The Scorch Trials (Page 57)

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."

CHAPTER 37

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."

Brenda shook her head slightly. "It’s just so hard to believe it’s really true. Hard to hope for it."

"Don’t say that." He didn’t want to think it, and he didn’t want to hear it.

"Why would they have sent all these Cranks here if there was a cure? It just doesn’t make any sense."

Thomas pulled back to look at her, worried about the sudden change in attitude. Her eyes were wet with tears.