The Scorch Trials - James Dashner [5]
“Table,” Newt announced. “Watch out for tables.”
Frypan spoke up behind Thomas. “Does anyone remember where the light switches were?”
“That’s where I’m heading,” Newt responded. “I swear I remember seeing a set of them somewhere over here.”
Thomas continued walking blindly forward. His eyes had adjusted a little; where before, everything had been a wall of blackness, now he could see traces of shadows against shadows. Yet something was off. He was still a little disoriented, but things seemed to be in places they shouldn’t be. It was almost as if—
“Bluh-huh-huh,” Minho groaned, a shudder of repulsion, like he’d just stepped in a pile of klunk. Another creaking sound cut through the room.
Before Thomas could ask what had happened, he bumped into something himself. Hard. Awkwardly shaped. The feel of cloth.
“Found it!” Newt shouted.
A few clicks were heard; then the room suddenly blazed with fluorescent lights, temporarily blinding Thomas. He stumbled away from the thing he’d bumped into, rubbing his eyes, ran into another stiff figure, sent it swaying away from him.
“Whoa!” Minho yelled.
Thomas squinted; his vision cleared. He forced himself to look at the scene of horror around him.
Throughout the large room, people hung from the ceiling—at least a dozen. They’d all been strung up by the neck, the ropes twisted and trenched into purple, bloated skin. The stiff bodies swung to and fro ever so slightly, pale pink tongues lolling out of their white-lipped mouths. All of them had eyes open, though glazed over with certain death. By the looks of it, they’d been that way for hours. Their clothes and some of their faces looked familiar.
Thomas dropped to his knees.
He knew these dead people.
They were the ones who’d rescued the Gladers. Just the day before.
CHAPTER 4
Thomas tried not to look at any of the dead bodies as he stood up. He half walked, half stumbled over to Newt, who was still by the bank of light switches, his terrified gaze darting between the corpses hanging throughout the room.
Minho joined them, swearing under his breath. Other Gladers were emerging from the dorm room, shouting as they realized what they were seeing; Thomas heard a couple of them throw up, gagging and spitting. He felt the sudden urge himself, but fought it. What had happened? How could everything be taken away from them so fast? His stomach tightened up as despair threatened to bowl him over.
Then he remembered Teresa.
Teresa! he called out with his mind. Teresa! Again and again, mentally screaming it with his eyes closed and jaw clenched. Where are you!
“Tommy,” Newt said, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “What’s bloody wrong with you?”
Thomas opened his eyes, realized he was doubled over, arms wrapped around his stomach. He slowly straightened, tried to push away the panic eating him inside. “What … what do you think? Look around us.”
“Yeah, but you looked like you were in pain or something.”
“I’m fine—just trying to reach her in my mind. But I can’t.” He wasn’t fine. He hated reminding the others that he and Teresa could speak telepathically. And if all these people were dead … “We’ve gotta find where they put her,” he blurted out, grasping urgently for a task to clear his mind. He scanned the room, trying his best not to focus on the corpses, looking for a door that might lead to her room. She’d said it was across the common area from where they’d all slept.
There. A yellow door with a brass handle.
“He’s right,” Minho said to the group. “Spread out, find her!”
“Might’ve already.” Thomas was on the move, surprised at how quickly he’d recovered his senses. He ran toward the door, dodging tables and bodies. She had to be in there, safe like they’d been. The door was closed; that was a good sign. Probably locked. Maybe she’d fallen into a deep sleep like him. That was why she’d been quiet, unresponsive.
He had almost reached the door when he remembered that they might need something to break into the room. “Someone grab that fire extinguisher!” he yelled over his shoulder.