The Scorch Trials - James Dashner [15]
Aris Jones, Group B, Subject B1
The Partner
Everyone observed the new plaque, then wandered away, but Thomas found himself standing in front of it, unable to remove his eyes. To Thomas it felt like the new label made it official—Teresa had been taken from him, replaced by Aris. None of it made sense, and none of it mattered anymore. He went back to the boys’ dorm, found the cot he’d slept on during the night—or at least, the one he thought he’d slept on—and lay down, putting the pillow over his head, as if that would make everyone else go away.
What had happened to her? What had happened to them? Where were they? What were they supposed to do? And the tattoos …
Turning his head to the side, then his whole body, he squeezed his eyes shut and folded his arms tightly, pulling his legs up until he lay in the fetal position. Then, determined to keep trying until he heard back from her, he called out with his thoughts.
Teresa? A pause. Teresa? A longer pause. Teresa! He shouted it mentally, his whole body tensing with the effort. Teresa! Where are you? Please answer me! Why aren’t you trying to contact me? Ter—
Get out of my head!
The words exploded inside his mind, so vivid and so strangely audible within his skull that he felt lances of pain behind his eyes and in his ears. He sat up in bed, then stood. It was her. It was definitely her.
Teresa? He pressed the first two fingers of both hands against his temples. Teresa?
Whoever you are, get out of my shuck head!
Thomas stumbled backward until he sat down once again on the bed. His eyes were closed as he concentrated. Teresa, what are you talking about? It’s me. Thomas. Where are you?
Shut up! It was her, he had no doubt, but her mental voice was full of fear and anger. Just shut up! I don’t know who you are! Leave me alone!
But, Thomas began, completely at a loss. Teresa, what’s wrong?
She paused before answering, as if collecting her thoughts, and when she finally spoke again, Thomas sensed an almost disturbing calm in her.
Leave me alone, or I’ll hunt you down and cut your throat. I swear it.
And then she was gone. Despite her warning, he tried calling for her again, but the same emptiness he’d felt since that morning returned, her presence having vanished.
Thomas fell back on the bed, something horrible burning through his body. He quickly buried his head in the pillow again and cried for the first time since Chuck had been killed. But the words from the label outside her door—The Betrayer—kept popping up in his mind. Each time, he pushed them away.
Amazingly, no one bothered him or asked him what was wrong. His stifled sobs finally faded into an occasional hitched breath, and eventually he fell asleep. Once again, he dreamed.
He’s a little older this time, probably seven or eight. A very bright light hovers above his head like magic.
People in strange green suits and funny glasses keep peeking at him, their heads momentarily blocking the brilliance that shines down. He can see their eyes but nothing else. Their mouths and noses are covered by masks. Thomas is somehow both himself at that age and yet, as before, observing as an outsider. But he feels the boy’s fear.
People are talking, voices muted and dull. Some are men, some are women, but he can’t tell which is which or who is who.
He can’t understand much of it at all.
Only glimpses. Fragments of conversation. All of it terrifying.
“We’ll have to cut deeper with him and the girl.”
“Can their brains handle this?”
“This is so amazing, you know? The Flare is rooted inside him.”
“He might die.”
“Or worse. He might live.”
He hears one last thing, finally something that doesn’t make him shiver in disgust or fright.
“Or he and the others might save us. Save us all.”
CHAPTER 9
When he woke up, his head felt like several chunks of ice had been hammered through his ears and into his brain. Wincing, he reached up to rub his eyes and was hit by a wave