Somewhere right in the middle, Long Hair stopped and turned to face them, his odd white mane flopping.
"We really want you to join us!" he shouted. "There's gotta be something about you! We'll protect you from the bad Cranks!"
Thomas was glad they didn't know more. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. Play along, pretend to be a special Crank, and maybe he and Brenda would get through this long enough to slip away unnoticed at the right time.
"I'll go and get you a drink!" Long Hair called out. "Enjoy yourselves!" Then he scuttled off, vanishing into the thick, writhing crowd.
Thomas turned to see Blondie and his two friends still there, not dancing at all—just watching. Ponytail caught his attention with a wave of her hand.
"Might as well dance!" she yelled. But she didn't follow her own advice.
Thomas twisted around until he was fully facing Brenda. They needed to talk.
As though she could read his mind, she brought her arms up and wrapped them around his neck, pulling him close until her mouth was right next to his ear, her breath hot and tingling against his sweat.
"How did we get into this piece-of-crap situation?" she asked.
Thomas didn't know what to do but wrap his arms around her back and waist. He felt her heat through her damp clothes. Something stirred inside him, mixed with guilt and longing for Teresa.
"I never could have imagined this an hour ago," he finally said, speaking through her hair. It was the only thing he could think of to say.
The song changed, something dark and haunting. The beat had slowed a bit, the drum somehow deeper. Thomas couldn't make out any words—it was as if the singer were lamenting some horrible tragedy, the voice wailing, high-pitched and sorrowful.
"Maybe we should just stay with these people for a while," Brenda said.
Thomas noticed then that the two of them were dancing, without meaning to or thinking about it. Moving with the music, slowly turning, their bodies pressed tightly together, clasping each other.
"What're you talking about?" he asked, surprised. "You're giving up already?"
"No. Just tired. Maybe we'd be safer here."
He wanted to trust her, felt like he could. But something about all this worried him—had she brought him here on purpose? It seemed a stretch. "Brenda, don't quit on me yet. The only option we have is to get to the safe haven. There's a cure for this."
Brenda shook her head slightly. "It's just so hard to believe it's really true. Hard to hope for it."
"Don't say that." He didn't want to think it, and he didn't want to hear it.
"Why would they have sent all these Cranks here if there was a cure? It just doesn't make any sense."
Thomas pulled back to look at her, worried about the sudden change in attitude. Her eyes were wet with tears.
"You're talking crazy," he said, then paused. He had his own doubts, of course, but he didn't want to discourage her. "The cure is real. We have to . . ." He trailed off, looked over at Blondie, who was still staring at him. The guy probably couldn't hear, but better safe than sorry.
Thomas leaned back in to speak directly in Brenda's ear. "We have to get out of here. You wanna stay with people who pull guns and screwdrivers on you?"
Before she could respond, Long Hair was back, a cup in each hand, the brownish liquid inside sloshing as he got bumped from all directions by the dancers. "Drink up!" he called out.
Something inside Thomas seemed to wake up then. Taking a drink from these strangers suddenly felt like a very, very bad idea. Impossibly, everything about this place and this situation had become even more uncomfortable.
Brenda had already started reaching for a drink, though.
"No!" Thomas yelled before he could stop himself, then raced to cover his mistake. "I mean, no, I really don't think we should be drinking that stuff. We've gone a long time without water—we need that first. We, um, just wanna dance for a while." He tried to act casual, but was cringing on the inside, knowing he sounded like an idiot—especially when Brenda gave him a strange look.
Something small and hard pressed against his side. He didn't have to turn to see what it was: Blondie's pistol.
"I offered you a drink," Long Hair said again, this time any sign of kindness gone from his tattooed face. "It would be very rude to turn such an offer down." He held the cups out again.
Panic swelled in Thomas. Any small doubt had gone—something was wrong with the drinks.
Blondie pressed the gun into him even harder. "I'm gonna count to one," the man said into his ear. "Just one."
Thomas didn't have to think. He reached out and took the cup, poured the liquid in his mouth, swallowed all of it at once. It burned like fire, searing his throat and chest as it went down; he broke into a lurching, wracking cough.
