The Scorch Trials - James Dashner [60]
Thomas shrugged like he didn’t care, like it was a small and meaningless point. “So punish him. Make him look like a little girl. But killing him doesn’t help us. The more bodies we have that can fight, the better our chances. I mean, you live here. Do I really need to tell you this?”
Finally, finally, Jorge loosened his white-knuckled grips. He also let out a breath that Thomas hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“Okay,” the Crank said. “Okay. But it has nothing to do with your lame attempt to talk me into it. I’ll spare him because I just made up my mind about something. Because of two reasons, actually. One of which you should have thought of yourself.”
“What?” Thomas didn’t mind his relief showing anymore—the effort to hide things was exhausting him. Plus, he was now too intrigued by what Jorge had to say.
“First off, you don’t really know all the details behind this test or experiment or whatever it is that WICKED is putting you through. Maybe the more of you that make it back—to that safe haven—the better chances you have of getting the cure. Ever thought that this Group B you mentioned are probably your competitors? I think it’s in my best interests to make sure all eleven of you make it now.”
Thomas nodded, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to take the slightest chance of ruining the victory here: Jorge believed him about the Rat Man and the cure.
“Which leads to my second reason,” he continued. “The thing I’ve made up my mind about.”
“And what’s that?” Thomas asked.
“I’m not taking all those Cranks out there with me. With us.”
“Huh? Why? I thought the whole point was that you guys could help us fight our way through the city.”
Jorge adamantly shook his head as he leaned back in his chair and assumed a much less threatening position, folding his arms across his chest. “No. If we’re gonna do this, stealth will work way better than muscle. We’ve been sneaking around this hellhole ever since we got here, and I think our chances of making it through—and getting all the food and supplies we need—are way better if we take what we’ve learned and use it. Tiptoe our way past the long-gone-crazy Cranks instead of slashing through them like a bunch of wannabe warriors.”
“You’re hard to figure out,” Thomas said. “Not to be rude, but it sure seems like warriors are exactly what you guys want to be. Ya know, based on all the ugly outfits and sharp things.”
A long moment of silence passed, and Thomas was just starting to think he’d made a mistake when Jorge burst out laughing.
“Oh, muchacho, you’re one lucky sucker I like you. Not sure why, but I do. Otherwise I would’ve killed you three times already.”
“Can you do that?” Thomas asked.
“Huh?”
“Kill someone three times.”
“I’d figure out a way.”
“Then I’ll try to be nicer.”
Jorge slapped the table and stood up. “Okay. So here’s the deal. We need to get all eleven of you punks to your safe haven. To do it, I’m only taking one other person—her name is Brenda, and she’s a genius. We need her mind. And if we do make it, and it ends up that there’s no cure for us, then I don’t think I need to tell you what the consequences will be.”
“Come on,” Thomas said sarcastically. “I thought we were friends now.”
“Pshh. We ain’t friends, hermano. We’re partners. I’ll deliver you to WICKED. You get me a cure. That’s the deal or there’s gonna be a lot of death.”
Thomas stood as well; his chair creaked against the floor. “We already agreed on that, didn’t we?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we did. Now listen, don’t you dare say a word out there. Getting away from those other Cranks is gonna be … tricky.”
“What’s the plan?”
Jorge thought for a minute, his eyes glued to Thomas as he did. Then he broke his silence. “Just keep your tongue-hole shut and let me do my thing.” He started to move toward the door to the hallway, but stopped short. “Oh, and I don’t think your compadre Minho is going to like it very much.”
As they walked down the hallway to join the others,