***
They set off just as the sun dipped below the horizon, making the dusty orange land look almost purple. Thomas was cramped and tired, itching to walk off some steam and loosen his muscles.
The mountains slowly became jagged peaks of shadow, growing taller and taller as they walked. There were no real foothills to speak of; the flat valley just stretched forward until the ground erupted toward the sky in sheer cliffs and steep slopes. All brown and ugly, lifeless. Thomas hoped an obvious path would present itself once they'd made it that far.
No one spoke much as they marched along. Brenda stayed close but quiet. She didn't even talk to Jorge. Thomas hated how it was now. How suddenly everything was awkward between him and Brenda. He liked her, probably more than he liked anyone else now besides Newt and Minho. And Teresa, of course.
Newt approached him after darkness had fallen, the stars and moon their only guides. Their light was enough—you didn't need much when the ground was flat and all you had to do was walk toward the looming wall of rock in front of you. The crunch crunch crunch of their footsteps on the earth filled the air.
"Been thinkin'," Newt said.
"About what?" Thomas didn't really care; he was just glad to have someone to talk to and get his mind off things.
"WICKED. Ya know, they broke their own bloody rules with you." "Hows that?"
"They said there were no rules. Said we had so much time to get to the bloody safe haven and that was that. No rules. People dying left and right, then they come down in a buggin' monster flying thing and save your butt. Doesn't make sense." He paused. "Not that I'm complaining— I'm glad you're alive and all."
"Gee, thanks." Thomas knew it was a good point, but he was tired of thinking about it.
"And then there were all those signs in the city. Weird."
Thomas looked over at Newt, barely able to see his friends face. "What, you jealous or something?" he asked, trying to make a joke out of it. Trying to ignore the fact that the signs had to be a big deal.
Newt laughed. "No, you shank. Just dying to know what's really going on around here. What this is really all about."
"Yeah." Thomas nodded. He couldn't agree more. "The lady said only a few of us were good enough to be Candidates. And she did say I was the best Candidate, and they didn't want me dying from something they hadn't planned. But I don't know what it all means. Has something to do with all that klunk about killzone patterns."
They walked on for a minute or so before Newt spoke again. "Not worth bustin' our brains about, I guess. What's gonna happen'll happen."
Thomas almost told him then about what Teresa had said in his mind, but for some reason it just didn't feel right.
He stayed silent, and eventually Newt drifted away until once again Thomas walked alone in the dark.
A couple of hours passed before he had another conversation, this time with Minho. A lot of words flew back and forth between them, but in the end they hadn't really said much. Just passing time, rehashing the same questions they'd all gone over in their minds a million times.
Thomas's legs were a little tired, but not too bad. The mountains got ever closer. The air cooled considerably, and it felt wonderful. Brenda remained silent and distant.
And on they went.
***
When the first traces of dawn turned the sky a deep, dark blue, the stars beginning to wink away for the coming day, Thomas finally got the nerve to approach Brenda and talk about something. Anything. The cliffs loomed now, dead trees and chunks of scattered rock coming into focus. They'd reach the foot of the mountains by the time the sun popped over the horizon, Thomas was sure of it.
"Hey," he said to her. "How're your feet holding up?"
"Fine." It came out curt, but then she quickly spoke again, maybe trying to make up for it. "How about you? Your shoulder seem okay?"
"I can't believe how fine it is. Doesn't hurt much at all."
"That's good."
"Yeah." He racked his brain, trying to think of something to say. "So, um, I'm sorry about all the weird stuff that happened. And ... for anything I said. My head's all kinds of crazy and messed up."
She looked over at him, and he could see a bit of softness in her eyes. "Please, Thomas. The last thing you need to do is apologize." She returned her gaze up ahead. "We're just different. Plus, you have that girlfriend of yours. I shouldn't have tried to kiss you and all that crap."
"She's not really my girlfriend." He regretted saying it as soon as it came out—didn't even know where it had come from.
