The Death Cure - James Dashner [55]
“What in the world?” one of them said, his voice also mechanized. “You caught two of ’em?”
“Not really,” Red Shirt replied. “Got us a Munie, thinks he wants to sit around and see the show.”
“A Munie?” The other man sounded like he couldn’t believe what he’d heard.
“A Munie. He stayed put when everyone else jackrabbited out of here, claims he wanted to see what happened. To make it worse, he says he suspected our future Crank here was on the Bliss and didn’t tell anyone, just went on drinking his coffee like all was right with the world.”
Everyone looked over at Thomas, but he was speechless. He just shrugged.
Red Shirt stepped back as the four protected workers surrounded the still-sobbing infected man, lying curled up on his side on the ground. One of the newcomers had a thick blue plastic object gripped in both hands. It had an odd nozzle on the end, and the guy was pointing it at the man on the ground as if it were a weapon. Its purpose seemed ominous, and Thomas searched his memory-depleted mind to work out what it could possibly be but came up empty.
“We need you to straighten out your legs, sir,” the lead worker said. “Keep your body still, don’t move, try to relax.”
“I didn’t know!” the man wailed. “How was I supposed to know?”
“You knew!” Red Shirt yelled from the side. “No one takes the Bliss just for kicks.”
“I like the way it feels!” The pleading in the man’s voice made Thomas feel incredibly sorry for him.
“Plenty of cheaper drugs than that. Quit lying and shut your mouth.” Red Shirt waved a hand as if swatting a fly. “Who cares. Bag the sucker.”
Thomas watched as the infected man curled up even tighter, gripping his legs to his chest with both arms. “It’s not fair. I didn’t know! Just kick me out of the city. I swear I’ll never come back. I swear. I swear!” He broke into another agonizing series of lurching sobs.
“Oh, they’ll put you out, all right,” Red Shirt said, glancing over at Thomas for some reason. It looked as if he was smiling behind the mask—his eyes shone with something like glee. “Keep watching, Munie. You’re gonna like this.”
Thomas suddenly hated Red Shirt as much as he’d ever hated anyone. He broke eye contact and returned his focus to the four suited people, now crouching as they inched closer to the poor guy on the floor.
“Straighten out your legs!” one of them repeated. “Or this is gonna hurt something awful. Straighten them. Now!”
“I can’t! Please just let me leave!”
Red Shirt stomped over to the man, pushing one of the workers out of the way, then leaned over and placed the end of his gun against the sick man’s head. “Straighten your legs, or I’ll put a bullet in your brain and make it easier on everybody. Do it!” Thomas couldn’t believe the guard’s complete lack of compassion.
Whimpering, eyes filled with terror, the infected man slowly let go of his legs and extended them, his whole body shaking as he lay flat on the ground. Red Shirt stepped out of the way, sliding his gun back into its holster.
The person with the odd blue object immediately moved so that he stood behind the man’s head, then placed the nozzle so it rested on the crown of his skull, pressing it into his hair.
“Try not to move.” It was a woman, and if anything, her voice, filtered through her mask, sounded even creepier to Thomas than the mens’. “Or you’ll lose something.”
Thomas barely had time to wonder what that meant before she pressed a button and a gel-like substance shot out of the nozzle. It was blue and viscous but moved quickly, spreading over the man’s head, then down around his ears and face. He screamed, but the sound was cut off as the gel washed over his mouth,