Текст книги "The Scorch Trials"

Автор книги: James Dashner

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Something inside Thomas seemed to wake up then. Taking a drink from these strangers suddenly felt like a very, very bad idea. Impossibly, everything about this place and this situation had become even more uncomfortable.

Brenda had already started reaching for a drink, though.

“No!” Thomas yelled before he could stop himself, then raced to cover his mistake. “I mean, no, I really don’t think we should be drinking that stuff. We’ve gone a long time without water-we need that first. We, um, just wanna dance for a while.” He tried to act casual, but was cringing on the inside, knowing he sounded like an idiot-especially when Brenda gave him a strange look.

Something small and hard pressed against his side. He didn’t have to turn to see what it was: Blondie’s pistol.

“I offered you a drink,” Long Hair said again, this time any sign of kindness gone from his tattooed face. “It would be very rude to turn such an offer down.” He held the cups out again.

Panic swelled in Thomas. Any small doubt had gone-something was wrong with the drinks.

Blondie pressed the gun into him even harder. “I’m gonna count to one,” the man said into his ear. “Just one.”

Thomas didn’t have to think. He reached out and took the cup, poured the liquid in his mouth, swallowed all of it at once. It burned like fire, searing his throat and chest as it went down; he broke into a lurching, wracking cough.

“Now you,” Long Hair said, handing the other cup to Brenda.

She looked at Thomas, then took it and drank. It didn’t seem to faze her in the least; there was just a slight tightening of her eyes as it went down.

Long Hair took the empty cups back, a huge grin now spread across his face. “That’s just fine! Back to dancing ya go!”

Thomas already felt something funny in his gut. A soothing warmth, a calmness, growing and spreading through his body. He took Brenda back into his arms, held her tightly as they swayed to the music. Her mouth was against his neck. Every time her lips bumped against his skin, a wave of pleasure shot through him.

“What was it?” he asked. He felt more than heard the slur in his voice.

“Something not good,” she said; he could barely hear her. “Something drugged. It’s doing funny things to me.”

Yeah. Thomas thought. Something funny. The room had begun to spin around him, far faster than their slow turn should have caused it to. People’s faces seemed to stretch when they laughed, their mouths gaping black holes. The music slowed and thickened, the singing voice deepened, grew drawn-out.

Brenda pulled her head away from him, clasped the sides of his face with her hands. She stared at him, though her eyes seemed to jiggle. She looked beautiful. More beautiful than anything he’d ever seen before. Everything around them faded to darkness. His mind was shutting down, he knew it.

“Maybe it’s better this way,” she said. Her words didn’t match her lips. Her face was moving in circles, seemingly detached from her neck. “Maybe we can be with them. Maybe we can be happy until we’re past the Gone.” She smiled then, a sickening, disturbing smile. “Then you can kill me.”

“No, Brenda,” he said, but his voice seemed a million miles away, as if it were coming from an endless tunnel. “Don’t…”

“Kiss me,” she said. “Tom, kiss me.” Her hands tightened on his face. She started to pull him down toward her.

“No,” he said, resisting.

She stopped, a hurt look washing over her face. Her moving, blurring face.

“Why?” she asked.

The darkness almost had him fully now. “You’re not… her.” His voice, distant. A mere echo. “You could never be her.”

And then she fell away, and his mind did the same.

CHAPTER 38

Thomas awoke to darkness, and it felt as if he had been put into some type of ancient torture device, nails slowly driving into his skull from all directions.

He groaned, a halting, terrible sound that only intensified the pain in his head. He forced himself silent, tried to reach up to rub His hands wouldn’t move. Something held them down, something sticky pressing against his wrists. Tape. He tried to kick out with his legs, but they were bound, too. The effort sent another wave of pain crashing through his head and body; he went limp, moaning softly. He wondered how long he’d been out.

“Brenda?” he whispered. No response.

A light came on.

Bright and stabbing. He squeezed both eyes shut, then opened one just enough to squint through. Three people stood in front of him, but their faces were in shadow, the light source coming from behind.

“Wakey wakey,” a husky voice said. Someone snickered.

“Want some more of that fire juice?” This came from a woman. The same person snickered again.

Thomas finally grew accustomed to the light and opened his eyes fully. He was in a wooden chair, wide gray tape tightly securing his wrists to the armrests and his ankles to the chair legs. Two men and one woman stood in front of him. Blondie. Tall and Ugly. Ponytail.

“Why didn’t you just whack me out in the alley?” Thomas asked.

