Текст книги "The Death Cure"

Автор книги: James Dasher

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

CHAPTER 14

Thomas blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the darkness. The alarm rang in shrill, deafening bursts.

He sensed Minho stand up, then heard him shuffling about. “The guard’s gone!” his friend shouted. “I can’t find her!”

As soon as he said the last word, that sound of power charging filled the gaps between the whines of the alarm, followed by the pop of a grenade exploding against the ground. The bolts of electricity lit up the room; Thomas saw a shadowy figure running away from them back down the hall, gradually disappearing in the gloom.

“My fault,” Minho muttered, barely audible.

“Get back in position,” Thomas said, fearing what the alarm might mean. “Feel for the crack where the doors open. I’ll use the Rat Man’s key card. Be ready!”

He felt around on the wall until he found the right place, then swiped the card; there was an audible click, and one of the doors began to swing inward.

“Start shooting!” Minho shouted.

Newt, Brenda and Minho began to launch grenades through the doorway into the darkness. Thomas carefully got into position and followed suit, shooting into the fray of dancing electricity that now crackled on the far side of the doors. It took a few seconds between rounds, but soon they had created a blinding display of light and explosions. There was no sign of people anywhere, no answering fire.

Thomas let his gun drop to his side. “Stop!” he yelled. “Don’t waste any more ammunition!”

Minho let one last grenade fly, but then they all stood and waited for some of the energy to die down so they could safely enter the room.

Thomas turned to Brenda, speaking loudly to be heard over the noise. “We’re a little short on memories. Do you know anything that’ll help us? Where is everyone? Why the alarm?”

She shook her head. “I have to be honest—something definitely feels off.”

“I bet this is another one of their bloody tests!” Newt yelled. “All of this is meant to happen and we’re being analyzed all over again.”

Thomas could barely hear himself think, and Newt wasn’t helping.

He held his Launcher up and walked through the doorway. He wanted to get somewhere safer before the light from the grenade blasts disappeared entirely. From the shallow pool of his few returned memories, he knew he’d grown up in this place—he just wished he could remember the layout. He realized again how important Brenda was to their freedom. Jorge, too—if he was willing to fly them out of there.

The alarm stopped.

“What—” Thomas had started too loud, and quieted himself. “What now?”

“They probably got sick of their ears bleeding from the noise,” Minho answered. “Just because they turned it off doesn’t mean anything.”

The glow from the electric bolts had disappeared, but the room on this side of the doorway had emergency lights that cast everything in a red haze. They stood in a large reception area with couches and chairs and a couple of desks. Nobody was in sight.

“I’ve never seen one person in these waiting rooms,” Thomas said, the space suddenly familiar. “The whole place is empty and creepy.”

“It’s been a long time since they allowed visitors here, I’m sure,” Brenda responded.

“What’s next, Tommy?” Newt asked. “We can’t just stand here all day.”

Thomas thought for a second. They had to find their friends, but ensuring that they had a way out seemed the first priority.

“Okay,” he said. “Brenda, we really need your help. We need to get to the hangar and find Jorge, get him prepping a Berg. Newt and Minho—you guys can stay with him for backup and Brenda and I will search the place for our friends. Brenda—do you know where we can stock up on weapons?”

“Weapons depot’s on the way to the hangar,” Brenda said. “But it’s probably guarded.”

“We’ve seen worse,” Minho offered. “We’ll start firing till they drop or we drop.”

“We’ll cut through ’em all,” Newt added, almost with a growl. “Every last one of those buggers.”

Brenda pointed down one of two hallways that branched off the reception room. “It’s that way.”

Brenda led Thomas and his friends through turn after turn, the dull red emergency beacons lighting the way. They met no resistance, though every so often a beetle blade skittered by, click-clacking across the floor as it scurried along. Minho tried firing a shot at one of them, missing badly and almost scorching Newt, who yelped and wanted to fire back, judging by the look on his face.

After a good fifteen minutes of jogging, they reached the weapons depot. Thomas stopped in the hallway, surprised to find the door swung wide open. From what he could see, the shelves inside seemed fully stocked.