Brenda huffed. "Don't be dumb. And don't insult me. If you're gonna resist this"—she paused and gestured to herself with a sweep of her hands from head to toe with a mocking smile—"then it better be for a good reason."
Thomas laughed—all the tension and awkwardness had just vanished completely. "Point taken. You’re probably a crappy kisser anyway."
She punched him in the arm—luckily his good one. "You couldn't possibly be more wrong. Trust me on that one."
Thomas was just about to say something stupid when he stopped dead in his tracks. Somebody almost ran into him from behind, tripped around to his side, but he couldn't tell who—his eyes were glued in front of him, his heart completely frozen.
The sky had lightened considerably, and the leading edge of the mountains' slope lay just a few hundred feet away. Halfway between here and there, a girl had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, rising from the ground. And she was walking toward them at a brisk pace.
In her hands she held a long shaft of wood with a large, nasty-looking blade lashed to one end.
It was Teresa.
CHAPTER 44
Thomas didn't quite know how to compute what he saw. He felt no surprise or joy at Teresa's being alive—he'd already known that she was. She'd spoken to his mind just the day before. But seeing her in the flesh still lifted his spirits. Until he remembered her warning that something bad was going to happen. Until he thought about the fact she was holding a bladed spear.
The other Gladers noticed right after he did, and soon everyone had stopped to gawk at Teresa as she marched toward them, her hands gripping that weapon, her face hard as stone. She looked ready to start stabbing the first thing that moved.
Thomas took a step forward, not really sure what he planned to do. But then more movement stopped him.
On both sides of Teresa, girls appeared; they, too, seemed to come from nowhere. He turned to look behind him. They were surrounded, by at least twenty girls.
And they all held weapons, varying knives and rusty swords and jagged machetes. Several of the girls had bows and arrows, their menacing tips already aimed at the group of Gladers. Thomas felt an uneasy slice of fear. Regardless of what Teresa had said about something bad happening, surely she wouldn't let these people hurt them. Right?
Group B popped into his mind. And his tattoo saying how they were supposed to kill him.
His thoughts were cut short when Teresa stopped about thirty feet away from the group. Her companions did the same, forming a complete circle around the Gladers. Thomas turned again to take it all in. Each one of their new visitors stood stiffly, eyes squinted, weapons held out in front and ready. The bows scared him the most—he and the others would have no chance to do anything before those arrows could fly and find a home inside someone's chest.
He stopped, facing Teresa. Her eyes were focused on him.
Minho spoke first. "What's this crap about, Teresa? Nice way to greet your long-lost buddies."
At the mention of the name Teresa, Brenda spun and looked sharply at Thomas. He gave her a quick nod, and the surprise on her face made him sad for some reason.
Teresa didn't answer the question, and an eerie silence swept across the group. The sun continued to rise, inching toward the point where its heat would beat down on them unbearably.
Teresa walked toward them again, and stopped about ten feet from where Minho and Newt stood side by side.
"Teresa?" Newt ask
ed. "What the bloody—"
"Shut up," Teresa said. She didn't snap or yell it. She said it calmly and with conviction, which only made it that much more frightening to Thomas. "And any of you makes a move, the bows start shooting."
Teresa brought her spear up to a better fighting position, swept it back and forth as she stepped past Newt and Minho and through the Gladers, acting as if she was searching for something. She came to Brenda, paused. Neither said a word, but the hatred between them was visible. Teresa moved past her, never dropping her icy stare.
And then she was in front of Thomas. He tried to tell himself that she'd never use that weapon on him, but believing it wasn't easy when you were looking at the blade's sharp edge.
"Teresa," he whispered before he could stop himself. Despite the spear, despite the hard look on her face, despite the way her muscles tensed as if she was about to slash him, all he wanted was to reach out to her. He couldn't help but remember the kiss she'd given him. The way it had felt.