"Now you," Long Hair said, handing the other cup to Brenda.
She looked at Thomas, then took it and drank. It didn't seem to faze her in the least; there was just a slight tightening of her eyes as it went down.
Long Hair took the empty cups back, a huge grin now spread across his face. "That's just fine! Back to dancing ya go!"
Thomas already felt something funny in his gut. A soothing warmth, a calmness, growing and spreading through his body. He took Brenda back into his arms, held her tightly as they swayed to the music. Her mouth was against his neck. Every time her lips bumped against his skin, a wave of pleasure shot through him.
"What was it?" he asked. He felt more than heard the slur in his voice.
"Something not good," she said; he could barely hear her. "Something drugged. It's doing funny things to me."
Yeah. Thomas thought. Something funny. The room had begun to spin around him, far faster than their slow turn should have caused it to. People's faces seemed to stretch when they laughed, their mouths gaping black holes. The music slowed and thickened, the singing voice deepened, grew drawn-out.
Brenda pulled her head away from him, clasped the sides of his face with her hands. She stared at him, though her eyes seemed to jiggle. She looked beautiful. More beautiful than anything he'd ever seen before. Everything around them faded to darkness. His mind was shutting down, he knew it.
"Maybe it's better this way," she said. Her words didn't match her lips. Her face was moving in circles, seemingly detached from her neck. "Maybe we can be with them. Maybe we can be happy until we're past the Gone." She smiled then, a sickening, disturbing smile. "Then you can kill me."
"No, Brenda," he said, but his voice seemed a million miles away, as if it were coming from an endless tunnel. "Don't. . ."
"Kiss me," she said. "Tom, kiss me." Her hands tightened on his face. She started to pull him down toward her.
"No," he said, resisting.
She stopped, a hurt look washing over her face. Her moving, blurring face.
"Why?" she asked.
The darkness almost had him fully now. "You're not. . . her." His voice, distant. A mere echo. "You could never be her." And then she fell away, and his mind did the same.
CHAPTER 38
Thomas awoke to darkness, and it felt as if he had been put into some type of ancient torture device, nails slowly driving into his skull from all directions.
He groaned, a halting, terrible sound that only intensified the pain in his head. He forced himself silent, tried to reach up to rub—
His hands wouldn't move. Something held them down, something sticky pressing against his wrists. Tape. He tried to kick out with his legs, but they were bound, too. The effort sent another wave of pain crashing through his head and body; he went limp, moaning softly. He wondered how long he'd been out.
"Brenda?" he whispered. No response.
A light came on.
Bright and stabbing. He squeezed both eyes shut, then opened one just enough to squint through. Three people stood in front of him, but their faces were in shadow, the light source coming from behind.
"Wakey wakey," a husky voice said. Someone snickered.
"Wan
t some more of that fire juice?"This came from a woman. The same person snickered again.
Thomas finally grew accustomed to the light and opened his eyes fully. He was in a wooden chair, wide gray tape tightly securing his wrists to the armrests and his ankles to the chair legs. Two men and one woman stood in front of him. Blondie. Tall and Ugly. Ponytail.
"Why didn't you just whack me out in the alley?" Thomas asked.
"Whack you?" Blondie responded. His voice hadn't seemed husky before; it sounded like he'd spent the last few hours yelling out on the dance floor. "What do you think we are, some kind of twentieth-century mafia clan? If we wanted to whack you, you'd already be dead, bleeding in the streets."
"We don't want you dead," Ponytail interrupted. "That would spoil the meat. We like to eat our victims while they're still breathing. Eat as much as we can before they bleed to death. You wouldn't believe how juicy and . . . sweet that tastes."
Tall and Ugly laughed, but Thomas couldn't tell whether Ponytail was serious. Either way, it freaked him out.
"She's kidding," Blondie said. "We've only eaten other humans when it's gotten completely desperate. Man meat tastes like pig crap."
Another burst of giggles from Tall and Ugly. Not snickering, not laughing. Giggling. Thomas didn't believe they were serious—he was much more worried about how their minds seemed . . . off.