“That does it,” Minho said. “No more doubt.”

Thomas knew exactly what he meant. He’d been through too much not to. “Someone’s setting us up,” he muttered.

“Has to be,” Minho added. “Everyone suddenly disappears, doors are unlocked, weapons sitting here for us. And they’re obviously observing us through those shuck beetle blades.”

“Definitely fishy,” Brenda added.

At her voice, Minho turned on her. “How do we know you’re not in on it?” he demanded.

She answered in a weary voice. “All I can say is that I swear I’m not. I have no idea what’s happening.”

Thomas hated to admit it, but what Newt had hinted at earlier—that this whole escape so far might be nothing but an orchestrated exercise—was looking more and more likely. They’d been reduced once again to mice, scuttling about in a different kind of maze. Thomas hoped so badly that it wasn’t true.

Newt had already wandered into the weapons room. “Look at this,” he called.

When Thomas entered the room Newt was pointing to a section of empty wall space and shelves. “Look at the dust patterns. It’s pretty obvious that a bunch of stuff was taken recently. Maybe even within the last hour or so.”

Thomas inspected the area. The room was pretty dusty—enough to make you sneeze if you moved around too much—but the spots Newt pointed out were completely clean. He was dead on.

“Why is that so important?” Minho asked from behind them.

Newt turned on him. “Can’t you figure something out yourself for once, you bloody shank!”

Minho winced. He looked more shocked than angry.

“Whoa, Newt,” Thomas said. “Things suck, yeah, but slim it. What’s wrong?”

“I’ll tell ya what’s bloody wrong. You go all tough-guy without a plan, leading us around like a bunch of chickens lookin’ for feed. And Minho can’t take a bloody step without askin’ which foot he should use.”

Minho had finally recovered enough to get ticked. “Look, shuck-face. You’re the one acting like a genius because you figured out some guards took weapons from the weapons room. I thought I’d give you the benefit of the doubt, act like maybe you’d discovered something deeper than that. Next time I’ll pat you on the freaking back for stating the obvious.”

Thomas looked back at Newt in time to see his friend’s expression change. He seemed stricken, almost teary.

“I’m sorry,” Newt murmured, then turned and walked out of the room.

“What was that?” Minho whispered.

Thomas didn’t want to say what he was thinking: that Newt’s sanity was slowly being eaten away. And luckily he didn’t have to—Brenda spoke up. “You guys were missing his point.”

“Which was?” Minho asked.

“There had to have been two or three dozen guns and Launchers in this section, and now they’re all gone. Very recently. In the last hour or so, like Newt said.”

“Yeah?” Minho prodded, just as it clicked for Thomas.

Brenda held her hands out as though the answer should be obvious. “Guards only come here when they need a replacement or want to use something besides a Launcher. Why would they all need to do that at the same time? Today? And Launchers are so heavy, you can’t fire them if you’re carrying another weapon, too. Where are the weapons they would have left behind?”

CHAPTER 15

Minho was the first to offer an explanation. “Maybe they knew something like this might happen, and they didn’t want to kill us. From the looks of it, unless you get it right in the head, those Launcher things just stun you for a while. So they all came and got those to use with their regular guns.”

Brenda was shaking her head before he even finished. “No. It’s standard for them to carry Launchers at all times—so it doesn’t make sense that they’d all come at once to get a new one. Whatever you think about WICKED, it’s not their goal to kill as many people as possible. Even when Cranks break in.”

“Cranks have broken in here before?” Thomas asked.

Brenda nodded. “The more infected there are, the more past the Gone, the more desperate they get. I really doubt the guards—”

Minho interrupted her. “Maybe that’s what happened. With all those alarms going off, maybe some Cranks broke in and took whatever weapons were here, stunned people, then started eatin’ their shuck bodies. Maybe we’ve only seen a few guards because the rest of ’em are dead!”

Thomas had seen Cranks past the Gone, and the memories haunted him. Cranks who had lived with the Flare infection so long that it had eaten away at their brains until they were completely insane. Almost like animals in human form.

Brenda sighed. “I hate to say it, but you might be right.” She thought a moment. “Seriously. That would explain it. Someone came in here and took a bunch of weapons.”

