James Dashner - The Scorch Trials

“And then there were all those signs in the city. Weird.”

Thomas looked over at Newt, barely able to see his friend’s face. “What, you jealous or something?” he asked, trying to make a joke out of it. Trying to ignore the fact that the signs had to be a big deal.

Newt laughed. “No, you shank. Just dying to know what’s really going on around here. What this is really all about.”

“Yeah.” Thomas nodded. He couldn’t agree more. “The lady said only a few of us were good enough to be Candidates. And she did say I was the best Candidate, and they didn’t want me dying from something they hadn’t planned. But I don’t know what it all means. Has something to do with all that klunk about killzone patterns.”

They walked on for a minute or so before Newt spoke again. “Not worth bustin’ our brains about, I guess. What’s gonna happen’ll happen.”

Thomas almost told him then about what Teresa had said in his mind, but for some reason it just didn’t feel right.

He stayed silent, and eventually Newt drifted away until once again Thomas walked alone in the dark.

A couple of hours passed before he had another conversation, this time with Minho. A lot of words flew back and forth between them, but in the end they hadn’t really said much. Just passing time, rehashing the same questions they’d all gone over in their minds a million times.

Thomas’s legs were a little tired, but not too bad. The mountains got ever closer. The air cooled considerably, and it felt wonderful. Brenda remained silent and distant.

And on they went.

When the first traces of dawn turned the sky a deep, dark blue, the stars beginning to wink away for the coming day, Thomas finally got the nerve to approach Brenda and talk about something. Anything. The cliffs loomed now, dead trees and chunks of scattered rock coming into focus. They’d reach the foot of the mountains by the time the sun popped over the horizon, Thomas was sure of it.

“Hey,” he said to her. “How’re your feet holding up?”

“Fine.” It came out curt, but then she quickly spoke again, maybe trying to make up for it. “How about you? Your shoulder seem okay?”

“I can’t believe how fine it is. Doesn’t hurt much at all.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.” He racked his brain, trying to think of something to say. “So, um, I’m sorry about all the weird stuff that happened. And… for anything I said. My head’s all kinds of crazy and messed up.”

She looked over at him, and he could see a bit of softness in her eyes. “Please, Thomas. The last thing you need to do is apologize.” She returned her gaze up ahead. “We’re just different. Plus, you have that girlfriend of yours. I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you and all that crap.”

“She’s not really my girlfriend.” He regretted saying it as soon as it came out-didn’t even know where it had come from.

Brenda huffed. “Don’t be dumb. And don’t insult me. If you’re gonna resist this”-she paused and gestured to herself with a sweep of her hands from head to toe with a mocking smile-“then it better be for a good reason.”

Thomas laughed-all the tension and awkwardness had just vanished completely. “Point taken. You’re probably a crappy kisser anyway.”

She punched him in the arm-luckily his good one. “You couldn’t possibly be more wrong. Trust me on that one.”

Thomas was just about to say something stupid when he stopped dead in his tracks. Somebody almost ran into him from behind, tripped around to his side, but he couldn’t tell who-his eyes were glued in front of him, his heart completely frozen.

The sky had lightened considerably, and the leading edge of the mountains’ slope lay just a few hundred feet away. Halfway between here and there, a girl had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, rising from the ground. And she was walking toward them at a brisk pace.

In her hands she held a long shaft of wood with a large, nasty-looking blade lashed to one end.

It was Teresa.

Thomas didn’t quite know how to compute what he saw. He felt no surprise or joy at Teresa’s being alive-he’d already known that she was. She’d spoken to his mind just the day before. But seeing her in the flesh still lifted his spirits. Until he remembered her warning that something bad was going to happen. Until he thought about the fact she was holding a bladed spear.

The other Gladers noticed right after he did, and soon everyone had stopped to gawk at Teresa as she marched toward them, her hands gripping that weapon, her face hard as stone. She looked ready to start stabbing the first thing that moved.

Thomas took a step forward, not really sure what he planned to do. But then more movement stopped him.

On both sides of Teresa, girls appeared; they, too, seemed to come from nowhere. He turned to look behind him. They were surrounded, by at least twenty girls.

And they all held weapons, varying knives and rusty swords and jagged machetes. Several of the girls had bows and arrows, their menacing tips already aimed at the group of Gladers. Thomas felt an uneasy slice of fear. Regardless of what Teresa had said about something bad happening, surely she wouldn’t let these people hurt them. Right?

Group B popped into his mind. And his tattoo saying how they were supposed to kill him.

His thoughts were cut short when Teresa stopped about thirty feet away from the group. Her companions did the same, forming a complete circle around the Gladers. Thomas turned again to take it all in. Each one of their new visitors stood stiffly, eyes squinted, weapons held out in front and ready. The bows scared him the most-he and the others would have no chance to do anything before those arrows could fly and find a home inside someone’s chest.

He stopped, facing Teresa. Her eyes were focused on him.

Minho spoke first. “What’s this crap about, Teresa? Nice way to greet your long-lost buddies.”

At the mention of the name Teresa, Brenda spun and looked sharply at Thomas. He gave her a quick nod, and the surprise on her face made him sad for some reason.

Teresa didn’t answer the question, and an eerie silence swept across the group. The sun continued to rise, inching toward the point where its heat would beat down on them unbearably.

Teresa walked toward them again, and stopped about ten feet from where Minho and Newt stood side by side.

“Teresa?” Newt asked. “What the bloody-”

“Shut up,” Teresa said. She didn’t snap or yell it. She said it calmly and with conviction, which only made it that much more frightening to Thomas. “And any of you makes a move, the bows start shooting.”

Teresa brought her spear up to a better fighting position, swept it back and forth as she stepped past Newt and Minho and through the Gladers, acting as if she was searching for something. She came to Brenda, paused. Neither said a word, but the hatred between them was visible. Teresa moved past her, never dropping her icy stare.

And then she was in front of Thomas. He tried to tell himself that she’d never use that weapon on him, but believing it wasn’t easy when you were looking at the blade’s sharp edge.

“Teresa,” he whispered before he could stop himself. Despite the spear, despite the hard look on her face, despite the way her muscles tensed as if she was about to slash him, all he wanted was to reach out to her. He couldn’t help but remember the kiss she’d given him. The way it had felt.

She didn’t move, just kept staring at him, her face unreadable except for the obvious anger there.

“Teresa, what’s-”

“Shut up.” That same voice of calm. Of utter command. It didn’t sound like her.