The Death Cure (21 page)

Most of the Cranks stopped their feverish activities and stared at the small group of newcomers as they approached and walked past. Thomas kept his gaze lowered, scared that if he made eye contact with anyone, they might get hostile or try to talk to him. There were catcalls and whistles, lots of crude jokes or insults thrown their way as they kept moving. They passed a dilapidated convenience store, and Thomas could see through the open windows—the glass was long gone—that almost all the shelves were empty. There was a doctor’s office and a sandwich shop, but no lights shone in either one.

Someone grabbed Thomas’s shirt at the shoulder. He spun to see who it was as he swatted the hand away. A woman stood there, her dark hair messy and a scratch on her chin, but otherwise she seemed somewhat normal. Her face was drooping in a frown, and she stared at him for a moment before opening her mouth as wide as it would go, revealing teeth that were in good shape other than looking as if they hadn’t been brushed in a while, and a tongue that was swollen and discolored. Then she closed her mouth again.

“I want to kiss you,” the woman said. “What do you say, Munie?” She laughed, a manic cackle that was full of snorts, and ran her hand lightly down Thomas’s chest.

Thomas jerked away and continued walking—he noticed that the guards hadn’t even stopped to make sure nothing bad happened.

Brenda leaned closer and whispered to him. “That might’ve been the creepiest thing yet.”

Thomas just nodded and kept going.

The bowling alley didn’t have any doors—based on the thick rust that covered the exposed hinges, they’d been taken off and disposed of a long time ago. A large wooden sign hung above the entrance, but any words it had once displayed were gone, leaving only faded scratches of color.

“He’s in there,” the guard with the mustache said. “Now pay up.”

Minho stepped past him to the empty doorway and leaned through the opening, craning his neck to see inside. Then he turned around and looked at Thomas.

“I can see him in the back,” Minho said, his face pinched with worry. “It’s dark in there, but it’s definitely him.”

Thomas had been so worried about finding their old friend, he realized he didn’t have any clue what they’d actually say to him. Why had he told them to get lost?

“We want our money,” the guard repeated.

Jorge appeared completely unfazed. “You’ll get double if you make sure we get back to our Berg safely.”

The two guards consulted; then the shorter one took a turn speaking. “Triple. And we want half of it now to make sure you’re not blowing smoke out your butts.”

“That’s a deal,
muchacho
.”

As Jorge pulled out his card and touched it to the guard’s, transferring the money, Thomas felt a grim satisfaction that they were stealing money from WICKED.

“We’ll wait right here,” the guard said when they were done.

“Come on,” Minho said. He went inside the building without waiting for a response.

Thomas looked at Brenda, who was frowning.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. As if there were just one thing.

“I don’t know,” she responded. “I just have a bad feeling.”

“Yeah, you and me both.”

She gave him a half smile and took his hand, which now he gladly accepted; then they went into the bowling alley with Jorge right behind them.

As with many things since his memory had been wiped, Thomas had images in his mind of what a bowling alley should have looked like and how it functioned, but he couldn’t recall having ever bowled. The room they stepped into was far from what he’d expected.

The lanes where people had once bowled were now completely torn up, most of the wood panels ripped out or broken. Sleeping bags and blankets filled the spaces now, with people either napping or lying in a daze as they stared at the ceiling. Brenda had told Thomas that only the rich could afford the Bliss, so he wondered how people would dare reveal to others that they were using it in a place like this. He imagined it wouldn’t be long before someone decided to do whatever it took to get the drug from them.

In the niches where the bowling pins used to stand, several fires burned, which couldn’t have been very safe. But at least one person sat at each fire, tending it. The smell of burning wood wafted through the air, and a smoky haze choked the darkness.

Minho pointed to the far left lane, about a hundred feet away. Not many people were over there—most seemed to congregate in the middle lanes—but Thomas spotted Newt immediately despite the poor
lighting. It was the flash of his long blond hair in the firelight and the familiar shape of his slumping body. His back was to them.

“Here goes nothing,” Thomas whispered to Brenda.

No one bothered them as they carefully made their way to Newt, picking through the maze of people dozing in blankets until they reached the far lane. Thomas watched where he walked—the last thing he wanted was to step on some Crank and get bitten in the leg.