She didn't move, just kept staring at him, her face unreadable except for the obvious anger there. "Teresa, what's—"
"Shut up." That same voice of calm. Of utter command. It didn't sound like her. "But what—"
Teresa reared back and swung the butt of her spear at him, smashing it into his right cheek. An explosion of pain shot through his skull, his neck; he crumpled to his knees, a hand to his face where she'd hit him.
"I said shut up." She reached down and grabbed him by the shirt, jerked up until he stood once again. She repositioned her hands on the wooden shaft, pointed it at him. "Is your name Thomas?"
He gaped at her. His world was crashing in on him, even though he told himself she'd warned him. Told him that no matter what, he had to trust her. "You know who I—"
She swung the spear even more violently this time, crashing the bladeless end into the side of his head, right on his ear. The pain was twice as bad as the first hit; he cried out, clutching his head. But he didn't fall this time. "You know who I am!" he screamed.
"I used to, anyway," she said in a voice that was both soft and disgusted. "Now I'm going to ask you one more time. Is your name Thomas?"
"Yes!" he yelled back at her. "My name is Thomas!"
Teresa nodded, then started to back away from him, the tip of the blade once again aimed at his chest. People got out of her way as she passed the group and rejoined the circle of girls who surrounded them.
"You're coming with us," she called out. "Thomas. Come on. Remember, anyone tries something, the arrows fly."
"No way!" Minho yelled. "You're not taking him anywhere."
Teresa acted as if she hadn't heard him, her eyes riveted to Thomas in that strange squinty-eyed stare. "This isn't some stupid game. I'm going to start counting. Every time I hit a multiple of five, we'll kill one of you with an arrow. We'll do it until Thomas is the only one left, then we'll take him anyway. It's up to you."
For the first time, Thomas noticed that Aris was acting strange. He stood just a few feet to Thomas's right, and he kept turning in a slow circle, staring at the girls one by one as if he knew them each well. But somehow he kept his mouth shut.
Of course, Thomas thought. If this really was Group B, Aris had been with them. He did know them.
"One!" Teresa shouted.
Thomas wasn't taking any chances. He walked forward, pushing past people until he reached the open, then went straight toward Teresa. He ignored the comments from Minho and the others. He ignored everything. Eyes on Teresa, trying to show no emotion, he walked until he stood almost nose to nose with her.
It was what he wanted anyway, right? He wanted to be with her. Even if she'd been turned against him somehow. Even if she was being manipulated by WICKED, like Alby and Gally had been. For all he knew, her memory had been wiped again. Didn't matter. She looked serious, and he couldn't risk having someone shoot one of his friends with a bow and arrow.
"Fine," he said. "Take me."
"I only made it to one."
"Yeah. I'm really brave that way."
She hit him with the spear, so hard that he couldn't help but drop to the ground again. His jaw and head ached like smoldering fire. He spit, saw blood splatter on the dirt.
"Bring the bag," Teresa said from above.
In his peripheral vision he saw two girls walking toward him, their weapons hidden away somewhere. One of them—a dark-skinned girl with hair cut almost to her scalp—held a large frayed burlap sack. They stopped two feet from him; he got back to his hands and knees, scared to do anything more for fear of getting pummeled again.
"We're taking him with us!" Teresa yelled. "If anybody follows, I'll hit him again and we'll start shooting you. We won't really bother aiming. Just let the arrows fly any old way they feel like."
"Teresa!" Minho's voice. "You catch the Flare that quickly? Your mind's obviously gone already."
The butt of the spear smashed into the back of Thomas's head; he collapsed onto his stomach, black stars swimming in the dirt inches from his face. How could she do this to him?
"Anything else you wanna say?" Teresa asked. After a long moment of silence, she said, "Didn't think so. Put the bag over him."
Hands roughly grabbed his shoulder and spun him onto his back— their grip dug into his bullet wound enough to send a deep ache flashing through his upper body for the first time since WICKED had fixed him up.
