The Scorch Trials - James Dashner [3]
“Kill me! Kill me! Kill me! …”
CHAPTER 3
A hand slammed down on Thomas’s shoulder from behind; he cried out and spun around to see Minho staring past him at the maniac screaming through the window.
“They’re everywhere,” Minho said. His voice had a gloom to it that perfectly matched how Thomas felt. It seemed as if everything they’d dared hope for the previous night had dissolved to nothing. “And there’s no sign of those shanks who rescued us,” he added.
Thomas had lived in fear and terror the past few weeks, but this was almost too much. To feel safe only to have that snatched away again. Shocking even himself, though, he quickly set aside that small part of him that wanted to jump back into his bed and bawl his eyes out. He pushed away the lingering ache of remembering his mom and the stuff about his dad and people going crazy. Thomas knew that someone had to take charge—they needed a plan if they were going to survive this, too.
“Have any of them gotten in yet?” he asked, a strange calm washing over him. “Do all the windows have these bars?”
Minho nodded toward one of the many lining the walls of the long rectangular room. “Yeah. It was too dark to notice them last night, especially with those stupid frilly curtains. But I’m sure glad for ’em.”
Thomas looked at the Gladers around them, some running from window to window to get a look outside, others huddling in small groups. Everyone had a look of half disbelief, half terror. “Where’s Newt?”
“Right here.”
Thomas turned to see the older boy, not knowing how he’d missed him. “What’s goin’ on?”
“You think I have a bloody clue? Bunch of crazies want to eat us for breakfast, by the looks of it. We need to find another room, have a Gathering. All this noise is driving nails through my buggin’ skull.”
Thomas nodded absently; he agreed with the plan but hoped Newt and Minho would take care of it. He was eager to make contact with Teresa—he hoped her warning had just been part of a dream, a hallucination from the drug of deep and exhausted slumber. And that vision of his mom …
His two friends moved away, calling out and waving their arms to collect Gladers. Thomas took a tremulous glance back at the shredded madman at the window, then looked away immediately, wishing he hadn’t reminded his brain of the blood and torn flesh, the insane eyes, the hysterical screaming.
Kill me! Kill me! Kill me!
Thomas stumbled to the farthest wall, leaned heavily against it.
Teresa, he called out again with his mind. Teresa. Can you hear me?
He waited, closing his eyes to concentrate. Reaching out with invisible hands, trying to grasp some trace of her. Nothing. Not even a passing shadow or brush of feeling, much less a response.
Teresa, he said more urgently, clenching his teeth with the effort. Where are you? What happened?
Nothing. His heart seemed to slow until it almost stopped, and he felt like he’d swallowed a big hairy lump of cotton. Something had happened to her.
He opened his eyes to see the Gladers gathered around the green-painted door that led to the common area where they’d eaten pizza the night before. Minho was jerking on the round brass handle to no avail. Locked.
The only other door was to a shower and locker room, from which no other exits existed. There was that, and the windows. All with those metal bars. Thank goodness. Each one had raging lunatics screaming and yelling on the other side.
Even though worry ate at him like spilled acid in his veins, Thomas gave up momentarily on trying to contact Teresa and joined the other Gladers. Newt was having a go at the door, with the same useless result.
“It’s locked,” he muttered when he finally gave up, his arms falling weakly to his sides.
“Really, genius?” Minho said, his powerful arms folded and tensed, veins bulging all over the place. Thomas thought for a split second he could actually see the blood pumping through them. “No wonder you were named after Isaac Newton—such an amazing ability to think.”
Newt wasn’t in the mood. Or maybe he’d just