“Whack you?” Blondie responded. His voice hadn’t seemed husky before; it sounded like he’d spent the last few hours yelling out on the dance floor. “What do you think we are, some kind of twentieth-century mafia clan? If we wanted to whack you, you’d already be dead, bleeding in the streets.”

“We don’t want you dead,” Ponytail interrupted. “That would spoil the meat. We like to eat our victims while they’re still breathing. Eat as much as we can before they bleed to death. You wouldn’t believe how juicy and… sweet that tastes.”

Tall and Ugly laughed, but Thomas couldn’t tell whether Ponytail was serious. Either way, it freaked him out.

“She’s kidding,” Blondie said. “We’ve only eaten other humans when it’s gotten completely desperate. Man meat tastes like pig crap.”

Another burst of giggles from Tall and Ugly. Not snickering, not laughing. Giggling. Thomas didn’t believe they were serious-he was much more worried about how their minds seemed… off.

Blondie smiled for the first time since Thomas had met him. “Joking again. We’re not quite that Cranked-out yet. But I do bet people don’t taste very good.”

Tall and Ugly and Ponytail nodded.

Man, these guys are really starting to lose it. Thomas thought. He heard a muffled groan to his left and looked over. Brenda was in a corner of the room, bound just as he was. But her mouth had been taped shut as well, making him wonder if she’d put up more of a fight before she passed out. It looked like she was only now waking up, and when she noticed the three Cranks, she shifted and wiggled in her chair, moaning through the gag. Her eyes lit with fire.

Blondie pointed at her. His pistol had magically appeared. “Shut up! Shut up or I’ll splat your brain on the wall!”

Brenda stopped. Thomas expected her to start whimpering or crying or something. But she didn’t, and he immediately felt stupid for thinking it. She’d already shown how tough she was.

Blondie dropped the gun to his side. “Better. Good God, we should’ve killed her when she first started screaming up there. And biting.” He looked at his forearm, where the long arc of a welt shone red.

“She’s with him,” Ponytail said. “We can’t kill her yet.”

Blondie pulled a chair from the far wall and took a seat just a few feet in front of Thomas. The others followed suit, looking relieved, as if they’d been waiting hours for permission. Blondie rested the gun on his thigh, its business end pointed straight at Thomas.

“Okay,” the man said. “We’ve got us quite a lot to talk about. I’m not going through the normal bullcrap with you, either. If you mess around or refuse to answer or whatever, I’m gonna shoot you in the leg. Then the other one. Third time, a bullet goes into your girlfriend’s face. I’m thinking somewhere right between the eyes. And I bet you can guess what happens the fourth time you piss me off.”

Thomas nodded. He wanted to think he was tough, think he could stand up to these Cranks. But common sense won out. He was taped to a chair, no weapons, no allies, nothing. Though honestly, he didn’t have anything to hide. He’d answer whatever the guy asked him. Whatever ended up happening, he didn’t want any bullets in his leg. And he doubted the guy was bluffing.

“First question,” Blondie said. “Who are you and why is your name on signs all over this piece of crap city?”

“My name is Thomas.” As soon as it came out, Blondie scrunched up his face in anger. Thomas realized his stupid mistake and hurried along. “You already knew that. Well, how I got here is a really weird story and I doubt you’ll believe it. But I swear I’m telling the truth.”

“Didn’t you come on a Berg like the rest of us?” Ponytail asked.

“Berg?” Thomas didn’t know what that meant, but he just shook his head and went on. “No. We came out of some underground tunnel about thirty miles or so to the south. Before that we went through something called a Flat Trans. Before that-”

“Hold it hold it hold it,” Blondie said, holding up a hand. “A Flat Trans? I’d shoot you right now, but there’s no way you just made that up.”

Thomas wrinkled his brow in confusion “Why?”

“You’d be stupid to try getting away with an obvious lie like that. You came through a Flat Trans?” The man’s surprise was obvious.

Thomas glanced at the other Cranks, both of whom had similar looks of shock on their faces. “Yeah. Why’s that so hard to believe?”

“Do you have any idea how expensive Flat Transportation is? Before the flares, it had just been revealed to the public. Only governments and billionaires can afford to use it.”

Thomas shrugged. “Well, I know they have a lot of money, and that’s what the guy called it. A Flat Trans. Kind of a gray wall that tingles like ice when you walk through it.”

“What guy?” Ponytail asked.

Thomas had barely started and already his mind was jumbled. How could you tell a story like this? “I think he was from WICKED. They’re running us through some kind of experiment or test. I don’t really know everything. We… had our memories wiped out. Some of mine came back, but not a whole lot.”