An icy chill filled Thomas. “If that’s it, our problems are a whole lot worse than we thought.”

“Glad to see the guy not immune to the Flare isn’t the only one with a brain that still works.”

Thomas turned to see Newt at the door.

“Next time just explain yourself instead of getting all snippy,” Minho said, his voice empty of compassion. “I didn’t think you’d lose it so fast, but glad you’re back. We might need a Crank to sniff out these other Cranks if they really broke in.”

Thomas winced at the cutting remark, looked at Newt for his reaction.

The older boy wasn’t happy—that was clear by his expression. “You never have known when to shut your hole, have ya, Minho? Always gotta have the bloody last word.”

“Shut your shuck face,” Minho replied. His voice was so calm for a second that Thomas could have sworn Minho was losing it himself. The tension in the room was almost palpable.

Newt slowly walked over to Minho and stopped in front of him. Then, quick as a striking snake, he punched him in the face. Minho staggered back and slammed into the empty weapons rack. Then he rushed forward and tackled Newt to the ground.

It all happened so fast, Thomas couldn’t believe it. He ran over and started pulling at Minho’s shirt. “Stop!” he screamed, but the two Gladers continued flailing at each other, arms and legs everywhere.

Brenda stepped up to help and she and Thomas eventually got solid-enough grips to yank Minho to his feet, his fists still swinging wildly. A stray elbow smacked Thomas in the chin, sending a burst of rage through him.

“How stupid can you get?” Thomas yelled, pinning Minho’s arms behind his back. “We’re running from at least one enemy, maybe two, and you guys are gonna brawl?”

“He started it!” Minho snapped, spit spraying on Brenda.

She wiped her face. “What are you, eight years old?” she asked.

Minho didn’t answer. He struggled to free himself for a few more seconds before giving up. Thomas was sickened by the whole thing. He didn’t know which was worse: that Newt seemed to be slipping already or that Minho—the one who should have been able to control himself—was acting like such a slinthead.

Newt got to his feet, gingerly touching a red spot on his cheek where Minho must’ve connected. “It’s my fault. Everything’s just tickin’ me off. You guys figure out what we should do—I need a buggin’ break.” And at that he turned and walked out of the room again.

Thomas blew out a breath of frustration; he let go of Minho and adjusted his own shirt. They didn’t have time to dwell on petty arguments. If they were going to get out of there, they had to pull together and work as a team. “Minho—find a few more Launchers for us to bring, and then get a couple of the pistols on that shelf over there. Brenda, can you fill up a box with as much ammo as possible? I’ll go get Newt.”

“Sounds good,” she replied, already looking around. Minho didn’t say a word, just started searching the racks.

Thomas went out into the hall; Newt had taken a seat on the ground about twenty feet away and was leaning back against the wall.

“Don’t say a bloody word,” he grumbled when Thomas joined him.

Great start, Thomas thought. “Listen, something weird’s going on—either WICKED is testing us or we’ve got Cranks running around this place killing people left and right. Whatever it is, we need to find our friends and get out of here.”

“I know.” That was it. Nothing else.

“Then get up and come back in there to help us. You were the one all frustrated, acting like we didn’t have time to mess around. And now you want to sit out here in the hall and pout?”

“I know.” The same response.

Thomas had never seen Newt like this. The guy looked utterly hopeless, and the sight of it hit Thomas with a wave of despair. “We’re all going a little craz—” He stopped; he couldn’t possibly say anything worse. “I mean …”

“Just shut it,” Newt said. “I know something’s started in my head. I don’t feel right. But you don’t need to worry your buggin’ panties off. Give me a second and I’ll be fine. We’ll get you guys out of here and then I can deal.”

“What do you mean, get you guys out?”

“Get us out, whatever. Just give me a bloody minute.”

The world of the Glade seemed like eons ago. Back there, Newt had always been the calm, collected one—and now here he was pulling the group apart at the seams. He seemed to be saying that it didn’t matter if he escaped himself as long as everyone else did.

