Текст книги "The Death Cure"

Автор книги: James Dasher

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

CHAPTER 17

Thomas staggered a step or two to his left and caught himself on the heavy crate for support. He’d been thinking that maybe Cranks had attacked after all, or that some other group had infiltrated WICKED, taken Teresa and the others. Rescued them, even.

But Teresa had led an escape? They’d fought their way out, subdued the guards, flown away in a Berg? Without him and the others? There were so many elements to the scenario, and none of them would come together in his mind.

“Shut your traps!” Jorge shouted over the din of questions from Minho and Newt, and Thomas jolted back to the present. “You’re driving nails through my head—just … quit talking for a minute. Somebody help me get up.”

Newt grabbed the man’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “You better start explaining what bloody happened. From the beginning.”

“And be quick about it,” Minho added.

Jorge leaned back onto the wooden box and folded his arms, still wincing with every movement. “Look, hermano, I already told you I don’t know much. What I said happened is what happened. My head feels like—”

“Yeah, we get it,” Minho snapped. “You have a headache. Just tell us what you know and I’ll find you some shuck aspirin.”

Jorge let out a little laugh. “Brave words, boy. If I remember right, you’re the one who had to apologize and beg for your life back in the Scorch.”

Minho’s face scrunched up and reddened. “Well, it’s easy to be tough when you have a bunch of lunatics with knives protecting you. Things are a little different now.”

“Would you stop!” Brenda said to both of them. “We’re all on the same side.”

“Just get on with it,” Newt said. “Talk so we buggin’ know what we need to do.”

Thomas was still in shock. He stood listening to Jorge and Newt and Minho, but it felt like he was watching something on a screen, like it wasn’t happening in front of him. He’d thought Teresa couldn’t be more of a mystery to him. Now this.

“Look,” Jorge said. “I spend most of my time in this hangar, okay? I started hearing all kinds of shouts and warnings over the com, then the silent-alarm lights started blinking. I went out to investigate and just about had my head blown off.”

“At least it wouldn’t hurt anymore,” Minho muttered.

Jorge either didn’t hear the comment or just ignored it. “Then the lights went out and I ran back in here to find my gun. Next thing I know, Teresa and a bunch of your hooligan friends come running in here like the world’s about to end, hauling old Tony along to fly a Berg. I dropped my lousy pistol when seven or eight Launchers were aimed at my chest, then I begged them to wait, explain things to me. But some chick with blond hair whacked me in the forehead with the butt of her gun. I passed out, woke up to see your ugly faces staring down at me and a Berg gone. That’s all I know.”

Thomas took it all in but realized none of the details mattered. Only one thing about the whole affair stood out, and not only did it confuse him, it hurt him to face it.

“They left us behind,” he almost whispered. “I can’t believe it.”

“Huh?” Minho asked.

“Speak up, Tommy,” Newt added.

Thomas exchanged long glances with both of them. “They left us behind. At least we went back and looked for them. They left us here for WICKED to do whatever they want with us.”

They didn’t respond, but their eyes revealed that they’d been thinking the same thing.

“Maybe they did search for you,” Brenda offered. “And couldn’t find you. Or maybe the firefight got too nasty and they had to leave.”

Minho scoffed at that. “All the guards are freaking tied up in that room back there! They had plenty of time to come look for us. No way. They left us.”

“On purpose,” Newt said in a low voice.

None of it sat right with Thomas. “Something’s off. Teresa’s been acting like WICKED’s number one fan lately. Why would she escape? It has to be some kind of trick. Come on, Brenda—you told me not to trust them. You have to know something. Talk.”

Brenda was shaking her head. “I don’t know anything about this. But why is it so hard to believe that the other subjects would have the same idea we did? To escape? They just did a better job of it.”

Minho made a noise that sounded like a wolf growling. “Insulting us is something I wouldn’t do right now. And use the word subjects again and I’ll smack you, girl or no girl.”

“You just try it,” Jorge warned. “Smack her and it’ll be the last thing you do in this life.”

“Could we stop the macho games for a bit?” Brenda rolled her eyes. “We need to figure out what comes next.”

