Thomas nodded. “Okay. Let’s zigzag our way to the hangar, keep looking for them as we go.”
They’d been walking for quite some time when Minho abruptly froze. He pointed to his ear. It was hard to see because the hallway was only dimly lit by red emergency lights.
Thomas stopped along with the others, tried to slow his breathing and listen. He heard it immediately. A low moaning sound, something that made Thomas shiver. It was coming from a few yards ahead of them, through a rare window in the hallway that looked into a large room. From where Thomas stood, the room seemed completely dark. The glass from the window had been shattered from the inside-shards littered the tiled floor below it.
The moan sounded again.
Minho held a finger to his lips, then slowly and carefully set down his two extra Launchers. Thomas and Brenda followed suit while Newt placed his box of ammo on the ground. The four of them gripped their weapons, and Minho took the lead as they crept slowly toward the noise. It sounded like a man trying to wake up from a horrible nightmare. Thomas’s apprehension grew with every step. He was scared of what he was about to discover.
Minho stopped, his back against the wall, right at the edge of the window frame. The door to the room was on the other side of the window, closed.
“Ready,” Minho whispered. “Now.”
He pivoted and aimed his Launcher into the dark room just as Thomas moved to his left side and Brenda to his right, weapons held ready. Newt kept watch at their backs.
Thomas’s finger hovered above the trigger, ready to squeeze it at an instant’s notice, but there was no movement. He puzzled over what he was seeing inside the room. The red glow from the emergency lights didn’t reveal much, but the whole floor appeared to be covered in dark mounds. Something that was slowly moving. Gradually his eyes adjusted and he began to make out the shapes of bodies and black clothing. And he caught sight of ropes.
“They’re guards!” Brenda said, her voice cutting through the silence.
Muffled gasps escaped from the room, and finally Thomas could see faces, several of them. Mouths gagged and eyes open wide in panic. The guards were tied up and laid out on the floor from head to toe, side by side, filling up the entire room. Some of them were still, but most were struggling in their restraints. Thomas found himself staring, his mind searching for an explanation.
“So this is where they all are,” Minho breathed.
Newt leaned in to get a look. “At least they’re not all hangin’ from the bloody ceiling with their tongues sticking out like last time.”
Thomas couldn’t agree more-he remembered that scene all too vividly, whether it had been real or not.
“We need to question them and find out what happened,” Brenda said, already moving for the door.
Thomas grabbed her before he had time to think. “No.”
“What do you mean no? Why not-they can tell us everything!” She wrenched her arm out of his grip but waited to see what he had to say.
“It might be a trap, or whoever did this could come back soon. We just need to get out of this place.”
“Yeah,” Minho said. “This isn’t up for debate. I don’t care if we have Cranks or rebels or gorillas running around this place-these shuck guards aren’t our worry right now.”
Brenda shrugged. “Fine. Just thought we could get some information.” She paused, then pointed. “Hangar’s that way.”
After gathering up their weapons and ammunition, Thomas and the others jogged down hallway after hallway, all the while on the lookout for whoever had overpowered all those guards. Finally Brenda stopped at another set of double doors. One of them stood slightly ajar, and a breeze flowed through, ruffling her scrubs.
Without being told, Minho and Newt took up position on either side of the doorway, Launchers at the ready. Brenda grabbed the handle of the door, pistol aimed into the opening. There were no sounds coming from the other side.
Thomas gripped his Launcher tighter, the back end pressed against his shoulder, muzzle aimed forward. “Open it,” he said, his heart racing.
Brenda swung the door wide and Thomas charged through. He swept his Launcher left and right, turning in a circle as he moved forward.
The massive hangar looked like it was built to hold three of the enormous Bergs, but only two stood in their loading spots. They loomed like giant squatting frogs, all scorched metal and worn edges, as if they’d flown soldiers into a hundred fiery battles. Other than a few cargo crates and what looked like mechanics’ stations, the rest of the area was nothing but open space.
Thomas pushed on, searching the hangar as the other three spread out around him. Not one thing stirred.
“Hey!” Minho shouted. “Over here. Someone’s on the…” He didn’t finish, but he had stopped next to a large crate and had his weapon trained on something behind it.
Thomas was the first one at Minho’s side and was surprised to see a man lying hidden from view on the other side of the wooden box, groaning as he rubbed his head. There was no blood showing through his dark hair, but judging from the way he struggled to sit up, Thomas bet he’d been hit pretty hard.
“Careful there, buddy,” Minho warned. “Nice and easy, no sudden movements or you’ll smell like burnt bacon before you know it.”
The man leaned on an elbow, and when he dropped his hand from his face, Brenda let out a small cry and rushed forward to him, pulling him into a hug.
Jorge. Thomas felt a rush of relief-they’d found their pilot and he was okay, if a little banged up.
Brenda didn’t seem to quite see it that way. She searched Jorge for injuries as her questions poured out. “What happened? How’d you get hurt? Who took the Berg? Where is everyone?”
Jorge groaned again and gently pushed her away. “Calm your pants, hermana. My head feels like it’s been stomped by dancin’ Cranks. Just give me a sec while I get my wits back together.”
Brenda gave him some space and sat down, her face flushed, her expression anxious. Thomas had a million questions of his own, but he understood well what it felt like to be knocked in the head. He watched Jorge as he slowly got his bearings, and remembered how he’d once been scared of this guy-been terrified of him. The images of Jorge fighting Minho inside that wreck of a building in the Scorch would never leave his mind. But eventually, like Brenda, Jorge had realized that he and the Gladers were on the same side.
Jorge squeezed his eyes shut and opened them a few more times, then started talking. “I don’t know how they did it, but they took over the compound, got rid of the guards, stole a Berg, flew out of here with another pilot. I was an idiot and tried to get them to wait until I could find out more about what’s going on. Now my head’s paying for it.”
“Who?” Brenda asked. “Who are you talking about? Who left?”
For some reason Jorge looked up at Thomas when he answered. “That Teresa chick. Her and the rest of the subjects. Well, all of them except you muchachos.”
CHAPTER 17
Thomas staggered a step or two to his left and caught himself on the heavy crate for support. He’d been thinking that maybe Cranks had attacked after all, or that some other group had infiltrated WICKED, taken Teresa and the others. Rescued them, even.
But Teresa had led an escape? They’d fought their way out, subdued the guards, flown away in a Berg? Without him and the others? There were so many elements to the scenario, and none of them would come together in his mind.
“Shut your traps!” Jorge shouted over the din of questions from Minho and Newt, and Thomas jolted back to the present. “You’re driving nails through my head-just… quit talking for a minute. Somebody help me get up.”
Newt grabbed the man’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “You better start explaining what bloody happened. From the beginning.”
“And be quick about it,” Minho added.
Jorge leaned back onto the wooden box and folded his arms, still wincing with every movement. “Look, hermano, I already told you I don’t know much. What I said happened is what happened. My head feels like-”