these things, but she now held a short dagger in addition to her spear.
As the lighted giants stepped closer and closer, Minho and Harriet spoke to their respective groups,
moving them around, positioning them, their shouts and commands torn away by the wind before Thomas
could hear anything. He dared take his eyes off the approaching monsters long enough to look at the sky.
Tendrils of lightning forked and arced across the bottom of the dark clouds, which seemed to hang only a
few dozen feet above them. The acrid smell of electricity permeated the air.
Thomas looked back down, concentrated on the creature closest to him. Minho and Harriet had been
able to get the groups to stand together in an almost perfect circle, facing outward. Teresa stood next to
Thomas, and he would’ve said something to her if he could’ve thought of anything. He was speechless.
WICKED’s latest abominations were only thirty feet away.
Teresa finally elbowed him in the ribs. He looked to see her pointing at one of the creatures, telling
Thomas—making sure he knew—that she’d chosen her foe. He nodded, then gestured toward the one he’d
been thinking was his all along.
Twenty-five feet away.
Thomas had the sudden thought that it was a mistake to wait for them—that they needed to be spread out
more. Minho must’ve had the same idea.
“Now!” their leader yelled, a bare and distant bark because of the storm’s sounds. “Charge them!”
A slew of thoughts spun through Thomas’s mind in that instant. Worry for Teresa, despite the changes
between them. Worry for Brenda—standing stoically just a few people down the line from him—and
regret over how they had barely spoken since being reunited. He imagined her having come all this way
only to be killed by a vicious man-made creature. He thought of the Grievers, and his and Chuck and
Teresa’s charge back in the Maze to get to the Cliff and the Hole, the Gladers fighting and dying for them
so they could punch in the code and stop it all.
He thought of all they’d gone through to arrive at this point, once again facing a biotech army sent by
WICKED. He wondered what it all meant, whether it was worth trying to survive anymore. The image of
Chuck taking that knife for him popped into his head. And that did it. Snapped him out of those
nanoseconds of frozen doubt and fear. Screaming at the top of his lungs, he wielded his huge knife with
both hands above his head and rushed forward, straight for his monster.
To his left and right, the others also charged, but he ignored them. He had to, forced himself to. If he
couldn’t take care of his own assignment, worrying about others wouldn’t amount to anything.
He closed in. Fifteen feet. Ten feet. Five. The creature had stopped walking, bracing its legs in a
fighting stance, hands outstretched, blades pointing directly at Thomas. Those shining orange lights pulsed
now, flaring and receding, flaring and receding, as if the hideous thing actually had a heart somewhere
inside. It was disturbing to see no face on the monster, but it helped Thomas think of it as nothing more
than a machine. Nothing more than a man-made weapon that wanted him dead.
Right before he reached the creature, Thomas made a decision. He dropped to slide on his knees and
shins and swung the swordlike weapon in an arc behind and around him, slamming the blade into the
monster’s left leg with a full and powerful two-handed thrust. The knife cut an inch into its skin but then
clanked against something hard enough to send a jolt shivering up both of Thomas’s arms.
The creature didn’t move, didn’t retract, didn’t let out any sort of sound, human or inhuman. Instead it
swiped downward with both blade-studded hands where Thomas now knelt before it, his sword
embedded in the monster’s flesh. Thomas jerked it free and lunged backward just as those blades
clattered against each other where his head had been. He fell on his back and scooted away from the
creature as it took two steps forward, kicking out with the knives on its feet, barely missing Thomas.
The monster let out a roar this time—a sound almost exactly like the haunted moans of the Grievers—
and dropped to the ground, thrashing its arms, trying to impale Thomas. Thomas spun away, rolling three
times as he heard metal tips scraping along the dirt-packed ground. He finally took a chance and jumped
to his feet, immediately sprinting several yards away before turning around, sword gripped in his hands.
The creature was just getting to its own feet, slicing at the air with its stubby bladed fingers.
Thomas sucked in huge gulps of air and could see the others battling in his peripheral vision. Minho
jabbing and stabbing with knives in both hands, the monster actually taking steps backward, away from
him. Newt scrambling across the ground, the creature he fought lumbering after him, obviously injured.
Slowing. Teresa was the closest to him, jumping and dodging and poking her foe with the butt of her
spear. Why was she doing that? Her monster seemed to be badly hurt as well.
Thomas pulled his attention back to his own battle. A blur of silver movement made him duck, a wisp
of wind in his hair from the swipe of the creature’s arm. Thomas spun, crouched close to the ground,
stabbing at anything he could as the monster pursued him, barely missing him with several more attacks.
Thomas connected with one of the orange bulb growths, smashing it in a flash of sparks; the light died
instantly. Knowing his luck had to be running short, he dove toward the ground, tucking and rolling again
until he sprang to his feet a couple of yards away.
The creature had paused—at least as long as it had taken Thomas to make his escape move—but now it
came after him again. An idea formed in Thomas’s mind, and it grew to clarity when he looked back at
Teresa’s fight, her creature now moving in jilted, slow attacks. She kept after the bulbs, popping them as
they exploded in that same display of fireworks. She’d destroyed at least three-fourths of the odd growths.
The bulbs. All he needed to do was destroy the bulbs. Somehow they were linked to the creature’s
power or life or strength. Could it really be that easy?
A quick glance around the rest of the battlefield showed that a few others had also gotten the idea, but
most hadn’t, fighting with bloody desperation to hack at limbs, muscles, skin, missing the bulbs entirely. A
couple of people already lay on the ground, covered in wounds, lifeless. One boy. One girl.
Thomas changed his whole method. Instead of charging recklessly, he jumped in and took a jab at one
of the bulbs on the monster’s chest. He missed, slicing into the wrinkled, yellowish skin. The creature
swiped at him, but he pulled back just as the very tips of the blades ripped jagged holes in his shirt. Then
he thrust again, poking once more at the same bulb. He connected this time, bursting it and sending out a
spray of sparks. The creature halted for a full second, then snapped back to battle mode.
Thomas circled the creature, jumping in and back again, poking, jabbing, thrusting.
Pop, pop, pop.
One of the monster’s blades sliced across his forearm, leaving a long line of bright red. Thomas went
in again. And again. Again.
Pop, pop, pop. Sparks flying, the creature shuddering and jerking with each break.
The pause got a little bit longer with every successful stab. Thomas felt a few more scrapes and slices,
but nothing serious. He kept at it, attacking those orange spheres.
Pop, pop, pop.
Every small victory sapped the creature’s strength, and it gradually began to visibly slump, though it
didn’t stop trying to cut Thomas to pieces. Bulb by bulb, each one easier than the one before it, Thomas
attacked relentlessly. If only he could quickly finish it off, make it die. Then he could run around and help
others. End this thing once and for—
A blinding light flashed behind him, then a sound like the entire universe exploding ripped away his
brief moment of exhilaration and hope. A wave of invisible power knocked him over and he fell flat onto
his stomach, the sword clattering away from him. The creature fell, too, and a burnt smell singed the air.
Thomas rolled onto his side to look, saw a massive black hole in the ground, charred and smoking. A
bladed foot and hand from one of the monsters lay on the hole’s edge. No sign of the rest of the body.
It’d been a lightning strike. Right behind him. The storm had finally broken.
Even as he had the thought, he looked up to see thick shards of white heat start falling from the black
clouds above.
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