SACRIFICE {Newt | The Maze Runner}

vi. Brenda and Jorge

Song: SURVIVOR; 2wei 

      THE girl led us into the building, down ageing corridors that were littered with graffiti. Thomas, as ever the curious one in the group, followed quickly after her, then Teresa, Frypan, Minho and Aris, while Newt and I brought up the rear, our hands no longer one, but they occasionally brushed each other as we walked side by side.

"Come on, keep up. Jorge wants to meet you." the nameless woman ordered, I knew better than to disobey. Everything about her oozed confidence, and skill with a weapon.

"Who's Jorge?" Thomas asked as we clambered up some rickety old steps, that looked like they should have fallen to dust years ago, before we emerged into a large room, lit by fire pits and lights that dangled from the vaulting ceiling.

"You'll see. No one's come out of the Scorch in a long time. You've just got him curious," she paused to inspect Thomas, "and me, too."

Several laughs made me turn, men had trailed behind us, diminishing any hope of making a run for it. Their faces were red and burnt from the punishing sun, hands blistered and calloused, as if they had done lots of manual labour.

"Anyone else starting to get a bad feeling about this place?" Newt whispered to us, I could barely contain the nervousness that had risen in my gut.

Sonya always told me to trust my gut.

"Let's just hear him out. See what he has to say." Thomas said, though none of us seemed to like his plan.

"Jorge," the woman called as we levelled another flight of run down stairs, "they're here."

The room had a wall of grimy windows at one end, several shelves had been stacked against it, so that little natural light would pass through in the day. A man was bent over one table, fiddling with a large box that whirred and buzzed in response to his actions.

The girl flopped down into an old armchair, a plume of dust rising from where she fell.

"Damn it." the man, who the girl had called Jorge, muttered, before ripping a wire from the box and exhaling sharply and turning to face us and the men that had followed us in.

"Do you ever get the feeling the whole world's against you?" he asked, a thick, Spanish accent coating his words. Looking nervously at Newt, I knew he was thinking exactly the same thing that I was - this man couldn't be serious.

"Three questions," Jorge continued as he filled a glass from a decanter of alcohol, "where did you come from? Where are you going? How can I profit?"

Newt and I made eye contact again, neither of us saying a word, as did none of the others.

"Don't all answer at once."

"We're headed for the mountains," Thomas reluctantly replied, "looking for the Right Arm."

The men around us broke into a chorus of singers as we all looked nervously between each other once more. Jorge and the nameless girl seemed to be the only ones who didn't seem amused or frightened by his words, only curious.

"You're looking for ghosts, you mean?" Jorge paused, taking a small sip from the glass, "Question number two. Where did you come from?"

"That's our business." Minho answered.

Jorge shrugged lightly, before several hands forced me and the others to the ground.

"Brenda!" he called, the girl leaping up from the armchair in response, grabbing an odd contraption before walking over to our group, who were now kneeling on the floor, the men holding us down.