The Death Cure - James Dashner [66]
The two approached the little group and stopped in front of them. “When did you get here?” the woman asked.
Thomas fumbled for words, but Brenda spoke up.
“We came in with the last group. We’re actually looking for our friend who was with us. His name is Newt—blond hair, has a limp. Have you seen him?”
The man answered as if he’d just heard the dumbest question of his life. “Lots of people with blond hair around here—how’re we supposed to tell who’s who? What kind of name is Newt anyway?”
Minho opened his mouth to respond, but the noise coming from the center of town picked up and everyone turned to look. The couple gave each other concerned looks. Then, without a word, they scurried back inside their home. They closed the door and Thomas heard the click of a lock engaging. A few seconds later a wooden board appeared in their window, covering it up; a small shard of glass fell to the ground outside.
“They look about as happy to be here as we are,” Thomas said.
Jorge grunted. “Real friendly. I think I’ll come back to visit.”
“They obviously haven’t been here long,” Brenda said. “I can’t imagine what that must feel like. Finding out you’re infected, being sent to live with Cranks, seeing what you’re about to become right in front of you.”
Thomas just shook his head slowly. It’d be misery in its purest form.
“Where are those guards?” Minho asked, impatience clear in his tone. “How long does it take to find someone and tell ’em their friends are here?”
Ten minutes later, the two guards reappeared around a corner. Thomas and his friends jumped to their feet.
“What’d you find out?” Minho asked in a rush.
The short one seemed fidgety, his eyes darting, as if he’d lost his brazenness from before, and Thomas wondered if a trip to what they’d called the Central Zone always did that to a person.
His partner answered. “Took some asking around, but I think we found your guy. Looks just like you described, and he turned toward us when we called his name. But …” The guards exchanged an uncomfortable glance.
“But what?” Minho pushed.
“He said—very pointedly, I might add—to tell you guys to get lost.”
CHAPTER 37
The words stabbed Thomas, and he could only imagine how Minho felt.
“Show us where he is,” his friend ordered curtly.
The guard held up his hands. “Did you not hear what I just said?”
“Your job’s not done,” Thomas insisted. He was with Minho one hundred percent. It didn’t matter what Newt had said—if they were this close, they were going to talk to him.
The shorter guard shook his head adamantly. “No way. You asked us to find your friend and we did. Give us our money.”
“Does it look like we’re with him yet?” Jorge asked. “No one makes a dollar until you get us all together.”
Brenda didn’t say anything, but she stood next to Jorge and nodded to show her support. Thomas was relieved that everyone was on board to go to Newt despite the message he’d sent.
The two guards didn’t look happy at all, and they whispered back and forth, arguing.
“Hey!” Minho barked. “If you want that money, let’s go!”
“Fine,” the guard with the mustache finally said. His partner gave him an exasperated glare. “Follow us.”
They turned and headed back in the direction they’d come. Minho was right on their heels, and then everyone else.
As they made their way deeper into the compound, Thomas kept thinking things couldn’t get worse, but they did. The buildings were shabbier, the streets dirtier. He saw several people lying on the sidewalks, their heads resting on filthy bags or wadded-up pieces of clothing. Each one of them stared at the sky with a glazed expression, a look of oblivious glee. The Bliss was aptly named, Thomas thought.
The guards marched ahead, sweeping their Launchers left and right at anyone who got within a dozen feet of them. At one point they passed a ravaged-looking man—his clothes torn, his hair matted with some kind of black goo, skin covered in rashes—as he fell on a drugged-out teenager and started beating him.
Thomas stopped,