The Scorch Trials - James Dashner [31]
Minho sounded irritated. “The shuck top, that’s what. We hit the roof, and there’s nowhere else …” He trailed off, and Thomas could hear him sliding his hands along the walls and ceiling, searching. “Wait! I think I found—”
A distinct click cut him off, and then the world around Thomas seemed to ignite into pure flame. He cried out as he covered his eyes with his hands—a blinding, searing light shone down from above. He’d dropped his water bag, but he couldn’t help it. After so long in pitch-darkness, the sudden appearance of light overpowered him—even through the protection of his hands. Brilliant orange burst through his fingers and eyelids, and a wave of heat—like a hot wind—swept down.
Thomas heard a heavy scrape, then a clonk, and the darkness returned. Warily, he dropped his hands and squinted; spots danced across his vision.
“Shuck me,” Minho said. “Looks like we found a way out, but I think it’s on the freaking sun! Man, that was bright. And hot.”
“Let’s just open it a crack and let our eyes get used to it,” Newt said. Then Thomas heard him walk up the stairs to join Minho. “Here’s a shirt—wedge it in there. Everybody shut your eyes!”
Thomas did as he was told and covered them with his hands again. The glow of orange returned and the process began. After a minute or so, he lowered his hands and slowly opened his eyes. He had to squint, and it still seemed like a million flashlights were pointed at him, but it had become bearable. A couple of minutes more and everything was bright but fine.
He could now see that he stood about twenty steps down from where Minho and Newt crouched just beneath the door in the ceiling. Three shining lines marked the edges of the door, broken only by the shirt they’d stuffed in the right corner to keep it open. Everything around them—the walls, the stairs, the door itself—was made of a dull gray metal. Thomas turned around to look back in the direction from which they’d come, saw that the stairs disappeared into darkness far below them. They’d climbed up a lot more than he’d imagined.
“Anybody blind now?” Minho asked. “I feel like my eyeballs are roasted marshmallows.”
Thomas felt that, too. His eyes burned and itched, kept tearing up. The Gladers around him were all rubbing their eyes.
“So what’s out there?” someone asked.
Minho shrugged as he peeked through the slit of the open door with a hand half-shielding his vision. “Can’t really tell. All I can see is a lot of bright light—maybe we are on the shuck sun. But I don’t think there’re any people out there.” He paused. “Or Cranks.”
“Let’s get out of here, then,” Winston said; he was two steps below Thomas. “I’d rather get a sunburn than get my head attacked by some ball of steel. Let’s go!”
“All right, Winston,” Minho replied. “Keep your undies on—I just wanted to let our eyes adjust first. I’ll throw the door all the way open to make sure we’re okay. Get ready.” He moved up a step so he could press his right shoulder against the slab of metal. “One. Two. Three!”
He straightened his legs with a grunt and heaved upward. Light and heat burst down the stairwell as the door opened with a terrible squeal of grinding metal. Thomas quickly looked toward the ground and squinted. The brightness seemed impossible—even if they had been wandering along in perfect darkness for hours.
He heard some shuffling and pushing above him and looked up to see Newt and Minho moving to get out of the square of blinding sunlight coming through the now-open door. The whole stairwell heated up like an oven.
“Aw, man!” Minho said, a wince on his face. “Something’s wrong, dude. It feels like it’s already burning my skin!”
“He’s right,” Newt said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know if we can go out there. We might have to wait until the sun goes down.”
Groans of complaint sounded from the Gladers, but then they were overcome by a sudden outburst from Winston. “Whoa! Watch out! Watch out!”
Thomas turned to look at Winston down the stairs. He was pointing at something right above him as he backed