Blondie didn’t react for a second, just sat there staring at him. Almost through him, at the wall behind. Finally, he said, “I was a lawyer. Back before the flares and this disease ruined everything. I know when someone’s lying. I was very, very good at my job.”

Oddly, Thomas relaxed. “Then you know I’m not-”

“Yeah, I know. I wanna hear the whole thing. Start talking.”

Thomas did. He couldn’t say why, but it seemed okay. His instincts told him these Cranks were just like everybody else-sent here to live out their last horrible years succumbing to the Flare. They were just trying to find an advantage, find a way out, like anybody would. And meeting a guy who had special signs about him all over the city was an excellent first step. If Thomas had been in their shoes, he’d probably have been doing the same thing. Without the gun and bindings, hopefully.

He’d told most of the story to Brenda just the day before, and related it much the same way now. The Maze, the escape, the dorms. Being given the mission to cross the Scorch. He took special care to make it sound very important, stressing the part about the cure waiting at the end. Since they’d lost the chance to have Jorge’s help getting through the city, maybe he could start over with these people. He also expressed his concern over the other Gladers, but when he asked if they’d seen them-or a big group of girls-the answer was no.

Once again, he didn’t talk much about Teresa. He just didn’t want to take any chances of endangering her somehow, though he had no idea how talking about her might do that. He also lied a bit about Brenda. Well, he never really lied directly. He just kind of made it sound like she’d been with him from the beginning.

When he finished, ending at the part where they’d met the three people in front of him in the alley, he took a deep breath and adjusted himself in the chair. “Can you please take this tape off me now?”

A flick of Tall and Ugly’s hand caught his attention and he looked to see that a very sharp, shiny knife had appeared there. “What do you think?” he asked Blondie.

“Sure, why not.” He’d held a stoic face throughout the tale, giving no hint yet as to whether he believed the story.

Tall and Ugly shrugged and got to his feet, walked over to Thomas. He was just leaning over, knife outstretched, when a commotion broke out above. Hard thumps on the ceiling, followed by a couple of screams. Then it sounded like a hundred people running. Frantic footsteps, jumping, more thumps. More screams.

“Another group must’ve found us,” Blondie said, his face suddenly pale. He stood, motioned for the other two to follow him. A few seconds later they were gone, vanishing up a set of stairs into the shadows. A door opened and closed. The chaos above continued.

All of this combined to scare Thomas nearly out of his wits. He looked over at Brenda, who sat perfectly still, listening. Her eyes finally met his gaze. Still gagged, she could only raise her eyebrows.

He didn’t like their odds being left like this, taped to chairs. There was no way any of the Cranks he’d met that night had a chance against ones like Mr. Nose. “What if a bunch of full-gone Cranks are up there?” he asked.

Brenda mumbled something through the tape.

Thomas strained every muscle and started jumping his chair in tiny steps toward where she sat. He’d made it about three feet when the sounds of fighting and rumbling suddenly stopped. He froze, looked up at the ceiling.

Nothing for several seconds. Then a set of footsteps, maybe two, shuffling across the floor above. A loud thump. Another loud thump. Then another. Thomas imagined bodies being thrown on the ground.

The door at the top of the stairs opened.

Then footsteps, hard and heavy, running down. It was all in shadow, and a cold panic flooded Thomas’s body as he waited to see who came down.

Finally, someone stepped into the light.

Minho. Dirty and bloody, burn marks on his face. Knives in both hands. Minho.

“You guys look comfy,” he said.

CHAPTER 39

Despite everything he’d been through, Thomas couldn’t remember the last time he’d been at such a loss for words. “What… how…” He stammered, trying to get something out.

Minho smiled, a very welcome sight. Especially considering how horrible the guy looked. “We’d just found you. Did you think we were gonna let these bunch of shuck-faces do anything to you? You owe me. Big-time.” He walked over and started cutting the tape.

“What do you mean you’d just found us?” Thomas was so happy he wanted to giggle like an idiot. Not only were they rescued, his friends were alive. They were alive!

Minho kept cutting. “Jorge’s been leading us through the city-avoiding Cranks, finding food.” He finished up with Thomas and went to free Brenda, still talking over his shoulder. “Yesterday morning, we kind of spread out, spying here and there. Frypan was peeking around the corner into that alley up there just as those three shanks pulled a gun on you. He came back, we got mad, started planning our ambush. Most of those shucks were wasted or asleep.”

