Brenda pulled up and turned right, grabbing Thomas’s arm to drag him along. He stumbled the first few steps, got his feet under him, pushed himself back to full speed. The angry shouts and catcalls of the Cranks faded a bit.
Then Brenda turned left. Then right again. After this second turn she flicked off the flashlight but didn’t slow.
“What’re you doing?” Thomas asked. He held a hand out in front of him, sure he was going to smack into a wall at any second.
A shush was the only response he got. He wondered about how much he was trusting Brenda. He’d put his life in her hands. But he didn’t see what other options he had, especially now.
She pulled up again a few seconds later, stopping completely. They stood in darkness, catching their breath. The Cranks were distant but still loud enough, coming closer.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Right about … here.”
“What?” he asked.
“Just follow me into this room. There’s a perfect hiding spot in here—I found it while exploring once. There’s no way they’ll stumble on it. Come on.”
Her hand tightened around his, pulled him to the right. He sensed that they were passing through a narrow door; then Brenda pulled him down to the floor.
“There’s an old table here,” she said. “Can you feel it?”
She pushed his hand out until he felt hard, smooth wood.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Just watch your head. We’re gonna crawl under it and then through a small notch in the wall that leads to a hidden compartment. Who knows what it’s for, but no way those Cranks’ll find it. Even if they have a light, which I doubt.”
Thomas had to wonder how they got around without one, but he saved the question for later—Brenda was already on the move, and he didn’t want to lose her. Staying close, his fingers brushing her foot, he followed her as she scooted on her hands and knees under the table and toward the wall. Then they crawled through a small square opening into the long, narrow compartment. Thomas felt around, patting the surfaces to get a sense of where he was. The ceiling was only about two feet off the ground, so he continued to drag himself farther into the crevice.
Brenda lay with her back against the far wall of the hideout by the time Thomas awkwardly got himself in position. They had no choice but to lie stretched out, on their sides. It was a squeeze, but he fit, facing the same direction she did, his back pressed against her front. He felt her breath on his neck.
“This is real comfy,” he whispered.
“Just be quiet.”
Thomas scooted up a little so his head could rest against the wall; then he relaxed. He settled in, taking deep, slow breaths and listening for any sign of the Cranks.
At first the silence was so deep it had a buzz to it, a ringing in his ears. But then came the first traces of Crank noises. Coughing, random shouts, lunatic giggles. They came closer by the second, and Thomas felt a moment of panic, worried that they’d been stupid to trap themselves like this. But then he thought about it. The odds of the Cranks finding the hidden cubbyhole were slim, especially in the darkness. They’d move on, hopefully going far away. Maybe even forgetting about him and Brenda altogether. That was better than a prolonged chase.
And if worse came to worst, he and Brenda could easily defend themselves through the tiny opening into the compartment. Maybe.
The Cranks were close now; Thomas had to fight the urge to hold his breath. All they needed was for an unexpected gasp for oxygen to give them away. Despite the darkness, he closed his eyes to concentrate on listening.
The swishes of shuffling feet. Grunts and heavy breathing. Someone banged on a wall, a series of deadened thumps against the concrete. Arguments broke out, frantic exchanges of gibberish. He heard a “This way!” and a “That way!” More coughing. One of them gagged and spit violently, like he was trying to rid himself of an organ or two. A woman laughed, so full of madness the sound made Thomas shudder.
Brenda found his hand, squeezed it. Once again, Thomas felt a ridiculous surge of guilt, like he was cheating on Teresa. He couldn’t help that this girl was so touchy-feely. And what a stupid thing to think when you have—
A Crank entered the room right outside their compartment. Then another. Thomas heard their wheezy intakes of breath, the scrapes of their feet against the floor. Another entered, those footsteps a long slide and thump, long slide and thump. Thomas thought it might be the first man they’d seen, the only one who’d spoken to them—the one with the arm and leg shaking and useless.
“Little booooooy,” the man said, a taunting and creepy call. Definitely him—Thomas couldn’t forget that voice. “Little girrrrrrrrl. Come out come out make a sound make a sound. I want your noses.”
“Nothin’ in here,” a woman spat. “Nothin’ but an old table.”
The creak of wood scraping against the floor sliced through the air, then ended abruptly.
“Maybe they’re hiding their noses under it,” the man responded. “Maybe they’re still attached to their sweet little pretty faces.”
Thomas shrank back against Brenda when he heard a hand or shoe scruff along the floor just outside the entrance to their little hiding place. Just a foot or two away.
“Nothin’ down there!” the woman said again.
Thomas heard her move away. He realized that his whole body had tensed into a pack of taut wires; he forced himself to relax, still careful to control his breathing.
More shuffling of feet. Then a haunting set of whispers, as if the trio had met in the middle of the room to strategize. Were their minds still sound enough to do such a thing? Thomas wondered. He strained to hear, to catch any words, but the harsh puffs of speech remained indecipherable.
“No!” one of them shouted. A man, but Thomas couldn’t tell if it was the man. “No! No no no no no no no no.” The words quieted into a murmured stutter.
The woman cut him off with her own chant. “Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes.”
“Shut up!” the leader said. Definitely the leader. “Shut up shut up shut up!”
Thomas felt cold inside, though sweat was beading on his skin. He didn’t know if this exchange had any meaning whatsoever or was just more evidence of madness.
“I’m leaving,” the woman said, her words broken by a sob. She sounded like a child left out of a game.
“Me too, me too.” This from the other man.
“Shut up shut up shut up shut up!” the leader yelled, this time much louder. “Go away go away go away!”
The sudden repetition of words creeped Thomas out. Like some control over language had snapped in their brains.
Brenda was squeezing his hand so hard it hurt. Her breath was cool against the sweat on his neck.
Shuffles of feet and swishing of clothes outside. Were they leaving?
The sounds decreased sharply in volume when they entered the hallway, tunnel, whatever. The other Cranks in their party seemed to have left already. Soon it became silent all over again. Thomas only heard the faint sounds of his and Brenda’s breath.
They waited in the darkness, lying flat on the hard ground, facing the small doorway, pressed together, sweating. The silence stretched out, turned back into the buzz of absent sound. Thomas kept listening, knowing they had to be absolutely sure. As much as he wanted to leave that little compartment, as uncomfortable as it was, they had to wait.
Several minutes passed. Several more. Nothing but silence and darkness.
“I think they’re gone,” Brenda finally whispered. She flicked on her flashlight.
“Hello, noses!” a hideous voice yelled from the room.
Then a bloody hand reached through the doorway and grabbed Thomas by the shirt.
CHAPTER 33
Thomas shrieked, started swatting at the scarred and bruised hand. His eyes were still adjusting to the brightness of Brenda’s flashlight; he squinted to see the firm grip the man had on his shirt. The Crank pulled, slamming Thomas’s body against the wall. His face
smashed into the hard concrete and a burst of pain exploded around his nose. He felt blood trickling down.
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 snowcapped 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.
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