Blondie smiled for the first time since Thomas had met him. "Joking again. We're not quite that Cranked-out yet. But I do bet people don't taste very good."
Tall and Ugly and Ponytail nodded.
Man, these guys are really starting to lose it. Thomas thought. He heard a muffled groan to his left and looked over. Brenda was in a corner of the room, bound just as he was. But her mouth had been taped shut as well, making him wonder if she'd put up more of a fight before she passed out. It looked like she was only now waking up, and when she noticed the three Cranks, she shifted and wiggled in her chair, moaning through the gag. Her eyes lit with fire.
Blondie pointed at her. His pistol had magically appeared. "Shut up! Shut up or I'll splat your brain on the wall!"
Brenda stopped. Thomas expected her to start whimpering or crying or something. But she didn't, and he immediately felt stupid for thinking it. She'd already shown how tough she was.
Blondie dropped the gun to his side. "Better. Good God, we should've killed her when she first started screaming up there. And biting." He looked at his forearm, where the long arc of a welt shone red.
"She's with him," Ponytail said. "We can't kill her yet."
Blondie pulled a chair from the far wall and took a seat just a few feet in front of Thomas. The others followed suit, looking relieved, as if they'd been waiting hours for permission. Blondie rested the gun on his thigh, its business end pointed straight at Thomas.
"Okay," the man said. "We've got us quite a lot to talk about. I'm not going through the normal bullcrap with you, either. If you mess around or refuse to answer or whatever, I'm gonna shoot you in the leg. Then the other one. Third time, a bullet goes into your girlfriend's face. I'm thinking somewhere right between the eyes. And I bet you can guess what happens the fourth time you piss me off."
Thomas nodded. He wanted to think he was tough, think he could stand up to these Cranks. But common sense won out. He was taped to a chair, no weapons, no allies, nothing. Though honestly, he didn't have anything to hide. He'd answer whatever the guy asked him. Whatever ended up happening, he didn't want any bullets in his leg. And he doubted the guy was bluffing.
"First question," Blondie said. "Who are you and why is your name on signs all over this piece of crap city?"
"My name is Thomas." As soon as it came out, Blondie scrunched up his face in anger. Thomas realized his stupid mistake and hurried along. "You already knew that. Well, how I got here is a really weird story and I doubt you'll believe it. But I swear I'm telling the truth."
"Didn't you come on a Berg like the rest of us?" Ponytail asked.
"Berg?" Thomas didn't know what that meant, but he just shook his head and went on. "No. We came out of some underground tunnel about thirty miles or so to the south. Before that we went through something called a Flat Trans. Before that—"
"Hold it hold it hold it," Blondie said, holding up a hand. "A Flat Trans? I'd shoot you right now, but there's no way you just made that up."
Thomas wrinkled his brow in confusion "Why?"
"You'd be stupid to try getting away with an obvious lie like that. You came through a Flat Trans?" The man's surprise was obvious.
Thomas glanced at the other Cranks, both of whom had similar looks of shock on their faces. "Yeah. Why's that so hard to believe?"
"Do you have any idea how expensive Flat Transportation is? Before the flares, it had just been revealed to the public. Only governments and billionaires can afford to use it."
Thomas shrugged. "Well, I know they have a lot of money, and that's what the guy called it. A Flat Trans. Kind of a gray wall that tingles like ice when you walk through it."
"What guy?" Ponytail asked.
Thomas had barely started and already his mind was jumbled. How could you tell a story like this? "I think he was from WICKED. They're running us through some kind of experiment or test. I don't really know everything. We . . . had our memories wiped out. Some of mine came back, but not a whole lot."
Blondie didn't react for a second, just sat there staring at him. Almost through him, at the wall behind. Finally, he said, "I was a lawyer. Back before the flares and this disease ruined everything. I know when someone's lying. I was very, very good at my job."
Oddly, Thomas relaxed. "Then you know I'm not—"
"Yeah, I know. I wanna hear the whole thing. Start talking."
