The Death Cure - James Dashner [48]
“Let them in,” he said in a gravelly voice.
A minute or so later, Thomas and his three friends were sitting around a rickety table in the kitchen, all their focus on the gruffly distant man named Hans.
“It’s good to see you’re okay, Brenda,” he said. “You, too, Jorge. But I’m not in the mood to catch up. Why don’t you just tell me what you want.”
“I think you know the main reason we’re here,” Brenda replied, then nodded toward Thomas and Minho. “But we also just heard that WICKED has put a bounty on your head. We need to hurry and do this, and then you need to get out of here.”
Hans seemed to shrug off that last part, looking at his two potential customers. “You’ve still got the implants, do ya?”
Thomas nodded, nervous but determined to get this over with. “I only want the controlling device out. I don’t want my memories back. And I want to know how this operation works first.”
Hans wrinkled his face in disgust. “What kind of nonsense is this? Who’s this weak-kneed coward you brought to my place, Brenda?”
“I’m not a coward,” Thomas said before she could respond. “I’ve just had too many people in my head.”
Hans threw up his hands, then slapped the table. “Who said I’d do anything to your head? Who said I liked you enough for that?”
“Are there any nice people in Denver?” Minho muttered.
“You folks are about three seconds from being thrown out of my apartment.”
“Everyone just shut up for a second!” Brenda shouted. She leaned toward Hans and spoke in a quieter voice. “Listen, this is important. Thomas is important, and WICKED will do just about anything to get their hands on him. We can’t risk them getting close enough to start controlling him or Minho.”
Hans glared at Thomas, scrutinized him like a scientist examining a specimen. “Doesn’t look important to me.” He shook his head and stood up. “Give me five minutes to prep,” he said, then disappeared through a side door without further explanation. Thomas could only wonder if the man recognized him. If he knew what Thomas had done for WICKED before the Maze.
Brenda sat back in her chair and let out a sigh. “That wasn’t so bad.”
Yeah, Thomas thought, the bad part’s coming up. He was relieved that Hans was going to help them, but as he looked around he got more and more nervous. He was about to let a stranger mess with his brain in a dirty old apartment.
Minho snickered. “You look scared, Tommy.”
“Don’t forget, muchacho,” Jorge said. “You’re doing this, too. That gray-haired grandpa said five minutes, so get ready.”
“The sooner, the better,” Minho replied.
Thomas rested his elbows on the table, his head—which had begun to throb—in his hands.
“Thomas?” Brenda whispered. “You okay?”
He looked up. “I just need to—”
The words caught in his throat as a sharp pain sliced down his spine. But just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. He sat up in the chair, startled; then a spasm sent his arms out straight and his legs kicked, twisting his body so that he slid off the chair and collapsed to the floor, shaking. He yelled when his back slammed into the hard tile, and struggled to get control of his jerking limbs. But he couldn’t. His feet slapped the floor; his shins banged against the legs of the table.
“Thomas!” Brenda yelled. “What’s wrong?”
Despite his loss of bodily control, Thomas’s mind was clear. He could see out of the corner of his eye that Minho was next to him on the ground trying to calm him and Jorge was frozen in place, eyes wide.
Thomas tried to speak, but only drool came out of his mouth.
“Can you hear me?” Brenda yelled, bending over him. “Thomas, what’s wrong!”
Then his limbs abruptly stilled, legs straightening and coming to a rest, his arms falling limp at his