Thomas didn’t understand at all how threatening to cut off Minho’s fingers was going to set the
groundwork for them escaping from the rest of the Cranks. And he certainly wasn’t stupid enough to trust
Jorge after just one brief meeting. He began to panic that things were about to go terribly, horribly wrong.
But then Jorge looked at him, even as his Crank friends started to hoot and holler, and there was
something there, in his eyes. Something that put Thomas at ease.
Minho, on the other hand, was a different story. He’d stood up as soon as Jorge had pronounced his
punishment, and would’ve charged if the pretty girl hadn’t stepped right up to him and placed her blade
under his chin. It drew a drop of blood, bright red in the daylight pouring through the busted doors. He
couldn’t even talk without risking serious bodily harm.
“Here’s the plan,” Jorge said calmly. “Brenda and I will escort these moochers to the stash, let ’em eat
up. Then we’ll all meet on the Tower, let’s say one hour from now.” He looked at his watch. “Make that
noon on the dot. We’ll bring up lunch for the rest of you.”
“Why just you and Brenda?” someone asked. Thomas didn’t see who at first, then realized a man had
said it—probably the oldest person in the room. “What if they jump you? There’s eleven of them to two of
you.”
Jorge squinted—a scoffing look. “Thanks for the math lesson, Barkley. Next time I forget how many
toes I have, I’ll be sure and spend some counting time with you. For now, shut your flappin’ lips and lead
everybody to the Tower. If these punks try anything, Brenda will slash Mr. Minho to tiny bits while I beat
the living hell out of the rest of ’em. They can barely stand they’re so weak. Now get!”
Relief swam through Thomas. Once separated from the others, surely Jorge meant to run. Surely he
didn’t mean to go through with the punishment.
The man named Barkley was old but looked tough, veined muscles stretching the sleeves of his shirt.
He held a nasty dagger in one hand and a big hammer in the other. “Fine,” he said after a long stare down
with his leader. “But if they do jump you and slit your throat, we’ll get along just fine without ya.”
“Thanks for the kind words, hermano. Now get, or we’ll have double the fun on the Tower.”
Barkley laughed as if to salvage some dignity, then started off down the same hallway Thomas and
Jorge had used. He waved his arm in a “follow me” gesture and soon every last Crank was shuffling after
him except Jorge and the pretty girl with the long brown hair. She still had her knife at Minho’s neck, but
the good part was that she had to be Brenda.
Once the main group of Flare-infected people left the room, Jorge shared an almost relieved look with
Thomas; then he subtly shook his head, as if the others might still be able to hear them.
Movement from Brenda grabbed Thomas’s attention. He looked to see her drop the knife away from
Minho and step back, absently wiping the small trace of blood there on her pants. “I really would’ve
killed you, ya know,” she said in a slightly scratchy voice. Almost husky. “Charge Jorge again and I’ll
sever an artery.”
Minho wiped at his small wound with a thumb, then looked at the bright red smear. “That’s one sharp
knife. Makes me like you more.”
Newt and Frypan groaned simultaneously.
“Looks like I’m not the only Crank standing here,” Brenda responded. “You’re even more gone than
me.”
“None of us are crazy yet,” Jorge added, walking over to stand next to her. “But it won’t be long. Come
on. We need to get over to the stash and put some food in you people. You all look like a bunch of starved
zombies.”
Minho didn’t seem to like the idea. “You think I’m just gonna waltz over to have a sit-down with you
psychos, then let you cut my freaking fingers off?”
“Just shut up for once,” Thomas snapped, trying to communicate something different with his eyes.
“Let’s go eat. I don’t care what happens to your beautiful hands after that.”
Minho squinted in confusion, but seemed to pick up that something was off. “Whatever. Let’s go.”
Brenda stepped in front of Thomas unexpectedly, her face only a few inches from his. She had eyes so
dark it made the whites seem to glow brightly. “You the leader?”
Thomas shook his head. “No—it’s the guy you just nipped with your knife.”
Brenda looked over at Minho, then back at Thomas. She grinned. “Well, then that’s stupid. I know I’m
on the verge of crazy, but I would’ve picked you. You seem like the leader type.”
