The Death Cure - James Dashner [49]
Brenda’s expression changed to something close to horror. “Thomas?”
He didn’t know how, but his body started moving even though he wasn’t telling it to. His arms and legs shifted, he was getting to his feet. It was as if he’d become a puppet. He tried to scream but couldn’t.
“You okay?” Minho asked.
Panic clenched inside Thomas as he kept doing things against his will. His head twitched, then turned toward the door through which their host had disappeared. Words started spilling from his mouth, but he had no idea where they came from.
“I can’t … let you … do this.”
CHAPTER 27
Thomas fought desperately against it, straining to get control of his muscles. But something foreign had taken over his body.
“Thomas, they’ve got you!” Brenda yelled. “Fight it!”
He watched helplessly as his own hand pushed her face away, sent her tumbling to the floor.
Jorge moved to protect her but Thomas reached out and punched him in the chin with a quick jab. Jorge’s head snapped back; a little spray of blood shot from his lip.
Again the words were forced from Thomas’s mouth. “I can’t … let you … do this!” By that time he was screaming, the effort hurting his throat. It was like his brain had been programmed with that one sentence and he couldn’t say anything else.
Brenda had gotten back to her feet. Minho stood dazed, his face a mask of confusion. Jorge was wiping the blood off his chin, his eyes lit with anger.
And a memory bubbled up in Thomas. Something about a fail-safe programmed into his implant to prevent it from being removed. He wanted to shout at his friends, tell them to sedate him. But he couldn’t. He started moving toward the door in lurching steps, shoving Minho out of the way. As he half stumbled past the kitchen counter, his hand reached out and grabbed a knife sitting by the sink. He gripped the handle, and the harder he tried to drop it, the more tightly his fingers clenched.
“Thomas!” Minho shouted, finally breaking out of his stupor. “Fight it, man! Get those shuck people out of your head!”
Thomas turned to face him, held the knife up. He hated himself for being so weak, for not being able to master his own body. Once again he tried to speak—but nothing. All his body would do now was whatever it took to prevent his implant from being removed.
“You gonna kill me, slinthead?” Minho asked. “Gonna throw that thing just like Gally did to Chuck? Do it, then. Throw it.”
For one second Thomas was terrified that that was exactly what he’d do, but instead his body turned back around to face the opposite direction. Just as he did, Hans came through the doorway, and his eyes widened. Thomas guessed Hans was his main target—that the fail-safe would attack whoever was attempting to remove his implant.
“What the hell is this?” Hans asked.
“I can’t … let you … do this,” Thomas replied.
“I was worried about this,” Hans murmured. He turned to the group. “You guys get over here and help!”
Thomas pictured the internal workings of the mechanism in his brain as minuscule instruments operated by minuscule spiders. He fought them, clenched his teeth. But his arm started to rise, the knife gripped tightly in his balled fist.
“I ca—” Before he could finish, someone slammed into him from behind, knocking the knife from his hand. He crashed to the floor and twisted to see Minho.
“I’m not letting you kill anybody,” his friend said.
“Get off me!” Thomas yelled, not sure if they were his own words or WICKED’s.
But Minho had pinned Thomas’s arms to the ground. He hovered over him, heaving to catch his breath. “I’m not getting up until they let your mind go.”
Thomas wanted to smile—but his face couldn’t follow even a simple command. He felt the tension in every single muscle.
“It won’t stop until Hans fixes him,” Brenda said. “Hans?”
The older man knelt down next to Thomas and Minho. “I can’t believe I ever worked for those people. For you.” He almost spat the word, looking directly at Thomas.