The Maze Runner Series Complete Collection

by James Dashner

  He looked at her sharply. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Huh?” she asked, obviously startled, maybe even hurt. “Why?”

  “Just … don’t.” He felt terrible for saying it, but couldn’t take it back. That was what Teresa called him.

  “Fine. Shall I call you Mr. Thomas? Or maybe King Thomas? Or better yet, just Your Majesty?”

  Thomas sighed. “I’m sorry. Call me whatever.”

  Brenda let out a sarcastic laugh and then they both grew silent.

  Thomas and Brenda sat, backs against the wall, and the minutes stretched on. It was almost a peaceful quiet until Thomas heard an odd thumping sound that alarmed him.

  “Do you hear that?” he asked, now fully at attention.

  Brenda had stilled, head cocked to the side as she listened intently. “Yeah. Sounds like someone bangin’ on a drum.”

  “I guess the fun and games are over.” He stood up, then helped Brenda do the same. “What do you think it is?”

  “Chances are it’s not good.”

  “But what if it’s our friends?”

  The low bump-bump-bump suddenly seemed to come from everywhere at once, the echoes bouncing back and forth between the alley walls. But after a long few seconds, Thomas grew certain the sound was coming from a corner of the dead end. Despite the risk, he ran in that direction to get a look.

  “What’re you doing!” Brenda snapped at him, but when he ignored her, she followed.

  At the very end of the alley, Thomas reached a wall of cracked and faded bricks, where four stairs led down to a scratched and worn wooden door. Just above the door, there was a tiny rectangle of a window, its glass missing. One broken shard still hung at the top, like a jagged tooth.

  Thomas could hear music playing, much louder now. It was intense and fast, the bass powerful, drums banging and guitars screaming. Mixed in were the sounds of people laughing and shouting and singing along. And none of it sounded very … sane. There was something creepy and disturbing about it.

  It looked like the Cranks didn’t just look for peoples’ noses to bite off, and it gave Thomas a very bad feeling—this noise had nothing to do with his friends.

  “We better get out of here,” Thomas said.

  “Ya think?” Brenda responded, standing right at his shoulder.

  “Come on.” Thomas turned to go just as she did, but they both froze. Three people had appeared in the alley while they’d been distracted. Two men and one woman, now standing only a few feet away.

  Thomas’s stomach dropped as he quickly observed the new arrivals. Their clothes were tattered, their hair messy, their faces dirty. But when he looked closer he saw that they didn’t have any noticeable injuries, and their eyes showed glints of intelligence. Cranks, but not full-gone Cranks.

  “Hi there,” the woman said. She had long red hair pulled into a ponytail. Her shirt was cut so low that Thomas had to force himself to keep his eyes focused on hers. “Come to join our party? Lots of dancing. Lots of lovin’. Lots of booze.”

  There was an edge to her voice that made Thomas nervous. He didn’t know what it meant, but this lady wasn’t being nice. She was mocking them.

  “Um, no thanks,” Thomas said. “We, uh, we were just—”

  Brenda cut in. “Just trying to find our friends. We’re new here, just getting settled.”

  “Welcome to WICKED’s very own Crankland.” This was one of the men, a tall, ugly guy with greasy hair. “Don’t worry, most of ’em down there”—he nodded toward the stairs—“are half gone at worst. You might get an elbow in the face, maybe kicked in the ’nads. But no one’s gonna try to eat you.”

  “’Nads?” Brenda repeated. “Excuse me?”

  The man pointed at Thomas. “I was talkin’ to the boy. Things might get a little worse for you if you don’t stick close to us. You being female and all.”

  This whole conversation was making Thomas ill. “Sounds like fun. But we gotta go. Find our friends. Maybe we’ll come back.”

  The other man stepped forward. This one was short but handsome, with blond hair in a crew cut. “You two are nothin’ but kids. Time you got some lessons on life. Time you had some fun. We’re officially inviting you to the party.” He pronounced each word of the last sentence carefully, and with no kindness whatsoever.

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” Brenda said.

  Blondie pulled a gun from a pocket of his long jacket. It was a pistol, silver but grimy and dull. Still, it looked as menacing and deadly as anything Thomas had ever seen.

  “I don’t think you understood me,” the man said. “You’re invited to our party. That’s not something you turn down.”

  Tall and Ugly pulled out a knife. Ponytail pulled out a screwdriver, its tip black with what had to be old blood.

  “What do you say?” Blondie asked. “Would you like to come to our party?”

  Thomas looked at Brenda, but she didn’t look back. Her eyes were glued to the blond man, and her face said she was about to do something really stupid.

  “Okay,” Thomas said quickly. “We’ll go. Let’s do it.”

  Brenda snapped her head around. “What?”

  “He has a gun. He has a knife. She’s got a shuck screwdriver! I’m not in the mood to have an eyeball smashed into my skull.”

  “Looks like your boyfriend’s not stupid,” Blondie said. “Now let’s go have some fun.” He pointed his pistol at the stairs and smiled. “Feel free to lead the way.”

  Brenda was clearly angry, but her eyes also revealed that she knew they had no other choice. “Fine.”

  Blondie smiled again; the expression would’ve looked natural on a snake. “That’s the spirit. Fine and dandy, nothing to worry about.”

  “No one’s gonna hurt you,” Tall and Ugly added. “Unless you get difficult. Unless you act like brats. By the end of the party, you’ll wanna join our group. Trust me on that.”

  Thomas had to fight to keep the panic from pounding through him. “Let’s just go,” he said to Blondie.

  “Waiting on you.” The man pointed at the stairs with his gun again.

  Thomas reached out and grabbed Brenda’s hand, pulled her close to him. “Let’s go to the party, sweetheart.” He put as much sarcasm into it as he could. “This’ll be so much fun!”

