so. It connected with Thomas's jaw; he felt another explosion of pain as he fell, his hand naturally flying up to his face.
Then Brenda was there. She jumped on the Crank, hit him in the face twice, stunning him, by the looks of it. She took advantage of the brief moment and somehow yanked the man around again so that he lay on his stomach, flat on the floor. She grabbed his arms and pinned them behind him, pushing up in a way that looked incredibly painful. The Crank wrenched and thrashed, but Brenda had him pinned with her legs as well. He started screaming, a horrific, piercing wail of pure terror.
"We have to kill him!" she yelled over it.
Thomas had gotten to his knees and was looking on in a stupor of inaction. "What?" he asked, drugged with exhaustion, too stunned to process her words.
"Get the knife! We have to kill him!"
The Crank kept screaming, a sound that made Thomas want to run as far away as possible. It was unnatural. Inhuman. "Thomas!" Brenda yelled.
Thomas crawled over to the knife, picked it up, looked at the crimson goo on its sharp blade. He turned back to Brenda.
"Hurry!" she said, her eyes lit with anger. Something told him that her anger was no longer just for the Crank—she was mad at him for taking so long.
But could he do this? Could he kill a man? Even a crazed lunatic of a man who wanted him dead? Who wanted his shuck nose, for crying out loud?
He shambled back to her, holding the knife as if it were tipped with poison. As if just holding it might make him catch a hundred diseases and die a slow and agonizing death.
The Crank, arms yanked behind him, pinned to the floor, continued to scream.
Brenda caught Thomas's gaze, spoke with determination. "I'm gonna flip him—you need to stab him in the heart!"
Thomas started to shake his head, then stopped. He had no choice. He had to do this. So he nodded.
Brenda let out a cry of effort and fell to the right side of the Crank, using her body and her grip on his arms to make the man twist onto his side. Impossibly, his shrieks grew even louder. His chest was now there for the taking, arched and sticking up right in front of Thomas, just inches away.
"Now!" Brenda yelled.
Thomas tightened his grip on the knife. Then he put his other hand on it for more support, all ten fingers clasped tightly around the handle, blade pointing toward the floor. He had to do this. He had to do it.
"Now!" Brenda yelled again.
The Crank, screaming.
Sweat pouring down Thomas's face.
His heart, pumping, thumping, rattling.
Sweat in his eyes. His whole body aching. The terrible, inhuman screams. " Now!"
Thomas used all his strength and plunged the knife into the Crank's chest.
CHAPTER 34
The next thirty seconds were a horrible, horrible thing for Thomas.
The Crank struggled. Spasmed. Choked and spat. Brenda held him while Thomas twisted the knife. Pushed it deeper. Life took its time as it drained from the man, as the light in his maddened eyes faded, as the grunts and the physical strain to hold on slowly quieted and stilled.
But finally, the Flare-infected man died, and Thomas fell backward, his whole body a tense coil of rusty wire. He gasped for breath, fought the sickening swell in his breast.
He'd just killed a man. He'd taken the life of another person. His insides felt full of poison.
"We need to go," Brenda said, jumping to her feet. "There's no way they didn't hear all that racket. Come on."
Thomas couldn't believe how unaffected she was, how quickly she'd moved on from what they'd done. But then again, they didn't have much choice. The first sign of the other Cranks came echoing down the hall, like the sounds of hyenas bouncing through a canyon.
Thomas forced himself to stand, pushed down the guilt that threatened to consume him. "Fine, but no more of this." First the head-eating silver balls. Now fighting Cranks in the darkness.
"What do you mean?"
He'd had enough of long black tunnels. Enough to last a lifetime. "I want daylight. I don't care what it takes. I want daylight. Now."
***
Brenda didn't argue. She guided him through several twists and turns and soon they found a long iron ladder leading toward the sky, out of the Underneath. The disturbing noises of Cranks lingered in the distance. Laughs and shouts and giggles. An occasional scream.
Moving the round manhole cover took some serious pushing, but it gave way and they climbed out. They found themselves standing in gray twilight, surrounded by enormously tall buildings in every direction. Broken windows. Garbage strewn over the streets. Several dead bodies lying about. A smell of rot and dust. Heat.
But no people. None living, anyway. Thomas felt a moment of alarm that some of the dead might be his friends, but that wasn't the case. The scattered bodies were older men and women, and decay had already set in.
Brenda slowly turned in a circle, getting her bearings. "Okay, the mountains should be down that street." She pointed, but it was impossible to tell because they didn't have a clear view and the buildings hid the setting sun.
