His statements left Thomas with a heavy dose of gloom. The world was in pitiful shape. Maybe he was being selfish by not helping WICKED complete the tests.
Brenda spoke up-her face had been creased into a look of disgust since they’d entered the town. “Why don’t you just tell it like it is-you let the infected run around this godforsaken place until they’re so bad that your conscience is clean enough to get rid of them.”
“That about wraps ’er up,” the guard responded matter-of-factly. Thomas had a hard time disliking the guy-he mostly just felt sorry for him.
They kept walking, passing row after row of houses, all of them broken, run-down and dirty.
“Where is everybody?” Thomas asked. “I thought this place would be packed wall to wall. And what did you mean earlier about something happening?”
This time the guy with the mustache answered, and it was good to hear another voice for a change. “Some-the lucky ones-are vegging on the Bliss in their homes. But most of them are in the Central Zone, eating or playing or up to no good. They’re sending us too many-and faster than we can ship them out. Add to that the fact that we’re losing Immunes left and right to who-knows-where, decreasing our ratio each and every day, and things were bound to reach a boiling point eventually. Let’s just say this morning the water finally got hot enough.”
“Losing Immunes left and right?” Thomas repeated. It looked like WICKED was tapping every resource they could for more Trials. Even if their doing so had dangerous consequences.
“Yeah, almost half our workers have disappeared over the last couple months. No sign of ’em, no explanations. Which only makes my job a thousand times harder.”
Thomas groaned. “Just keep us away from the crowds and put us somewhere safe until you find Newt.”
“That’s more like it,” Minho added.
The guard merely shrugged. “Okay. As long as I get my money.”
The guards finally stopped two rings away from the Central Zone and told the group to wait. Thomas and the others huddled in some shade behind one of the shacks. The cacophony had grown louder by the minute, and now, so close to most of the Palace’s population, it sounded as if a massive brawl was taking place just around the corner. Thomas hated every second he sat there, waiting, listening to those awful noises, wondering the whole time whether the guard would come back at all, much less with Newt in tow.
About ten minutes after he’d left, two people came out of a little hut across the narrow pathway from them. Thomas’s pulse quickened, and he almost got up and ran before he realized they didn’t look threatening in the least. They were a couple, holding hands, and other than being a little dirty and wearing wrinkled and worn clothes, they seemed sane enough.
The two approached the little group and stopped in front of them. “When did you get here?” the woman asked.
Thomas fumbled for words, but Brenda spoke up.
“We came in with the last group. We’re actually looking for our friend who was with us. His name is Newt-blond hair, has a limp. Have you seen him?”
The man answered as if he’d just heard the dumbest question of his life. “Lots of people with blond hair around here-how’re we supposed to tell who’s who? What kind of name is Newt anyway?”
Minho opened his mouth to respond, but the noise coming from the center of town picked up and everyone turned to look. The couple gave each other concerned looks. Then, without a word, they scurried back inside their home. They closed the door and Thomas heard the click of a lock engaging. A few seconds later a wooden board appeared in their window, covering it up; a small shard of glass fell to the ground outside.
“They look about as happy to be here as we are,” Thomas said.
Jorge grunted. “Real friendly. I think I’ll come back to visit.”
“They obviously haven’t been here long,” Brenda said. “I can’t imagine what that must feel like. Finding out you’re infected, being sent to live with Cranks, seeing what you’re about to become right in front of you.”
Thomas just shook his head slowly. It’d be misery in its purest form.
“Where are those guards?” Minho asked, impatience clear in his tone. “How long does it take to find someone and tell ’em their friends are here?”
Ten minutes later, the two guards reappeared around a corner. Thomas and his friends jumped to their feet.
“What’d you find out?” Minho asked in a rush.
The short one seemed fidgety, his eyes darting, as if he’d lost his brazenness from before, and Thomas wondered if a trip to what they’d called the Central Zone always did that to a person.
His partner answered. “Took some asking around, but I think we found your guy. Looks just like you described, and he turned toward us when we called his name. But…” The guards exchanged an uncomfortable glance.
“But what?” Minho pushed.
“He said-very pointedly, I might add-to tell you guys to get lost.”
CHAPTER 37
The words stabbed Thomas, and he could only imagine how Minho felt.
“Show us where he is,” his friend ordered curtly.
The guard held up his hands. “Did you not hear what I just said?”
“Your job’s not done,” Thomas insisted. He was with Minho one hundred percent. It didn’t matter what Newt had said-if they were this close, they were going to talk to him.
The shorter guard shook his head adamantly. “No way. You asked us to find your friend and we did. Give us our money.”
“Does it look like we’re with him yet?” Jorge asked. “No one makes a dollar until you get us all together.”
Brenda didn’t say anything, but she stood next to Jorge and nodded to show her support. Thomas was relieved that everyone was on board to go to Newt despite the message he’d sent.
The two guards didn’t look happy at all, and they whispered back and forth, arguing.
“Hey!” Minho barked. “If you want that money, let’s go!”
“Fine,” the guard with the mustache finally said. His partner gave him an exasperated glare. “Follow us.”
They turned and headed back in the direction they’d come. Minho was right on their heels, and then everyone else.
As they made their way deeper into the compound, Thomas kept thinking things couldn’t get worse, but they did. The buildings were shabbier, the streets dirtier. He saw several people lying on the sidewalks, their heads resting on filthy bags or wadded-up pieces of clothing. Each one of them stared at the sky with a glazed expression, a look of oblivious glee. The Bliss was aptly named, Thomas thought.
The guards marched ahead, sweeping their Launchers left and right at anyone who got within a dozen feet of them. At one point they passed a ravaged-looking man-his clothes torn, his hair matted with some kind of black goo, skin covered in rashes-as he fell on a drugged-out teenager and started beating him.
Thomas stopped, wondering if they should help.
“Don’t even think about it,” the short guard said before Thomas could get a word out. “Keep moving.”
“But isn’t it your job to-”
The other guard cut him off. “Shut up and let us handle things. If we meddled in every squabble and catfight we saw, we’d never be done. We’d probably be dead. Those two can sort out their own problems.”
“Just get us to Newt,” Minho said evenly.
They continued, and Thomas tried to ignore the gargled scream that suddenly rose behind them.
Finally, they reached a high wall with a big archway that led to an open area full of people. A sign at the top of the arch proclaimed in bright letters that this was the Central Zone. Thomas couldn’t quite make out what was going on inside, but everyone seemed busy.
The guards stopped, and the one with the mustache addressed the group. “I’m only going to ask once. Are you sure you want to go in there?”
“Yes,” Minho answered quickly.