The Scorch Trials - James Dashner [70]
It was time to go.
Brenda didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. After she pulled out another can and flung it toward the Cranks, Thomas turned around with her and they ran. The psychotic shrill of their pursuers’ cries rose behind them like the battle call of a demon army.
Brenda’s flashlight beam shakily crisscrossed left and right, bouncing as they sprinted straight past the slew of right and left turns. Thomas knew they had an advantage—the Cranks looked half broken, riddled with injury. Surely they wouldn’t be able to keep up. But the thought that even more Cranks might be down here, maybe even waiting for them up ahead …
Brenda pulled up and turned right, grabbing Thomas’s arm to drag him along. He stumbled the first few steps, got his feet under him, pushed himself back to full speed. The angry shouts and catcalls of the Cranks faded a bit.
Then Brenda turned left. Then right again. After this second turn she flicked off the flashlight but didn’t slow.
“What’re you doing?” Thomas asked. He held a hand out in front of him, sure he was going to smack into a wall at any second.
A shush was the only response he got. He wondered about how much he was trusting Brenda. He’d put his life in her hands. But he didn’t see what other options he had, especially now.
She pulled up again a few seconds later, stopping completely. They stood in darkness, catching their breath. The Cranks were distant but still loud enough, coming closer.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Right about … here.”
“What?” he asked.
“Just follow me into this room. There’s a perfect hiding spot in here—I found it while exploring once. There’s no way they’ll stumble on it. Come on.”
Her hand tightened around his, pulled him to the right. He sensed that they were passing through a narrow door; then Brenda pulled him down to the floor.
“There’s an old table here,” she said. “Can you feel it?”
She pushed his hand out until he felt hard, smooth wood.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Just watch your head. We’re gonna crawl under it and then through a small notch in the wall that leads to a hidden compartment. Who knows what it’s for, but no way those Cranks’ll find it. Even if they have a light, which I doubt.”
Thomas had to wonder how they got around without one, but he saved the question for later—Brenda was already on the move, and he didn’t want to lose her. Staying close, his fingers brushing her foot, he followed her as she scooted on her hands and knees under the table and toward the wall. Then they crawled through a small square opening into the long, narrow compartment. Thomas felt around, patting the surfaces to get a sense of where he was. The ceiling was only about two feet off the ground, so he continued to drag himself farther into the crevice.
Brenda lay with her back against the far wall of the hideout by the time Thomas awkwardly got himself in position. They had no choice but to lie stretched out, on their sides. It was a squeeze, but he fit, facing the same direction she did, his back pressed against her front. He felt her breath on his neck.
“This is real comfy,” he whispered.
“Just be quiet.”
Thomas scooted up a little so his head could rest against the wall; then he relaxed. He settled in, taking deep, slow breaths and listening for any sign of the Cranks.
At first the silence was so deep it had a buzz to it, a ringing in his ears. But then came the first traces of Crank noises. Coughing, random shouts, lunatic giggles. They came closer by the second, and Thomas felt a moment of panic, worried that they’d been stupid to trap themselves like this. But then he thought about it. The odds of the Cranks finding the hidden cubbyhole were slim, especially in the darkness. They’d move on, hopefully going