" Man?" Brenda asked. "That's the best you can come up with?"
"I have too many questions—I can't seem to latch on to just one to ask."
"Do you know about the numbing agent?"
Thomas looked over at her, wished he could make out more of her face. "I think Jorge said something about that. What is it?"
"You know how the world is. New disease, new drugs. Even if it doesn't do jack to the illness itself, they still come up with stuff."
"What does it do? Do you have any?"
"Ha!" Brenda shouted it with contempt. "You think they'd give us any? Only the important people, the rich people can get their hands on that junk. They call it the Bliss. Numbs your emotions, numbs your brain processes, slows you down to a drunken stupor so you don't feel much. Keeps the Flare at bay because the virus thrives in your brain. Eats at it, destroys it. If there's not a lot of activity, the virus weakens."
Thomas folded his arms. There was something very important here, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "So . . . it's not a cure? Even though it slows the virus down?"
"Not even close. Just delays the inevitable. The Flare always wins in the end. You lose any chance of being rational, having common sense, having compassion. You lose your humanity."
Thomas was quiet. Maybe more strongly than ever before, he felt that a memory—an important one—was trying to squeeze its way through the cracks in the wall blocking him from his past. The Flare. The brain. Going mad. The numbing agent, the Bliss. WICKED. The trials. What Rat Man had said, that their responses to the Variables were what this was all about.
"Did you fall asleep?" Brenda asked him after several minutes of silence.
"No. Just too much information." He felt dimly alarmed at what she had said, but he still couldn't put anything together. "It's hard to process it all."
"Well, I'll shut up, then." She turned away, rested her head against the door. "Push it out of your mind. Won't do you any good. You need rest.
"Uh-huh," Thomas mumbled, frustrated at having so many clues but no real answers. But Brenda was right—he could definitely use a good night's sleep. He got comfortable and did his best, but it took a long time before he finally dozed off. And dreamed.
He's older again, probably fourteen now. He and Teresa are kneeling on the ground, their ears pressed to the crack of a door, listening. Eavesdropping. A man and a woman are talking inside, and Thomas can hear them well enough.
The man first. "Did you get the additions to the Variables list?"
"Last night," the woman responds. "I like what Trent added for the end of the Maze Trials. Brutal, but we need it to happen. Should create some interesting patterns."
"Absolutely. Same with the betrayal scenario, if that ever has to play out."
The woman makes a noise that must be a laugh but that sounds strained and humorless. "Yeah, I had the same thought. I mean, good Lord, how much can these kids take before they'll go crazy on their own?"
"Not just that, it's risky. What if he dies? We all agree that by then he'll surely be one of the top Candidates." "He won't. We won't let him."
"Still. We're not God. He could die."
There's a long pause. Then the man says, "Maybe it won't come to that. But I doubt it. The Psychs say it will stimulate a lot of the patterns we need."
"Well, there's a lot of emotion involved with something like that," the woman answers. "And according to Trent, some of the hardest patterns to create. I think the plan for those Variables is just about the only thing that will work."
"You really think the Trials are going to work?" the man asks. "Seriously, the scale and logistics of this thing are unbelievable. Think of how much could go wrong!"
"Could," you're right. But what's the alternative? Try it, and if it fails, we'll just be in the same spot as if we'd tried nothing."
"I guess."
Teresa tugs on Thomas's shirt; he looks to see her pointing back down the hall. Time to go. He nods, but leans back in to see if he can catch one last phrase or two. He does. It's the woman.
"Too bad we'll never see the end of the Trials."
"I know," the man answers. "But the future will thank us."
The first purple traces of dawn were what woke up Thomas the second time. He couldn't remember stirring once in his sleep since his middle-of-the-night talk with Brenda—not even after the dream.
The dream. It had been the strangest one yet, lots of things said that were already fading, too difficult to grasp and fit into the pieces of his past that were slowly, very slowly, beginning to come together again. He allowed himself to feel a little hope that maybe he wasn't in on as much to do with the Trials as he'd begun to think. Though he hadn't understood much in the dream, the fact that he and Teresa had been spying meant they weren't involved in every aspect of the Trials.
But what could the purpose of all this be? Why would the future thank those people?
He rubbed his eyes and stretched, then looked over at Brenda—her eyes still closed, her chest moving with slow and even breaths, her mouth slightly open. Though his body felt even stiffer than the day before, the restful slumber had done wonders for his spirit. He felt refreshed. Invigorated. Somewhat perplexed and brain-dead over his memory-dream and all the things Brenda had told him about, but invigorated all the same.
He stretched again and was just letting out a long yawn when he saw something on the wall of the alley. A large metal plaque, riveted to die wall. A sign that looked very familiar.
He pushed the door open and stumbled out onto the street and over to it. It was nearly identical to the sign in the Maze that had said
WORLD IN CATASTROPHE-KILLZONE EXPERIMENT DEPARTMENT.
