The Scorch Trials - James Dashner [85]
All of this combined to scare Thomas nearly out of his wits. He looked over at Brenda, who sat perfectly still, listening. Her eyes finally met his gaze. Still gagged, she could only raise her eyebrows.
He didn’t like their odds being left like this, taped to chairs. There was no way any of the Cranks he’d met that night had a chance against ones like Mr. Nose. “What if a bunch of full-gone Cranks are up there?” he asked.
Brenda mumbled something through the tape.
Thomas strained every muscle and started jumping his chair in tiny steps toward where she sat. He’d made it about three feet when the sounds of fighting and rumbling suddenly stopped. He froze, looked up at the ceiling.
Nothing for several seconds. Then a set of footsteps, maybe two, shuffling across the floor above. A loud thump. Another loud thump. Then another. Thomas imagined bodies being thrown on the ground.
The door at the top of the stairs opened.
Then footsteps, hard and heavy, running down. It was all in shadow, and a cold panic flooded Thomas’s body as he waited to see who came down.
Finally, someone stepped into the light.
Minho. Dirty and bloody, burn marks on his face. Knives in both hands. Minho.
“You guys look comfy,” he said.
CHAPTER 39
Despite everything he’d been through, Thomas couldn’t remember the last time he’d been at such a loss for words. “What … how …” He stammered, trying to get something out.
Minho smiled, a very welcome sight. Especially considering how horrible the guy looked. “We’d just found you. Did you think we were gonna let these bunch of shuck-faces do anything to you? You owe me. Big-time.” He walked over and started cutting the tape.
“What do you mean you’d just found us?” Thomas was so happy he wanted to giggle like an idiot. Not only were they rescued, his friends were alive. They were alive!
Minho kept cutting. “Jorge’s been leading us through the city—avoiding Cranks, finding food.” He finished up with Thomas and went to free Brenda, still talking over his shoulder. “Yesterday morning, we kind of spread out, spying here and there. Frypan was peeking around the corner into that alley up there just as those three shanks pulled a gun on you. He came back, we got mad, started planning our ambush. Most of those shucks were wasted or asleep.”
Brenda pushed her way out of the chair and past Minho as soon as her tape was cut. She started toward Thomas, but hesitated—he couldn’t tell if she was mad or just worried. Then she came the rest of the way, ripping the tape off her mouth as she reached his side.
Thomas stood up, and immediately his head pounded again, the room swaying, making him sick. He plopped back into the chair. “Oh, man. Anybody got some aspirin?”
Minho only laughed. Brenda had made her way to the bottom of the stairs, where she stood with arms folded. Something about her body language did make her look angry. Then he remembered what he had said to her right before passing out from the drug.
Oh, crap, he thought. He’d told her she could never be Teresa.
“Brenda?” he asked sheepishly. “You okay?” No way he was gonna bring up their odd dance and that conversation in front of Minho.
She nodded, but didn’t look back at him. “I’m fine. Let’s go. I wanna see Jorge.” Short clips for words. No emotion in them.
Thomas groaned, glad to have the pain in his head as an excuse. Yeah, she was mad at him. Actually, mad might’ve been the wrong word. She looked more hurt.
Or maybe he assumed too much and she didn’t care at all.
Minho came up to him, offered a hand. “Come on, dude. Headache or no headache, we need to go. No telling how long we can keep the shuck prisoners up there quiet and still.”
“Prisoners?” Thomas repeated.
“Whatever you wanna call them—we can’t risk letting them go until we get out. We’ve got a dozen guys holding more than twenty. And they aren’t too happy. They might start thinking they can take us pretty soon. Once they get rid of their hangovers.”
Thomas stood up again, this time much more slowly. The pain in his head rocked and throbbed