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NINE 「strangers」 ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚
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SEEING TERESA MARCHING towards them, spear in hand, face stony and cold, was inexplicably shocking. In the Glade, Sylvia hadn't had a lot of time to get to know Teresa. She only had a few short, sweet memories of her. The Teresa marching towards them now looked somehow different.
Then, on both sides of her, more girls appeared on the horizon. They marched together, weapons in hand, heading straight for the Gladers. Sylvia felt dread curl in her veins. And they all held weapons, varying knives and rusty swords and jagged machetes. Several of the girls had bows and arrows, their menacing tips already aimed at the group of Gladers.
Teresa couldn't possibly be leading these armed girls to hurt them, could she?
Teresa and the girls stopped about thirty feet away from the group of Gladers, forming a circle around them. Sylvia studied the girls—each one held her head high, weapons gripped between white knuckles, eyes narrowed with contempt.
Sylvia glanced at Hayden. This must be his group. He seemed almost as shocked as the rest of the Gladers, apparently not expecting this sudden hostility. His eyes darted from one girl to another, clearly with recognition. Hayden was about to speak but another voice beat him to it.
Minho spoke. "What's this crap about, Teresa? Nice way to greet your long-lost buddies."
Teresa didn't answer the question, and an eerie silence swept across the group. The sun continued to rise, inching toward the point where its heat would beat down on them unbearably. Teresa walked toward them again, and stopped about ten feet from where Minho and Newt stood side by side, Sylvia and Hayden behind them.
"Teresa?" Newt asked. "What the bloody—"
"Shut up," Teresa said. She didn't snap or yell it. She said it calmly and with conviction, and it somehow made her seem all the more threatening. "And any of you makes a move, the bows start shooting."
