Him || The Scorch Trials

Seventeen

"Please," Thomas held out his hands, trying to calm the man down, but it wasn't working. "Wait."

Something about the way Thomas had spoken made the man stop, but movement still echoed around the room. Men and women landed all around them, some doing similar to what Jorge had upon arrival and others simply sliding down the thick ropes hanging from the sky. Some were teenagers; the same age as the Gladers were, but they all wore the same adrenaline on their skinny, pale frames.

"Please give me a minute," Thomas' voice rang from behind her, his calm demeanour working to his advantage. "Won't do you people any good to... harm us."

"Won't do us any good?" He raised his voice, pouring balls of spit from his split lips as his fingers clenched together, forming fists. "It'll do me a lot of good. That, I can guarantee, hermano."

It was a hardly noticeable, but the man tilted his head to the side. The cranks around them pulled weapons from inside their rags and their lips grew into spine-chilling smiles, closing the gap between them and the Gladers. They were ready for a fight, pulling together every scrap item to form all sorts of weapons.

She had to say something. These people wanted to kill them, and unlike the Grievers, they didn't have an off switch.

"Thomas is right," Mara stepped forward, courage spilling through her body along with the colour filling back into her paled face. "There's no use in hurting any of us. We're special, and if you touch us you're gonna have a shuck tone of angry shanks on your hands."

Mara expected the man to kick and scream, but to her surprise he did the opposite. Instead, he stood in confusion, wondering out loud. "What's a shank?"

A laugh came close to slipping past Mara, but she stopped herself. The man would kill her if she laughed, and then he'd be the one laughing over her dead body and she'd be... dead.

"Me and you." Thomas demanded, stepping forward to stand beside Mara. "Ten minutes. Alone. That's all I ask. Bring all the weapons you need."

Some strange type of snort came from Jorge's mouth. "Sorry to burst your bubble, kid, but I don't think I'll need any."

Mara looked to Thomas, whose eyes never left Jorge's. A silent pause hung over the room with a wave of eerie discomfort, and Mara could only hope that Jorge would somehow let them leave that dreary room alive.

"Ten minutes," To her comfort he agreed, lifting a weight off her shoulders. "Rest of you stay here, watch these punks. If I give the word, let the death games begin." He spoke out, turning back to his group of minions. Then, he turned back to Thomas, holding his hand over to a dark corridor leading into another area across from the smashed doors. "Ten minutes."

Every Glader watched as Thomas nodded and walked forward, closing the gap between himself and the narrow pathway.

Only the beat of footsteps could be heard from the corridor until they faded from existence, leaving nothing but the harsh breaths of each individual Glader, pulsing sporadically.

The Cranks around them patrolled the area, guarding each exit or entrance leading to another part of the crooked building. Watching in paranoia, taking joy in the situation.

Somehow, in her frantic, frozen body, Mara struck up the courage to make the first bit of movement among the Gladers, who all sat or stood in complete silence.

She slowly waltzed towards the closest wall to her; the wall furthest from the Cranks. Her body slumped down the cold bricks, landing with a soft thud on the ground in the corner. Her small, frail elbows rested against her knees, awkwardly resting on the bone in her leg.

Everything had happened so quickly to them. It had only been a few days since Mara was in that black, damp room close to falling through death's door, and now she was sitting in a room of Cranks threatening their lives. Mara didn't think it could get any worse.

"Shuck me," Minho huffed, his voice bouncing from the dull walls. "Thomas better not screw this up."

"You mean, he better not screw this up any more than you have." Newt retorted. Minho shrugged, watching as Newt limped next to Mara and gradually lowered himself to the ground.

"He's right." Mara added, addressing the boy as he moved closer to them. "Why'd you have to blow up in that guy's face? They could've killed every last one of us, Minho." She paused, her voice dropped to a mere whisper. "They still could."

The Cranks were everywhere, and the three of their voices seemed to draw in their attention. Some snarled and growled, others smirked at the power they held, but either way they still caused Mara to feel the endless pit of nausea churning inside every corner of her stomach.

"You think they will?" Newt turned his head to Mara, his voice low and grave.

"What?"

"You think they'll kill us?"

"Honestly? I don't know." That was her real opinion. These people were so unpredictable and maddening that she had no idea as to what they were planning. She could just hope that if they did make it out, she would never get that insane.

"Is it even worth it anymore? Even if we get out of here, we'll meet more of them again, and again, and again. It's never gonna get better, it's gonna be like this for the rest of our lives. If we were cured, then we'd just be the shanks who the crazies would go after. It wouldn't protect us, it would just make us more vulnerable."

"But that won't happen," Mara shrugged, kicking a loose stone across the room, hitting Aris' foot. "There isn't a cure."

"Didn't anyone tell you?" He asked, confusion lining his voice.

"Tell me what?"

"There's a promise of the cure for the Gladers who survive all of the trials; Rat Man told us that. He came and told us about this trial- The Scorch Trials- and told us we have two weeks to make it to that point exactly one hundred miles north." He explained, his gaze hovering around the ceiling.

"What happens if we don't make it?" Mara asked, a sickening feeling stirring inside her.

Newt remained silent for a moment, taking the time to swing his head around and look Mara in the eyes. He swallowed. "If we don't make it, we get left here. We'll die."