“Fine,” Thomas answered. He realized the only thing he could do was treat Newt the same as he always had. “But you know we can’t waste any more time. Brenda’s gathering ammo. You’ll need to help her carry it to the Berg hangar.”

“Will do.” Newt quickly stood from his spot on the ground. “But first I have to go get something—it won’t take me long.” He started walking away, back toward the reception room.

“Newt!” Thomas shouted, wondering what on earth his friend was up to. “Don’t be stupid—we have to move. And we need to stick together.”

But Newt kept going. He didn’t even turn to look at Thomas. “Just go get the stuff! This’ll only take a couple of minutes.”

Thomas shook his head. There was nothing he could do or say to bring back that reasonable guy he knew. He spun and headed for the weapons room.

Thomas, Minho and Brenda gathered everything they could possibly carry between the three of them. Thomas had one Launcher strapped to each shoulder in addition to the one in his hands. He’d stuck two loaded pistols in his front pockets and several ammo clips in each back pocket. Minho had done the same, and Brenda held a cardboard box full of the bluish grenades and more bullets, her Launcher resting on top.

“That looks heavy,” Thomas said, gesturing to the box. “You wanna—”

Brenda cut him off. “I can manage until Newt gets back in here.”

“Who knows what that guy is up to,” Minho said. “He’s never acted like this before. Flare’s eatin’ his brain already.”

“He said he’d be back soon.” Thomas was tired of Minho’s attitude—he was only making it worse. “And watch what you say around him. The last thing we need is you setting him off again.”

“Do you remember what I told you in the truck, back in the city?” Brenda asked Thomas.

The sudden change in conversation surprised him, and her bringing up the Scorch surprised him even more. It only called attention to the fact that she’d lied to him.

“What?” he asked. “You mean some of the things you said were true?” He’d felt so close to her that night. He realized he was hoping she’d say yes.

“I’m sorry I lied about why I was there, Thomas. And about how I told you I could feel the Flare working on my mind. But the rest was true. I swear it.” She paused, looking at him, pleading in her eyes. “Anyway, we talked about how increased levels of brain activity actually quicken the pace of destruction—it’s called cognitive destruction. That’s why that drug—the Bliss—is so popular with the people who can afford it. The Bliss slows brain function. It lengthens the time before you go bat crazy. But it’s really expensive.”

The idea of people living in the world who were not part of an experiment or holing up in abandoned buildings like he’d seen in the Scorch seemed unreal to him. “Do people still function—live their lives, go to work, whatever—when they’re drugged out?”

“They do what they need to do, but they’re much more … relaxed about it. You could be a fireman rescuing thirty children from an inferno, but you won’t stress if you happen to drop a few of them into the flames along the way.”

The thought of such a world terrified Thomas. “That’s just … sick.”

“I gotta get me some of that stuff,” Minho muttered.

“You’re missing the point,” Brenda said. “Think of the hell Newt has been through—all the decisions he’s had to make. No wonder the Flare is moving so fast in him. He’s been stimulated too much—way more than the average person living their life day to day.”

Thomas sighed, that sadness he’d felt earlier gripping his heart again. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it until we get somewhere safer.”

“Do about what?”

Thomas turned to see Newt in the doorway again, then closed his eyes for a moment, pulled himself together. “Nothing, never mind—where’d you go?”

“I need to talk to you, Tommy. Just you. It’ll only take a second.”

What now? Thomas wondered.

“What’s this crap?” Minho asked.

“Just cut me some slack. I need to give something to Tommy here. Tommy and no one else.”

“Whatever, go for it.” Minho adjusted the straps of the Launchers on his shoulders. “But we need to hurry.”

Thomas stepped into the hall with Newt, scared to death of what his friend might say and how crazy it might sound. The seconds were ticking away.

They walked a few feet from the door before Newt stopped and faced him, then held out a small sealed envelope. “Stuff this in your pocket.”

“What is it?” Thomas took it and turned it over; it was blank on the outside.

“Just put the bloody thing in your pocket.”

Thomas did as he was told, confused but curious.

“Now look me in the eyes.” Newt snapped his fingers.

Thomas’s stomach sank at the anguish he saw there. “What is it?”

