The Fever Code (31 page)

231.12.11
|
9:32 p.m.

A plane of cold passed over his body, as if he'd stepped into a deep pool of icy water. But then it was over, as quickly as it took to step through any door. Several people waited on the other side, in a room he'd never seen before. Dr. Paige was there, as were Teresa and some others he didn't know.

Teresa reached him first, pulling him into the tightest hug he'd ever received.

“Thank God,” she whispered into his ear. Then she said it again in his mind.

He returned the hug, feeling so much relief at her warmth that he trembled as he squeezed. He wanted to tell her about his plans for the maze, and this reception confirmed for him that he would do it soon. He'd need her help if he had any chance of pulling them off.

“It's okay,” he said back to her. He noticed Dr. Paige looking at both of them like a proud parent. “Nothing bad happened at all. We were totally safe.”

“I know. I know,” she said, but she didn't loosen her hold on him.

“Hey,” he said as gently as he could. “What's the matter?”

She finally pulled away from him. “Nothing. Just…having you so far away. Made me nervous.”

“I missed you too.” A lame response, but he hoped she could see how he felt in his eyes.
We need to talk,
he said quickly to her mind.
Soon.

“The results of your long-distance monitoring were very positive,” Dr. Paige said before Thomas could explain anything further. She stepped closer, beaming with a smile that looked forced. “Things are going very well overall, in fact. We're making progress every day.”

Thomas nodded, his mind racing, thinking,
If you only knew.
He looked at the unfamiliar surroundings—it seemed like a huge dormitory, but nothing like the barracks at WICKED. He saw brick and plaster and wooden doors.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“A new facility outside headquarters,” she replied. “We've been pulling in volunteers for more research and needed a place to keep them.”

Thomas didn't believe a word of that. Why would they have a Flat Trans linked to the Scorch if this place was meant to house research volunteers? Could it possibly have something to do with Phase Two and the Gladers? Either way, he had to make sure those plans never came to fruition.

“We have a shuttle heading back to the main complex,” Paige said. “There's a lot of work to do.” She seemed to focus this on Teresa.

“How far is it from here?” Thomas asked.

“Just a few miles by road. Less than two if you cut through the forest.”

He sighed in relief. “Good. After the Scorch, I really need a walk through air that doesn't want to bake my lungs. You guys go on ahead—I'll meet you there.” His legs ached from walking so much already that day, but he really wanted to be alone. And he needed some time to prepare his speech to Teresa.

“Well…we haven't had many Crank sightings lately,” Paige answered, considering. “But it's dark out. I tell you what. Take a Launcher and I'll let you do it.
And
one of our guards. No, make that two.”

Thomas opened his mouth to argue but didn't bother once he saw her face. It was too much to think she'd let him go alone.

A few minutes later, with two nameless guards assigned to him, he left the building.

“We better get moving,” one of the guards said. To his credit, he and his buddy seemed to respect Thomas's clear wish to be alone, but they'd also been put in charge of his safety. “Getting late.”

“Is it true that you haven't had many Cranks around lately?” Thomas asked him, turning his back to the new building, facing the woods and darkness.

“Yep. I think the ones around here have either died or wandered into the pits. But being dark and cold and all—I just think we should hustle.”

Thomas liked that the man hadn't taken on the role of tough-guy guard. At least, not yet. And the other one seemed like a mute. “Okay, sounds good. You guys leading or am I leading?”

“I'll be right behind you.” Mr. Talkative held up his Launcher and pointed in the direction of the WICKED complex, somewhere deep in the forest. Thomas had his own Launcher slung across his shoulders with a strap that dug into his neck. “That way I can see you and scan the forest at the same time. Xavier here will scout out ahead. That sound like a plan?”

Like he had an option. “Of course. Let's do it.”

Without a word, the man named Xavier stomped through the brush and into the woods. Shivering suddenly from the chill, Thomas followed, the other guard right behind him.

A half hour passed, the forest silent and dark. Branches loomed over them, a canopy of countless wooden arms and fingers, barely visible in the starless night. The heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the soft crunch of their footsteps in the fallen leaves. Thomas aimed the beam of his flashlight out in front him, every once in a while pointing it up and around, terrified he'd see some unworldly creature from a storybook. Yellow eyes, fangs, a ghostly apparition. He was spooked, and wished he'd just taken a ride with Teresa and everyone else.

