James Dashner - The Scorch Trials

The other man stepped forward. This one was short but handsome, with blond hair in a crew cut. “You two are nothin’ but kids. Time you got some lessons on life. Time you had some fun. We’re officially inviting you to the party.” He pronounced each word of the last sentence carefully, and with no kindness whatsoever.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Brenda said.

Blondie pulled a gun from a pocket of his long jacket. It was a pistol, silver but grimy and dull. Still, it looked as menacing and deadly as anything Thomas had ever seen.

“I don’t think you understood me,” the man said. “You’re invited to our party. That’s not something you turn down.”

Tall and Ugly pulled out a knife. Ponytail pulled out a screwdriver, its tip black with what had to be old blood.

“What do you say?” Blondie asked. “Would you like to come to our party?”

Thomas looked at Brenda, but she didn’t look back. Her eyes were glued to the blond man, and her face said she was about to do something really stupid.

“Okay,” Thomas said quickly. “We’ll go. Let’s do it.”

Brenda snapped her head around. “What?”

“He has a gun. He has a knife. She’s got a shuck screwdriver! I’m not in the mood to have an eyeball smashed into my skull.”

“Looks like your boyfriend’s not stupid,” Blondie said. “Now let’s go have some fun.” He pointed his pistol at the stairs and smiled. “Feel free to lead the way.”

Brenda was clearly angry, but her eyes also revealed that she knew they had no other choice. “Fine.”

Blondie smiled again; the expression would’ve looked natural on a snake. “That’s the spirit. Fine and dandy, nothing to worry about.”

“No one’s gonna hurt you,” Tall and Ugly added. “Unless you get difficult. Unless you act like brats. By the end of the party, you’ll wanna join our group. Trust me on that.”

Thomas had to fight to keep the panic from pounding through him. “Let’s just go,” he said to Blondie.

“Waiting on you.” The man pointed at the stairs with his gun again.

Thomas reached out and grabbed Brenda’s hand, pulled her close to him. “Let’s go to the party, sweetheart.” He put as much sarcasm into it as he could. “This’ll be so much fun!”

“That’s very nice,” Ponytail said. “I get weepy when I see two people in love.” She feigned wiping tears from her cheeks.

With Brenda by his side, Thomas turned toward the stairs, aware the whole time of the gun pointed at his back. They made their way down the steps to the old slab of a door, the space just wide enough for them to go side by side. When they reached the bottom, Thomas didn’t see a handle. Raising his eyebrows, he looked back at Blondie, who stood two steps behind them.

“Gotta do the special knock,” the man said. “Three slow fist thumps, three fast ones, then two knuckle taps.”

Thomas hated these people. He hated the way they spoke so calmly and said mostly nice words, all of them full of mockery. In a way these Cranks were worse than the nose-missing guy he’d stabbed the day before-at least with him they’d known exactly what they were dealing with.

“Do it,” Brenda whispered.

Thomas balled his hand into a fist and did the slow fist thumps, then the fast ones. Then he rapped the wood twice with his knuckles. The door opened immediately, the pounding music escaping like a blasting wind.

The guy who greeted them was huge, ears and face pierced several times, tattoos all over. His hair was long and white, reaching well past his shoulders. But Thomas barely had time to register this before the man spoke.

“Hey, Thomas. We’ve been waiting for you.”

The next minute or so was a stunned blur of the five senses.

The welcome statement had shocked Thomas, but before he could respond, the long-haired man practically pulled him and Brenda inside, then started ushering them through a tightly packed crowd of dancing bodies, gyrating and jumping and hugging and spinning. The music was deafening, each beat of the drums like a hammer to Thomas’s skull. Several flashlights had been strung from the ceiling; they swayed back and forth as people swatted them, sending beams of light slashing this way and that.

Long Hair leaned over and spoke to Thomas as they slowly made their way through the dancers; Thomas could barely hear him even though he was yelling.

“Thank God for batteries! Life’s gonna suck when those run out!”

“How did you know my name?” Thomas yelled back. “Why were you waiting for me?”

The man laughed. “We watched you all night! Then this morning we saw your reaction to the sign through a window-figured you had to be the famous Thomas!”

Brenda had both arms wrapped around Thomas’s waist, clinging to him, probably just so they wouldn’t get separated. Probably. But when she heard this, she squeezed even tighter.

Thomas looked back, saw Blondie and his two friends following on their heels. The gun had been put away, but Thomas knew it could be brought right back out again.

The music blared. The bass thumped and rattled the room. People dancing and jumping all around them, the swords of light crisscrossing the dark air. The Cranks were slick and shiny with sweat, all that body heat making the room uncomfortably warm.

Somewhere right in the middle, Long Hair stopped and turned to face them, his odd white mane flopping.

“We really want you to join us!” he shouted. “There’s gotta be something about you! We’ll protect you from the bad Cranks!”

Thomas was glad they didn’t know more. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Play along, pretend to be a special Crank, and maybe he and Brenda would get through this long enough to slip away unnoticed at the right time.

“I’ll go and get you a drink!” Long Hair called out. “Enjoy yourselves!” Then he scuttled off, vanishing into the thick, writhing crowd.

Thomas turned to see Blondie and his two friends still there, not dancing at all-just watching. Ponytail caught his attention with a wave of her hand.

“Might as well dance!” she yelled. But she didn’t follow her own advice.

Thomas twisted around until he was fully facing Brenda. They needed to talk.

As though she could read his mind, she brought her arms up and wrapped them around his neck, pulling him close until her mouth was right next to his ear, her breath hot and tingling against his sweat.

“How did we get into this piece-of-crap situation?” she asked.

Thomas didn’t know what to do but wrap his arms around her back and waist. He felt her heat through her damp clothes. Something stirred inside him, mixed with guilt and longing for Teresa.

“I never could have imagined this an hour ago,” he finally said, speaking through her hair. It was the only thing he could think of to say.

The song changed, something dark and haunting. The beat had slowed a bit, the drum somehow deeper. Thomas couldn’t make out any words-it was as if the singer were lamenting some horrible tragedy, the voice wailing, high-pitched and sorrowful.

“Maybe we should just stay with these people for a while,” Brenda said.

Thomas noticed then that the two of them were dancing, without meaning to or thinking about it. Moving with the music, slowly turning, their bodies pressed tightly together, clasping each other.

“What’re you talking about?” he asked, surprised. “You’re giving up already?”

“No. Just tired. Maybe we’d be safer here.”

He wanted to trust her, felt like he could. But something about all this worried him-had she brought him here on purpose? It seemed a stretch. “Brenda, don’t quit on me yet. The only option we have is to get to the safe haven. There’s a cure for this.”