“You don’t need to know right now. You can’t know. But you have to make me a promise—and I’m not messing around here.”

“What?”

“You swear to me that you won’t read what’s inside that bloody envelope until the time is right.”

Thomas couldn’t imagine waiting to read it—he started to pull the envelope out of his pocket, but Newt grabbed his arm to stop him.

“When the time is right?” Thomas asked. “How will I—”

“You’ll bloody know!” Newt answered before Thomas could ask. “Now swear to me. Swear it!” The boy’s whole body seemed to tremble with every word.

“Fine!” Thomas was beyond worried about his friend now. “I swear I won’t read it until the time is right. I swear. But why—”

“Okay, then,” Newt interrupted. “Break your promise and I’ll never forgive you.”

Thomas wanted to reach out and shake his friend—to pound the wall in frustration. But he didn’t. He stood unmoving as Newt turned away from him and walked back toward the weapons room.

CHAPTER 16

Thomas had to trust Newt. He had to do this for his friend, but curiosity burned inside him like a brushfire. He knew, though, that he had no time to waste. They had to get everyone out of the WICKED complex. He could talk to Newt more in the Berg—if they could get to the hangar and convince Jorge to help them.

Newt came back out of the weapons room hefting the box of ammo by himself, followed by Minho, then Brenda, carrying another couple of Launchers with pistols stuffed in her pockets.

“Let’s go find our friends,” Thomas said. Then he headed back the way they’d come, and the others fell in line behind him.

They searched for an hour, but their friends seemed to have disappeared. Rat Man and the guards they’d left behind were gone, and the cafeteria and all the dorms, bathrooms and meeting rooms were empty. Not a person or a Crank in sight. Thomas was terrified that something horrible had happened and they had yet to come across the aftermath.

Finally, after seemingly having searched every nook and cranny of the building, something occurred to him. “Were you guys allowed to move around while they had me locked in the white room?” he asked. “Are you sure we haven’t missed anywhere?”

“Not that I know of,” Minho responded. “But I’d be shocked if there weren’t some hidden rooms.”

Thomas agreed but didn’t think they could afford to spend any more time searching. Their only choice was to move on.

Thomas nodded. “Okay. Let’s zigzag our way to the hangar, keep looking for them as we go.”

They’d been walking for quite some time when Minho abruptly froze. He pointed to his ear. It was hard to see because the hallway was only dimly lit by red emergency lights.

Thomas stopped along with the others, tried to slow his breathing and listen. He heard it immediately. A low moaning sound, something that made Thomas shiver. It was coming from a few yards ahead of them, through a rare window in the hallway that looked into a large room. From where Thomas stood, the room seemed completely dark. The glass from the window had been shattered from the inside—shards littered the tiled floor below it.

The moan sounded again.

Minho held a finger to his lips, then slowly and carefully set down his two extra Launchers. Thomas and Brenda followed suit while Newt placed his box of ammo on the ground. The four of them gripped their weapons, and Minho took the lead as they crept slowly toward the noise. It sounded like a man trying to wake up from a horrible nightmare. Thomas’s apprehension grew with every step. He was scared of what he was about to discover.

Minho stopped, his back against the wall, right at the edge of the window frame. The door to the room was on the other side of the window, closed.

“Ready,” Minho whispered. “Now.”

He pivoted and aimed his Launcher into the dark room just as Thomas moved to his left side and Brenda to his right, weapons held ready. Newt kept watch at their backs.

Thomas’s finger hovered above the trigger, ready to squeeze it at an instant’s notice, but there was no movement. He puzzled over what he was seeing inside the room. The red glow from the emergency lights didn’t reveal much, but the whole floor appeared to be covered in dark mounds. Something that was slowly moving. Gradually his eyes adjusted and he began to make out the shapes of bodies and black clothing. And he caught sight of ropes.

“They’re guards!” Brenda said, her voice cutting through the silence.

Muffled gasps escaped from the room, and finally Thomas could see faces, several of them. Mouths gagged and eyes open wide in panic. The guards were tied up and laid out on the floor from head to toe, side by side, filling up the entire room. Some of them were still, but most were struggling in their restraints. Thomas found himself staring, his mind searching for an explanation.

