Текст книги "The Death Cure"

Автор книги: James Dasher

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

CHAPTER 31

Thomas’s heart sank. There was something sadistic in Red Shirt’s eyes, and he looked away, focused back on the infected man just as the blue gel reached his feet and solidified around them. The guy now lay completely motionless, wrapped in the hard, plasticky coating. The woman with the gel gun stood up, and Thomas saw that it was now nothing but an empty bag. She folded it up and stuffed it into a pocket in her green coverall.

“Let’s get him out of here,” she said.

As the four workers reached down and lifted up the infected man, Thomas’s eyes flickered back to Red Shirt, who was watching the others carry off their captive. What in the world had he meant that Thomas would be going with him? Where? Why? If the man hadn’t had a gun, Thomas would have run.

When the others had made their way out the door, Minho appeared again. He was just about to step inside when Red Shirt pulled out his weapon.

“Stop right there!” the man yelled. “Get out!”

“But we’re with him.” Minho pointed to Thomas. “And we need to go.”

“This one’s not going anywhere.” He paused, as if something had just occurred to him. He looked at Thomas, then back at Minho. “Wait a second. Are you guys Munies, too?”

Panic flared in Thomas, but Minho was fast. He didn’t hesitate, just bolted.

“Stop!” Red Shirt yelled, sprinting for the doorway.

Thomas lurched over to the window. He saw Minho, Brenda, and Jorge just as they made it across the street and disappeared around a corner. Red Shirt had stopped right outside the coffee shop; he gave up on the others and came back in. With his gun pointed at Thomas.

“I ought to shoot you in the neck and watch you bleed out for what your little friend just did. Better thank God above that Munies are so valuable, or I’d do it just to make myself feel better. Been a crappy day.”

Thomas couldn’t believe that after all he’d been through, he was stuck in such a stupid situation. He wasn’t scared, only frustrated. “Well, it hasn’t been so great for me, either,” he muttered.

“You’ll bring me a good hunk of cash. That’s all there is to it. And just for the record, I don’t like you. I can tell by just lookin’ at ya.”

Thomas smiled. “Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual.”

“You’re a funny guy. Just full of laughs. We’ll see how you feel by the time the sun goes down tonight. Come on.” He gestured to the door with his weapon. “And trust me, I’m out of patience. Try anything and I’ll shoot you in the back of the head and tell the police that you were acting like an infected and ran. Zero-tolerance policy. Won’t even get questioned about it. Not so much as a raised eyebrow.”

Thomas stood there, sorting through his options. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He’d escaped WICKED only to be held at gunpoint by an average everyday city worker.

“Don’t make me say it again,” Red Shirt warned.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out in time. And I’ll be one rich sucker. Now get moving.”

Thomas had been shot twice already and knew how badly it hurt. If he didn’t want to go through it again, it looked like going with the guy was his only option. He glared at the man, then walked toward the door. When he reached it, he stopped.

“Which way?” Thomas asked.

“Go left. We’ll walk nice and easy for about three blocks, then another left. I’ve got a car waiting for us there. Do I need to warn you again what’ll happen if you try something?”

“You’ll shoot an unarmed kid in the back of the head. Got it, crystal clear.”

“Oh, man, I hate you Munies. Start walking.” He pressed the tip of the gun into Thomas’s spine and Thomas headed down the street.

They made it to the end of the third block and turned left without saying a word to each other. The air was stifling, and sweat had moistened every last inch of Thomas’s body. When he reached up to wipe his forehead, Red Shirt whacked him in the head with the butt of the gun.

“Don’t do that,” the man said. “I might get nervous and put a hole in your brain.”

It took every ounce of Thomas’s willpower to stay silent.

The street was abandoned and there was trash everywhere. Posters—some warning about the Flare, others images of Chancellor Paige—covered the lower portion of the buildings’ walls, and everything was spray-painted, layer on top of layer, by the looks of it. When they reached an intersection and had to stop to wait for a few passing cars, Thomas focused on an unmarked poster right next to him—a new one, he guessed from its lack of graffiti. He read the words of warning.

Public Service Announcement

!!! Stop the Spread of the Flare !!!

