The stairwell was deserted. Thomas only had to turn the door handle a fraction before the door obligingly swung open, to reveal the empty corridor. He didn't understand why the place was so empty. Didn't WICKED worry about people braking in enough to, at least, lock the doors?
Since leaving the hanger Thomas had had a terrible feeling that, somehow, WICKED knew what they were planning. He couldn't shake the thought that, somewhere, Janson was waiting for them. That at any moment he would appear, roll out the welcome mat and show them to the nearest medical room. Something wasn't right.
Teresa stalked through the now open door clutching the launcher tightly to her chest. Her grip was fairly steady, but Thomas noticed her frantic eyes flickering around the room. She was breathing heavily, as if her lungs were working on overdrive just to keep her moving.
He hadn't seen this Teresa before and it was beginning to unnerve him. Maybe she knew something he didn't?
They climbed level after level, testing a never ending supply of locked doors, looking for an opening into WICKED's main facility. Then, when they had reached the 9th level, a large metal door beckoned to Thomas' subconscious mind. When he placed his hand on the cool metal bar a familiar tingle shot through the tips of his fingers. It felt like the most natural thing in the world.
He pushed the steel bar downwards, releasing the catch which held the door closed. Together he and Teresa shoved it open and peeked carefully around the side. Again, the place was deserted. No guards, no security camera's, nothing.
"All clear." Teresa whispered. She gestured for Thomas to follow, as she cautiously stepped through the door. "I think I remember this place. Look at the signs on the wall."
Thomas walked over to a bright yellow warning poster that read 'CAUTION. REMAIN BEHIND GLASS AT ALL TIMES DURING WORKING HOURS. ANYONE FOUND INSIDE THE TESTING BAYS WILL BE REMOVED.'
"We worked here", she cried suddenly, "I had a dream where I saw you and me stood behind these glass windows. I remember watching two scientists taking a boys blood pressure. I can still see his face." she hesitated, like she had just realised something terrible, "He looked scared. Terrified. We couldn't do anything but stand and watch."
Thomas' heart sank, like a rock, deep down into the pit of his stomach. How did Teresa remember that this was their workplace? He hardly knew anything about their life before the Glade. Now here Teresa was telling him this was where they had worked, together, for years. This was where they had spent countless hours preparing innocent boys for the horror of the Glade. It was all too much.
He was about to ask her why she knew so much about the place when the Walkie talkies began to crackle, and the scratchy sound of Minho's voice broke through. "Thomas, you there?"
Frantically he juggled the device, searching for the talk button. "I'm here! I'm here Minho, what's wrong?" The sound of a launcher gun shot tore through the silence of the corridor.
"We got company!", Minho screamed, "We're on the 10th floor and there's WICKED shanks everywhere! We need back up!"
"Minho, what corridor? What's the number?", no response, "Minho!"
The line was dead.
He shot a desperate look at Teresa, then back at the Walkie talkie. He gripped the talk button and furiously shouted Minho's name over and over. After a minute, Teresa reached across and placed her hand on top of his. She gently squeezed it and prised the device from his sweaty palm.
"He's gone, okay? We need to get ourselves together and go find them", she then grabbed his hand firmly and gave him an expectant nod, "Are you with me?"
He didn't have to be asked twice. "Yes. Let's go."
From nowhere the sound of footsteps echoed from behind the metal door.
A tall muscular guard, who clearly had no idea that intruders had breached the depot area, wandered in and froze with horror at the sight of Thomas and Teresa. Instinctively, Thomas held up his launcher and pointed it, square, at the guards face. Teresa did the same as the guard raised his arms and reluctantly dropped his Walkie talkie.
She scrambled to pick it up, while Thomas pressed the launcher so it was almost touching his nose. The guard didn't make a sound; he just stood staring at Thomas with pleading eyes that begged Thomas not to hurt him. He knew what he had to do. Without a trace of humanity Thomas threatened "Tell us where our friends are or I'll shoot you in the head."
He could hardly believe the words had came from his mouth; he'd never said anything so violent in his life. He hoped he hadn't anyway. There was just no way he was letting WICKED take Newt and Minho away from him. He had lost too much to let anything happen to his best friends.
The guard hardly put up any fight. He told them that they would find Newt and Minho in a storage area at the East side of the building. Teresa found an emergency hose pipe and tied the guard up, tightly, inside one of the office rooms. He didn't seem to know who had take them and what was happening. Right now, Thomas didn't have time to care. He was going to find them one way or another.
The adrenaline racing through Thomas's body made the journey to the warehouse seem blurry and winding. The further into WICKED they travelled, the more Teresa recalled about its location. She ran ahead and found a large warehouse sign with an arrow directing them to a concealed flight of stairs. Thomas was about to suggest that he go down first, and that she wait there until he had scoped the area for WICKED guards. Instead, she marched ahead and dragged the creaking door open with both her scrawny arms. There was a determined look burning on the surface of her bright blue eyes.
"Come on, stay close. We don't know what might be down there."
"Okay. Lead the way." Thomas agreed. He found it strange how prepared Teresa was to help him find Minho and Newt. They hated her, rightly so, and he doubted that they would ever do the same if she was missing. He questioned her character more and more these days; things were so much simpler for the short time they were in the Glade.
The fearsome bark of a man's voice thundered through the warehouse as Thomas and Teresa descended the stairs.
"I'll ask you one more time. Tell me where they are, or I swear I'll kill him right here. Right now!"
As they reached the bottom they heard the brutal sound of a hand colliding with someone's they heard it again. Instinctively Thomas touched his own cheek, imagining the burning sensation spreading through the receivers. It was only when they crept through into the warehouse itself that Thomas saw what he had secretly been dreading.
Minho and Newt were tied to wooden chairs in the centre of the dusty warehouse floor. Both their arms and legs were bound in plastic cable ties, normally used for securing crates and boxes. Blood dripped tortuously from a cut above Minho's right eye. He was hunched forward, with only the ties preventing him from dropping to the floor. Nothing could fully express how drained Minho looked. Thomas could tell he'd been beaten. Badly.
Sitting to his side, upright and calm, was Newt. For some reason he looked completely different. His lip was bloody and swollen, and his eye sockets were surrounded with bruises, but there was still a fight burning inside of him. He was sat up straight, cool as anything, while the man stood a metre in front with a launcher pointed at Minho's head.
Thomas knew there was nothing that anyone could say to break Newt now. He'd been through more than any of them, and Thomas doubted that this slinthead would pose much of a threat.
"Bloody hell, I told you already. I don't know anything!" Newt spat. He glanced quickly at Minho then back at the guard. He had shown no sign of weakness, so far, but in that moment a touch of concern seemed to cross his mind.
The guard was becoming impatient. "We can do this all day."
"Sounds good to me", he joked while leaning back in his chair, "I'm just a crank, I know nothing. But if you let us go I promise I won't kick the klunk out of you later."
The guards sturdy jaw suddenly contorted into a smile. A sinister grin that clung to the edges of his face in a way that looks forced and painful. That statement must have amused him, and now Thomas was concerned as to what he might do next. He bent down and grabbed a handful of Newt's shirt in his vice like fist.
He pulled Newt forward until his face was only centimetres away, then quietly whispered "We'll see about that".