THE SCORCH TRIALS

own tight packs, heading north. Even from his vantage point, they appeared to be leaning into the stiffening wind as they walked.

Thomas's eyes stung from the dirt flying through the air. He kept wiping at them, which only made it worse, made the surrounding skin feel raw. The world continued to darken as the clouds thickened in the sky above.

After a quick break to eat and drink—their remaining supplies were dwindling fast—the three of them took a moment to observe the other groups.

'They're just walking up there,' Teresa said, pointing ahead with one hand while shielding her eyes from the wind with the other. 'Why aren't they running?'

'Because we still have over three hours until the deadline,' Aris responded, looking at his watch. 'Unless we totally figured wrong, the safe haven should be only a few miles from this side of the mountains. But I don't see anything.'

Thomas hated to admit it, but the hope that they were just missing something from a distance had faded away. 'By the way they're dragging, they obviously can't see it, either. It must not be there—they don't have anything to run to but more desert.'

Aris glanced at the gray-black sky 'Looks ugly up there. What if we get another one of those nice lightning storms?'

'We'd be better off staying in the mountains if that happens,' Thomas said. Wouldn't that be a perfect way to end all this, he thought. Burned to a crisp by bolts of electricity while searching for some safe haven that had never been there in the first place.

'Let's just catch up to them,' Teresa said. 'Then we can figure out what to do.' She turned to look at both boys and put her hands on her hips. 'You guys ready?'

'Yeah,'Thomas said. He was trying not to sink into the pit of panic and worry that threatened to swallow him. There had to be an answer to all this. Had to.

Aris just shrugged in response.

'Then let's run,' Teresa said. And before Thomas could answer she was already gone, with Aris close at her heels.

Thomas took a deep breath. For some reason it all reminded him of the first time he'd run out into the Maze with Minho. Which worried him. He exhaled and set off after the other two.

After maybe twenty minutes of running, the wind forcing him to work twice as hard as he'd ever had to in the Maze, Thomas spoke out to Teresa in his mind. I think I've had some more memories come back to me lately. In my dreams. He'd been wanting to tell her, but not really in front of Aris. A test, more than anything, to see how she responded to what he'd remembered. See if he could find any clues to her true intentions. Really? she answered.

He could sense her shock. Yeah. Weird, random things. Stuff from when I was a little kid. And . . . you were there, too. I had glimpses of how WICKED treated us. A little about right before we went to the Glade.

She paused before answering, maybe afraid to ask the questions that eventually came to him. Does any of it help us? Do you remember much of it?

Most of it. But there wasn't enough there to really mean a whole lot.

What did you see?

Thomas told her about each little segment of memory—or dream— he'd seen over the last couple of weeks. About seeing his mom, about overhearing conversations about surgery, about him and her spying on members of WICKED, hearing things that didn't make a whole lot of sense. About them testing and practicing their telepathy. And, finally, about saying goodbye right before he went to the Glade.

So Aris was there? she asked, but before he could answer, she continued. Of course, I already knew that. That the three of us were all part of this. But weird about everyone dying, the replacements, all that. What do you think it means?

I don't know, he answered. But I feel like if we had the time to just sit and talk about it we could help each other bring it all back.

Me too. Tom, I'm really sorry. I can tell you're having a hard time forgiving me.

Would you be any different?

No. I kind of accepted it, in a way. That saving you was worth losing what we might've had.

Thomas had no clue how to respond to that.

Not that they could've talked much more even if he wanted to. With the wind howling and the dust and debris flying through the air and the clouds churning and blackening and the distance to the others getting shorter . . .

There just wasn't time.

And so they kept running.

***

The two groups ahead of them eventually met up in the distance. More interesting to Thomas, though, was that it didn't appear to be an accident at all. The girls of Group B had reached a point and stopped; then Minho— Thomas could make him out now and was relieved to see him alive and well—and the Gladers had changed direction to go east to meet them.

And now, just a half-mile away, they all stood around something Thomas couldn't see, packing in a tight circle to look at whatever it was. What's going on up there? Teresa asked Thomas in his mind. Don't know, he answered.

The two of them, along with Aris, picked up the pace.

It only took another few minutes across the dusty wind-whipped plain before they reached Groups A and B.

Minho had stepped away from the larger pack of people and stood facing them when they finally made it. His arms were folded, his clothes filthy, his hair greasy, his face still showing signs of his burns. But somehow he was smiling. Thomas couldn't believe how good it felt to see that smirky grin again.

'It's about time you slowpokes caught up with us!' Minho yelled at them.

Thomas stopped right in front of him and doubled over to catch his breath for a few seconds, then straightened. 'I thought you'd be fightin' tooth and nail with these girls after what they did to us. To me, anyway.'

Minho looked back at the now-mingling group of boys and girls, then returned his gaze to Thomas. 'Well, first of all, they have nastier weapons, not to mention bows and arrows. Plus, some chick named Harriet explained everything. We're the ones who should be surprised— that you're still with them.' He gave a nasty glare to Teresa, then Aris. 'Never trusted either one of those shuck traitors.'

Thomas tried to hide his mixed emotions. 'They're on our side. Trust me.' And in a twisted, backward way he really was starting to believe it. As sick as it made him feel.

Minho laughed bitterly. 'Figured you'd say something like that. Let me guess, it's a long story?'

'Yeah, very long story,' Thomas answered, then changed the subject. 'Why'd you all stop here? What's everybody looking at?'

Minho stepped to the side, sweeping his arm behind him. 'Have a peeky-peek yourself.' Then he yelled to the two groups, 'You guys make a path!'

Several Gladers and girls looked back, then slowly shuffled to the side until a narrow break in the crowd formed. Thomas immediately saw that the object that held everyone's attention was a simple stick poking out of the arid ground. An orange strip of ribbon hung from the top, whipping in the wind. Letters were printed on the thin banner.

Thomas and Teresa exchanged a look; then Thomas pushed ahead for a closer inspection. Even before he got there, he could read the words printed on the ribbon, black on orange.