Help stop the spread of the Flare. Know the symptoms before you infect your neighbors and loved ones.

The Flare is the virus Flarevirus (VC321xb47), a highly contagious, manmade infectious disease that was accidentally released during the chaos of the sun flare catastrophe. The Flare causes a progressive, degenerative illness of the brain, resulting in uncontrolled movements, emotional disturbances and mental deterioration. The result has been the Flare pandemic.

Scientists are conducting late-stage clinical trials, but there is no standard treatment for the Flare at this time. The virus is generally fatal, and can be spread through the air.

At this time citizens must unite to prevent further spread of this pandemic. By learning how to recognize yourself and others as Viral Contagion Threats (VCTs) you will take the first step in the battle against the Flare.^*

*Any suspicious subjects should be reported to the authorities immediately.

It went on to talk about a five– to seven-day incubation period and the symptoms—how such things as irritability and trouble with balance were early warning signs, followed by dementia, paranoia and severe aggression later on. Thomas had witnessed them all firsthand, having crossed paths with Cranks on more than one occasion.

Red Shirt gave Thomas a slight shove and they continued walking. As they made their way, Thomas couldn’t stop thinking about the poster’s dire message. The part about the Flare’s being manmade not only haunted him, it tickled something in his brain, a memory he couldn’t quite latch on to. Even though the sign didn’t say it outright, he knew there was something else, and for the first time in a while he wished he could access the past for just a moment.

“It’s right up here.”

Red Shirt’s voice pulled him back to the present. A small white car waited at the end of the block, just a few dozen feet down the street. Thomas desperately tried to think of a way out of this—if he got in that vehicle it might all be over. But could he really risk getting shot?

“You’re going to slide nice and easy into the backseat,” Red Shirt said. “I’ve got some cuffs in there, and I’m going to watch you put them on yourself. You think you can handle that without doing something stupid?”

Thomas didn’t respond. He hoped desperately that Minho and the others were close, making a plan. He needed someone or something to distract his captor.

They reached the car and Red Shirt pulled out a key card and pressed it to the front passenger window. The locks clicked and he opened the back door, his gun trained on Thomas the whole time.

“Get in. Easy does it.”

Thomas hesitated, searching the streets for anyone, anything. The area was deserted, but out of the corner of his eye he noticed movement. A hovering machine almost as large as a car. He spun to look and the cop machine swerved onto the street two blocks down and started heading their way. A humming sound grew louder as it approached.

“I said get in,” Red Shirt repeated. “The cuffs are in the console in the middle.”

“One of those cop machine things is coming,” Thomas said.

“Yeah, so what? It’s just patrolling, sees this stuff all the time. The people controlling it are on my side, not yours. Which is tough luck for you, big fella.”

Thomas sighed—it had been worth a shot. Where were his friends? He scanned the area one last time, then stepped up to the open door and slipped inside. Just as he looked up at Red Shirt the air filled with the sound of heavy gunfire. Then Red Shirt was stumbling backward, jerking and twitching. Bullets tore into his chest, sparks flying as they hit the metal mask. He dropped his gun, and his mask fell off as he slammed into the wall of the closest building. Thomas watched in stunned horror as the man slumped onto his side.

Then it stopped. Thomas was frozen, wondering if he’d be shot next. He heard the steady hum of the machine as it hovered just outside his open door, and he realized that it had been the source of the attack. The things were unmanned but heavily armed. A familiar voice rang out from a speaker on its roof.

“Get out of the car, Thomas.”

Thomas shivered. He would know that voice anywhere.

It was Janson. The Rat Man.

CHAPTER 32

Thomas couldn’t have been more surprised. He hesitated at first but quickly scooted out of the car. The cop machine hovered only a few feet away. A panel had opened on its side, revealing a screen from which Janson’s face stared back at him.

Relief flooded him. It was Rat Man, but he wasn’t in the cop machine—there was just a video feed of his image. Thomas could only assume that the man could see him as well. “What happened?” he asked, still stunned. He tried to avert his eyes from the man now lying on the ground. “How’d you find me?”