“Um, thanks.” Thomas felt a rush of embarrassment, then remembered Minho’s tattoo. Remembered his
own, how he was supposed to be killed. He scrambled to say something to hide his sudden mood shift. “I,
uh, would’ve picked you, too, instead of Jorge over there.”
The girl leaned forward and kissed Thomas on the cheek. “You’re sweet. I really hope we don’t end up
killing you, at least.”
“All right.” Jorge was already motioning everyone toward the broken doors that led outside. “Enough
of this lovefest. Brenda, we have a lot to talk about once we get to the stash. Come on, let’s go.”
Brenda didn’t take her eyes off Thomas. As for him, he still felt the tingle that had shot through his
entire body when she’d touched him with her lips.
“I like you,” she said.
Thomas swallowed, his mind empty of a comeback. Brenda’s tongue touched the corner of her mouth
and she grinned, then finally turned away from him and walked to the doors, slipping her knife into a pants
pocket. “Let’s go!” she yelled without looking back.
Thomas knew every single Glader was staring at him, but he refused to make eye contact with any of
them. Instead, he hitched up his shirt and walked forward, not caring about the slight smile on his face.
Soon the others fell into step behind him, and the group exited the building and emerged into the white
heat of the sun beating down on the broken pavement outside.
Brenda led while Jorge took up the rear. Thomas had a hard time adjusting to the brightness, shielding his
eyes and squinting as they walked close to the wall to stay in the scant shade. The other buildings and
streets around him seemed to shine with unearthly luminescence, as if they were made of some sort of
magic stone.
Brenda moved along the walls of the structure they’d just exited until they reached what Thomas
thought must be the back. There, a set of steps disappeared into the pavement, reminding him of something
in his past life. An entrance to some kind of underground train system, perhaps.
She didn’t hesitate. Without waiting to make sure the others were behind her, she bounced down the
stairs. But Thomas noticed that the knife had reappeared in her right hand, gripped tightly and held a few
inches from the side of her body—a stealthy attempt at being ready to attack—or defend—on a moment’s
notice.
He followed her, eager to get out of the sun and, more importantly, make it to food. His insides ached
more strongly for sustenance with every step he took. In fact, he was surprised he could still move; the
weakness was like a poisonous growth inside him, replacing his vital parts with a painful cancer.
Darkness swallowed them eventually, welcome and cool. Thomas followed the sound of Brenda’s
footsteps until they reached a small doorway, through which shone a glow of orange. She went inside, and
Thomas hesitated at the threshold. It was a small, damp room full of boxes and cans, with a single
lightbulb hanging from the center of the ceiling. It looked far too cramped for all of them to enter.
Brenda must’ve sensed his thoughts. “You and the others can stay out there in the hallway, find a wall
and sit. I’ll start bringing out some tasty delights for you in a sec.”
Thomas nodded even though she wasn’t looking and stumbled back out into the hallway. He collapsed
next to a wall down a ways from the rest of the Gladers, deeper into the darkness of the tunnel. And he
knew for certain he’d never get back up unless he ate something.
The “tasty delights” ended up being canned beans and some type of sausage—according to Brenda, the
words on the label were in Spanish. They ate it cold, but it tasted like the grandest meal ever to Thomas,
and he devoured every bite. They’d already learned it wasn’t smart to eat quickly after such a long period
of fasting, but he didn’t care. If he threw it all up, he’d just enjoy eating all over again. Hopefully a fresh
batch.
After Brenda passed out the food to the starving Gladers, she walked over to sit by Thomas, the soft
glow from the room illuminating the thin strands on the fringes of her dark hair. She set down a couple of
backpacks—filled with more of the cans—at her side.
“One of these is for you,” she said.
“Thanks.” Thomas had already reached the bottom half of his can, scooping out one bite after another.
No one spoke down the hall from them; the only sounds were slurping and swallowing.
“Taste good?” she asked as she dug into her own food.
