The Fever Code (The Maze Runner 0.6)(72)

Thomas stared at her, half impressed and half terrified of his closest friend. But mostly he was thankful she’d taken charge.

“Okay,” he said, too smart to argue. Nothing about this was going to be pleasant, and the sooner they got to it, the sooner they’d be done.

“Sounds good,” Aris replied. “You guys ready?”

Thomas, one death-tipped syringe gripped in each hand, nodded. Rachel held up her Launcher in answer. Teresa said, “Go.”

Aris pushed off from the wall with a grunt and ran around the corner, yelling with adrenaline. Rachel went next, her weapon held ready, then Thomas, then Teresa, her gun the last line of defense. The sound of the Launcher charging filled the air, followed by the burst of power as a grenade catapulted toward the man moving along the wall. His hair had indeed been ripped out in spots, leaving red, bloody welts.

The grenade hit him square in his chest. He let out a howl as tiny tendrils of lightning danced across his body, and he fell to the floor. There he suffered spasm after spasm as the Launcher’s power tried to fry him from the inside out.

“Your turn, Thomas!” Aris yelled as he stepped forward, already aiming for the other man in case Rachel missed.

Thomas ran toward the first victim, then slid along the tile floor, coming to a stop just a foot or so from the man’s head. He gripped the syringe, letting it hover just inches above the man’s face, waiting for the streaks of white powder to fade. He heard a second Launcher shot, then a third, followed by rapid thumps of contact. A cry like that of some primal beast pierced the air.

Thomas saw his chance below him, the charges of electricity dwindling. He stabbed the needle of the syringe into the Crank’s neck and released the poison. He scrambled away, kicking at the floor with his feet until his back met the opposite wall, where he stood up. The man’s eyes rolled back in his head and he flopped over—the syringe bounced back and forth as if dancing on its needle, pivoting in the soft folds of the neck.

Seventeen, Thomas thought. There were seventeen Cranks left in the complex.

“Over here!” Rachel yelled. “Hurry!” She stood above the second man, who was still convulsing from her Launcher shot. His battered, purpling body was like a dark storm cloud, sending little bolts of lightning down to die in the floor tiles.

Thomas ran to him. Static and sparks filled the air as he fell to his knees. He knelt forward and plunged the second syringe into the man’s neck, releasing the vial of liquid death.

Teresa was there, two hands tightly gripping her pistol, aiming down at the man’s head just in case. Rachel and Aris stood right behind her, struggling to catch their breath.

“I think that does it,” Thomas said. “We just killed two people without any of us getting a single scratch.”

“Cranks,” Teresa replied, finally letting herself relax as she dropped the gun to her side. “Not people, Cranks.”

Thomas got to his feet. “I didn’t realize those were two different things.”

She gave him a hard look that scared him.

“Room D-17,” Aris said between breaths. “Stick to the plan.”

Teresa turned away from Thomas to lead the way.





231.05.05 | 7:47 a.m.

“D…seventeen…,” Aris said, scanning the rooms as they jogged past. He pointed. “Here it is!”

Thomas, who felt like everyone else had taken much more initiative so far that day, stepped up to the door and placed his ear against the flat surface. He pressed in, hoping to hear nothing. He wanted them asleep or dead.

“Anything?” Teresa asked.

Thomas shook his head. Then, “No, wait.” He pressed his ear to the door again. A low moaning sound was clearer. “Yeah—there’s at least one awake.”

They prepared themselves much as they had for the encounter in the hallway. According to the cameras, five Cranks were on the other side of the door, immobile. Thomas squeezed three syringes in his right hand, two in his left, and Aris and Rachel both held their Launchers, fully charged and loaded behind him. That left Teresa with the gun again, and Thomas had a feeling that this time she’d be forced to use it.

When everyone was ready to go, Teresa used her free hand to push open the door. It swung open into a dimly lit room, the scents of body odor and rotten breath wafting out like a diseased wind.

Thomas scrunched up his face at the foul smell, fighting his gag reflex as he slipped inside. Rachel, Aris, and Teresa followed. Weapons ready. A quick sweep established the scene for Thomas, and his rapidly thumping heart slowed. The room was a gathering spot, filled with chairs and couches, entertainment screens, tables for pool and Ping-Pong. The five people they’d spied earlier were congregated in the corner to his left. A man lay on a couch, arm dangling off the side, another man on the floor at his feet. Two women were sprawled side by side, also on the floor, at the foot of two chairs, their arms draped across each other as if to comfort. The last person, a man, sat in a chair, his head lolling back in sleep, great, booming snores erupting from his wide-open mouth.

Aris and Rachel quietly stepped up to the group, aiming their weapons. A long moment of silence passed; then that familiar electronic whine filled the air, immediately followed by a series of cracks as the Launchers fired in quick succession. Five distinct thumps meant that they’d hit their marks. Blue lightning lit up the air as the Cranks’ bodies convulsed with electricity.