Janson was as grim-faced as ever. “It took a considerable amount of effort and luck, trust me. And you’re welcome. I just saved you from this bounty hunter.”

Thomas let out a laugh. “You’re the ones paying them anyway. What do you want?”

“Thomas, I’m going to be frank with you. The only reason we haven’t come to Denver to retrieve you is because the infection rate is astronomical. This was our safest means of contacting you. I’m urging you to bring yourself in and complete the testing.”

Thomas wanted to scream at the man. Why would he return to WICKED? But the Red Shirt’s attack—his body only feet away—was too clear in his mind. He had to play this right. “Why would I come back?”

Janson’s expression was blank. “We’ve been using our data to select a Final Candidate, and you’re the one. We need you, Thomas. It all rests on your shoulders.”

Not in a million years, Thomas thought. But saying that wouldn’t get rid of the Rat Man. Instead he cocked his head and pretended to consider, then said, “I’ll think about it.”

“I trust you will.” The Rat Man paused. “There’s something I feel obligated to tell you. Mainly because I think it will influence your decision. Make you realize that you have to do what we’re asking.”

Thomas had leaned back against the rounded hood of the car—the whole ordeal had exhausted him emotionally and physically. “What?”

The Rat Man’s face screwed up to look even rattier, as if he reveled in telling bad news. “It’s about your friend, Newt. I’m afraid he’s in a tremendous amount of trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” Thomas asked, his stomach dropping.

“I know you’re well aware that he has the Flare, and that you’ve already seen some of its effects taking place.”

Thomas nodded, suddenly remembering the note in his pocket. “Yeah.”

“Well, he seems to be succumbing to it rapidly. The fact that you were already seeing symptoms of anger and loss of concentration before you left means he’ll be spiraling into madness very soon.”

Thomas felt a fist clutch his heart. He’d accepted that Newt wasn’t immune, but he’d thought it would take weeks, or months even, before it got really bad. Yet Janson had made sense—that the stress of everything seemed to be making Newt fall fast. And they’d left him all alone outside the city.

“You could very well save him,” Janson said quietly.

“You enjoying this?” Thomas asked. “Because sometimes it seems like you enjoy it a lot.”

Janson shook his head. “I’m just doing my job, Thomas. I want this cure more than anyone else. Except for you, maybe, before we took away your memories.”

“Just go,” Thomas said.

“I hope you’ll come,” Janson replied. “You have a chance to do great things. I’m sorry for our differences. But Thomas, you need to hurry. Time is running out.”

“I’ll think about it.” Thomas forced himself to say it again. It made him sick to pacify the Rat Man, but it was the only thing he could think to say to buy himself time. And there was the possibility that if he didn’t stall Janson, he could end up like Red Shirt—shot down by this cop machine hovering a few feet in front of him.

Janson smiled. “That’s all I can ask for. I hope to see you here.”

The screen blacked out and the panel closed; then the cop machine rose into the air and flew away, its hum slowly fading. Thomas watched until it disappeared around a corner. When it was gone, his eyes fell upon the dead man. He quickly looked away—that was the last thing he wanted to see.

“There he is!”

He whipped his head around to see Minho running down the sidewalk toward him, Brenda and Jorge close behind. Thomas had never been so happy to see anyone.

Minho pulled up short when he saw Red Shirt in a heap on the ground. “Holy … What happened to him?” He turned his attention to Thomas. “And you? You okay? Did you do that?”

Absurdly, Thomas felt like laughing. “Yeah, I pulled out my machine gun and blasted him to tiny bits.”

Minho’s face showed that he didn’t appreciate the sarcasm, but Brenda spoke before he could come up with a retort.

“Who killed him?”

Thomas pointed at the sky. “One of those cop machines. Flew in here, shot him to death, then next thing I know the Rat Man appears on a screen. He tried to convince me that I need to go back to WICKED.”

“Dude,” Minho said, “you can’t even—”

“Give me some credit!” Thomas yelled. “There’s no way I’d go back, but maybe them needing me so much could help us at some point. What we should worry about is Newt. Janson thinks that Newt’s succumbing to the Flare a lot faster than average. We have to go check on him.”