Thomas couldn’t shake how much it bothered him that Teresa and the others—Frypan, even!—had left without them. If his group had been the ones to tie all the guards up, wouldn’t they have searched until they found their other friends? And why had Teresa wanted to leave? Had her memories brought back something she hadn’t expected?

“There’s nothing to bloody figure out,” Newt said. “We get out of here.” He pointed at a Berg.

Thomas couldn’t have agreed more. He turned to Jorge. “You’re really a pilot?”

The man grinned. “Damn straight, muchacho. One of the best.”

“Why’d they send you to the Scorch, then? Aren’t you valuable?”

Jorge looked at Brenda. “Where Brenda goes, I go. And I hate to say it, but heading for the Scorch sounded better than staying here. I looked at it like a vacation. Turned out a little rougher than I—”

An alarm started blaring, the same whining scream as before. Thomas’s heart jumped—the noise seemed even louder in the hangar than it had been in the hall, echoing off the high walls and ceiling.

Brenda looked with wide eyes at the doors they’d come through, and Thomas turned to see what had caught her attention.

At least a dozen of the black-clad guards were pouring through the opening, weapons raised. They started firing.

CHAPTER 18

Someone grabbed the back of Thomas’s shirt and yanked him hard to the left; he stumbled and fell behind the cargo box just as the sounds of glass shattering and electricity crackling filled the hangar. Several arcs of lightning threaded around and over the crate, singeing the air. They’d barely winked out before a round of bullets thudded against the wood.

“Who let ’em loose?” Minho yelled.

“Hardly think it bloody matters right now!” Newt shouted back.

The group crouched low, their bodies pressed against each other tightly. It seemed impossible that they could fight back from such a position.

“They’ll flank us any second,” Jorge called out. “We need to start shooting back!”

Despite the wild attack going on around them, the statement struck Thomas. “I guess you’re with us, then?”

The pilot looked at Brenda, then shrugged. “If she’s helping you, then so am I. And if you haven’t noticed—they’re trying to kill me, too!”

A surge of relief edged through Thomas’s terror. Now they just had to make it onto one of those Bergs.

The onslaught had paused momentarily, and Thomas could hear shuffling footsteps and short barked commands. If they were going to gain an advantage, they needed to act quickly.

“How do we do this?” he asked Minho. “You’re in charge this time.”

His friend gave him a sharp look but nodded curtly. “Okay, I’ll fire right, Newt fires left. Thomas and Brenda, you fire over the box. Jorge, you scout a way for us to get to your shuck Berg. Shoot anything that moves or wears black. Get ready.”

Thomas knelt facing the box, ready to jump to his feet on Minho’s signal. Brenda was right next to him, with two pistols instead of a Launcher. Her eyes were on fire.

“Planning to kill somebody?” Thomas asked.

“Nah. I’ll aim for their legs. But ya never know, maybe I’ll hit high by accident.”

She flashed him a smile; Thomas was liking her more and more.

“Okay!” Minho shouted. “Now!”

They made their moves. Thomas stood, lifting his Launcher up and over the box. He fired without risking a good look, and once he heard the grenade explode he popped up to search for a specific target. A man was creeping toward them from across the room, and Thomas aimed, fired. The grenade burst into lightning as it hit the man’s chest, throwing him to the ground in a fit of spasms.

Gunfire and screams filled the air of the hangar, along with the staticky sound of electricity. Guard after guard fell, clutching their wounds—mostly in their legs, as Brenda had promised. Others bolted for cover.

“We’ve got them running!” Minho yelled. “But it won’t last long—they probably didn’t realize we had weapons. Jorge, which Berg is yours?”

“That one.” Jorge pointed toward the far left corner of the hangar. “That’s my baby. It won’t take long to get her ready to fly.”

Thomas turned to where Jorge had indicated. The Berg’s large hatch door, which he remembered from the group’s escape out of the Scorch, lay open and rested on the ground, waiting for passengers to run up its metal slope. Nothing had ever looked so inviting.

Minho shot another grenade. “Okay. First everyone reload. Then Newt and I’ll cover while Thomas, Jorge and Brenda run to the Berg. Jorge, you get her fired up while Thomas and Brenda cover for us from behind that hatch door. Sound like a plan?”

