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 asked. “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.
0 comments:
Post a Comment