“He really said that?”

“Yeah.” Thomas felt bad for blowing up at his friend. “And I believe him on this. You saw how Newt’s been acting.”

Minho stared at Thomas, his eyes filled with pain. It hit Thomas that Minho had known Newt for two years longer than he had. So much more time to grow close.

“We better check on him somehow,” Thomas repeated. “Do something for him.”

Minho just nodded and looked away. Thomas was tempted to pull Newt’s note out of his pocket and read it right then and there, but he’d promised he’d wait until he knew for sure the time was right.

“It’s getting late,” Brenda said. “And they don’t let people in and out of the city at night—it’s hard enough to keep things under control during the day.”

Thomas noticed for the first time that the light was beginning to fade, the sky above the buildings taking on an orange hue.

Jorge, who’d been quiet until then, spoke up. “That’s the least of our problems. Something weird’s going on around this place, muchachos.”

“What do you mean?” Thomas asked.

“All the people seem to have vanished in the last half hour, and the few I’ve seen don’t look right.”

“That scene at the coffee shop did send everyone scattering,” Brenda pointed out.

Jorge shrugged. “I don’t know. This city is just giving me the creeps, hermana. Like it’s alive and waiting to unleash something really nasty.”

A strange unease crawled up Thomas’s spine and he turned his focus back to Newt. “Can we get out there if we hurry? Or can we break out?”

“We can try,” Brenda said. “Better hope we can find a cab, though—we’re on the other side of the city from where we came in.”

“Let’s try it,” Thomas offered.

They took off down the street, but the look on Minho’s face wasn’t good. Thomas sure hoped it wasn’t a sign of bad things to come.

CHAPTER 33

They walked for an hour and didn’t see a single car, much less a cab. They ran into only a few scattered people, and cop machines let out their eerie hum as they flew by at random. Every few minutes they’d hear a sound in the distance that brought memories of the Scorch back to Thomas—someone talking too loudly, a scream, an odd laugh. As the light faded to darkness, he began to feel more and more spooked.

Finally Brenda stopped and faced the rest of them. “We’ll have to wait till tomorrow,” she announced. “We’re not going to find transportation tonight and we’re too far to walk. We need to sleep so we’ll be fresh in the morning.”

Thomas hated to admit it, but she was right.

“There’s gotta be a way to get out there,” Minho countered.

Jorge squeezed his shoulder. “It’s useless, hermano. The airport’s at least ten miles from here. And by the looks of this town we’d get mugged or shot or beaten to death on the way. Brenda’s right—better to rest up and go help him tomorrow.”

Thomas could tell Minho wanted to be his usual defiant self, but he gave in without arguing. Jorge made too much sense. They were in a huge city, at night, completely out of their element.

“Are we close to our motel?” Thomas asked. He told himself that Newt could make it through one more night alone.

Jorge pointed to his left. “Just a few blocks.”

They headed in that direction.

They were a block away when Jorge pulled up short, holding one hand in the air and putting a finger to his lips with the other. Thomas stopped dead in his tracks, alarm suddenly tingling through his nerves.

“What?” Minho whispered.

Jorge turned in a slow circle, scanning the area around them, and Thomas did the same, wondering what had suddenly made the older man so apprehensive. Darkness had completely fallen, and the few streetlights they passed barely put a dent in it. The world Thomas could see seemed made of shadows, and he imagined horrible things hiding behind every one of them.

“What?” Minho whispered again.

“I keep thinking I hear something right behind us,” Jorge replied. “Whispering. Anyone else—”

“There!” Brenda shouted, her voice like a crack of thunder in the silence. “Did you see that?” She was pointing off to her left.

Thomas strained to look but saw nothing. The streets were empty as far as he could tell.

“Someone was just coming out from behind that building, then jumped back. I swear I saw it.”

“Hey!” Minho yelled. “Who’s over there?”

“Are you crazy?” Thomas whispered. “Let’s get inside the motel!”

“Slim it, dude. If they wanted to shoot us or something, don’t you think they would’ve done it by now?”

Thomas just sighed in exasperation. He didn’t like the feel of this at all.

