Till The WICKED End | A Maze Runner Story (English Version)

18. A plan emerges

"Guys? Guys, can you hear me?"
"Yes. Yes, Thomas, we hear you!" Gally replied after I had pulled the walkie-talkie out of his backpack.
"We've got something. Jorge and Francesca think this is our ticket in. A warehouse, apparently they don't have many soldiers to guard it. If we can break down the door, we can get in."
"That sounds like good news. We haven't had any real luck so far. Just concrete walls."
"Let's go then, come over here and join us. We haven't gone far at all, so maybe you should turn around and just come back to us."
"Good that. We're on our way," Gally replied.
So we turned on our heels and marched back the way we'd come, always keeping as much cover of the hills as possible but still facing WICKED's new headquarters. After passing our starting point where we had separated from the others, it really wasn't long before we came across Thomas, Minho, Francesca and Jorge crouched there in cover behind a flat grassy knoll, watching the building. As we crouched down with them, my brother began to tell us: "This is where they get their supplies. There doesn't seem to be much activity though."
"From the looks of it, they're stealing to keep themselves alive. They're probably growing something inside in greenhouses, but the wagons that have been in and out so far have looked like bandits's. They seem to be robbing quarters," Francesca explained.
"We don't know how often that happens, but just now we saw them bring in two children, along with supplies," Minho said, looking more than disgusted.
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
"Those bastards," Fry Pan hissed beside me.
"I guess they need new research subjects. But I don't think that's their main task anymore. They'll probably carry on researching where Teresa left off, with what they know about Thomas's blood. They'll try to find out if they can artificially recreate what his blood does," Francesca guessed rather well.
"Or they may be planning how to find us so they can just pump him out, like Janson's plan was." Brenda literally spat out the words. "Let's go in and make short work of them."
"We should wait until it's dark. Then we have a better chance of making it there and in unnoticed," I said, surprising myself with the calmness in my voice.
"Anna is right, we should wait until sunset and then strike. Let's get some rest and take turns keeping watch," Thomas nodded and turned to us.
A couple of hours passed and we took turns lying flat on the ground, sitting around talking and taking turns keeping watch. While I lay there for a while between Francesca and Brenda, staring at the glistening blue sky, I almost hoped to fall asleep so I could explore Thomas's and my past further, but at first it looked like I had no chance. Minho, Gally and Fry Pan were talking not very quietly about our plan and Thomas and Jorge were analysing the habits of the few soldiers guarding the entrance to the hall. I almost asked them if they could just shut up, but then pulled myself together. Instead, I turned to my right side, where Brenda was lying, and closed my eyes again.

It seemed like an eternity that young Thomas and I remained pressed close together in the darkness, waiting. I listened intently for the slightest sound, every creak above us, however soft. I was trembling and by now I wasn't sure if it was myself or if my brother was vibrating so much. Again and again I squeezed his hand and tried to convey positive images, happy feelings to him through our palms, but I succeeded rather badly than well. It was no use, every logical thought suggested that it was possible that our parents were long dead or were just changing over us.
But finally - whether minutes or hours had passed, I couldn't tell - there was a knock at the door at the top of the stairs. Thomas beside me flinched and dug his fingernails into my upper arm. I patted his hand and wriggled out of his grasp to sidle to the door. One thing was certain: cranks didn't knock on doors and certainly not so rhythmically.
Nimbly and at the same time almost silently, I crossed the room, scurried up the stairs and pressed my ear to the door to listen. There was no rattling, rasping breath, no gasping, no strange, animalistic sounds.
"Mum? Dad?" I whispered, just loud enough to be heard through the door.
"Anna! Quick, open up!" That was my mother's voice.
In a flash I unlocked the door and opened it a crack. My mother pushed through and immediately closed it again. Her hair was dishevelled and dried tears had made their way through the dirt on her face, I realised.
"Mum," I groaned. "Mum, where's Dad?"