“Can the Launchers hurt the Berg?” Thomas asked. Everyone was jamming additional ammo into their weapons and pockets.

Jorge shook his head. “Not much. Those beasts are tougher than a Scorch camel. If they miss us and hit my ship, all the better. Let’s do this, muchachos!”

“Then go go go!” Minho yelled without giving any warning. He and Newt started launching grenades like crazy, volleying them all along the open area in front of their waiting Berg.

Thomas felt a mad rush of adrenaline. He and Brenda took up position on the left and right of Jorge and they sprinted away from the protection of the cargo box. A flurry of firing weapons filled the air, but there was so much electricity and smoke that it was impossible to aim at anyone. Thomas shot his weapon as best he could while running, as did Brenda. He swore he could feel bullets blowing past him, barely missing. Launcher grenades exploded in a crash of glass and light to their right and left.

“Run!” Jorge shouted.

Thomas pushed himself to go faster, his legs burning. Daggers of lightning shot across the floor from all directions; bullets pinged against the metal walls of the hangar; smoke twirled like fingers of fog in odd places. It all became a blur as he focused on the Berg, now only a few dozen feet away.

They’d almost made it when a Launcher grenade smashed against Brenda’s back; she screamed and fell, her face smacking the concrete floor as electricity spiderwebbed over her body.

Thomas skidded to a stop as he cried out her name, then dropped to the ground to make himself a smaller target. Tendrils of lightning-like electricity snaked across Brenda’s body, then dwindled to smoky wisps as they raced out along the floor. Thomas lay on his stomach several feet away, dodging the errant streaks of white heat as he searched for a way to get closer.

Newt and Minho had obviously seen the disastrous turn of events and given up on the plan. They were running toward him as they continued firing. Jorge had made it to the Berg and disappeared up the hatch, but he came out again, shooting a different kind of Launcher; its grenades exploded into spouts of raging fire when they made contact. Several of the guards screamed as they erupted in flames, and the others pulled back a little because of the new threat.

Thomas waited anxiously on the ground next to Brenda, cursing his inability to help. He knew he had to wait for the electricity to die down before he could grab her and start dragging her to the Berg, but he didn’t know if there was time. Her face had gone completely white; blood dripped from her nose and drool trickled from her mouth as her limbs spasmed and her torso seemed to bounce in place. Her eyes were frozen wide with shock and terror.

Newt and Minho reached him, dropped to the ground.

“No!” Thomas shouted. “Keep going to the Berg. Take cover behind the hatch door. Wait until we start moving, then cover us. Fire like crazy till we get there.”

“Just come on already!” Minho yelled back. He grabbed Brenda by the shoulders, and Thomas’s breath caught as his friend winced—several jagged bolts of lightning arced up his arms. But the energy had weakened considerably and Minho was able to stand and begin pulling her along behind him.

Thomas hooked his arms under Brenda’s shoulders, and Newt picked up her legs. They backed their way toward the Berg. The hangar was a world of noise and smoke and flashing light. A bullet grazed Thomas’s leg: a hot score of pain, then oozing blood. An inch difference and he might’ve been hobbled for life or bled to death. He let out a furious scream and imagined everyone in black as the one who’d shot him.

He stole a glance at Minho; the boy’s face was strained with the effort of dragging Brenda. Thomas harnessed his furious surge of adrenaline and took a risk, lifted his Launcher up from beneath him with one hand, firing in random directions as he used the other to help pull Brenda across the floor.

They reached the foot of the hatch door. Jorge immediately dropped his huge weapon and slid down the ramp to grab one of Brenda’s arms. Thomas released his hold on her shirt and let Minho and Jorge yank her up into the ship, her heels thumping against the raised traction molding.

Newt started firing his weapon again, releasing grenades left and right until he ran out of ammunition. Thomas shot once more and his Launcher emptied as well.

The guards in the hangar clearly knew that their time was about to run out, and a horde of them sprinted for the ship and opened fire once again.

“Forget reloading!” Thomas shouted. “Let’s go!”

Newt turned and scrambled up the ramp. Thomas was right behind him. His head had just crossed the threshold when something thumped and cracked against his back. In an instant he felt the burning power of a thousand bolts of lightning strike him at once; he fell backward and tumbled end over end until he landed on the floor of the hangar, his whole body convulsing and his vision going dark.

