The Scorch Trials - James Dashner [96]
Group B popped into his mind. And his tattoo saying how they were supposed to kill him.
His thoughts were cut short when Teresa stopped about thirty feet away from the group. Her companions did the same, forming a complete circle around the Gladers. Thomas turned again to take it all in. Each one of their new visitors stood stiffly, eyes squinted, weapons held out in front and ready. The bows scared him the most—he and the others would have no chance to do anything before those arrows could fly and find a home inside someone’s chest.
He stopped, facing Teresa. Her eyes were focused on him.
Minho spoke first. “What’s this crap about, Teresa? Nice way to greet your long-lost buddies.”
At the mention of the name Teresa, Brenda spun and looked sharply at Thomas. He gave her a quick nod, and the surprise on her face made him sad for some reason.
Teresa didn’t answer the question, and an eerie silence swept across the group. The sun continued to rise, inching toward the point where its heat would beat down on them unbearably.
Teresa walked toward them again, and stopped about ten feet from where Minho and Newt stood side by side.
“Teresa?” Newt asked. “What the bloody—”
“Shut up,” Teresa said. She didn’t snap or yell it. She said it calmly and with conviction, which only made it that much more frightening to Thomas. “And any of you makes a move, the bows start shooting.”
Teresa brought her spear up to a better fighting position, swept it back and forth as she stepped past Newt and Minho and through the Gladers, acting as if she was searching for something. She came to Brenda, paused. Neither said a word, but the hatred between them was visible. Teresa moved past her, never dropping her icy stare.
And then she was in front of Thomas. He tried to tell himself that she’d never use that weapon on him, but believing it wasn’t easy when you were looking at the blade’s sharp edge.
“Teresa,” he whispered before he could stop himself. Despite the spear, despite the hard look on her face, despite the way her muscles tensed as if she was about to slash him, all he wanted was to reach out to her. He couldn’t help but remember the kiss she’d given him. The way it had felt.
She didn’t move, just kept staring at him, her face unreadable except for the obvious anger there.
“Teresa, what’s—”
“Shut up.” That same voice of calm. Of utter command. It didn’t sound like her.
“But what—”
Teresa reared back and swung the butt of her spear at him, smashing it into his right cheek. An explosion of pain shot through his skull, his neck; he crumpled to his knees, a hand to his face where she’d hit him.
“I said shut up.” She reached down and grabbed him by the shirt, jerked up until he stood once again. She repositioned her hands on the wooden shaft, pointed it at him. “Is your name Thomas?”
He gaped at her. His world was crashing in on him, even though he told himself she’d warned him. Told him that no matter what, he had to trust her. “You know who I—”
She swung the spear even more violently this time, crashing the bladeless end into the side of his head, right on his ear. The pain was twice as bad as the first hit; he cried out, clutching his head. But he didn’t fall this time. “You know who I am!” he screamed.
“I used to, anyway,” she said in a voice that was both soft and disgusted. “Now I’m going to ask you one more time. Is your name Thomas?”
“Yes!” he yelled back at her. “My name is Thomas!”
Teresa nodded, then started to back away from him, the tip of the blade once again aimed at his chest. People got out of her way as she passed the group and rejoined the circle of girls who surrounded them.
“You’re coming with us,” she called out. “Thomas. Come on. Remember, anyone tries something, the arrows fly.”
“No way!” Minho yelled. “You’re not taking him anywhere.”
Teresa acted as if she hadn’t heard him, her eyes riveted to Thomas in