As they neared the city, a small hut appeared on the horizon. Thomas watched it curiously, wondering who, or what, would reside out in the middle of nowhere. It was at least a day's run away from the city, so whoever was in there was completely confined. It seemed like more trouble than it was worth, unless the city was indeed that dangerous.
That night, the wails began. They were distinctly female and caused a chill to run down Thomas' spine. They were wails of pain that reverberated through his skull. The screams echoed around the Scorch, seemingly coming from every direction. It was a haunting scenario that Thomas found very hard to sleep through. The screams continued through the night, haunting the gladers dreams.
Thomas stared up at the night sky, counting the stars as the wailing continued. Laying on his back, with his hands tucked behind his head, Thomas looked towards the shack. Curiosity had always been his downfall. That explained why, when the screams stopped only a few minutes later, Thomas stood, tiptoeing through the gladers, and headed towards the shack. As he neared, a female stepped out of the shadows of the tiny structure. Thomas' breath stuck in his throat as his hopes raised. Meraya?! His heart beat heavily in his chest with anticipation. When no answer came, Thomas faltered in his steps. If it wasn't Meraya, who could it be.
As if the figure knew exactly what was on his mind, she stepped out of the shadows. Thomas stopped dead in his tracks as the moonlight lit up Teresa's face. He licked his dry lips, heart picking up once again. It had been her that was wailing all this time! Guilt ate at Thomas for not investigating sooner. Teresa nodded towards the door of the shanty before disappearing through it.
Thomas glanced back at the sleeping gladers, and then turned towards the building. He had to know where she had been. Why she hadn't been answering. With a shaky breath, Thomas moved forward towards Teresa. Thomas stepped through the dark opening, eyes taking a few seconds to adjust to the pitch blackness of the windowless room. It smelled dry and aged, like it had been there for century or more.
"Thomas, I don't have a lot of time," Teresa gasped out. Thomas eyed her suspiciously. "Why? What's going on? Where have you been?" Thomas asked, stepping forwards. Teresa took a step back as tears welled in her eyes. "You have to trust me Thomas." Teresa spoke with a wavering voice. Her fear cut into his heart deeply. Thomas felt so bad for her, what had WICKED been doing to her in here? "Why, what's going on?" Thomas pressed. Teresa stepped forward, grabbing his hands. "No matter what happens Thomas, you have to trust me." Thomas stared into her eyes, thoroughly confused. "Do you trust me?" Teresa asked looking up into Thomas' eyes. He hadn't realized how close she had gotten until that moment. "Do you trust me Thomas?" Teresa repeated, inching closer and closer. "I..uh..I.." Thomas mumbled. Teresa had pressed herself against him, eyes pleading with him, her face centimeters from his own. "I..I trust you." Thomas whispered, although the truth of that statement was highly debatable. Teresa sighed in relief, a smile covered in her face. Her warm breath fanned over Thomas' face. Teresa wrapped her arms around Thomas' neck, connecting their lips in a searing kiss. In shock, Thomas didn't move at first. His mind stopped working once he felt her lips on his, but slowly, his body relaxed, eyes fluttering closed. Teresa smiled into the kiss as Thomas relaxed into it, her hands cupping his cheeks as their lips moved in sink.
Thomas panted softly as Teresa pulled back from the kiss. His eyes were lidded, cheeks flushed as he looked at Teresa confused. "I have to go." Teresa whispered, releasing Thomas from her hold. "What? No, Teresa." Thomas stumbled over his words as Teresa ushered him back outside.
Thomas stood back in the Scorch, the aged wooden door closed in front of him. He was so confused by what just happened that he didn't move for a good five minutes. His mind went over the kiss over and over again. His lips tingled from the sensation, but not in the same way as they did with Meraya. It was...wrong. There really wasn't another word for it. Thomas couldn't deny the fact that when he kissed Teresa his heart raced and his mind turned to mush but afterwards, he felt nothing but guilt. With Meraya, his stomach swirled and his knees went weak. The image of her betrayed expression after he had kissed Teresa the first time flashed into his memory, he couldn't let her find out about this.
Thomas returned to the sleeping gladers, taking a seat on the ground. He wrapped his sheet around his shoulders. Thomas starred up at the stars with a heavy sigh. Teresa said to trust her and that bad things were about to happen. Thomas wasn't sure if he could, not after she had been missing for so long, who knew what they did to her mind. Eventually, Thomas' eyes drifted closed and he found himself sleeping.
