Thomas looked back down, concentrated on the creature closest to him. Minho and Harriet had been able to get the groups to stand together in an almost perfect circle, facing outward. Teresa stood next to Thomas, and he would've said something to her if he could've thought of anything. He was speechless.
WICKED's latest abominations were only thirty feet away.
Teresa finally elbowed him in the ribs. He looked to see her pointing at one of the creatures, telling Thomas―making sure he knew―that she'd chosen her foe. He nodded, then gestured toward the one he'd been thinking was his all along.
Twenty-five feet away.
Thomas had the sudden thought that it was a mistake to wait for them―that they needed to be spread out more. Minho must've had the same idea.
"Now!" their leader yelled, a bare and distant bark because of the storm's sounds. "Charge them!"
A slew of thoughts spun through Thomas's mind in that instant. Worry for Teresa, despite the changes between them. Worry for Brenda―standing stoically just a few people down the line from him―and regret over how they had barely spoken since being reunited. He imagined her having come all this way only to be killed by a vicious man-made creature. He thought of the Grievers, and his and Chuck and Teresa's charge back in the Maze to get to the Cliff and the Hole, the Gladers fighting and dying for them so they could punch in the code and stop it all.
He thought of all they'd gone through to arrive at this point, once again facing a biotech army sent by WICKED. He wondered what it all meant, whether it was worth trying to survive anymore. The image of Chuck taking that knife for him popped into his head. And that did it. Snapped him out of those nanoseconds of frozen doubt and fear. Screaming at the top of his lungs, he wielded his huge knife with both hands above his head and rushed forward, straight for his monster.
To his left and right, the others also charged, but he ignored them. He had to, forced himself to. If he couldn't take care of his own assignment, worrying about others wouldn't amount to anything.
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.
"Hurry!" he yelled as he climbed in.
Teresa followed him. They didn't need to speak to know what to do next. They both got on their knees, then leaned forward to grab the far end of the other half―it had a rubbery lining, easy to grip. Thomas braced his midsection on the lip of the pod, then pulled up, straining with every bit of strength he had left. The other half lifted and swung toward them.
Just as Thomas was repositioning himself to sit, Brenda and Jorge ran up to them. Thomas felt a rush of relief at seeing them okay.
"Is there room for us?" Jorge screamed over the noise of the storm.
"Get in!" Teresa yelled back in answer.
The two of them slipped over the edge and splashed into the large container, a tight fit but manageable. Thomas scooted to the far end to give them more room, holding the cover just barely open―the rain drummed on its outer surface. Once everyone was settled, he and Teresa ducked their heads and let the pod close completely. Other than the hollow thrum of the rain and the distant explosions of lightning and the gasping of breaths, it grew relatively silent. Though Thomas still heard that same ringing in his ears.
He could only hope his other friends had made it safely to pods of their own.
"Thanks for letting us in, muchacho," Jorge said when everyone seemed to have caught their breath.
"Of course," Thomas replied. The darkness inside the container was absolute, but Brenda was right next to him, then Jorge, then Teresa on the far end.
Brenda spoke up. "Thought you might've had second thoughts about bringing us along. Would've been a good chance to get rid of us."
"Please," Thomas muttered. He was too tired to care how it sounded. Everyone had almost died, and they might not be out of the woods yet.
"So is this our safe haven?" Teresa asked.
Thomas clicked the little light button on his watch; they had seven minutes till the time was up. "Right now, I sure hope so. Maybe in a few minutes these shuck squares of land will spin around and drop us into some nice comfy room where we can all live happily ever after. Or not."
Crack!
Thomas yelped―something had slammed into the top of the pod and made the loudest sound he'd ever heard, an earsplitting crash. A small hole―just a sliver of gray light―had appeared in the ceiling of their shelter, beads of water forming and dropping quickly.
"Had to be lightning," Teresa said.
Thomas rubbed his ears, the ringing worse now. "Couple more of those and well be right back where we started." His voice sounded hollow.
Another check of the watch. Five minutes. The water drip-drip-dripped into the puddle; that horrible smell lingered; the bells in Thomas's head lessened.
"This isn't quite what I imagined, hermano," Jorge said. "Thought we'd show up here and you'd convince the big bosses to take us in. Give us that cure. Didn't think we'd be holed up in a stinking bathtub waiting to be electrocuted."
"How much longer?" Teresa asked.
Thomas looked. "Three minutes."
Outside, the storm raged, bursts of lightning slamming into the ground, the rain pounding.
Another boom and crack shook the pod, widened the split in the ceiling enough that water began rushing in, splashing all over Brenda and Jorge. Something hissed and steam seeped in as well, the lightning having heated up the outside material.
"We're not gonna last much longer no matter what happens!" Brenda shouted. "It's almost worse sitting here and waiting for it!"
"There's only two minutes left!" Thomas yelled back at her. "Just hold on!"
A sound started up outside. Faint at first, barely discernible over the noises of the storm. A humming. Deep and low. It grew in volume, seemed to vibrate Thomas's whole body.
"What is that?" Teresa asked.
"No idea," Thomas answered. "But based on our day, I'm sure it's not good. We just have to last another minute or so."