The Scorch Trials - James Dashner [26]
“We’ve got three minutes,” Minho said, for once looking completely serious. “Everybody sure they still wanna go?”
Thomas nodded, noticed others doing the same.
“Anybody change their mind overnight?” Minho asked. “Speak now or never. Once we go wherever we’re going, if some shank decides he’s a sissy pants and tries to turn back, I’ll make sure he does it with a broken nose and smashed privates.”
Thomas looked over at Newt, who had his head in his hands and was groaning loudly.
“Newt, you got a problem?” Minho asked, his voice surprisingly stern. Thomas, shocked, waited for Newt’s reaction.
The older boy seemed just as surprised. “Uh … no. Just admiring your bloody leadership skills.”
Minho pulled his shirt away from his neck, leaned over to show everyone the tattoo there. “What does that say, slinthead?”
Newt glanced left and right, his face blushing. “We know you’re the boss, Minho. Slim it.”
“No, you slim it,” Minho retorted, pointing at Newt. “We don’t have time for that kind of klunk. So shut your hole.”
Thomas could only hope that Minho was putting on an act to solidify the decision they’d made for him to be the leader, and that Newt understood. Though if Minho was acting, he was sure doing a good job of it.
“It’s six o’clock!” one of the Gladers shouted.
As if this proclamation had triggered it, the invisible shield turned opaque again, fogging to a splotchy white. A split second later it vanished altogether. Thomas noticed the change in the wall opposite them instantly—a large section of it had transformed into a flat, shimmering surface of murky, shadowy gray.
“Come on!” Minho yelled as he pulled the strap of his pack onto his shoulder. He was gripping a water bag in his other hand. “Don’t mess around—we only have five minutes to get through. I’ll go first.” He pointed at Thomas. “You go last—make sure everyone follows me before you come.”
Thomas nodded, trying to fight the fire burning through his nerves; he reached up and wiped the sweat off his forehead.
Minho walked up to the wall of gray, then paused right in front of it. The Flat Trans seemed completely unstable, impossible for Thomas to focus on. Shadows and swirls of varying shades of darkness danced across its surface. The whole thing pulsed and blurred, as if it might disappear at any second.
Minho turned to look back at them. “See you shanks on the other side.”
Then he stepped through, and the wall of gray murk swallowed him whole.
CHAPTER 14
No one complained as Thomas herded the rest of them behind Minho. No one even said anything, just exchanged flickering, frightened looks as they approached the Flat Trans and went through it. Without fail, every Glader hesitated a second before taking the final step into the murkiness of the gray square. Thomas watched each of them, swatting them on the back right before they disappeared.
After two minutes, only Aris and Newt were left with Thomas.
You sure about this? Aris said to him inside his mind.
Thomas choked on a cough, surprised by the flow of words across his consciousness—that not-quite-audible yet somehow audible speech. He’d thought—and hoped—that Aris had gotten the hint that he didn’t want to communicate that way. That was something for Teresa, not anybody else.
“Hurry,” Thomas muttered out loud, refusing to answer telepathically. “We’ve gotta hurry.”
Aris stepped through, a hurt look on his face. Newt followed right on his heels; just like that, Thomas was alone in the big common room.
He glanced around one last time, remembered the dead, swelling bodies that had hung there just a few days earlier. Thought about the Maze and all the klunk they’d been through. Sighing as loudly as he could, hoping someone, somewhere could hear it, he gripped his water bag and his bedsheet pack full of food and stepped into the Flat Trans.
A distinct line of coldness traveled across his skin from front to back, as if the wall of gray were a standing plane of icy water. He’d closed