Brenda pushed her way out of the chair and past Minho as soon as her tape was cut. She started toward Thomas, but hesitated-he couldn’t tell if she was mad or just worried. Then she came the rest of the way, ripping the tape off her mouth as she reached his side.

Thomas stood up, and immediately his head pounded again, the room swaying, making him sick. He plopped back into the chair. “Oh, man. Anybody got some aspirin?”

Minho only laughed. Brenda had made her way to the bottom of the stairs, where she stood with arms folded. Something about her body language did make her look angry. Then he remembered what he had said to her right before passing out from the drug.

Oh, crap, he thought. He’d told her she could never be Teresa.

“Brenda?” he asked sheepishly. “You okay?” No way he was gonna bring up their odd dance and that conversation in front of Minho.

She nodded, but didn’t look back at him. “I’m fine. Let’s go. I wanna see Jorge.” Short clips for words. No emotion in them.

Thomas groaned, glad to have the pain in his head as an excuse. Yeah, she was mad at him. Actually, mad might’ve been the wrong word. She looked more hurt.

Or maybe he assumed too much and she didn’t care at all.

Minho came up to him, offered a hand. “Come on, dude. Headache or no headache, we need to go. No telling how long we can keep the shuck prisoners up there quiet and still.”

“Prisoners?” Thomas repeated.

“Whatever you wanna call them-we can’t risk letting them go until we get out. We’ve got a dozen guys holding more than twenty. And they aren’t too happy. They might start thinking they can take us pretty soon. Once they get rid of their hangovers.”

Thomas stood up again, this time much more slowly. The pain in his head rocked and throbbed like a steady drum, seeming to push on his eyeballs from behind with every thud. He closed his eyes until things quit spinning around him. He sucked in a deep breath, looked at Minho. “I’ll be fine.”

Minho flashed him a smile. “Such a man. Come on.”

Thomas followed his friend to the stairs. He paused beside Brenda but didn’t say anything. Minho peered back at Thomas with an expression that said, What’s up with her? Thomas just shook his head slightly.

Minho shrugged, then stomped his way up and out of the room, but Thomas stayed back with Brenda for a second. She didn’t seem to want to move just yet. And she refused to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, regretting his harsh words right before passing out. “I think I said something kinda mean-”

Her eyes snapped up to meet his. “You think I give a crap about you and your girlfriend? I was just dancing, trying to have some fun before everything went bad. What, you think I’m in love with you or something? Just dying till the day you ask me to be your Crank bride? Get over yourself.”

Her words were so full of rage that Thomas took a step back, as hurt as if she’d slapped him. Before he could respond, she disappeared upstairs, all heavy footsteps and sighs. He’d never missed Teresa so badly as at that moment. On a whim, he called out to her with his mind. But she still wasn’t there.

The smell hit him before he even entered the room where they’d danced.

Like sweat and vomit.

Bodies littered the floor, some sleeping, some huddled together and shivering; some even looked dead. Jorge, Newt and Aris were there, standing guard, slowly turning in circles with knives drawn and pointing.

Thomas saw Frypan and the other Gladers, too. Though his head still throbbed, he felt a rush of relief and excitement. “What happened to you guys! Where have you been?”

“Hey, it’s Thomas!” Frypan roared. “As ugly and alive as ever!”

Newt came up to him, gave a sincere smile. “Glad you’re not bloody dead, Tommy. I’m really, really glad.”

“You too.” Thomas realized with a weird numbness that this was what his life had become. This was how you greeted people after a day or two apart. “Has everyone made it so far? Where’d you guys go? How’d you get here?”

Newt nodded. “Still eleven of us. Plus Jorge.”

Thomas’s questions came faster than anyone could answer. “Any sign of Barkley and the rest of them? Were they the ones who set off the explosion?”

Jorge answered-Thomas saw that he stood closest to the door, holding a very nasty-looking sword that was currently resting on the shoulder of Tall and Ugly himself. Ponytail was next to him, and they were both curled up on the ground. “Haven’t seen ’em since. We got away pretty quickly, and they’re too scared to come deeper into the city.”

The sight of Tall and Ugly had set off a small alarm inside Thomas. Blondie. Where was Blondie? How would Minho and the others have dealt with his gun? He looked around but couldn’t find him anywhere in the room.

“Minho,” Thomas whispered, then motioned for him to come closer. Once he and Newt were both right next to him, he leaned in. “The guy with really short blond hair. Seemed like the leader. What happened to him?”

