The Scorch Trials - James Dashner [98]
“Since you obviously don’t care about yourself,” Teresa said, “talk again and we’ll start shooting your friends. That sound good to you?”
Thomas didn’t respond; he heaved a silent sob of agony. Had he really been thinking things were looking up in the world only yesterday? His infection cured and his wound healed, away from the city of Cranks, nothing but a swift and hard hike through the mountains between them and the safe haven. He should’ve known better after everything he’d been through.
“I meant what I said!” Teresa yelled at the Gladers. “There won’t be a warning. Follow us and the arrows start flying.”
Thomas saw her outline as she knelt next to him, heard her knees crunching on the dirt. Then she grabbed him through the material of the bag, put her head against his, her mouth just half an inch from his ear. She started whispering, so faintly he had to strain to hear, concentrating to separate her words from the breeze.
“They’re blocking me from talking to you in our heads. Remember to trust me.”
Thomas, surprised, had to fight to keep his mouth shut.
“What’re you saying to him?” This came from one of the girls holding the rope attached to the bag.
“I’m letting him know just how much I’m enjoying this. How much I’m enjoying my revenge. Do you mind?”
Thomas had never heard such arrogance from her. She was either a really good actress or had started going crazy. Gained a split personality or two.
“Well,” the other girl responded. “Glad you’re having so much fun. But we need to hurry.”
“I know,” Teresa said. She gripped the sides of Thomas’s head even harder, squeezed and shook it. Then she pressed her mouth against the rough material, pushing on his ear. When she spoke, again with that hot whisper, he could feel her hot breath through the weave of the burlap. “Hang in there. It’ll be over soon.”
The words numbed Thomas’s brain; he had no idea what to think. Was she being sarcastic?
She released him and stood back up. “Okay, let’s get out of here. Make sure you hit as many rocks as you can along the way.”
His captors started walking, dragging him along behind them. He felt the rough ground below him as he was dragged across it, the big sack providing absolutely no protection. It hurt. He arched his back, putting all his weight on his feet, letting his shoes bear the brunt of the impacts. But he knew his strength couldn’t hold out forever.
Teresa walked right beside him as they pulled his body along. He could just make her out through the burlap.
Then Minho started yelling, his voice already fading with distance, the sound of being dragged against the dirt making it that much harder to hear. What Thomas did hear, however, gave him little hope. Between garbled unflattering names, Thomas heard the words “we’ll find you” and “time is right” and “weapons.”
Teresa slammed her fist into Thomas’s stomach again, shutting Minho up.
And across the desert they went, Thomas bouncing over the dirt like a sack of old clothes.
Thomas imagined horrible things as they went along. His legs were weakening every second, and he knew he’d have to lower his body to the ground soon. He pictured the bleeding wounds, the permanent scars.
But maybe it wouldn’t matter. They planned on killing him anyway.
Teresa had said to trust her. And even though he had a hard time doing it, he was trying to believe her. Could all the stuff she’d done to him since reappearing with the weapons and Group B really be an act? If it wasn’t, why would she keep whispering to him to trust her?
His mind turned it all over in circles until he couldn’t concentrate anymore. His body was being rubbed raw, and he knew he needed to figure out how to prevent every inch of skin from being scratched off.
The mountains saved him.
When they started going up the steep slope, it obviously became difficult for the girls to drag his body the way they’d done across flat ground. They tried pulling him in quick jerks—slipping and letting him slide several feet back down, then hauling him back up only to let him slip again. Teresa finally said it