"You sure?" Thomas asked.
"Yeah, come on."
As they set off down the long and lonely street, Thomas kept his eyes peeled, scanning every broken window, every alley, every crumbled doorway. Hoping to see some sign of Minho and the Gladers. And hoping not to see any Cranks.
They traveled until dark, avoiding contact with anyone. They did hear the occasional scream in the distance, or the sounds of things crashing inside a building now and then. Once, Thomas saw a group of people scurry across a street several blocks away, but they seemed not to notice him or Brenda.
Just before the sun disappeared completely for the day, they turned a corner and came into full view of the city's edge, maybe another mile farther. The buildings ended abruptly, and behind them the mountains rose in all their majesty. They were several times bigger than Thomas would've guessed upon first glimpsing them a few days earlier, and were dry and rocky. No snow capped beauties—a hazy memory from his past—in this part of the world.
"Should we go the rest of the way?" Thomas asked.
Brenda was busy looking for a place to hide. "Tempting, but no. First off, it's too dangerous running around here at night. Second, even if we made it, there'd be no place for cover out there unless we made it all the way to the mountains. Which I don't think we could do."
As much as Thomas dreaded spending another night in this wretched city, he agreed. But the frustration and worry over the other Gladers were eating away at his insides. He weakly replied, "Okay. Where should we go, then?"
"Follow me."
They wound up in an alley that ended in a large brick wall. At first Thomas thought it was a terrible idea to sleep in a place that had only one way out, but Brenda convinced him otherwise—Cranks would have no reason to enter the alley since it didn't lead anywhere. Plus, she pointed out, there were several large, rusted trucks in which to hide.
They ended up inside one that looked like it had been torn apart for anything usable. The seats were tattered but they were soft, and the cab was big. Thomas sat behind the wheel, pushing the seat as far back as it would go. Surprisingly, he felt somewhat comfortable once settled. Brenda was just a couple of feet to his right, settling in herself. Outside, the darkness grew complete, and the distant sounds of active Cranks came through the broken windows.
Thomas was exhausted. Sore. In pain. Had dried blood all over his clothes. Earlier, he'd cleaned his hands, scrubbing them until Brenda yelled at him to quit wasting their water. But having the blood of that Crank on his fingers, on his palms... he couldn't take it. His heart sank every time he thought of it, but he could no longer deny a terrible truth: if he hadn't had the Flare before—a slim hope that Rat Man had lied—he'd surely caught it by now.
And now, sitting in the darkness, his head propped against the truck's door, thoughts of what he'd done earlier came storming into his mind.
"I killed that guy," he whispered.
"Yeah, you did," Brenda responded, her voice soft. "Otherwise he would've killed you. Pretty sure that's doing the right thing."
He wanted to believe it. The guy had been fully gone, consumed by the Flare. He probably would've died soon anyway. Not to mention he'd been doing everything possible to hurt them. To kill them. Thomas had done the right thing. But guilt still gnawed at him, crept through his bones. Killing another human. It wasn't easy to accept.
"I know," he finally responded. "But it was so . . . vicious. So brutal. I wish I could've just shot him from a distance with a gun or some thing."
"Yeah. Sorry it had to go down that way."
"What if I see his nasty face every night when I go to sleep? What if he's in my dreams?" He felt a surge of irritation at Brenda for making him stab the Crank—maybe unwarranted when he really considered how desperate they'd been.
Brenda shifted in her seat to face him. Moonlight illuminated her just enough that he could see her dark eyes, her dirty but pretty face.
Maybe it was bad, maybe he was a jerk. But looking at her made him want Teresa back.
Brenda reached out, took his hand and squeezed it. He let her, but he didn't squeeze back.
"Thomas?" She said his name even though he was looking right at her.
"Yeah?"
"You didn't just save your own skin, ya know. You saved mine, too. I don't think I could've beaten that Crank by myself."
Thomas nodded but didn't say anything. He hurt inside for so many reasons. All his friends were gone. Dead, for all he knew. Chuck was definitely dead. Teresa was lost to him. He was only halfway to the safe haven, sleeping in a truck with a girl who would eventually go crazy, and they were surrounded by a city full of bloodthirsty Cranks.
"You asleep with your eyes open?" she asked him.
Thomas tried to smile. "No. Just thinking about how much my life sucks."
"Mine does, too. Sucks big-time. But I'm glad I'm with you."
The statement was so simple and so sweet it made Thomas close his eyes, squeeze them shut. All the pain inside him transformed into something for Brenda, almost like what he'd felt for Chuck. He hated the people who'd done this to her, hated the disease that had made all this happen, and he wanted to make it right.
