The boys scurried off, and Aris had to trudge behind them to catch up. They retreated to a dormitory, and Minho gestured to the beds. "We'll rest for the night. Janson says it begins tomorrow at six' o clock. We need enough strength." He averted his gaze to Aris. "There's an extra bed, you can have it if you want."
Aris thanked him also, sat down on a bottom bunk and pulled the blankets to his chin. He soon drifted off. When his eyes fluttered open, shafts of sunlight were passing through the windows, as the alarms blared through the air. The boys were yawning and groaning. "Wait here, children," Minho said. Some boys rolled their eyes, others remained silent, as Minho pawed through a closet and thrust packs at them.
"It's our lucky day," he said. "There are backpacks, weapons, and flashlights stored in the closet and we've got food-laden on that table. We are so fortunate. Hurry up and pack now." He passed a backpack to Aris's arms. "We've got to go. Let's go!" He shoved everyone out of the room. "We have to step out to the Scorch."
Aris scurried off to the roomful of food and shoved supplies into his backpack. He crammed bottled water, some dried and canned goods, even thick slices of meat and bread, cheese, granola bars, apples, banana, types of nuts, and fresh rolls and secured his pack, just as an alarm blared.
***
Aris was frozen in place, the high-pitching sounds roaring thunderously. He didn't recognize it all, feeling fear course though his entire body. "It's a damn Newbie alarm!" Newt shouted, shoving everyone out of the room. Everyone scurried towards the direction of the alarm.
That was when a voice pierced through the air. Aris felt himself freeze.
"Go on back or die--be sliced."
"Go on back? We'll have to do that!"
"No," Aris said firmly. "Don't trust anything. Jansen said there'll be consequences if we don't step out of the Scorch. We have to go now." He sauntered forward determinedly, strolling across the concrete floor, thankful that someone had clicked on a flashlight for him. His ankle collided a steel-concrete item, and he lifted his foot tentatively.
It was a flight of stairs.
He strode up onto the stairs and swung off his own backpack, fishing out the flashlight. He was glad he still had the knife in his pocket--the one he had when he was transported in the Box. He reached in and shielded his eyes. "Hell, my eyes feel like they're blind," he muttered.
Aris clambered up the steps. There was a window that was completely open. Is that a trick? Nevertheless, he stepped through the door and into a shimmering wall of grey, before he heard a cry. "You think you're going to flee from WICKED?" a male voice shouted from behind him. Whirling around, he froze momentarily as he spied Jansen striding towards them
"I thought you wanted us in the Scorch! To complete the Trials!" Aris roared.
Jansen laughed. "Oh, supposedly, yes. But that is just a trick, to manipulate your brains into thinking that. There was never any Trials. We need you, capture a photo of that brain yours, examine its activity."
Aris sprinted as speedy as he could, crashing blindly at towards the closing door. His foot caught on his left on; he didn't pause and felt adrenaline coursing through his body, as he leaped up and through the slit, the door had formed, enough to fit his entire body, as Minho waved his hands wildly. "Thomas, run!"
Thomas was bolting down the corridor, sweat pouring off his purplish face. The garage-like door was shutting down, and the boy burst through the door the last minute, in a split position as he slid securely through, and Aris offered a hand up. A flicker of rage crossed the boy's face before he accepted his hand.
Jansen, snarling, neared the door, pounding on the glass. "You subjects! We need to test you here at WICKED, haven't you apprehended that by now? That was a simple Variable thrust at you!" He leaned down into a mouthpiece attached to his shirt collar, and Aris froze momentarily. This was their chance to flee, he didn't want to damage it.
An alarm designed into the wall was beginning to beep. Aris snatched up a chair and hurtled it towards the alarm, which then shattered into a million pieces. "You are a true, shucking genius," Newt said. For the first time, someone from the band of Gladers had complimented him.
There was tapping on the glass again, and the Gladers lifted their heads. A slit was in the door. "You know," Jansen said with a dark chuckle, "go on with your journey. The chancellor agreed that we could be mapping out new killzone patterns." Aris stared at him, mouth agape, as he retreated down the corridor.
"The chancellor?" Thomas said. "I thought she was deceased."
"Maybe that's just a Variable," Newt responded. "Whatever. We have to go. Go directly west, as Rat Man said."
"Rat Man? His name is Janson," Aris murmured. All the Gladers burst out laughing. "I mean, it's cruel to call someone like that, very impolite." For some reason, he felt memories bombarding his mind about his being knowing Jansen as a child, speaking to him, assisting him in procedures.
"Yeah?" Minho turned on him. "You all hear that, shanks? This is why we shouldn't trust him," he continued, fury in his tone. "Now, he's defending Rat Man, nicknamed Jansen over a name. How do we know he doesn't work for WICKED, assisting them in thrusting Variables upon us."
