James Dashner - The Scorch Trials

Thomas had to keep playing it nice and calm. “Obviously I don’t know that at all. But why not at least try? If you help us get there, you have a small chance. If you kill us, you have zero chance. Only a full-gone Crank would choose the second option.”

Jorge gave that pathetic smile again, then let out a small bark of a laugh. “There’s something about you, Thomas. Few minutes ago I wanted to stab your friend in the eyeballs and then do the same to the rest of ya. But I’ll be licked if you haven’t half convinced me.”

Thomas shrugged, trying to keep his face calm. “All I care about is surviving one more day. All I want is to make it through this city, and then I’ll worry about what comes next. And you know what else?” He braced himself to act tougher than he felt.

Jorge raised his eyebrows. “What’s that?”

“If stabbing you in the eyeballs could get me to tomorrow, I’d do it right now. But I need you. We all need you.” Thomas wondered if he could ever actually do such a thing even as he said it.

But it worked.

The Crank eyed Thomas for a drawn-out moment, then stuck out a hand across the table. “I believe we have ourselves a deal, hermano. For many reasons.”

Thomas reached out and shook. And even though he was filled with relief, it took everything he had not to show it.

But then Jorge brought it all crashing down. “I just have one condition. That ratty kid who junked me on the ground? Think I heard you call him Minho?”

“Yeah?” Thomas asked in a weak voice, his heart thumping all over again.

“He dies.”

“No.”

Thomas said it with every ounce of finality and firmness he could muster.

“No?” Jorge repeated with a look of surprise. “I offer you a chance to make it through a city full of vicious Cranks ready to eat you alive, and you say no? To my one little itsy-bitsy request? That does not make me happy.”

“It wouldn’t be smart,” Thomas said. He had no idea how he was able to maintain his calm expression, where this bravery was coming from. But something told him it was the only way he could survive with this Crank.

Jorge leaned forward again, placed his elbows on the table. But this time he didn’t clasp his hands; instead, he balled them into fists. His knuckles cracked. “Is it your goal in life to piss me off until I cut your arteries open one by one?”

“You saw what he did to you,” Thomas countered. “You know the guts that took. If you kill him, you lose the skills he brings. He’s our best fighter, and he’s not scared of anything. Maybe he’s crazy, but we need him.”

Thomas was trying to sound so practical. Pragmatic. But if there was a person other than Teresa on the planet he could truly call a friend, it was Minho. And he couldn’t handle losing him, too.

“But he made me angry,” Jorge said tightly; his fists had not relaxed in the slightest. “He made me look like a little girl in front of my people. And that’s not… acceptable.”

Thomas shrugged like he didn’t care, like it was a small and meaningless point. “So punish him. Make him look like a little girl. But killing him doesn’t help us. The more bodies we have that can fight, the better our chances. I mean, you live here. Do I really need to tell you this?”

Finally, finally, Jorge loosened his white-knuckled grips. He also let out a breath that Thomas hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Okay,” the Crank said. “Okay. But it has nothing to do with your lame attempt to talk me into it. I’ll spare him because I just made up my mind about something. Because of two reasons, actually. One of which you should have thought of yourself.”

“What?” Thomas didn’t mind his relief showing anymore-the effort to hide things was exhausting him. Plus, he was now too intrigued by what Jorge had to say.

“First off, you don’t really know all the details behind this test or experiment or whatever it is that WICKED is putting you through. Maybe the more of you that make it back-to that safe haven-the better chances you have of getting the cure. Ever thought that this Group B you mentioned are probably your competitors? I think it’s in my best interests to make sure all eleven of you make it now.”

Thomas nodded, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to take the slightest chance of ruining the victory here: Jorge believed him about the Rat Man and the cure.

“Which leads to my second reason,” he continued. “The thing I’ve made up my mind about.”

“And what’s that?” Thomas asked.

“I’m not taking all those Cranks out there with me. With us.”

“Huh? Why? I thought the whole point was that you guys could help us fight our way through the city.”

Jorge adamantly shook his head as he leaned back in his chair and assumed a much less threatening position, folding his arms across his chest. “No. If we’re gonna do this, stealth will work way better than muscle. We’ve been sneaking around this hellhole ever since we got here, and I think our chances of making it through-and getting all the food and supplies we need-are way better if we take what we’ve learned and use it. Tiptoe our way past the long-gone-crazy Cranks instead of slashing through them like a bunch of wannabe warriors.”

“You’re hard to figure out,” Thomas said. “Not to be rude, but it sure seems like warriors are exactly what you guys want to be. Ya know, based on all the ugly outfits and sharp things.”

A long moment of silence passed, and Thomas was just starting to think he’d made a mistake when Jorge burst out laughing.

“Oh, muchacho, you’re one lucky sucker I like you. Not sure why, but I do. Otherwise I would’ve killed you three times already.”

“Can you do that?” Thomas asked.

“Huh?”

“Kill someone three times.”

“I’d figure out a way.”

“Then I’ll try to be nicer.”

Jorge slapped the table and stood up. “Okay. So here’s the deal. We need to get all eleven of you punks to your safe haven. To do it, I’m only taking one other person-her name is Brenda, and she’s a genius. We need her mind. And if we do make it, and it ends up that there’s no cure for us, then I don’t think I need to tell you what the consequences will be.”

“Come on,” Thomas said sarcastically. “I thought we were friends now.”

“Pshh. We ain’t friends, hermano. We’re partners. I’ll deliver you to WICKED. You get me a cure. That’s the deal or there’s gonna be a lot of death.”

Thomas stood as well; his chair creaked against the floor. “We already agreed on that, didn’t we?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we did. Now listen, don’t you dare say a word out there. Getting away from those other Cranks is gonna be… tricky.”

“What’s the plan?”

Jorge thought for a minute, his eyes glued to Thomas as he did. Then he broke his silence. “Just keep your tongue-hole shut and let me do my thing.” He started to move toward the door to the hallway, but stopped short. “Oh, and I don’t think your compadre Minho is going to like it very much.”

As they walked down the hallway to join the others, Thomas realized how achingly hungry he was. The cramps in his stomach had spread to the rest of his body, as if his internal organs and muscles were starting to eat each other.

“All right, everybody listen!” Jorge announced when they reentered the large torn-up room. “Me and the bird-face here have come to a resolution.”

Bird face? Thomas thought.

The Cranks still stood at attention, nasty weapons gripped tightly, glaring at the Gladers, all of whom sat around the edges of the space, backs against the walls. Light beamed through the shattered windows and holes above.