“So this is where they all are,” Minho breathed.

Newt leaned in to get a look. “At least they’re not all hangin’ from the bloody ceiling with their tongues sticking out like last time.”

Thomas couldn’t agree more—he remembered that scene all too vividly, whether it had been real or not.

“We need to question them and find out what happened,” Brenda said, already moving for the door.

Thomas grabbed her before he had time to think. “No.”

“What do you mean no? Why not—they can tell us everything!” She wrenched her arm out of his grip but waited to see what he had to say.

“It might be a trap, or whoever did this could come back soon. We just need to get out of this place.”

“Yeah,” Minho said. “This isn’t up for debate. I don’t care if we have Cranks or rebels or gorillas running around this place—these shuck guards aren’t our worry right now.”

Brenda shrugged. “Fine. Just thought we could get some information.” She paused, then pointed. “Hangar’s that way.”

After gathering up their weapons and ammunition, Thomas and the others jogged down hallway after hallway, all the while on the lookout for whoever had overpowered all those guards. Finally Brenda stopped at another set of double doors. One of them stood slightly ajar, and a breeze flowed through, ruffling her scrubs.

Without being told, Minho and Newt took up position on either side of the doorway, Launchers at the ready. Brenda grabbed the handle of the door, pistol aimed into the opening. There were no sounds coming from the other side.

Thomas gripped his Launcher tighter, the back end pressed against his shoulder, muzzle aimed forward. “Open it,” he said, his heart racing.

Brenda swung the door wide and Thomas charged through. He swept his Launcher left and right, turning in a circle as he moved forward.

The massive hangar looked like it was built to hold three of the enormous Bergs, but only two stood in their loading spots. They loomed like giant squatting frogs, all scorched metal and worn edges, as if they’d flown soldiers into a hundred fiery battles. Other than a few cargo crates and what looked like mechanics’ stations, the rest of the area was nothing but open space.

Thomas pushed on, searching the hangar as the other three spread out around him. Not one thing stirred.

“Hey!” Minho shouted. “Over here. Someone’s on the …” He didn’t finish, but he had stopped next to a large crate and had his weapon trained on something behind it.

Thomas was the first one at Minho’s side and was surprised to see a man lying hidden from view on the other side of the wooden box, groaning as he rubbed his head. There was no blood showing through his dark hair, but judging from the way he struggled to sit up, Thomas bet he’d been hit pretty hard.

“Careful there, buddy,” Minho warned. “Nice and easy, no sudden movements or you’ll smell like burnt bacon before you know it.”

The man leaned on an elbow, and when he dropped his hand from his face, Brenda let out a small cry and rushed forward to him, pulling him into a hug.

Jorge. Thomas felt a rush of relief—they’d found their pilot and he was okay, if a little banged up.

Brenda didn’t seem to quite see it that way. She searched Jorge for injuries as her questions poured out. “What happened? How’d you get hurt? Who took the Berg? Where is everyone?”

Jorge groaned again and gently pushed her away. “Calm your pants, hermana. My head feels like it’s been stomped by dancin’ Cranks. Just give me a sec while I get my wits back together.”

Brenda gave him some space and sat down, her face flushed, her expression anxious. Thomas had a million questions of his own, but he understood well what it felt like to be knocked in the head. He watched Jorge as he slowly got his bearings, and remembered how he’d once been scared of this guy—been terrified of him. The images of Jorge fighting Minho inside that wreck of a building in the Scorch would never leave his mind. But eventually, like Brenda, Jorge had realized that he and the Gladers were on the same side.

Jorge squeezed his eyes shut and opened them a few more times, then started talking. “I don’t know how they did it, but they took over the compound, got rid of the guards, stole a Berg, flew out of here with another pilot. I was an idiot and tried to get them to wait until I could find out more about what’s going on. Now my head’s paying for it.”

“Who?” Brenda asked. “Who are you talking about? Who left?”

For some reason Jorge looked up at Thomas when he answered. “That Teresa chick. Her and the rest of the subjects. Well, all of them except you muchachos.”