The next morning was a rough one. Thomas groaned as he forced himself awake at the first signs of light. None of the gladers knew he had left to speak to Teresa and he would like to keep it that way for now. Rolling his sheet back up, stuffing it with the little water and food that he had left, Thomas tied it off around his shoulders. He squinted out over the horizon towards the city. If all went well they could probably make it there by that night. Glancing over his shoulder where the hut stood just the night prior, Thomas was shaken to find that it was gone. Thomas turned in a slow circling, checking every vantage point he had for it. It could have been more than two yards away. His brow creased with worry, a frown forming on his lips.
"What's buggin you?" Newt's accented voice mumbled softly, worried eyes on his friend. Thomas tore his eyes away from the spot where the shack once stood and shook his head. "Nothing, just tired is all." Thomas said back forcing a smile. Newt eyed his friend but let it go. "Well let's go." Thomas said to break the silence that had fallen over the two, and to escape his friends curious gaze.
The boys set off at a light jog. There was a buzzing excitement in the air as they drew closer and closer to the city. No one knew what they would find, but anything seemed better than the vast emptiness of the Scorch. By mid-afternoon the wind had picked up significantly. The gladers held their arms up to shield their eyes from the sand that threatened to blind them. "Whoa!" Minho yelled, holding his right arm up signally the group to slow down. Thomas pushed through the forming crowd to Minho's side, Newt next to him as well. At their feet was an old man, laying on his back with his eyes closed. His chest rose and fell so slowly that, at first, they had thought he was dead. Glancing at his friends, Minho knelt down beside the old man, shaking him gently. The old man was dressed in rags. His skin was leathery and tan with unruly grey hair and an unkempt beard to match. "Oi!" Newt called out nudging the old man with his toe when Minho's tactics didn't work. The old man's eyes flashed open and he grabbed Minho's wrist with surprising strength. The man's milky eyes stared straight up as his cracked lips parted to take in a deep breath.
"It's coming..." he rasped. "The storm..."
Minho looked up at the other gladers with an unnerved look. Thomas turned around to look at the sky. Behind them dark grey, almost black clouds rolled in. Lightning flashed every now and then as a deep rumble sounded. It was ominous for sure but the fear covering the elderly man's face told Thomas that it was no regular storm.
"Go! Run! RUN BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE!" The old man gained a crazed feverishness to his voice as he scrambled to his feet. He looked as if he was barely able to stand on his thin legs, back hunched over as he ran away from the boys.
They all watched in silence as the man ran, Minho standing slowly rubbing his sore wrist. No one knew what he was talking about but they all felt the nervousness buzz around the group. "Keep moving." Minho mumbled, picking up his sack. Thomas glanced back at the clouds. They seemed to be advancing at an abnormally quick place and he felt his stomach twist with fear. They needed to move and fast.
The rain fell first, drenching Thomas and the other gladers from head to toe. The droplets were thick and hot. The thunder was what really shook Thomas to the core. He could feel the rumbling in his chest all the way down to his feet, causing him to stumble. His heart beat frantically as he glanced behind him. The lighting was only a few yards away and there was no way they would outrun it. Turning back to the front, Thomas saw they were only a few yards from the closest building.
The first bolt of lightening struck to Thomas' left, cracking through the air, right where a glader was running. It was like a bomb went off. A large crater was left in its wake, the fried body of one of the boys near the edge. The boy's mouth was hanging open as he screamed. Thomas faltered in his steps as he took in the scene straight from a horror movie. The boys clothes were evaporated by the lighting's heat, skin black from the burns, eyes burned out from the intense light of the bolt. Fear, greater than anything Thomas had felt thus far, punched him in the gut. All of a sudden he couldn't breath, fear squeezing his chest tightly. "THOMAS!" Minho's voice sounded so small in his ringing ears. Thomas felt himself being picked up and thrown towards the nearby buildings. Cracks of lightning rained down on the gladers, each one causing the ringing in his ears to worsen until there was nothing left to hear. Thomas sprinted as fast as he could, Minho leading the way. A giant bolt of lightening struck just in front of them, blowing Thomas a few feet back. Thomas' head smack against the sand causing his vision to swim. Thomas looked around dazed and spotted Minho. His body smoked, holes littering his clothes. Swallowing thickly, a metallic taste on his tongue, Thomas crawled to his injured friend, lifting his up and slinging one arm around his shoulders. Newt joined them, Thomas wasn't sure where he came from he was just thankful that his friends were alive. Lightning rained down like bullets all around them as they drug Minho through the hole in the wall of the building, the boy was barely conscious as they set him on the ground, assessing the damage down to their group. Out of the twenty survivors, barely ten were left. Thomas leaned against the wall, sliding down into a seated position. He hoped WICKED was happy with what they've done.