The woman responded this time, acting as if she hadn't heard the questions. "How'd you get in the Scorch? Where'd you come from? How'd you get here?"
Thomas was surprised at the ... intelligence evident in her words. The Cranks they'd seen back at the dorm had seemed absolutely insane, like animals. These people were aware enough to realize that their group had appeared out of nowhere. Nothing lay in the opposite direction from the town.
Minho leaned over to consult with Newt, then turned and stepped closer to Thomas. "What do we tell these people?"
Thomas had no clue. "I don't know. The truth? It can't hurt."
"The truth?" Minho said sarcastically. "What an idea, Thomas. You're freaking brilliant, as usual." He faced the Cranks again. "We were sent here by WICKED. Came out of a hole just a little while that way, from a tunnel. We're supposed to go one hundred miles to the north, cross the Scorch. Any of that mean a thing to you?"
Once again, it was as if they hadn't heard a word he'd said.
"Not all Cranks are gone," the man said. "Not all of them are past the Gone." He said that last word in a way that made it sound like the name of a place. "Different ones at different levels. Best you learn who to make friends with and who to avoid. Or kill. Better learn right quick if you're coming our way."
"What's your way?" Minho asked. "You came from that town, right? Is that where all these Cranks live? Is there food and water there?"
Thomas felt the same urge as Minho―to ask a million questions. He was half tempted to suggest they capture these two Cranks and make them answer. But for the moment the pair didn't seem intent on helping at all, and they split again to circle back around to the side of the Gladers closest to the town.
Once they met up in the spot where they'd first spoken, the distant town almost seeming to float between them, the woman said one last thing. "If you don't have it yet, you'll have it soon. Same with the other group. The ones that're supposed to kill you."
The two strangers then turned around and ran back toward the cluster of buildings on the horizon, leaving Thomas and the other Gladers in stunned silence. Soon, any evidence of the running Cranks was lost in a blur of heat and dust.
"Other group?" someone said. Maybe Frypan. Thomas was in too much of a trance staring at the disappearing Cranks and worrying about the Flare to notice.
"Wonder if they're talking about my group." This was definitely Aris. Thomas finally forced himself to snap out of his gaze.
"Group B?" he asked him. "You think they've already made it to the town?"
"Hello!" Minho snapped. "Who cares? You'd think the little part about them supposedly killing us would be the attention getter. Maybe this stuff about the Flare?"
Thomas thought of the tattoo on the back of his neck. Those simple words that scared him. "Maybe when she said "˜you' she didn't mean all of us." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, pointing down at his menacing mark. "Maybe she meant me specifically. Couldn't tell where her eyes were looking."
"How's she gonna know who you are?" Minho retorted. "Plus, doesn't matter. If someone tries to kill you, or me, or anyone else, they might as well try to get all of us. Right?"
"You're so sweet," Frypan said with a snort. "Go ahead and die with Thomas. I think I'll sneak away and enjoy living with the guilt." He cast his special look that meant he was only kidding, but Thomas wondered if a little truth might be hiding in there somewhere.
"Well, what do we do now?" Jack asked. He had Winston's arm around one of his shoulders, but the former Keeper of the Blood House seemed to have recovered some of his strength. Luckily the sheet covered the hideous parts of his head.
"What do you think?" Newt asked, but then he nodded at Minho.
Minho rolled his eyes. "We keep going, that's what. Look, we don't have a choice. If we don't go to that town, we're gonna die out here of sunstroke or starvation. If we do go, we'll have some shelter for a while, maybe even food. Cranks or no Cranks, that's where we're going."
"And Group B?" Thomas asked; he glanced over at Aris. "Or whoever they were talking about. What if they really do wanna kill us? All we have to fight with are our hands."
Minho flexed his right arm. "If these people are really the girls Aris was hanging out with, I'll show 'em these guns of mine and they'll go runnin'."
Thomas kept pushing. "And if these girls have weapons? Or can fight? Or if it's not them at all but a bunch of seven-foot-tall grunts who like to eat humans? Or a thousand Cranks?"
"Thomas ... no. Everybody." Minho let out an exasperated sigh. "Would everyone just shut their holes and slim it? No more questions. Unless you have an idea that doesn't involve absolute certain death, then quit your pipin' and let's take the only chance we got. Get it?"
Thomas smiled, though he didn't know where the impulse came from. Somehow in a few sentences Minho had cheered him up, or at least given him a little hope. They just had to go, to move, to do. That was it.
"That's better," Minho said with a satisfied nod. "Anybody else wanna pee their pants and cry for Mommy?"
A few snickers broke out, but no one said anything.
"Good. Newt, you lead up front this time, limp and all. Thomas, you in the back. Jack, get someone else to help with Winston to give you a break. Let's go."
And so they did. Aris held the pack this time, and Thomas felt as if he were almost floating along the ground, it felt so good. The only hard part was holding that sheet up, his arm growing weak and rubbery. But on and on they went, sometimes walking, sometimes jogging.