Minho shrugged and looked at Newt to answer.

“Must’ve got out,” Newt replied. “A handful did-we couldn’t stop all of them.”

“Why?” Minho asked. “You worried about him?”

Thomas looked around, lowered his voice even further. “He had a gun. He’s the only one I’ve seen with something worse than a knife. And he wasn’t very nice.”

“Who gives a klunk?” Minho said. “We’ll be out of this stupid city in an hour. And we should go. Now.”

That sounded like the best idea Thomas had heard in days. “Okay, I want to get out of here before he comes back.”

“Listen up!” Minho called out as he stepped away, walking through the crowd. “We’re leaving now. Don’t follow us, you’ll be fine. Follow us, you’ll be dead. Pretty easy choice, don’t ya think?”

Thomas wondered when and how Minho had taken back the leadership role from Jorge. He looked over at the older man and noticed Brenda standing silently next to a wall, staring at the floor. He felt so bad about what had happened the night before. He really had wanted to kiss her. But for some reason he’d felt disgusted at the same time. Maybe it was the drug. Maybe it was Teresa. Maybe it was “Hey, Thomas!” Minho was yelling at him. “Dude, wake up! We’re leaving!”

Several Gladers had already walked through the door and into the sunlight. How long had he been out from the drug? A full day? Or just a few hours, since morning? He moved to follow, stopping by Brenda and giving her a little push. He worried for a second that she wouldn’t come with them, but she only hesitated a moment before heading for the door.

Minho, Newt and Jorge waited, keeping guard with their weapons, until everyone but Thomas and Brenda were out. Thomas watched at the doorway as the three Gladers backed away, slowly sweeping the tips of their knives and swords back and forth as they did so. But it didn’t look like anyone was going to put up a fuss. They were all probably ready to move on, just glad to be alive.

Everyone gathered in the alley away from the stairs. Thomas stayed close to the top step, but Brenda made her way to the other side of the group. He swore he’d get her alone as soon as they were away and safe, have a long talk. He liked her, wanted to be her friend if nothing else. More importantly, he now felt about her much the way he’d felt about Chuck. For some reason a feeling of responsibility for her had overcome him.

“-make a run for it.”

Thomas shook his head, realizing that Minho had been talking. Daggers of pain shot through his skull, but he focused.

“There’s only about a mile left,” Minho continued. “These Cranks aren’t so hard to fight after all. So let’s-”

“Hey!”

The shout came from behind Thomas, loud and screechy, filled with more than a hint of lunacy. Thomas spun around to see Blondie standing down on the bottom step, by the open door, his arm extended. His white-knuckled fingers held the gun, surprisingly steady and calm. It was pointed directly at Thomas.

Before anyone could move he fired, an explosion that rocked the narrow alley with a thunderous boom.

Pure pain ripped through Thomas’s left shoulder.

CHAPTER 40

The impact knocked Thomas back, spinning him around so that he fell flat on his face, smacking his nose on the ground. Somehow, through the pain and muffled buzz in his ears, he heard the gun fire again, then the sound of grunts and punches, followed by metal clacking across the cement.

He rolled onto his back, hand clasped tight to where he’d been shot; he searched for the courage to look at the wound. The ringing in his ears grew louder, and he barely noticed out of the corner of his eye that Blondie had been tackled to the ground. Someone was punching the living crap out of him.

Minho.

Thomas finally gazed down at the damage. What he saw there made his heart double its pace.

A small hole in his shirt revealed a gooey red blob right in the meaty part above his armpit, blood pouring from the wound. It hurt. It hurt bad. If he’d thought his headache downstairs had been tough, this was like three or four of those, all smashed into a coil of pain right there in his shoulder. And spreading through the rest of his body.

Newt was at his side, looking down with worried eyes.

“He shot me.” It just came out, a new number one on the list of the dumbest things he’d ever said. The pain, like living metal staples running through his insides, pricking and scratching with their little sharp points. He felt his mind going dark for the second time that day.

Someone handed a shirt to Newt, who pressed it tightly against Thomas’s wound. This sent another wave of agony through him; he cried out, not caring how wimpy he sounded. It hurt like nothing he’d ever felt before. The world around him faded another few degrees.

Pass out, he urged himself. Please pass out, make it go away.

Voices came from a distance again, just like his own had on the dance floor after being drugged.

“I can get that sucker out of him.” This was Jorge, of all people. “But I’ll need a fire.”

“We can’t do this here.” Was that Newt?

“Let’s get out of this shuck city.” Definitely Minho.