They were about ten feet away from Newt when he suddenly spoke in a loud voice that echoed off the dark walls of the bowling alley. “I told you bloody shanks to get lost!”

Minho stopped and Thomas almost ran into him. Brenda squeezed Thomas’s hand, then let go, which was when he realized how much he’d been sweating. Hearing those words come out of Newt somehow let him know that it was over and done. Their friend would never be the same—he had only dark days ahead.

“We need to talk to you,” Minho said, moving a couple of feet closer to Newt. He had to step over a skinny woman lying on her side.

“Don’t come any closer,” Newt answered. His voice was soft, but it was full of menace. “Those thugs brought me here for a reason. They thought I was a bloody Immune holed up in that shuck Berg. Imagine their surprise when they could tell I had the Flare eating my brain. Said they were doing their civic duty when they dumped me in this rat hole.”

When Minho didn’t say anything, Thomas spoke up, trying not to let Newt’s words overcome him. “Why do you think we’re here, Newt? I’m sorry you had to stay back and got caught. I’m sorry they brought you here. But we can break you out—it doesn’t look like anyone gives a klunk who comes or goes.”

Newt slowly twisted around to face them. Thomas’s stomach dropped when he saw that the boy had a Launcher clutched in his
hands. And he looked ragged, like he’d been running and fighting and falling down cliffs for three days straight. But despite the anger that had pooled in his eyes, he hadn’t been taken by madness quite yet.

“Whoa, there,” Minho said, taking a half a step back—he barely missed stepping on the lady at his heels. “Slim it nice and calm. There’s no need to point a shuck Launcher at my face while we talk. Where’d you get that thing, anyway?”

“I stole it,” Newt answered. “Took it from a guard who made me … unhappy.”

Newt’s hands were shaking slightly, which made Thomas nervous—the boy’s finger hovered over the trigger of the weapon.

“I’m … not well,” Newt said. “Honestly, I appreciate you buggin’ shanks coming for me. I mean it. But this is where it bloody ends. This is when you turn around and walk back out that door and head for your Berg and fly away. Do you understand me?”

“No, Newt, I don’t understand,” Minho said, the frustration in his voice escalating. “We risked our necks to come to this place and you’re our friend and we’re taking you home. You wanna whine and cry while you go crazy, that’s fine. But you’re gonna do it with us, not with these shuck Cranks.”

Newt suddenly jumped to his feet, so quickly that Thomas almost stumbled backward. Newt lofted the Launcher and pointed it at Minho. “I
am
a Crank, Minho! I
am
a Crank! Why can’t you get that through your bloody head? If you had the Flare and knew what you were about to go through, would you want your friends to stand around and watch? Huh? Would you want that?” He was shouting by the time he finished, and was shaking more with each passing moment.

Minho didn’t say anything, and Thomas knew why. He himself was trying to find words and coming up empty. Newt’s glare shifted to him.

“And
you
, Tommy,” the boy said, lowering his voice. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here and asking me to leave with you. A lot of bloody nerve. The sight of you makes me sick.”

Thomas was stunned silent. Nothing anyone had ever said had hurt so much. Nothing.

Thomas couldn’t think of any possible explanation for the statement. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

Newt didn’t respond, just kept staring at him with hardened eyes, his arms shaking, his Launcher pointed at Thomas’s chest. But then he stilled and his face softened. He lowered the weapon and looked at the floor.

“Newt, I don’t get it,” Thomas persisted quietly. “Why are you saying all this?”

Newt looked up again, and there was none of the bitterness that had been there just seconds earlier. “I’m sorry, guys. I’m sorry. But I need you to listen to me. I’m getting worse by the hour and I don’t have many sane ones left. Please leave.”

When Thomas opened his mouth to argue, Newt held up his hands. “No! No more talking from you. Just … please. Please leave. I’m begging you. I’m begging you to do this one thing for me. As sincerely as I’ve ever asked for anything in my life, I want you to do this for me. There’s a group I’ve met that are a lot like me and they’re planning to break out and head for Denver later today. I’m going with them.”

He paused, and it took every bit of Thomas’s resolve to keep quiet. Why would they want to break out and go to Denver?