CHAPTER 19

Thomas’s eyes were open, but he couldn’t see anything. No, that wasn’t it. Brilliant lights arced in lines across his field of vision, blinding him. He couldn’t blink, couldn’t close his eyelids to block it. Pain washed over his body; his skin felt like it was melting right off his muscle and bones. He tried to scream, but it was as if he’d lost all control of his functions—his arms and legs and torso shook no matter how hard he strained to stop them.

The crackle and pop of electricity filled his ears, but soon another noise took over. A deep, thrumming hum that pounded his ears and rattled his head. He was barely on the edge of consciousness, felt himself slipping in and out of an abyss that wanted to swallow him. But something in him knew what that sound was. The engines of the Berg had started up, the thrusters burning their blue flames.

He immediately thought they were leaving him. First Teresa and the others, now his closest friends and Jorge. He couldn’t take any more betrayal. It hurt too much. He wanted to scream, all while needles of pain bit every inch of his body and the burning smell overwhelmed him. No, they wouldn’t leave him behind. He knew it.

Gradually his vision started to clear, and the white-hot charges of heat diminished in strength and number. He blinked. Two, then three figures dressed in black stood over him, weapons pointed at his face. Guards. Would they kill him? Drag him back to the Rat Man for more tests? One of them spoke, but Thomas couldn’t hear the words; static buzzed in his ears.

All of a sudden the guards were gone, tackled by two figures that seemingly flew through the air. His friends, had to be his friends. Through a haze of smoke Thomas could see the ceiling of the hangar far above him. The pain had mostly gone away, replaced by a numbness that made him wonder if he could move. He shifted to his right, then rolled to his left, then leaned up on an elbow, woozy and weak. A last few trickles of electricity skittered over his body and disappeared into the cement. The worst was over. He hoped.

He shifted again, looked back over his shoulder. Minho and Newt were each straddling a guard, beating the living klunk out of them. Jorge stood in between the Gladers, shooting his fiery Launcher in all directions. Most of the guards must’ve given up or been disabled—otherwise Thomas and the others wouldn’t have made it even this far. Or maybe, Thomas thought, the guards were pretending, putting on an act, like everyone else in the Trials.

He didn’t care. He just wanted out of this place. And escape was right in front of him.

With a groan he shifted to his belly, then pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Breaking glass, the crackle of lightning, the booms of weapons firing and pings of bullets hitting metal filled the air around him. If someone shot him now, there was nothing he could do about it. He could only drag himself toward the Berg. The ship’s thrusters hummed as they charged; the whole thing vibrated, shaking the ground underneath him as well. The hatch door was only a few feet away. They needed to get on the ship.

He tried to yell something back at Minho and the others, but only a gurgling groan came out. On his hands and knees like a wounded dog, he started crawling forward as quickly as his body would allow—he had to fight for every ounce of strength within. He reached the lip of the ramp, pulled himself over it, inched up the slope. His muscles ached and nausea climbed out of his stomach. The noises of battle pounded his ears, put his nerves on edge; something could hit him at any second.

He made it halfway. Turned to look at his friends. They were backing toward him, all three now firing. Minho had to stop and reload, and Thomas just knew he’d get shot or blasted with a grenade. But his friend finished and started up again. The three of them reached the bottom of the hatch door, so close now.

Thomas tried to speak again; now he sounded like a wounded dog.

“That’s it!” Jorge yelled. “Grab his butt and drag him in!”

Jorge ran up the ramp past Thomas and disappeared inside. Something clicked loudly, and then the ramp started to swing upward, its hinges groaning. Thomas realized he’d collapsed, his face resting against the raised metal traction pads beneath him, yet he couldn’t remember when it had happened. He felt hands pull at his shirt, felt himself lifted through the air. Then he slammed back down just inside the hatch door as it sealed shut and the locks engaged.

“Sorry, Tommy,” Newt muttered in his ear. “Could’ve been a bit more gentle, I ’spect.”

Though he was close to unconsciousness, an indescribable joy lifted Thomas’s heart—they were escaping WICKED. He let out a weak grunt in an attempt to share that with his friend. Then he closed his eyes and passed out.