He moaned. Faces—they didn't even look angry—hovered over him as two girls held the open end of the sack directly above his head.
"Don't resist," the dark-skinned girl said, her face shining with sweat. "Or it'll just get worse."
Thomas was perplexed. Her eyes and voice held genuine sympathy for him. But her next words couldn't have been more different.
"Better just to go along and let us kill you. Doesn't do you any good to have a lot of pain along the way."
The bag slipped over his head, and all he could see was ugly brown light.
CHAPTER 45
They shifted him around on the ground till they got the bag slipped entirely over his body. Then they tied the open end at his feet with a rope, knotting it tight and wrapping its ends up and around the rest of him, pinning him inside the bag, cinching another knot just over his head.
Thomas felt the bag going taut; then his head was pulled up. He imagined girls holding either end of this impossibly long rope. Which could only mean one thing—they were going to drag him. He couldn't take it anymore, started squirming even though he knew what it'd get him.
"Teresa! Don't do this to me!"
This time a fist hit him right in the stomach, making him howl. He tried to double over, tried to clutch his middle, but couldn't because of the stupid bag. Nausea swept through him; he fought it, kept his food down.
"Since you obviously don't care about yourself," Teresa said, "talk again and we'll start shooting your friends. That sound good to you?"
Thomas didn't respond; he heaved a silent sob of agony. Had he really been thinking things were looking up in the world only yesterday? His infection cured and his wound healed, away from the city of Cranks, nothing but a swift and hard hike through the mountains between them and the safe haven. He should've known better after everything he'd been through.
"I meant what I said!" Teresa yelled at the Gladers. "There won't be a warning. Follow us and the arrows start flying."
Thomas saw her outline as she knelt next to him, heard her knees crunching on the dirt. Then she grabbed him through the material of the bag, put her head against his, her mouth just half an inch from his ear. She started whispering, so faintly he had to strain to hear, concentrating to separate her words from the breeze.
"They're blocking me from talking to you in our heads. Remember to trust me."
Thomas, surprised, had to fight to keep his mouth shut.
"What're you saying to him?" This came from one of the girls holding the rope attached to the bag.
"I'm letting him know just how much I'm enjoying this. How m
uch I'm enjoying my revenge. Do you mind?"
Thomas had never heard such arrogance from her. She was either a really good actress or had started going crazy. Gained a split personality or two.
"Well," the other girl responded. "Glad you're having so much fun. But we need to hurry."
"I know," Teresa said. She gripped the sides of Thomas's head even harder, squeezed and shook it. Then she pressed her mouth against the rough material, pushing on his ear. When she spoke, again with that hot whisper, he could feel her hot breath through the weave of the burlap. "Hang in there. It'll be over soon."
The words numbed Thomas's brain; he had no idea what to think. Was she being sarcastic?
She released him and stood back up. "Okay, let's get out of here. Make sure you hit as many rocks as you can along the way."
His captors started walking, dragging him along behind them. He felt the rough ground below him as he was dragged across it, the big sack providing absolutely no protection. It hurt. He arched his back, putting all his weight on his feet, letting his shoes bear the brunt of the impacts. But he knew his strength couldn't hold out forever.
Teresa walked right beside him as they pulled his body along. He could just make her out through the burlap.
Then Minho started yelling, his voice already fading with distance, the sound of being dragged against the dirt making it that much harder to hear. What Thomas did hear, however, gave him little hope. Between garbled unflattering names, Thomas heard the words "we'll find you" and "time is right" and "weapons."
Teresa slammed her fist into Thomas's stomach again, shutting Minho up.
And across the desert they went, Thomas bouncing over the dirt like a sack of old clothes.
Thomas imagined horrible things as they went along. His legs were weakening every second, and he knew he'd have to lower his body to the ground soon. He pictured the bleeding wounds, the permanent scars.
But maybe it wouldn't matter. They planned on killing him anyway.
THE SCORCH TRIALS tmr-2 Page 22