He finally looked at her again. "I'm glad, too. Being alone would suck even worse."
"They killed my dad."
Thomas lifted his head, surprised by the sudden shift in conversation. "What?"
Brenda nodded slowly. "WICKED. He tried to stop them from taking me, screamed like a lunatic as he attacked them with ... I think it was a wooden rolling pin." She let out a small laugh. "Then they shot him in the head."Tears glistened in her eyes, sparkling in the faint light. "You're serious?"
"Yeah. I saw it happen. Saw the life go out of him before he even hit the floor."
"Oh, man."Thomas searched for words. "I'm really . . . sorry. I saw maybe my best friend in the world get stabbed. He died right in my arms." He paused again. "What about your mom?"
"She hadn't been around for a long time." She didn't elaborate, and Thomas didn't push. Didn't really want to know.
"I'm so scared of going crazy," she said after a long minute of silence. "I can already feel it happening. Things look weird, sound weird. Out of the blue I'll start thinking about stuff that doesn't make any sense. Sometimes the air around me feels . . . hard. I don't even know what that means, but it's scary. I'm definitely starting. The Flare's taking my brain to hell."
Thomas couldn't handle the look in her eyes; he let his gaze drop to the floor. "Don't give up yet. We'll make it to the safe haven, get the cure."
"False hope," she said. "Guess that's better than no hope at all." She squeezed his hand. This time, Thomas squeezed back. And then, impossibly, they slept.
CHAPTER 35
A nightmare woke Thomas—something about Minho and Newt being cornered by a bunch of Cranks past the Gone. Cranks with knives. Angry Cranks. The first spill of blood finally jerked Thomas awake.
He looked around, scared that he'd yelled or said something. The cab of the truck still lay in the darkness of night—he could barely see Brenda, couldn't even tell if her eyes were open. But then she spoke.
"Bad dream?"
Thomas settled himself, closed his eyes. "Yeah. I can't quit worrying about my other friends. I just hate it so bad that we were separated."
"I'm sorry that happened. I really am." She shifted in her seat. "But I seriously don't think you need to worry. Your Glader buddies seemed capable enough, but even if they weren't—Jorge is one tough monkey. He'll get them through the city just fine. Don't waste the stress on your heart. We're the ones you should be worried about."
"You're doing a terrible job of making me feel better."
Brenda laughed. "Sorry—I was smiling when I said that last part, but you couldn't see me, I guess."
Thomas looked at his backlit watch, then said, "We still have a few hours before the sun comes up."
After a short silence,Thomas spoke again. "Tell me a little bit more about what life's like now. They took most of our memories—some of mine came back, but they're sketchy and I don't know if I can trust them. There isn't much there about the outside world, either."
Brenda sighed deeply. "The outside world, huh? Well, it sucks. The temperatures are finally starting to go down, but it'll be forever
before the sea levels do the same. It's been a long time since the flares, but so many people died, Thomas. So many. It's actually kind of amazing how everyone who survived stabilized and civilized so quickly. If it weren't for the stupid Flare, I think the world would pull through in the long run. But if wishes were fishes ... oh, I can't remember. Something my dad used to say."
Thomas could hardly contain the curiosity that now raced inside him. "What did happen? Are there new countries, or just one big government? And how does WICKED fit into it all? Are they the government?"
"There are still countries, but they're more . . . unified. Once the Flare started spreading like crazy, they combined all their forces, technology, resources, whatever to start up WICKED. They set up this crazy elaborate testing system and have tried really hard to have quarantined areas. They slowed the Flare down, but they can't stop it. I think the only hope is to find a cure. Hope you're right that they've done it—but if they have, they sure haven't shared it with the public yet."
"So where are we?" Thomas asked. "Where are we right now?"
"In a truck." When Thomas didn't laugh, she continued. "Sorry, bad time for jokes. Judging by the labels on the food, we think we're in Mexico. Or what used to be Mexico. It makes the most sense. Now it's called the Scorch. Basically any area between the two Tropics—Cancer and Capricorn—is a complete wasteland now. Central and South Americas, most of Africa, the Middle East and southern Asia. Lots of dead lands, lots of dead people. So, welcome to the Scorch. Isn't it nice of them to send us sweet Cranks down here?"
"Man." Thoughts raced through Thomas's mind, mostly related to how he knew he was a part of WICKED—a huge part—and how the Maze and Groups A and B and all the junk they were going through were parts of it too. But he couldn't remember enough for it to make any sense.
THE SCORCH TRIALS tmr-2 Page 17