They went to a coffee shop nearby, recommended by Hans and his wife.
Thomas had never been in such a place before. At least, not that he remembered. Customers lined up at
the counter, getting coffee and pastries, then heading for a table or back out the door. He watched as a
nervous older woman kept lifting her surgical mask to sip her hot drink. One of those red-shirted guards
stood at the door, randomly testing people for the Flare with his handheld device every couple of minutes
or so; an odd metal apparatus covered his own mouth and nose.
Thomas sat with Minho and Brenda at a table in the back corner while Jorge went to get food and
drinks. Thomas’s eyes kept coming back to a man, maybe thirty-five or forty years old, who sat at a
nearby bench in front of a large window onto the street. He hadn’t touched his coffee since Thomas and
his friends had arrived, and steam no longer rose from the cup. The man just hunched over, elbows on
knees, hands loosely clasped, staring at a spot on the other side of the shop.
There was something disturbing about the look on his face. Blank. His eyes were almost floating in
their sockets, and yet there was a hint of pleasure there. When Thomas pointed it out to Brenda, she
whispered that the guy was probably on the Bliss and would be jailed if he got caught. It gave Thomas the
willies. He hoped the man would leave soon.
Jorge returned with sandwiches and steaming cups of coffee and the four of them ate and drank in
silence. Thomas knew they all realized the urgency of their situation, but he was grateful to rest and get
some strength back.
They finished up and were getting ready to leave, but Brenda remained in her seat. “Would you guys
mind waiting outside for a few minutes?” she asked. Her look made it obvious that she meant Jorge and
Minho.
“Excuse me?” Minho responded, his tone exasperated. “More secrets?”
“No. Nothing like that. I promise. I just need a moment. I want to tell Thomas something.”
Thomas was surprised but curious. He sat back down. “Just go,” he said, addressing Minho. “You
know I won’t keep anything from you. And she knows it, too.”
His friend grumbled, but finally went with Jorge, and the two of them stood out on the sidewalk near
the closest window. Minho flashed Thomas a goofy grin and waved, his sarcasm making it obvious he
wasn’t exactly happy. Thomas waved back, then focused on Brenda.
“So? What’s this all about?” he asked.
“I know we need to hurry, so I’ll be really quick. We haven’t had time to be alone, and I just want to
make sure you know that what happened in the Scorch wasn’t an act. I was there on a job, I was there to
help things play out, but I did grow close to you and it did change me. And there are a few things I think
you deserve to know. About me, about Chancellor Paige, about—”
Thomas held his hand up to cut her off. “Please just stop.”
She pulled back, a look of surprise on her face. “What? Why?”
“I don’t want to know anything. Not one more thing. All I care about is what we’re going to do from
here out, not stuff about my past or yours or WICKED’s. Nothing. And we need to move.”
“But—”
“No, Brenda. I mean it. We’re here and we have a goal and that’s all we need to focus on. No more
talking.”
She held his gaze without saying anything, then looked down at her hands resting on the table. “Then all
I’ll say is I know you’re doing the right thing, going in the right direction. And I’ll keep helping as best I
can.”
Thomas hoped he hadn’t hurt her feelings, but he meant what he’d said. It was time to let go, even
though she was obviously itching to tell him something. As he searched for a response, his eyes wandered
back to the odd man on the bench. He’d pulled something Thomas couldn’t see out of his pocket and was
pressing it against the crook of his right elbow. He closed his eyes in a long blink, looking a little dazed
when they opened again. His head slowly drifted backward until it rested on the window.
The red-shirted Flare tester stepped into the café and Thomas leaned over to get a better look. Red
Shirt walked toward the bench where the drugged-out man was still resting peacefully. A short woman
moved along next to the tester, whispering into his ear and fidgeting nervously.
“Thomas?” Brenda asked.
He put a finger to his lips, then nodded toward the potential confrontation. She turned in her seat to see
what was going on.
Red Shirt kicked the toe of the guy on the bench, who flinched and looked up. The men started
exchanging words, but Thomas couldn’t hear what they were saying over the bustle and buzz of the
crowded coffee shop. The man who’d been relaxing there suddenly looked scared.
Brenda turned back to Thomas. “We need to get out of here. Now.”
“Why?” The air seemed to have thickened, and Thomas was curious about what was going to happen.
Brenda was already standing. “Just come on!”
She turned and walked briskly toward the exit, and Thomas finally moved to follow her. He’d just risen
from his chair when Red Shirt pulled out a gun and pointed it at the man on the bench, then leaned in to
place his testing device on the man’s face. But the man swatted it away and rushed forward, tackling the
tester. Thomas stared, frozen in shock, as the gun skittered away and disappeared under a counter. The
two men crashed into a table and slammed to the floor.
Red Shirt started yelling; his voice sounded almost robotic coming through the protective metal mask
covering his mouth and nose. “We’ve got an infected! Everyone evacuate the building!”
The place turned into pandemonium, screams filling the air as everyone fled toward the only exit
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