He closed in. Fifteen feet. Ten feet. Five. The creature had stopped walking, bracing its legs in a fighting stance, hands outstretched, blades pointing directly at Thomas. Those shining orange lights pulsed now, flaring and receding, flaring and receding, as if the hideous thing actually had a heart somewhere inside. It was disturbing to see no face on the monster, but it helped Thomas think of it as nothing more than a machine. Nothing more than a man-made weapon that wanted him dead.
Right before he reached the creature, Thomas made a decision. He dropped to slide on his knees and shins and swung the swordlike weapon in an arc behind and around him, slamming the blade into the monster’s left leg with a full and powerful two-handed thrust. The knife cut an inch into its skin but then clanked against something hard enough to send a jolt shivering up both of Thomas’s arms.
The creature didn’t move, didn’t retract, didn’t let out any sort of sound, human or inhuman. Instead it swiped downward with both blade-studded hands where Thomas now knelt before it, his sword embedded in the monster’s flesh. Thomas jerked it free and lunged backward just as those blades clattered against each other where his head had been. He fell on his back and scooted away from the creature as it took two steps forward, kicking out with the knives on its feet, barely missing Thomas.
The monster let out a roar this time-a sound almost exactly like the haunted moans of the Grievers-and dropped to the ground, thrashing its arms, trying to impale Thomas. Thomas spun away, rolling three times as he heard metal tips scraping along the dirt-packed ground. He finally took a chance and jumped to his feet, immediately sprinting several yards away before turning around, sword gripped in his hands. The creature was just getting to its own feet, slicing at the air with its stubby bladed fingers.
Thomas sucked in huge gulps of air and could see the others battling in his peripheral vision. Minho jabbing and stabbing with knives in both hands, the monster actually taking steps backward, away from him. Newt scrambling across the ground, the creature he fought lumbering after him, obviously injured. Slowing. Teresa was the closest to him, jumping and dodging and poking her foe with the butt of her spear. Why was she doing that? Her monster seemed to be badly hurt as well.
Thomas pulled his attention back to his own battle. A blur of silver movement made him duck, a wisp of wind in his hair from the swipe of the creature’s arm. Thomas spun, crouched close to the ground, stabbing at anything he could as the monster pursued him, barely missing him with several more attacks. Thomas connected with one of the orange bulb growths, smashing it in a flash of sparks; the light died instantly. Knowing his luck had to be running short, he dove toward the ground, tucking and rolling again until he sprang to his feet a couple of yards away.
The creature had paused-at least as long as it had taken Thomas to make his escape move-but now it came after him again. An idea formed in Thomas’s mind, and it grew to clarity when he looked back at Teresa’s fight, her creature now moving in jilted, slow attacks. She kept after the bulbs, popping them as they exploded in that same display of fireworks. She’d destroyed at least three-fourths of the odd growths.
The bulbs. All he needed to do was destroy the bulbs. Somehow they were linked to the creature’s power or life or strength. Could it really be that easy?
A quick glance around the rest of the battlefield showed that a few others had also gotten the idea, but most hadn’t, fighting with bloody desperation to hack at limbs, muscles, skin, missing the bulbs entirely. A couple of people already lay on the ground, covered in wounds, lifeless. One boy. One girl.
Thomas changed his whole method. Instead of charging recklessly, he jumped in and took a jab at one of the bulbs on the monster’s chest. He missed, slicing into the wrinkled, yellowish skin. The creature swiped at him, but he pulled back just as the very tips of the blades ripped jagged holes in his shirt. Then he thrust again, poking once more at the same bulb. He connected this time, bursting it and sending out a spray of sparks. The creature halted for a full second, then snapped back to battle mode.
Thomas circled the creature, jumping in and back again, poking, jabbing, thrusting.
Pop, pop, pop.
One of the monster’s blades sliced across his forearm, leaving a long line of bright red. Thomas went in again. And again. Again.
Pop, pop, pop. Sparks flying, the creature shuddering and jerking with each break.
The pause got a little bit longer with every successful stab. Thomas felt a few more scrapes and slices, but nothing serious. He kept at it, attacking those orange spheres.
Pop, pop, pop.
Every small victory sapped the creature’s strength, and it gradually began to visibly slump, though it didn’t stop trying to cut Thomas to pieces. Bulb by bulb, each one easier than the one before it, Thomas attacked relentlessly. If only he could quickly finish it off, make it die. Then he could run around and help others. End this thing once and for A blinding light flashed behind him, then a sound like the entire universe exploding ripped away his brief moment of exhilaration and hope. A wave of invisible power knocked him over and he fell flat onto his stomach, the sword clattering away from him. The creature fell, too, and a burnt smell singed the air. Thomas rolled onto his side to look, saw a massive black hole in the ground, charred and smoking. A bladed foot and hand from one of the monsters lay on the hole’s edge. No sign of the rest of the body.
It’d been a lightning strike. Right behind him. The storm had finally broken.
Even as he had the thought, he looked up to see thick shards of white heat start falling from the black clouds above.
CHAPTER 60
The lightning exploded all around him with deafening cracks of thunder; plumes of dirt flew into the air from every direction. Several people screamed-one was cut off abruptly, a girl. And that burning smell. Overwhelming. The strikes of electricity subsided as quickly as they had begun. But light continued to flash in the clouds, and rain started to pour down in sheets.
Thomas hadn’t moved during that first flurry of lightning. There was no reason to think he’d be any safer in another spot than where he lay. But after the onslaught, he scrambled to his feet to look around, see what he could do or where he could run before it happened again.
The creature he’d been fighting was dead, half of its body blackened, the other half gone. Teresa stood over her foe, slamming the butt of her spear down and smashing the last bulb; its sparks died with a hiss. Minho was on the ground, but slowly getting to his feet. Newt stood there, breathing in and out, deep heaving breaths. Frypan doubled over and threw up. Some were lying on the ground; others-like Brenda and Jorge-still fighting the monsters. Thunder boomed all around them and lightning glinted in the rain.
Thomas had to do something. Teresa wasn’t too far away; she stood a couple of steps from her dead creature, bent over, hands on her knees.
We have to find shelter! he said in her mind.
How much time do we have left?
Thomas squinted at his watch closely. Ten minutes.
We should get inside the pods. She pointed at the closest one, which still lay open like a perfectly cut eggshell, its halves surely full of water by this point.
He liked the idea. What if we can’t close it?
Got any better plans?
No. He grabbed her hand and started running.
We need to tell the others! she said as they approached the pod.
They’ll figure it out. He knew they couldn’t wait-more strikes could hit them at any second. They’d all be dead by the time he and Teresa tried to communicate with anyone. He had to trust his friends to save themselves. Knew he could trust them.
They reached the pod just as several bolts of electricity came zigzagging down from the sky, striking in blistering explosions all around them. Dirt and rain flew everywhere; Thomas’s ears rang. He looked inside the left half of the container, saw nothing but a small pool of dirty water. A horrible smell wafted up from it.