James Dashner - The Scorch Trials

He pushed the door open and stumbled out onto the street and over to it. It was nearly identical to the sign in the Maze that had said WORLD IN CATASTROPHE-KILLZONE EXPERIMENT DEPARTMENT. Same dull metal, same lettering. Except this one said something very different. And he stared at it for at least five straight minutes before he moved an inch.

It said:

THOMAS, YOU’RE THE REAL LEADER

Thomas might’ve gone on looking at the plaque all day if Brenda hadn’t come out of the truck.

“I was waiting for the right time to tell you,” she finally said, completely snapping him out of his daze.

He jerked his head to look at her. “What? What’re you talking about?”

She didn’t return his gaze, just kept staring at the sign. “Ever since I found out what your name was. Same with Jorge. It’s probably why he decided to take his chances and go with you through the city and to this safe haven of yours.”

“Brenda, what are you talking about?” Thomas repeated.

She finally met his eyes. “These signs are all over the city. All of them say the same thing. Exactly the same thing.”

Thomas felt a weakening in his knees. He turned around and sank to the ground, resting his back against the wall. “How… how is this even possible? I mean, it looks like it’s been there for a while…” He didn’t really know what else to say.

“Don’t know,” Brenda answered, joining him on the ground. “None of us knew what it meant. But when you guys showed up and you told us your name… well, we figured it wasn’t a coincidence.”

Thomas gave her a hard stare, anger fighting its way up inside him. “Why didn’t you tell me about this? You’ll hold my hand, tell me about your dad being killed, but not this?”

“I didn’t tell you because I was worried about how you’d react. I figured you’d probably run off looking for the signs, forget all about me.”

Thomas sighed. He was sick of all of it. He let the anger go and blew out a long breath. “I guess it’s just another part of this whole nightmare that makes no sense.”

Brenda twisted to look up at the sign. “How could you not know what it means? Could it be any simpler? You’re supposed to be the leader, take over. I’ll help you, earn my way in. Earn a spot at the safe haven.”

Thomas laughed. “Here I am in a city full of whacked-in-the-brain Cranks, there’s a group of girls who want to kill me, and I’m supposed to worry about who the real leader of my group is? It’s ridiculous.”

Brenda’s face wrinkled in confusion. “Girls who want to kill you? What’re you talking about?”

Thomas didn’t respond, wondering if he really should tell her the whole story from beginning to end. Wondering if he had the heart to go over it all again.

“Well?” she pressed.

Deciding that it would be nice to get it off his chest, and feeling like she’d gained his trust, he caved and told her everything. He’d given her hints and small parts, but now he took the time for details. About the Maze, about being rescued, about waking up and finding that it had all gone back to crappy. About Aris and Group B. He didn’t linger on Teresa, but he could tell she noticed something when he mentioned her. Maybe in his eyes.

“So do you and this Teresa girl got a little somethin’ going?” she asked when he was done.

Thomas didn’t know how to answer. Did they have a little something? They were close, they were friends, he knew that much. Though he’d only gotten back some of his memories, he sensed that he and she had maybe even been more than friends before the Maze. During that awful time when they’d actually helped design the stupid thing.

And then there’d been that kiss…

“Tom?” Brenda asked.

He looked at her sharply. “Don’t call me that.”

“Huh?” she asked, obviously startled, maybe even hurt. “Why?”

“Just… don’t.” He felt terrible for saying it, but couldn’t take it back. That was what Teresa called him.

“Fine. Shall I call you Mr. Thomas? Or maybe King Thomas? Or better yet, just Your Majesty?”

Thomas sighed. “I’m sorry. Call me whatever.”

Brenda let out a sarcastic laugh and then they both grew silent.

Thomas and Brenda sat, backs against the wall, and the minutes stretched on. It was almost a peaceful quiet until Thomas heard an odd thumping sound that alarmed him.

“Do you hear that?” he asked, now fully at attention.

Brenda had stilled, head cocked to the side as she listened intently. “Yeah. Sounds like someone bangin’ on a drum.”

“I guess the fun and games are over.” He stood up, then helped Brenda do the same. “What do you think it is?”

“Chances are it’s not good.”

“But what if it’s our friends?”

The low bump-bump-bump suddenly seemed to come from everywhere at once, the echoes bouncing back and forth between the alley walls. But after a long few seconds, Thomas grew certain the sound was coming from a corner of the dead end. Despite the risk, he ran in that direction to get a look.

“What’re you doing!” Brenda snapped at him, but when he ignored her, she followed.

At the very end of the alley, Thomas reached a wall of cracked and faded bricks, where four stairs led down to a scratched and worn wooden door. Just above the door, there was a tiny rectangle of a window, its glass missing. One broken shard still hung at the top, like a jagged tooth.

Thomas could hear music playing, much louder now. It was intense and fast, the bass powerful, drums banging and guitars screaming. Mixed in were the sounds of people laughing and shouting and singing along. And none of it sounded very… sane. There was something creepy and disturbing about it.

It looked like the Cranks didn’t just look for peoples’ noses to bite off, and it gave Thomas a very bad feeling-this noise had nothing to do with his friends.

“We better get out of here,” Thomas said.

“Ya think?” Brenda responded, standing right at his shoulder.

“Come on.” Thomas turned to go just as she did, but they both froze. Three people had appeared in the alley while they’d been distracted. Two men and one woman, now standing only a few feet away.

Thomas’s stomach dropped as he quickly observed the new arrivals. Their clothes were tattered, their hair messy, their faces dirty. But when he looked closer he saw that they didn’t have any noticeable injuries, and their eyes showed glints of intelligence. Cranks, but not full-gone Cranks.

“Hi there,” the woman said. She had long red hair pulled into a ponytail. Her shirt was cut so low that Thomas had to force himself to keep his eyes focused on hers. “Come to join our party? Lots of dancing. Lots of lovin’. Lots of booze.”

There was an edge to her voice that made Thomas nervous. He didn’t know what it meant, but this lady wasn’t being nice. She was mocking them.

“Um, no thanks,” Thomas said. “We, uh, we were just-”

Brenda cut in. “Just trying to find our friends. We’re new here, just getting settled.”

“Welcome to WICKED’s very own Crankland.” This was one of the men, a tall, ugly guy with greasy hair. “Don’t worry, most of ’em down there”-he nodded toward the stairs-“are half gone at worst. You might get an elbow in the face, maybe kicked in the ’nads. But no one’s gonna try to eat you.”

“’Nads?” Brenda repeated. “Excuse me?”

The man pointed at Thomas. “I was talkin’ to the boy. Things might get a little worse for you if you don’t stick close to us. You being female and all.”

This whole conversation was making Thomas ill. “Sounds like fun. But we gotta go. Find our friends. Maybe we’ll come back.”