“I don’t expect you to understand, but I can’t be with you guys anymore. It’s gonna be hard enough for me now, and it’ll make it worse if I know you have to witness it. Or worst of all, if I hurt you. So let’s
say our bloody goodbyes and then you can promise to remember me from the good old days.”

“I can’t do that,” Minho said.

“Shuck it!” Newt yelled. “Do you have any clue how hard it is to be calm right now? I said my piece and I’m done. Now get out of here! Do you understand me? Get
out
of here!”

Someone poked Thomas’s shoulder and he spun to see that several Cranks had gathered behind them. The person who’d jabbed Thomas was a tall, broad-chested man with long, greasy hair. He reached out again and pushed the tip of his finger into Thomas’s chest.

“I believe our new friend asked you people to leave him alone,” the guy said. His tongue snaked out to lick his lips as he spoke.

“This is none of your business,” Thomas replied. He could sense the danger, but for some reason he didn’t care. There was only room enough inside him to be sick about Newt. “He was our friend way before he came here.”

The man slicked his hand over his oily hair. “That boy’s a Crank now, and so are we. That makes him our business. Now
leave
him … 
alone
.”

Minho spoke before Thomas could respond. “Hey, psycho, maybe your ears are clogged with the Flare. This is between us and Newt.
You
leave.”

The man scowled, then brought up a hand to show a long shard of glass gripped in his fist. Blood dripped from where he held it.

“I was hoping you would resist,” he snarled. “I’ve been bored.”

His arm flashed out, the glass slicing toward Thomas’s face. Thomas ducked toward the floor and reached up with his hands to deflect the blow. But before the weapon hit him, Brenda stepped in and swatted the guy’s hand away, which sent the glass shard flying. Then Minho was on him, tackling the Crank to the ground. They landed on the woman he’d
stepped over earlier to get to Newt, and she screamed bloody murder, started flailing and kicking. Soon the three of them were entangled in a wrestling match.

“Stop it!” Newt yelled. “Stop it now!”

Thomas had been frozen in place, crouching as he waited for an opportunity to jump in and help Minho. But he twisted around to see that Newt was holding his Launcher in shooting position, his eyes wild with fury.

“Stop or I’ll start shooting and not give a buggin’ piece of klunk who gets hit.”

The man with the greasy hair pushed his way out of the melee and stood up, kicking the woman in the ribs as he did so. She wailed as Minho got to his feet, scratches covering his face.

The electric sound of the Launcher’s charge filled the air just as Thomas got a whiff of burnt ozone. Then Newt squeezed the trigger. A grenade smashed into Greasy Hair’s chest and lightning tendrils enveloped his body as he fell screaming to the ground, writhing, legs rigid, drool foaming out of his mouth.

Thomas couldn’t believe the sudden turn of events. He looked at Newt with wide eyes, glad he’d done what he had, and happy he hadn’t aimed the Launcher at him or Minho.

“I told him to stop,” Newt half whispered. Then he aimed the weapon at Minho, but it was shaking because his arms were. “Now you guys leave. No more discussion. I’m sorry.”

Minho held up his hands. “You’re going to shoot me? Old pal?”

“Go,” Newt said. “I asked nicely. Now I’m telling. This is hard enough. Go.”

“Newt, let’s go outside.…”

“Go!” Newt stepped closer and aimed more fiercely. “Get out of here!”

Thomas hated what he was seeing—the complete wildness that had taken over Newt. His whole body trembled and his eyes had lost any hint of sanity. He was losing it, completely.

“Let’s go,” Thomas said, one of the saddest things he’d ever heard himself say. “Come on.”

Minho’s gaze snapped to Thomas, and he looked like his heart had been shattered. “You can’t be serious.”

Thomas could only nod.

Minho’s shoulders slumped, and his eyes fell to the floor. “How did the world get so shucked?” The words barely came out, low and full of pain.

“I’m sorry,” Newt said, and there were tears streaming down his face. “I’m … I’m going to shoot if you don’t go. Now.”

Thomas couldn’t take it for one more second. He grabbed Brenda by the hand, then Minho by the upper arm, started pulling them along toward the exit, stepping over bodies and winding his way through the blankets. Minho didn’t resist, and Thomas didn’t dare look at him, and could only hope that Jorge was following along. He just kept going, across the lobby, to the doors and through, outside into the Central Zone, into the chaotic crowds of Cranks.