CHAPTER 20

Thomas woke to see Brenda’s face staring down at him. She looked worried. Her skin was pale and marked with streaks of dried blood, and there was black soot on her forehead and a bruise forming on her cheek. As if her wounds reminded him, he suddenly felt the sting of his own across his whole body. He had no idea how those Launcher grenades worked, but he was happy he’d only been hit once.

“I just got up myself,” Brenda said. “How do you feel?”

Thomas shifted to lean on his elbow and winced at the sharp pain in his leg where he’d been grazed by the bullet. “Like a bucket of klunk.”

He lay on a low cot inside a large cargo hold that currently held nothing but a bunch of mismatched furniture. Minho and Newt were taking well-deserved naps on a couple of ugly couches, blankets covering their bodies and tucked in under their chins. Thomas had a sneaking suspicion that Brenda had done that—they looked like little kids, all snuggly and warm.

Brenda had been kneeling next to his cot; she now stood up and took a seat on a frumpy armchair a few feet away. “We slept for almost ten hours.”

“Serious?” Thomas couldn’t believe it—it seemed like he’d just dozed off. Or passed out was probably more accurate.

Brenda nodded.

“We’ve been flying that long? Where are we going, the moon?” Thomas swung his legs out and sat on the edge of the cot.

“No. Jorge got us a hundred or so miles away, then landed in a big clearing. He’s actually snoozing, too. Can’t have a tired pilot.”

“I can’t believe we both got shot by Launchers. I liked it a lot better being the one who pulled the trigger.” Thomas rubbed his face and let out a big yawn. Then he examined some of the burns on his arms. “Do you think these will leave scars?”

Brenda laughed. “Of all the things to worry about.”

He couldn’t help but smile. She was right. “So,” he started, then continued, slowly. “It sounded great to escape from WICKED when we were back there, but … I don’t even know what the real world … It’s not all like the Scorch, is it?”

“No,” she replied. “Only the regions between the Tropics are a wasteland—everywhere else has extreme swings of climate. There are a few safe cities we could go to. Especially being immune—we could probably find jobs pretty easily.”

“Jobs,” Thomas repeated, as if the word were the most foreign thing he’d ever heard. “You’re already thinking about getting a job?”

“You do plan to eat, don’t you?”

Thomas didn’t answer, felt the heavy weight of reality. If they were truly going to escape into the real world, they had to start living like real people. But was that even possible in a world where the Flare existed? He thought of his friends.

“Teresa,” he said.

Brenda pulled back a little in surprise. “What about her?”

“Is there a way to find out where she and the others went?”

“Jorge already did—checked the Berg tracking system. They went to a city called Denver.”

Thomas felt a prick of alarm. “Does that mean WICKED’ll be able to find us?”

“You don’t know Jorge.” She had a mischievous grin on her face. “He can manipulate the system like you wouldn’t believe. We should be able to stay a step ahead of them for a little while, at least.”

“Denver,” Thomas said after a moment. The name sounded weird in his mouth. “Where’s that?”

“Rocky Mountains. High elevation. One of the obvious choices for a quarantine zone because the weather’s recovered pretty quickly there since the sun flares. As good a place as any to go.”

Thomas didn’t care so much about the location, he just knew that he had to find Teresa and the others, be reunited. He wasn’t quite sure why yet, and he certainly wasn’t ready to discuss it with Brenda. So he stalled for time.

“What’s it like there?” he finally asked.

“Well, like most big cities, they’re pretty ruthless about keeping the Cranks out, and the residents have to be tested for the Flare randomly and often. They actually have another town set up on the opposite side of the valley where they send the newly infected. Immunes get paid a lot of money to take care of them even though it’s extremely dangerous. Both places are heavily guarded.”

Even with some of his memories back, Thomas didn’t know a whole lot about the population that was immune to the Flare. But he remembered something the Rat Man had told him. “Janson said that people really hate the Immunes—call them Munies. What did he mean by that?”

“When you have the Flare, you know you’re going to go crazy and die. It’s not a matter of if but when. And as hard as the world has tried, the virus always finds its way through the cracks of the quarantines. Imagine knowing that and then knowing that the Immunes are going to be okay. The Flare does nothing to them—they don’t even transmit the virus. Wouldn’t you hate the healthy?”

