The Scorch Trials - James Dashner [69]
Thomas grabbed her hand holding the flashlight and made it point to the ground. Then he leaned closer to her so he could whisper in her ear. “It could totally be a trap. There wasn’t any glass on the ground back there—they had to have reached up and broken one of the old lights. Why would someone do that? It has to be someone trying to get us to go back there.”
She countered. “If they have enough people to attack, why would they bait us? That’s stupid. Why not just come in here and get it over with?”
Thomas thought about that. She had a point. “Well, it’s even more stupid to sit here and talk about it all day. What do we do?”
“Let’s just—” She had started to raise the flashlight as she spoke, but cut short her words, her eyes widening in terror.
Thomas whipped his head around to see the cause.
A man stood there, just on the edge of her flashlight’s range.
He was like an apparition—there was something unreal about him. He leaned to the right, his left foot and leg jiggling slightly, like he had a nervous tic. His left arm also twitched, the hand clenching and unclenching. He wore a dark suit that had probably once been nice, though now it was filthy and tattered. Water or something more foul soaked both knees of the pants.
But Thomas took all that in quickly. Most of his attention was drawn to the man’s head. Thomas couldn’t help but stare, mesmerized. It looked like hair had been ripped from his scalp, leaving bloody scabs in its place. His face was pallid and wet, with scars and sores everywhere. One eye was gone, a gummy red mass where it should have been. He also had no nose, and Thomas could actually see traces of the nasal passages in his skull underneath the terribly mangled skin.
And his mouth. Lips drawn back in a snarl, gleaming white teeth exposed, clenched tightly together. His good eye glared, somehow vicious in the way it darted between Brenda and Thomas.
Then the man said something in a wet and gurgly voice that made Thomas shiver. He spoke only a few words, but they were so absurd and out of place that it just made the whole thing that much more horrifying.
“Rose took my nose, I suppose.”
CHAPTER 32
A small cry escaped from deep within Thomas’s chest, and he didn’t know if it was audible or something he just felt inside, imagined. Brenda stood next to him, silent—transfixed, maybe—her light still fixed on the hideous stranger.
The man took a lumbering step toward them, having to wave his one good arm to keep his balance on the one good leg.
“Rose took my nose, I suppose,” he repeated; the bubble of phlegm in his throat made a disgusting crackle. “And it really blows.”
Thomas held his breath, waiting for Brenda to make the first move.
“Get it?” the man said, his snarl trying to morph into a grin. He looked like an animal about to pounce on its prey. “It really blows. My nose. Taken by Rose. I suppose.” He laughed then, a wet chortle that made Thomas worry he might never sleep in peace again.
“Yeah, I get it,” Brenda said. “That’s some funny stuff.”
Thomas sensed movement and looked over at her. She had pulled a can from her bag, slyly, and now gripped it in her right hand. Before he could wonder whether it was a good idea and whether he should try to stop her, she pulled her arm back and tossed the can at the Crank. Thomas watched it fly, watched it crash into the man’s face.
He let out a shriek that iced Thomas to the core.
And then others appeared. A group of two. Then three. Then four more. Men and women. All dragging themselves out of the darkness to stand behind the first Crank. All just as gone. Just as hideous, consumed fully by the Flare, raging mad and injured head to toe. And, Thomas noticed, all missing their nose.
“That didn’t hurt so bad,” the leading Crank said. “You have a pretty nose. I really want a nose again.” He stopped snarling long enough to lick his lips, then went right back to it. His tongue was a gruesomely scarred purple thing, as if he chewed it when bored. “And so do my friends.”
Fear pushed up and through Thomas’s chest, like toxic