“I should’ve said something when I first heard it,” Jorge said.

“Maybe it’s nothing,” Brenda responded. “And if it is, standing around won’t help. Let’s just get out of here.”

“Hey!” Minho yelled again, making Thomas jump. “Hey, you! Who’s over there?”

Thomas smacked him on the shoulder. “Seriously, would you stop that?”

His friend ignored him. “Come out and show yourself!”

Whoever it was didn’t respond. Minho moved like he was going to walk across the street and take a look, but Thomas grabbed him by the arm.

“No way. Worst idea in history. It’s dark, it could be a trap, it could be a lot of terrible things. Let’s just get some sleep and keep a better eye out tomorrow.”

Minho didn’t put up much of an argument. “Fine. Be a wuss. But I get one of the beds tonight.”

And with that they went up to their room. It took forever for Thomas to fall asleep, his mind spinning with the possibilities of who might be following them. But no matter where his thoughts wandered, they always came back to Teresa and the others. Where were they? Could that have been Teresa out on the street, spying on them? Or had it been Gally and the Right Arm?

And Thomas hated that they’d had no choice but to wait a night before checking on Newt. What if something had happened to him?

Finally his mind slowed, the questions faded away, and he fell asleep.

CHAPTER 34

The next morning, Thomas was surprised at how rested he felt. He’d tossed and turned all night, it seemed, but at some point he must have gotten some deep and recharging sleep. After a long, hot shower and breakfast out of a vending machine, he was ready to face the day.

He and the others left the motel around eight o’clock in the morning, wondering what they’d find in the city on their way to check on Newt. They saw some people here and there, but far fewer than they’d seen during the busy hours of the day before. And Thomas didn’t notice any strange noises like the ones they’d heard the previous night during their long walk.

“Something’s up, I’m tellin’ ya,” Jorge said as they made their way down the street in search of a cab. “There should be more folks out and about.”

Thomas observed the few pedestrians around him. None of them would look him in the eye—everyone kept their head down, often with one hand holding their surgical mask to their face as if afraid that a sudden wind might blow it off. And they walked with a hurried, frantic gait, almost jumping out of the way when another person got too close. He noticed a woman studying a poster about the Flare just like the one he’d read the day before while being escorted by Red Shirt. It brought to mind that memory he hadn’t been able to grasp—it was going to drive him crazy.

“Let’s hurry and get to the shuck airport,” Minho muttered. “This place is giving me the creeps.”

“We should probably go up that way,” Brenda said, pointing. “There have to be cabs around those business offices.”

They crossed the street and headed down a narrower one that passed what looked like an empty lot on one side and an old, dilapidated building on the other.

Minho leaned into Thomas and half whispered, “Dude, I’m a little shucked in the head right now. I’m scared of what we’re gonna find with Newt.”

Thomas was scared, too, but didn’t admit it. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he’s fine for now.”

“Good that. And the cure for the Flare’s gonna fly out of your butt any second.”

“Who knows, maybe it will. Might smell funny, though.” His friend didn’t seem to think that was very humorous. “Look, we can’t do anything until we get there and see him.” Thomas hated sounding so insensitive, but things were hard enough—they couldn’t assume the worst.

“Thanks for the pep talk.”

The empty lot to their right contained the scattered remains of an old brick building, weeds filling every square inch. A large section of wall stood right in the middle, and as they passed, Thomas noticed movement on the far side of it. He stopped, and instinctively put a hand out to halt Minho as well. He shushed him before he could ask what was going on.

Brenda and Jorge noticed and froze in place. Thomas pointed at what he’d seen, then tried to get a better look.

A shirtless man had his back to them, and he was hunched over something, digging with his hands like he’d lost something in the mud and was trying to find it. Oddly shaped scratches covered his shoulders, and there was a long scab crossing the middle of his spine. His movements were jerky and … desperate, Thomas thought. His elbows kept popping back like he’d torn something loose from the ground. The tall weeds prevented Thomas from seeing the focus of the man’s frantic attention.

Brenda whispered from behind. “Let’s keep moving.”

“That guy’s sick,” Minho whispered back. “How’s he loose like this?”