“Probably,” Thomas said, glad he was on the immune side of things. Better to be hated than sick. “But wouldn’t it seem valuable to have them around? I mean, knowing they can’t catch the disease.”

Brenda shrugged. “They’re definitely used—especially in government and security roles—but the others treat them like trash. And there’s way more people who aren’t immune. That’s why the Munies get paid so much to be guards—otherwise they wouldn’t go through it. A lot of them even try to hide their immunity. Or go work for WICKED, like Jorge and I did.”

“So did you guys meet before going there?”

“We met in Alaska, after we’d found out we were immune. There was a gathering place for people like us—kind of a hidden camp. Jorge became like an uncle to me, and he swore to be my guardian. My dad had already been killed, and my mom pushed me away once she caught the Flare.”

Thomas leaned forward, elbows on knees. “You told me WICKED killed your dad. And yet you still went and volunteered to work for them?”

“Survival, Thomas.” A dark look passed over her face. “You don’t know how good you had it growing up under WICKED’s wing. Out in the real world, most people will do anything to survive one more day. Cranks and Immunes have different problems, yeah, but it’s still about surviving. Everybody wants to live.”

Thomas didn’t respond, didn’t know what to say. All he knew of life was the Maze and the Scorch and the splotchy memories of his childhood with WICKED. He felt empty and lost, like he didn’t really belong anywhere.

A sudden pain squeezed his heart. “I wonder what happened to my mom,” he said, surprising himself.

“Your mom?” Brenda asked. “You remember her?”

“I’ve had a few dreams about her. I think they were memories.”

“What came back? What was she like?”

“She was … a mom. You know, she loved me, cared about me, worried about me.” Thomas’s voice cracked. “I don’t think anyone’s done that since they took me away from her. It hurts to think of her going crazy, to think of what might’ve happened to her. What some crazy bloodthirsty Crank might’ve …”

“Stop it, Thomas. Just stop.” She took his hand and squeezed, which helped. “Think how happy she’d be, knowing you’re still alive, still fighting. She died knowing that you were immune, and that you’d have a chance to actually grow old, no matter how crappy the world is. Plus, you’re totally wrong.”

Thomas had been staring at the floor, but at that he looked up at Brenda. “Huh?”

“Minho. Newt. Frypan. All your friends care and worry about you. Even Teresa—she really did do all those things in the Scorch because she thought she had no choice.” Brenda paused, then added in a quiet voice, “Chuck.”

The pang Thomas was feeling in his chest tightened. “Chuck. He … he’s …” He had to stop a second to compose himself. When it came down to it, Chuck was the most vivid reason that he despised WICKED. How could any good come from killing a kid like Chuck?

He finally continued. “I watched as that kid died. In his last few seconds there was pure terror in his eyes. You can’t do that. You can’t do that to a person. I don’t care what anyone tells me, I don’t care how many people go crazy and die, I don’t care if the whole shuck human race ends. Even if that was the only thing that had to happen to find the cure, I’d still be against it.”

“Thomas, relax. You’re going to squeeze your own fingers off.”

He didn’t remember letting go of her hand—he looked down to see his own hands gripping each other tightly, the skin completely white. He eased off and felt the blood rush back to them.

Brenda nodded solemnly. “I changed for good back in the Scorch city. I’m sorry for everything.”

Thomas shook his head. “You don’t have a single reason more than I do to apologize. It’s all just one big screwed-up mess.” He groaned and lay back down on the cot, staring at the metal grid of the ceiling.

After a long pause, Brenda finally spoke again. “Ya know, maybe we can find Teresa and the others. Join up. They broke out, which means they’re on our side. I think we should give them the benefit of the doubt—maybe they had no choice but to leave without us. And it’s no surprise at all that they went where they did.”

Thomas shifted to look at her, daring to hope she was right. “So you think we should go to …”

“Denver.”

Thomas nodded, suddenly certain and loving the feel of it. “Yeah, Denver.”

“But your friends aren’t the only reason.” Brenda smiled. “There’s something even more important there.”