An owl hooted so loud that Thomas jumped. Then he laughed, and so did the guard behind him.

“An owl?” Thomas said. “Seriously? I feel like I'm in a horror movie.”

“It's creepy out here,” the man agreed. “Cranks or no Cranks. Kids had plenty of things to have nightmares about before the Flare ever came around.”

“Yeah.” Thomas searched the branches above him, looking for the owl. Sometimes he forgot that there was an entire animal kingdom out there that didn't know or care about a disease called the Flare. The culprit was nowhere to be seen. Thomas continued walking.

The exercise had warmed him up a little, and his legs had loosened from their stiffness. He was relaxing, just feeling better about the day, when he realized he'd lost sight of Xavier up ahead. The man had made a turn around a huge pine tree, but when Thomas rounded the same tree, he couldn't see the guard.

“Xavier?” he called.

No answer, no sign of him anywhere.

A sudden flurry of footsteps, crashing through the undergrowth, came thundering up behind Thomas. As he whirled around to see what it was, another sound flew through the air. Followed by a squelching, crunching noise.

And then he saw it.

The guard at his back had stopped in his tracks and dropped his weapon. Blood dripped out of his mouth. A long branch had been jammed into the side of his neck, its end—drenched in red—coming out the other side. As the man fell to his knees, Thomas saw who'd done it—the person still gripped the end of the makeshift spear with both hands, grinning at his prey, who choked for air.

The attacker looked up, straight at Thomas.

It was Randall.

231.12.11
|
10:47 p.m.

Randall didn't look so well.

There he stood, battered and bruised and filthy, wearing several layers of ripped clothing. His face was crusted with dirt, his eyes were wild, and his hair was a mangled mess—the nightmare visage Thomas had worried about. But this was no storybook.

“Randall,” Thomas whispered, as if pleading for the person who used to be Randall to come back. But that man was no more. The Crank standing before him had passed the Gone a long time ago.

Randall said something unintelligible, then wrenched the spear out of the guard's neck, letting the man finally tumble to the ground, the life drained out of him. He lay still, blood pooling on a bed of pine needles.

“Xavier!” Thomas yelled. Still no answer.

Trying not to make any sudden movements, he reached for his Launcher, slowly settled it in both hands, placed his finger on the trigger. Randall stood there looking at the gore on his own weapon as if he was pondering licking it clean. Then he looked back at Thomas.

“Once upon a time,” the Crank said, his words slurred but understandable this time, “I was a tasty treat. Tasty as can be.”

In a blur of movement, Randall sprinted for the trees, disappearing into the darkness before Thomas could do anything. He aimed the Launcher in that direction, pulled the trigger, heard the charge and the shot. But the grenade hit a tree and exploded in a burst of electricity. When it died out, complete silence enveloped the woods. No sight or sound of the Crank.

Thomas gripped his weapon so hard it hurt his fingers. Holding it out in front of him, he spun in a slow circle, searching the darkness between the trees. He'd dropped his flashlight and now picked it up, shut it off. He didn't want to be a sitting duck and he didn't want his eyesight to be worthless. Anxious for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dark, he continued turning slowly around and around, finger itching to pull the trigger again.

He couldn't believe Randall was still alive. How had he survived out here? Survival aside, it seemed impossible that the disease itself hadn't killed him yet. The Flare didn't just drive you crazy; eventually it shut your brain down altogether.

He thought of the guards then. A wave of sadness and guilt crashed over him. The men were dead because Thomas needed to take a walk, like some overprivileged spoiled brat. More lives on his hands. How many more would there be?

His foot came down on a branch, broke it. The crack echoed through the night and he froze. His eyes had indeed gotten used to the darkness, the trees almost seeming to glow, their many branches silhouetted against the sky. Thomas didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but he was certain Randall hadn't gone far—his retreat would have made more noise. The Crank was close, probably following him.

Then Thomas remembered.

Teresa!
he called out.
Teresa! Randall attacked us. He killed the guards. I don't know what to do. How can he possib—

Tom!
Her response cut him off.
Where are you? Paige says she'll send someone out. Do you still have your Launcher?