"Relax, Minho," Aris said in soft voice. "I have nothing to do with WICKED. As I've said, I'm from another Maze as well. I did my best to preserve lives back in there, and thought I fled WICKED. The people on the helicopter said we were safe and secure, but...." He struggled, the rest of what he was going to say as clear as day.
Minho glared at Aris again. "We have to go directly north right now. Hurry!"
Beyond them was nothing, but arches of sand. They towered over them, and in the far distance, Aris spied the crumpled, damaged buildings and other spaces. Nothing, but sand stretched across them like before they landed at WICKED's headquarters after being rescued.
He continued to saunter across the sand, which rose and then varied in height.. The boys looked exhausted, as they clambered onto the winding, unending desert. Finally, Minho plopped down and pointed to the ground. "We need a few breaks." He brushed a wave of hair out of his eyes. "Hell, this is exhausting, I'd rather be mutilated by Grievers."
"I can't do it anymore," a boy groaned. Aris didn't answer, just kept dragging himself up the hill of the sand and the downwards again. All he could beyond him, there was just sand, not even a single tree, nor a sign of life, and he glad they had food in their packs.
"Break time," Minho announced, as Aris selected a pear from his backpack and devoured it. Everyone remained silent while they feasted on their food. It wasn't until he pawed through the backpack, did he realize there wasn't enough food for them, not for two entire weeks anyway, if none of them died off first.
They continued journeying through the Scorch. Sand blew into their faces, Aris raised the plastic sheet a bit higher to shield his face. It was drifting in all directions. After what felt like five hours, everyone had a bathroom break, then continued on after devouring food.
They stepped over rocks, shoved the sand beneath their feet. All Aris could see beyond was nothing, but miles of sand dunes. For all he knew, this was exactly what the chancellor was describing. He strode over, caught his foot on a stone, but righted himself.
They scrurried around the sand, dodging the bits that blew into their faces, threatening to blind them. He was certain they were now in a sandstorm. He zipped up his jacket, pressed the sheet against his face, and once that was over, Minho announced it was time to rest.
But when Aris unzipped his backpack, he discovered he had almost nothing stored in the pack. A few flakes of cereal, a moldy bar, a leg of chicken...and nothing else. He kept his panic in, but then, couldn't keep it in anymore and released it instead. "We're out of food!"
"Food?"
***
Aris whirled around, and the others were instantly on their feet as well. Yeah, we are out of food, Thomas said in his mind. He nodded back, not certain if he wanted to speak to a complete stranger telepathically. He cocked his head, only to spot a man approaching them.
"Who the shuck are you?" Minho inquired, sounding more demanding than ever.
"Watch your attitude, boy. I'd have all your meat. And I'm a Crank," the man responded curtly. "What are you doing here?" From the corner of his eye, other people were emerging from a damaged, brick buildings with dented windows, snarling as they approached. Cranks.
Minho straightened himself up. "This is what we are all here for." Then he lunged towards the Crank and tackled him to the ground. Aris screamed for him to pause, but it was no use. "We don't need infected people around us!" shrieked Minho, tackling him to the ground.
Thomas screamed for him to halt, and Aris lunged forward, snatching one of his hands. Minho growled viciously, snarling at the man. "We have to reach a safe haven, none of your business, but keep yourself away from us. We cannot be infected more than we already are."
"Quit it, Minho," Thomas said, stepping into a conversation. Aris noticed the man's face was severely bruising. "Don't do it, let's just talk to him. Stop." Aris was grateful for that, inflicting harm upon the man would only trigger his fury. He stepped forward and approached the man.
Thomas vanished behind a door with the man. Aris plopped down on a couch, the girl's gun still pointed at him the entire time. He rose to his feet and inspected the room. A torn-up couch, a vacant bookshelf, framed pictures, and a table. The girl stepped closer to him with her gun drawn.
The girl warned them they wouldn't flee from here, and he could tell Minho wanted to mouth off something impolite. He shrugged his shoulders. A few minutes later, Jorge and Thomas returned to what seemed like a living room, and Jorge shouted for everybody's attention.
"All right, then, the bird-face and I had reached a conclusion," he said, nodding towards Thomas, who didn't object his name. "You can be some use to us, eventually. Immunes from WICKED, aren't you?" He laughed. "Well, then, welcome to our band, because we all need the cure."
The Gladers let out inaudible sighs of relief. Jorge nodded with a tender smile. "We'll reach a safe haven. And if there's no cure, we will slaughter you ourselves, you hear me? Or turn you in. Now, let's fetch some food. But before that....we need to have a consequence."
He told them of the consequence. Minho would get some gore on his finger. He looked furious and opened his mouth to object. Aris felt perplexed. They were assisting them, weren't they? Or was this a lure to turn them in? Either way, he was completely petrified out of his wits.
ns 15.158.61.23da2