Same dull metal, same lettering. Except this one said something very different. And he stared at it for at least five straight minutes before he moved an inch.
It said:
THOMAS, YOU'RE THE REAL LEADER
CHAPTER 36
Thomas might've gone on looking at the plaque all day if Brenda hadn't come out of the truck.
"I was waiting for the right time to tell you," she finally said, completely snapping him out of his daze.
He jerked his head to look at her. "What? What're you talking about?"
She didn't return his gaze, just kept staring at the sign. "Ever since I found out what your name was. Same with Jorge. It's probably why he decided to take his chances and go with you through the city and to this safe haven of yours."
"Brenda, what are you talking about?" Thomas repeated.
She finally met his eyes. "These signs are all over the city. All of them say the same thing. Exactly the same thing."
Thomas felt a weakening in his knees. He turned around and sank to the ground, resting his back against the wall. "How . . . how is this even possible? I mean, it looks like it's been there for a while. . . ." He didn't really know what else to say.
"Don't know," Brenda answered, joining him on the ground. "None of us knew what it meant. But when you guys showed up and you told us your name . . . well, we figured it wasn't a coincidence."
Thomas gave her a hard stare, anger fighting its way up inside him. "Why didn't you tell me about this? You'll hold my hand, tell me about your dad being killed, but not this?"
"I didn't tell you because I was worried about how you'd react. I figured you'd probably run off looking for the signs, forget all about me."
Thomas sighed. He was sick of all of it. He let the anger go and blew out a long breath." I guess it's just another part of this whole nightmare that makes no sense."
Brenda twisted to look up at the sign. "How could you not know what it means? Could it be any simpler? You're supposed to be the leader, take over. I'll help you, earn my way in. Earn a spot at the safe haven."
Thomas laughed. "Here I am in a city full of whacked-in-the-brain Cranks, there's a group of girls who want to kill me, and I'm supposed to worry about who the real leader of my group is? It's ridiculous."
Brenda's face wri
nkled in confusion. "Girls who want to kill you? What're you talking about?"
Thomas didn't respond, wondering if he really should tell her the whole story from beginning to end. Wondering if he had the heart to go over it all again.
"Well?" she pressed.
Deciding that it would be nice to get it off his chest, and feeling like she'd gained his trust, he caved and told her everything. He'd given her hints and small parts, but now he took the time for details. About the Maze, about being rescued, about waking up and finding that it had all gone back to crappy. About Aris and Group B. He didn't linger on Teresa, but he could tell she noticed something when he mentioned her. Maybe in his eyes.
"So do you and this Teresa girl got a little somethin' going?" she asked when he was done.
Thomas didn't know how to answer. Did they have a little something? They were close, they were friends, he knew that much. Though he'd only gotten back some of his memories, he sensed that he and she had maybe even been more than friends before the Maze. During that awful time when they'd actually helped design the stupid thing.
And then there'd been that kiss. . .
"Tom?" Brenda asked.
He looked at her sharply. "Don't call me that."
"Huh?" she asked, obviously startled, maybe even hurt. "Why?"
"Just. . . don't." He felt terrible for saying it, but couldn't take it back. That was what Teresa called him.
"Fine. Shall I call you Mr. Thomas? Or maybe King Thomas? Or better yet, just Your Majesty?"
Thomas sighed. "I'm sorry. Call me whatever."
Brenda let out a sarcastic laugh and then they both grew silent.
Thomas and Brenda sat, backs against the wall, and the minutes stretched on. It was almost a peaceful quiet until Thomas heard an odd thumping sound that alarmed him.
"Do you hear that?" he asked, now fully at attention.
Brenda had stilled, head cocked to the side as she listened intently. "Yeah. Sounds like someone bangin' on a drum."
"I guess the fun and games are over." He stood up, then helped Brenda do the same. "What do you think it is?"
"Chances are it's not good."
"But what if it's our friends?"
The low bump-bump-bump suddenly seemed to come from everywhere at once, the echoes bouncing back and forth between the alley walls. But after a long few seconds, Thomas grew certain the sound was coming from a corner of the dead end. Despite the risk, he ran in that direction to get a look.
"What're you doing!" Brenda snapped at him, but when he ignored her, she followed.
At the very end of the alley, Thomas reached a wall of cracked and faded bricks, where four stairs led down to a scratched and worn wooden door. Just above the door, there was a tiny rectangle of a window, its glass missing. One broken shard still hung at the top, like a lagged tooth.
Thomas could hear music playing, much louder now. It was intense and fast, the bass powerful, drums banging and guitars screaming. Mixed in were the sounds of people laughing and shouting and singing along. And none of it sounded very . . . sane. There was something creepy and disturbing about it.
It looked like the Cranks didn't just look for peoples' noses to bite off, and it gave Thomas a very bad feeling—this noise had nothing to do with his friends.