“All right. Help me carry him.” No idea.

Hands gripping him from underneath, grasping his legs. The pain. Someone saying something about the count of three. The pain. It really, really hurt. One. The pain. Two. Ouch. Three!

He rose toward the sky, and the pain exploded anew, fresh and raw.

Then his wish to pass out came true and darkness washed his troubles away.

He awoke, his mind a haze.

Light blinded him; he couldn’t open his eyes all the way. His whole body jostled and bumped, hands still holding him tight. He heard the sounds of breathing, heavy and fast. Feet pounding on pavement. Someone shouting, though he couldn’t understand the words. In the distance, the mad screams of Cranks. Close enough that they might be pursuing.

Heat. The air was burning hot.

His shoulder, on fire. Pain tore through him like a series of toxic explosions, and he fled to the darkness once again.

***

He cracked his eyes.

This time the light was much less intense. The golden gleam of twilight. He lay on his back, the ground beneath him hard. A rock dug into his lower back, but it felt heavenly compared to the rot in his shoulder. People lumbered about him, talking in short and tight whispers.

The cackle of Cranks had grown more distant. He saw nothing but sky above him, no buildings. Pain in his shoulder. Oh, the pain.

A fire licked and spit somewhere close. He felt the heat wafting across his body, hot wind through hot air.

Someone said, “You better hold him down. Legs and arms.”

Though his mind still floated in fog, those words didn’t sound good.

A flash of light on silver in his vision, the fading sun’s reflection on… a knife? Was it glowing red?

“This is gonna hurt somethin’ awful.” No idea who said it.

He heard the hiss right before a billion pounds of dynamite exploded in his shoulder.

His mind said goodbye for the third time.

He sensed that a long spell of time had passed this go-around. When he opened his eyes again, stars like pinpricks of daylight shone down from the dark sky. Someone held his hand. He tried to turn his head to look over, but it sent a fresh wave of agony shooting down his spine.

He didn’t need to see. It was Brenda.

Who else would it be? Plus, the hand was soft and small. Brenda for sure.

The intense pain of before had been replaced. In some ways, he now felt worse. Something like an illness crept through the inner workings of his body. A gnawing, itching filthiness. Something foul, like maggots squirming through his veins and the hollows of his bones and between his muscles. Eating away at him.

It hurt, but now it was more of an ache. Deep and raw. His stomach, gurgly and unstable, fire in his veins.

He didn’t know how he knew, but he was sure of it. Something was wrong.

The word infection popped up in his mind, then stayed there.

He drifted off.

The sunrise woke Thomas in the morning. The first thing he realized was that Brenda no longer held his hand. Then he noticed the cool air of early morning on his skin, which gave him the briefest moment of pleasure.

Then he became fully aware of the throbbing pain that consumed his body, dwelling in every last molecule. It no longer had anything to do with his shoulder and the bullet wound. Something terrible had gone wrong with his entire system.

Infection. That word again.

He didn’t know how he’d make it through the next five minutes. Or the next hour. How could he possibly go through an entire day? Then sleep and start the whole thing all over again? Despair sucked at him, an empty, yawning void that threatened to pull him down into an awful abyss. A panic-laced craziness struck him. Suffusing it all, the pain.

That was when things got bizarre.

The others heard it before he did. Minho and everyone else were suddenly scrambling, searching for something, many of them scanning the sky. The sky? Why would they be doing that?

Someone-Jorge, he thought-yelled the word Berg.

Then Thomas heard it. A deep thrumming, full of heavy thumps. It grew louder before he even realized what was going on, and soon it felt as though the noise were inside his skull, rattling his jaw and eardrums and sluicing down his spine. A constant, steady pounding, like the world’s largest drums; behind it all, the massive hum of heavy machinery. A wind picked up, and at first Thomas worried that a storm was starting again, but the sky was perfectly blue. Not a cloud to be seen.

The noise worsened his pain, made him begin to shut down again. But he fought it, desperate to know the source of the sounds. Minho shouted something, pointed to the north. Thomas hurt too much to turn and look. The wind grew stronger, gusting across him, ripping at his clothes. Dust flew and clouded the air. Suddenly Brenda was beside him again, squeezing his hand.

She leaned over until her face was only inches above his. Her hair whipped all around.

“I’m sorry,” she said, though he barely heard her. “I didn’t mean to-I mean, I know that you…” She fumbled for words, looked away.

What was she talking about? Why didn’t she tell him what was making that horrible noise! He hurt so bad…