“Please. I’d push my own mom down the stairs to eat this stuff. If I still have a mom.” He couldn’t help
thinking of his dream and the brief glimpse he’d seen of her, but did his best to forget it—it was too
depressing.
“You get sick of it fast,” Brenda said, pulling Thomas out of his head. He noticed the way she sat, her
right knee pressed against his shin, and his thoughts jumped to the ridiculous idea that she’d moved her leg
like that on purpose. “We only have about four or five options.”
Thomas concentrated on clearing his mind, bringing his thoughts back to the present. “Where’d you get
the food? And how much is left?”
“Before this area got scorched by the flares, this city had several food manufacturing plants, plus a lot
of warehouses to hold the food. Sometimes I think that’s why WICKED sends Cranks here. They can at
least tell themselves that we won’t starve while we slowly go crazy and kill each other.”
Thomas scooped out the last bit of sauce from the bottom of his can and licked his spoon clean. “If
there’s plenty, why do you only have a few options?” He had the thought that maybe they’d trusted her too
quickly, that they could be eating poison. But she was eating the same food, so his worries were probably
far-fetched.
Brenda pointed toward the ceiling with her thumb. “We’ve only scoured the closest ones. Some
company that specialized, not much variety. I’d kill your mother for something fresh out of a garden. A
nice salad.”
“Guess my mom doesn’t have much of a chance if she’s ever standing between us and a grocery store.”
“Guess not.”
She smiled then, though a shadow mostly hid her face. The grin still shone through, and Thomas found
himself liking this girl. She’d just drawn blood from his best friend, but he liked her. Maybe, in small
part, because of that.
“Does the world still have grocery stores?” he asked. “I mean, what’s it like out there after all this
Flare business? Really hot, with a bunch of crazy people running around?”
“No. Well, I don’t know. The sun flares killed a lot of people before they could escape to the north or
south. My family lived in northern Canada. My parents were some of the first ones to make it to the camps
set up by the coalition between governments. The people who ended up forming WICKED later.”
Thomas stared for a second, his mouth wide open. She’d just revealed more to him about the state of
the world in those few sentences than anything he’d heard since having his memory wiped.
“Wait … wait a second,” he said. “I need to hear all this. Can you start from the beginning?”
Brenda shrugged. “Not much to tell—happened a long time ago. The sun flares were completely
unexpected and unpredictable, and by the time the scientists tried to warn anyone, it was way too late.
They wiped out half the planet, killed everything around the equatorial regions. Changed climates
everywhere else. The survivors gathered, some governments combined. Wasn’t too long before they
discovered that a nasty virus had been unleashed from some disease-control place. Called it the Flare
right from the beginning.”
“Man,” Thomas muttered. He looked down the hall at the other Gladers, wondering if they’d heard any
of this, but none of them seemed to be listening, all absorbed in their food. They were probably too far
away anyway. “When did—”
She shushed him, holding a hand up. “Wait,” she said. “Something’s wrong. I think we have visitors.”
Thomas hadn’t heard anything, and the other Gladers didn’t seem to notice, either. But Jorge was
already at Brenda’s side, whispering something in her ear. She was just moving to stand up when a crash
exploded down the hall—from the stairs they’d used to reach the stash. It was a horribly loud sound, the
crumple and cracking of a structure falling apart, cement breaking, metal ripping. A cloud of dust fogged
its way toward them, choking off the scant light from the food room.
Thomas sat and stared, paralyzed by fear. He could just see Minho and Newt and all the others running
back toward the destroyed stairs, then turning down a branching hallway he hadn’t noticed before. Brenda
grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him to his feet.
“Run!” she screamed, and started dragging him away from the destruction and deeper into the
underground.
Thomas snapped out of his stupor and swatted at her hand, though she didn’t let go. “No! We have to
follow my fr—”
Before he could finish, an entire section of the roof came crashing down onto the floor in front of him,
blocks of cement falling on top of each other with thunderous cracks. It cut him off from the direction his
friends had taken. He heard more fracturing of rock above him and realized that he no longer had any
choice—or any time.
Reluctantly he turned and ran with Brenda, her hand still clutching his shirt as they sprinted into the
darkness.
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