"We better get out of here," Thomas said.
"Ya think?" Brenda responded, standing right at his shoulder.
"Come on." Thomas turned to go just as she did, but they both froze. Three people had appeared in the alley while they'd been distracted. Two men and one woman, now standing only a few feet away.
Thomas's stomach dropped as he quickly observed the new arrivals. Their clothes were tattered, their hair messy, their faces dirty. But when he looked closer he saw that they didn't have any noticeable injuries, and their eyes showed glints of intelligence. Cranks, but not full-gone Cranks.
"Hi there," the woman said. She had long red hair pulled into a ponytail. Her shirt was cut so low that Thomas had to force himself to keep his eyes focused on hers. "Come to join our party? Lots of dancing. Lots of lovin'. Lots of booze."
There was an edge to her voice that made Thomas nervous. He didn't know what it meant, but this lady wasn't being nice. She was mocking them.
"Um, no thanks," Thomas said. "We, uh, we were just—" Brenda cut in. "Just trying to find our friends. We're new here, just getting settled."
"Welcome to WICKED's very own Crankland."This was one of the men, a tall, ugly guy with greasy hair. "Don't worry, most of 'em down there"—he nodded toward the stairs—"are half gone at worst. You might get an elbow in the face, maybe kicked in the 'nads. But no one's gonna try to eat you."
"Nads?" Brenda repeated. "Excuse me?"
The man pointed at Thomas. "I was talkin' to the boy. Things might get a little worse for you if you don't stick close to us. You being female and all."
This whole conversation was making Thomas ill. "Sounds like fun. But we gotta go. Find our friends. Maybe we'll come back."
The other man stepped forward. This one was short but handsome, with blond hair in a crew cut. "You two are nothin' but kids. Time you got some lessons on life. Time you had some fun. We're officially inviting you to the party." He pronounced each word of the last sentence carefully, and with no kindness whatsoever.
"Thanks, but no thanks," Brenda said.
Blondie pulled a gun from a pocket of his long jacket. It was a pistol, silver but grimy and dull. Still, it looked as menacing and deadly as anything Thomas had ever seen.
"I don't think you understood me," the man said. "You're invited to our party. That's not something you turn down."
Tall and Ugly pulled out a knife. Ponytail pulled out a screwdriver, its tip black with what had to be old blood.
"What do you say?" Blondie asked. "Would you like to come to our party?"
Thomas looked at Brenda, but she didn't look back. Her eyes were glued to the blond man, and her face said she was about to do something really stupid.
"Okay,"Thomas said quickly. "We'll go. Let's do it."
Brenda snapped her head around. "What?"
"He has a gun. He has a knife. She's got a shuck screwdriver! I'm not in the mood to have an eyeball smashed into my skull."
"Looks like your boyfriend's not stupid," Blondie said."Now let's go have some fun." He pointed his pistol at the stairs and smiled. "Feel free to lead the way."
Brenda was clearly angry, but her eyes also revealed that she knew they had no other choice. "Fine."
Blondie smiled again; the expression would've looked natural on a snake. "That's the spirit. Fine and dandy, nothing to worry about."
"No one's gonna hurt you," Tall and Ugly added. "Unless you get difficult. Unless you act like brats. By the end of the party, you'll wanna join our group. Trust me on that."
Thomas had to fight to keep the panic from pounding through him. "Let's just go," he said to Blondie.
"Waiting on you."The man pointed at the stairs with his gun again.
Thomas reached out and grabbed Brenda's hand, pulled her close to him. "Let's go to the party, sweetheart." He put as much sarcasm into it as he could. "This'll be so much fun!"
"That's very nice," Ponytail said. "I get weepy when I see two people in love." She feigned wiping tears from her cheeks.
With Brenda by his side, Thomas turned toward the stairs, aware the whole time of the gun pointed at his back. They made their way down the steps to the old slab of a door, the space just wide enough for them to go side by side. When they reached the bottom, Thomas didn't see a handle. Raising his eyebrows, he looked back at Blondie, who stood two steps behind them.
"Gotta do the special knock," the man said. "Three slow fist thumps, three fast ones, then two knuckle taps."
Thomas hated these people. He hated the way they spoke so calmly and said mostly nice words, all of them full of mockery. In a way these Cranks were worse than the nose-missing guy he'd stabbed the day before—at least with him they'd known exactly wha
t they were dealing with.
"Do it," Brenda whispered.
Thomas balled his hand into a fist and did the slow fist thumps, then the fast ones. Then he rapped the wood twice with his knuckles. The door opened immediately, the pounding music escaping like a blasting wind.
The guy who greeted them was huge, ears and face pierced several times, tattoos all over. His hair was long and white, reaching well past his shoulders. But Thomas barely had time to register this before the man spoke.
"Hey, Thomas. We've been waiting for you."
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.
THE SCORCH TRIALS tmr-2 Page 18