James Dashner - The Scorch Trials

Jorge came to a stop in the middle of the room and slowly turned to address the whole group. Thomas thought he looked ridiculous-like he was trying too hard.

“First, we need to get these people food. I know it seems crazy to share our hard-earned grub with a bunch of strangers, but I think we could use their help. Give ’em the pork and beans-I’m sick of that horse crap anyway.” One of the Cranks snickered, a skinny runt of a kid whose eyes darted back and forth. “Second, being the grand gentleman and saint that I am, I’ve decided not to kill the punk who attacked me.”

Thomas heard a few disappointed groans break out and wondered just how far along some of these people were with the Flare. But one girl, a pretty, older teenager with long hair that was surprisingly clean, rolled her eyes and shook her head as if she thought the noise was idiotic. Thomas found himself hoping she was the Brenda girl Jorge had mentioned.

Jorge pointed at Minho, who, not shockingly to Thomas at all, smiled and waved at the crowd.

“Pretty happy, are you?” Jorge grunted. “That’s good to know. Means you’ll take the news well.”

“What news?” Minho asked sharply.

Thomas glanced over at Jorge, wondering what was about to come out of the guy’s mouth.

The Crank leader spoke matter-of-factly. “After we get you stragglers fed so you don’t go dying of starvation on us, you get to have your punishment for attacking me.”

“Oh yeah?” If Minho was scared, he didn’t show any sign of it. “And what’s that gonna be?”

Jorge just stared back at Minho-a blank expression spread eerily across his face. “You punched me with both of your fists. So we’re gonna cut a finger off each hand.”

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.