Yeah.

Just stay there. Don't try to make it back. Someone will be there soon.

Thomas thought he heard a noise to his left, swung his weapon toward it. Saw nothing.

Tom?

Yeah, okay. I'll just keep turning in circles until I puke. Hurry.

Keep talking to me.

No,
he replied.
I need to stay focused. I know he's close.

Fine, but call out to me the second something happens.

I will.

The dark forest loomed over him, seeming almost to float, the trees uprooted from the ground, stretching out. His senses started to play tricks on him. He kept seeing something out of the corner of his eye, kept thinking his own breaths were someone else's. Finally he broke.

“Randall!” he yelled. “They're coming! They know we're here!”

No response. He didn't know why he'd called out—Randall had no more capacity to reason than one of the trees surrounding him. His eyes had shown him past the Gone like no other Crank Thomas had ever seen.

“I miss the tasty treats.”

Thomas sucked in a breath. Randall spoke quietly, yet his words seemed to boom through the air. Thomas swung left, then right, then turned in a complete circle, his weapon held out before him.

“Randall!” he screamed.

Then something hit him, forcing the air from his lungs. It was on top of him, pressing his head and neck in a weird direction, driving pain like nails through his tendons and muscles. To protect himself he collapsed to the ground. He lost his grip on the Launcher. The strap dug into his neck as he reached for whatever had attacked him, and fingers found wet skin and greasy hair.

“Tasty,” Randall's voice whispered directly into his ear.

Thomas screamed, twisting his body, struggling to get out from under the monster pinning him down. An arm slipped around his face, covering his mouth in the crook of an elbow. It smelled of sweat and rot; Thomas gagged. Randall squeezed, cutting off Thomas's air. He managed to get his mouth open, bite down with all the might of his jaws. An acrid, sour taste filled his mouth.

Randall roared, a horrible sound that was far from human. He loosened his grip just enough that Thomas could twist out of the man's hold, throwing elbows wildly, connecting with a couple. The Crank staggered backward as Thomas struggled to his feet, panic transformed to sheer adrenaline. He grappled for his Launcher, which had flipped all the way onto his back. He grabbed it, slung it around to the front of his body, got it in position.

He almost had it when the Crank charged him, scuttling across the leafy ground like a monstrous spider, leaping at the last second to crash into Thomas's chest. It slammed the hard edge of the Launcher into his sternum, knocking the wind from his lungs again, and he fell to the ground, the Crank on top of him. Randall started pounding on Thomas with both fists like some rampaging gorilla, shrieking with every punch.

Thomas couldn't fight back against the wild creature attacking him. He thought of Chuck and Teresa and Alby and Minho and Newt. If he died now, he'd never have the chance to save them.

He forced himself to relax and focus. He closed his eyes and gathered his strength. As Thomas stilled, the blows had slowed. He took his opportunity. He lashed out with his right hand and grabbed Randall by the ear, twisted, and yanked the Crank's head to the side. Randall lost his balance just enough that Thomas could thrust his chest out and kick him away. He jumped to his feet, backed up as he fumbled for his Launcher, got it, found the trigger, pressed it.

The static sound of its charge filled the forest as Randall ran at him once again. But a grenade hit the Crank's chest, throwing him to the ground, and tendrils of white heat danced across his body as he convulsed on the ground, shrieking in agony.

Thomas ran to him, held up his Launcher like a club. He slammed it down into the face of the man who'd once been Randall. A sickening crunch cut off the Crank's inhuman yells. Now the thing's body twitched in a different way, as if its internal communication system had shorted out.

Thomas, heaving every breath, lifted his Launcher one more time and brought it down with all the strength left in him.

This time, the Crank went completely still.

Teresa found him kneeling next to the dead body, staring down at it, transfixed. A man he'd once known, a man he'd never really liked. Never liked at all, actually. But no one deserved an ending like that. No one.

She practically had to carry him to the transport. He was as dazed mentally as physically. Spent in every way. He planned to sleep for a week.

Teresa,
he said with his mind on the way back to the complex.

Yeah?

After a long pause, he finally said it.

They'll never find a cure.