Thomas had no idea. “Let’s just go.”

The group started walking again, but Thomas couldn’t tear his eyes away from the disturbing scene. What was that guy doing?

When they reached the end of the block, Thomas stopped, as did the others. It was clearly bothering everyone as much as it was him—they all wanted to get one last look.

Without warning, the man sprang up and turned toward them; blood covered his mouth and nose. Thomas flinched and stumbled back into Minho. The man bared his teeth in a nasty grin, then held up bloody hands as if to show them off. Thomas was just about to yell at him when the guy bent back over and returned to his business. Thankfully they couldn’t see exactly what that business was.

“This would be a good time to go,” Brenda said.

Icy fingers crawled along Thomas’s back and shoulders—he couldn’t have agreed more. They all turned and ran, and they’d gone two blocks before they slowed to a walk again.

It took another half hour before they found a cab, but they were finally on their way. Thomas wanted to talk about what they’d seen in the empty lot, but he couldn’t put it into words. It had sickened him through and through.

Minho was the first to speak about it. “That guy was eating a person. I just know it.”

“Maybe …,” Brenda began. “Maybe it was just a stray dog.” Her tone made Thomas think she didn’t believe it for one second. “Not like that’d be okay, either.”

Minho scoffed. “I’m pretty sure that’s not something you’re supposed to see during a nice leisurely stroll through a quarantined city in the middle of the day. I believe Gally. I think this place is crawling with Cranks, and soon the whole city’s gonna start killing each other.”

No one responded. They stayed silent the rest of the way to the airport.

It didn’t take long to get through security and back outside the massive walls surrounding the city. If anything, the staff they encountered seemed thrilled that they were leaving.

The Berg was right where they’d left it, waiting like the abandoned shell of a giant insect on the hot and steamy concrete. Nothing stirred around it.

“Hurry up and open it,” Minho said.

Jorge didn’t seem fazed by the curt command; he pulled his small control pad out of his pocket and pressed some buttons. The ramp of the cargo door slowly pivoted down, hinges squealing, until its edge landed on the ground with a grating scrape. Thomas had hoped to see Newt come running down that ramp, a big smile on his face, glad to see them.

But nothing moved inside or out, and his heart sank.

Minho obviously felt the same way. “Something’s wrong.” He sprinted to the door and ran up the ramp before Thomas had a chance to react.

“We better get in there,” Brenda said. “What if Newt’s turned dangerous?”

Thomas hated the sound of the question but knew she was right. Without responding, he ran after Minho, entering the dark and stifling Berg. All the systems had been shut down at some point: no air-conditioning, no lights, nothing.

Jorge followed right at Thomas’s heels. “Let me power her up or we’ll all sweat till we’re nothing but a pile of bones and skin.” He moved off in the direction of the cockpit.

Brenda stood next to Thomas, both of them peering into the gloom of the ship, the only light coming from the few scattered portholes. They could hear Minho calling Newt’s name somewhere deep in the ship, but the infected boy wasn’t responding. A cavity seemed to open within Thomas, widening and sucking the hope out of him.

“I’ll go to the left,” he said, pointing toward the small hallway to the common area. “Why don’t you follow Jorge and search up there. This isn’t good—he would’ve been here to welcome us if everything was okay.”

“Not to mention the lights and air would be on.” She gave Thomas a grim look, then headed off.

Thomas went down the hallway to the main room. Minho sat on one of the couches, looking at a piece of paper, his face as stony as Thomas had ever seen it. The hollowness inside him grew even more, and his last ounce of hope faded.

“Hey,” he said. “What is it?”

Minho didn’t answer. He just kept staring at the paper.

“What’s wrong?”

Minho glanced up at him. “Come see for yourself.” He held up the paper in one hand while he slouched back on the couch, seeming on the verge of tears. “He’s gone.”

Thomas walked over and took the paper from him, then flipped it over. Scribbled in black marker, it said:

They got inside somehow. They’re taking me to live with the other Cranks.

It’s for the best. Thanks for being my friends.

Goodbye.

“Newt,” Thomas whispered. His friend’s name hung in the air like a pronouncement of death.