  “That’s very nice,” Ponytail said. “I get weepy when I see two people in love.” She feigned wiping tears from her cheeks.

  With Brenda by his side, Thomas turned toward the stairs, aware the whole time of the gun pointed at his back. They made their way down the steps to the old slab of a door, the space just wide enough for them to go side by side. When they reached the bottom, Thomas didn’t see a handle. Raising his eyebrows, he looked back at Blondie, who stood two steps behind them.

  “Gotta do the special knock,” the man said. “Three slow fist thumps, three fast ones, then two knuckle taps.”

  Thomas hated these people. He hated the way they spoke so calmly and said mostly nice words, all of them full of mockery. In a way these Cranks were worse than the nose-missing guy he’d stabbed the day before—at least with him they’d known exactly what they were dealing with.

  “Do it,” Brenda whispered.

  Thomas balled his hand into a fist and did the slow fist thumps, then the fast ones. Then he rapped the wood twice with his knuckles. The door opened immediately, the pounding music escaping like a blasting wind.

  The guy who greeted them was huge, ears and face pierced several times, tattoos all over. His hair was long and white, reaching well past his shoulders. But Thomas barely had time to register this before the man spoke.

  “Hey, Thomas. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  CHAPTER 37

  The next minute or so was a stunned blur of the five senses.

  The welcome statement had shocked Thomas, but before he could respond, the long-haired man practically pulled him and Brenda inside, then started ushering them through a tightly packed crowd of dancing bodies, gyrating and jumping an
d hugging and spinning. The music was deafening, each beat of the drums like a hammer to Thomas’s skull. Several flashlights had been strung from the ceiling; they swayed back and forth as people swatted them, sending beams of light slashing this way and that.

  Long Hair leaned over and spoke to Thomas as they slowly made their way through the dancers; Thomas could barely hear him even though he was yelling.

  “Thank God for batteries! Life’s gonna suck when those run out!”

  “How did you know my name?” Thomas yelled back. “Why were you waiting for me?”

  The man laughed. “We watched you all night! Then this morning we saw your reaction to the sign through a window—figured you had to be the famous Thomas!”

  Brenda had both arms wrapped around Thomas’s waist, clinging to him, probably just so they wouldn’t get separated. Probably. But when she heard this, she squeezed even tighter.

  Thomas looked back, saw Blondie and his two friends following on their heels. The gun had been put away, but Thomas knew it could be brought right back out again.

  The music blared. The bass thumped and rattled the room. People dancing and jumping all around them, the swords of light crisscrossing the dark air. The Cranks were slick and shiny with sweat, all that body heat making the room uncomfortably warm.

  Somewhere right in the middle, Long Hair stopped and turned to face them, his odd white mane flopping.

  “We really want you to join us!” he shouted. “There’s gotta be something about you! We’ll protect you from the bad Cranks!”

  Thomas was glad they didn’t know more. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Play along, pretend to be a special Crank, and maybe he and Brenda would get through this long enough to slip away unnoticed at the right time.

  “I’ll go and get you a drink!” Long Hair called out. “Enjoy yourselves!” Then he scuttled off, vanishing into the thick, writhing crowd.

  Thomas turned to see Blondie and his two friends still there, not dancing at all—just watching. Ponytail caught his attention with a wave of her hand.

  “Might as well dance!” she yelled. But she didn’t follow her own advice.

  Thomas twisted around until he was fully facing Brenda. They needed to talk.

  As though she could read his mind, she brought her arms up and wrapped them around his neck, pulling him close until her mouth was right next to his ear, her breath hot and tingling against his sweat.

  “How did we get into this piece-of-crap situation?” she asked.

  Thomas didn’t know what to do but wrap his arms around her back and waist. He felt her heat through her damp clothes. Something stirred inside him, mixed with guilt and longing for Teresa.

  “I never could have imagined this an hour ago,” he finally said, speaking through her hair. It was the only thing he could think of to say.

  The song changed, something dark and haunting. The beat had slowed a bit, the drum somehow deeper. Thomas couldn’t make out any words—it was as if the singer were lamenting some horrible tragedy, the voice wailing, high-pitched and sorrowful.

  “Maybe we should just stay with these people for a while,” Brenda said.

  Thomas noticed then that the two of them were dancing, without meaning to or thinking about it. Moving with the music, slowly turning, their bodies pressed tightly together, clasping each other.

  “What’re you talking about?” he asked, surprised. “You’re giving up already?”

  “No. Just tired. Maybe we’d be safer here.”

  He wanted to trust her, felt like he could. But something about all this worried him—had she brought him here on purpose? It seemed a stretch. “Brenda, don’t quit on me yet. The only option we have is to get to the safe haven. There’s a cure for this.”

  Brenda shook her head slightly. “It’s just so hard to believe it’s really true. Hard to hope for it.”

  “Don’t say that.” He didn’t want to think it, and he didn’t want to hear it.

  “Why would they have sent all these Cranks here if there was a cure? It just doesn’t make any sense.”

  Thomas pulled back to look at her, worried about the sudden change in attitude. Her eyes were wet with tears.

  “You’re talking crazy,” he said, then paused. He had his own doubts, of course, but he didn’t want to discourage her. “The cure is real. We have to …” He trailed off, looked over at Blondie, who was still staring at him. The guy probably couldn’t hear, but better safe than sorry. Thomas leaned back in to speak directly in Brenda’s ear. “We have to get out of here. You wanna stay with people who pull guns and screwdrivers on you?”

  Before she could respond, Long Hair was back, a cup in each hand, the brownish liquid inside sloshing as he got bumped from all directions by the dancers. “Drink up!” he called out.

  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.”