Thomas did. He couldn't say why, but it seemed okay. His instincts told him these Cranks were just like everybody else—sent here to live out their last horrible years succumbing to the Flare. They were just trying to find an advantage, find a way out, like anybody would. And meeting a guy who had special signs about him all over the city was an excellent first step. If Thomas had been in their shoes, he'd probably have been doing the same thing. Without the gun and bindings, hopefully.
He'd told most of the story to Brenda just the day before, and related it much the same way now. The Maze, the escape, the dorms. Being given the mission to cross the Scorch. He took special care to make it sound very important, stressing the part about the cure waiting at the end. Since they'd lost the chance to have Jorge's help getting through the city, maybe he could start over with these people. He also expressed his concern over the other Gladers, but when he asked if they'd seen them—or a big group of girls—the answer was no.
Once again, he didn't talk much about Teresa. He just didn't want to take any chances of endangering her somehow, though he had no idea how talking about her might do that. He also lied a bit about Brenda. Well, he never really lied directly. He just kind of made it sound like she'd been with him from the beginning.
When he finished, ending at the part where they'd met the three people in front of him in the alley, he took a deep breath and adjusted himself in the chair. "Can you please take this tape off me now?
A flick of Tall and Ugly's hand caught his attention and he looked to see that a very sharp, shiny knife had appeared there. "What do you think?" he asked Blondie.
"Sure, why not." He'd held a stoic face throughout the tale, giving no hint yet as to whether he believed the story.
Tall and Ugly shrugged and got to his feet, walked over to Thomas. He was just leaning over, knife outstretched, when a commotion broke out above. Hard thumps on the ceiling, followed by a couple of screams. Then it sounded like a hundred people running. Frantic footsteps, jumping, more thumps. More screams.
"Another group must've found us," Blondie said, his face suddenly pale. He stood, motioned for the other two to follow him. A few seconds later they were gone, vanishing up a set of stairs into the shadows. A door opened and closed. The chaos above conti
nued.
All of this combined to scare Thomas nearly out of his wits. He looked over at Brenda, who sat perfectly still, listening. Her eyes finally met his gaze. Still gagged, she could only raise her eyebrows.
He didn't like their odds being left like this, taped to chairs. There was no way any of the Cranks he'd met that night had a chance against ones like Mr. Nose. "What if a bunch of full-gone Cranks are up there?" he asked.
Brenda mumbled something through the tape.
Thomas strained every muscle and started jumping his chair in tiny steps toward where she sat. He'd made it about three feet when the sounds of fighting and rumbling suddenly stopped. He froze, looked up at the ceiling.
Nothing for several seconds. Then a set of footsteps, maybe two, shuffling across the floor above. A loud thump. Another loud thump. Then another. Thomas imagined bodies being thrown on the ground.
The door at the top of the stairs opened.
Then footsteps, hard and heavy, running down. It was all in shadow,and a cold panic flooded Thomas's body as he waited to see who came down.
Finally, someone stepped into the light.
Minho. Dirty and bloody, burn marks on his face. Knives in both hands. Minho.
"You guys look comfy," he said.
CHAPTER 39
Despite everything he'd been through, Thomas couldn't remember the last time he'd been at such a loss for words. "What. . . how . . ." He stammered, trying to get something out.
Minho smiled, a very welcome sight. Especially considering how horrible the guy looked. "We'd just found you. Did you think we were gonna let these bunch of shuck-faces do anything to you? You owe me. Big-time." He walked over and started cutting the tape.
"What do you mean you'd just found us?"Thomas was so happy he wanted to giggle like an idiot. Not only were they rescued, his friends were alive. They were alive!
Minho kept cutting. "Jorge's been leading us through the city— avoiding Cranks, finding food." He finished up with Thomas and went to free Brenda, still talking over his shoulder. "Yesterday morning, we kind of spread out, spying here and there. Frypan was peeking around the corner into that alley up there just as those three shanks pulled a gun on you. He came back, we got mad, started planning our ambush. Most of those shucks were wasted or asleep."
THE SCORCH TRIALS tmr-2 Page 19