The Scorch Trials - James Dashner [12]
“Property of WICKED, just like his.”
“You’re Subject A-thirteen.”
“Subject A-nineteen.”
“A-three.”
“A-ten.”
Thomas was slowly turning in a circle, dazed as he watched the Gladers discover the tattoos on each other. Most of them didn’t have the additional designations like Aris and Minho, just the property line. Newt was going from boy to boy, looking for himself, his face set in stone as if he were concentrating on memorizing the names and numbers. Then, quite by accident, the two of them stood facing each other.
“What does mine say?” Newt asked.
Thomas pulled the neckline of Newt’s shirt to the side, then leaned over to read the words etched into his skin. “You’re Subject A-five and they called you the Glue.”
Newt gave him a startled look. “The Glue?”
Thomas let go of his shirt and stepped back. “Yeah. Probably because you’re kind of the glue that holds us all together. I don’t know. Read mine.”
“I already did—”
Thomas noticed that an odd expression had come over Newt’s face. One of hesitation. Or dread. Like he didn’t want to tell Thomas what his tattoo said. “Well?”
“You’re Subject A-two,” Newt answered. Then he lowered his eyes.
“And?” Thomas pushed.
Newt hesitated, then answered without looking at him. “It doesn’t call you anything. It just says … ‘To be killed by Group B.’ ”
CHAPTER 7
Thomas didn’t really have time to process what Newt had said. He was actually trying to decide whether he was more confused or scared when a clanging bell began ringing throughout the room. He instinctively put his hands to his ears and looked around at the others.
He noticed the perplexed recognition on their faces, and then it hit him. It was the same sound he’d heard back in the Maze right before Teresa had shown up in the Box. That was the only time he’d heard it, and trapped within the confines of a small room it was different—stronger, laced with overlapping echoes. Still, he was pretty sure it was the same. It was the alarm used in the Glade to announce that a Newbie had arrived.
And it wasn’t stopping; Thomas already felt a headache forming behind his eyes.
The Gladers milled about the room, gawking at the walls and the roof as if they were trying to figure out the source of the noise. Some of them sat down on the beds, hands pressed to the sides of their heads. Thomas tried to find the source of the alarm as well, but couldn’t see anything. No speakers, no heating or air-conditioning vents in the walls, nothing. Just a sound coming from everywhere at once.
Newt grabbed his arm, shouted in his ear. “It’s the bloody Newbie alarm!”
“I know!”
“Why’s it ringing?”
Thomas shrugged, hoping his face didn’t betray how annoyed he was. How was he supposed to know what was going on?
Minho and Aris had reappeared from the bathroom, both of them absently rubbing the backs of their necks as they searched the room for answers. It didn’t take long for them to realize that the others had similar tattoos. Frypan had walked over to the door leading back out to the common room and was just about to touch the palm of his hand to the spot where the broken handle used to be.
“Wait!” Thomas shouted on impulse. He ran over to join Frypan at the door, sensing Newt right behind him.
“Why?” Frypan asked, his hand still hovering just inches from the door.
“I don’t know,” Thomas replied, not sure if he could even be heard over the clanging sounds. “It’s an alarm. Maybe something really bad is happening.”
“Yeah!” Frypan yelled back. “And maybe we need to get out of here!”
Without waiting to see what Thomas said, he pushed the door. When it didn’t move, he pushed harder. When it still didn’t budge, he leaned up against it with his full weight, shoulder first.
Nothing. It was closed as tight as if it were bricked shut.
“You broke the shuck handle!” Frypan screamed, then slapped the door with the palm of his hand.
Thomas didn’t want to shout anymore; he was tired and his throat hurt. He turned and leaned back against the wall, folded his arms. Most of the Gladers seemed as run-down as Thomas—sick of looking