The scream of metal rubbing against metal stopped. No one spoke. The wind ripped across the land, blowing dust and dirt in streams across the rounded containers. It made a gritty pinging sound. There was so much of it, it blended into a noise that made Thomas's spine itch; he had to squint to keep stuff out of his eyes. Nothing else had moved since the foreign, almost alien objects had been revealed. There was only that sound and wind and cold and stinging eyes.
Tom? Teresa called to him.
Yeah.
You remember those, right?
Yeah.
You think Grievers are inside?
Thomas realized that was exactly what he thought, but he'd also finally accepted that he could never expect anything. He reasoned it out for a second before he answered. I don't know. I mean, the Grievers had really moist bodies―it'd be hard on them out here. It seemed like a stupid thing to say, but he was grasping for anything.
Maybe we're meant to ... get inside them, she said after a pause. Maybe they are the safe haven, or they'll transport us somewhere.
Thomas hated the idea, but thought that maybe she was right. He tore his eyes away from the large pods and looked for her. She was already walking toward him. Fortunately, she was alone. He couldn't handle both her and Brenda right then.
"Hey," he said out loud, but the wind seemed to carry the sound away before it even left his mouth. He started to reach out for her hand but then pulled it back, almost forgetting how things had changed. She didn't seem to notice as she walked over to Minho and Newt and nudged both of them in greeting. They turned to face her and Thomas moved closer to conference with them.
"So what do we do?" Minho asked. He gave Teresa an annoyed look like he didn't want her to be any part of the decision making.
Newt answered. "If those things have bloody Grievers in 'em, we best start gettin' ready to fight the shuck buggers."
"What're you guys talking about?"
Thomas turned to see Harriet and Sonya―it'd been Harriet who'd spoken. And Brenda stood right behind them, with Jorge by her side.
"Oh, great," Minho muttered. "The two queens of glorious Group B."
Harriet just acted like she hadn't heard. "I'm assuming you all saw those pods back in your WICKED chamber, too. They had to be where the Grievers charged up or whatever it was they did."
"Yeah," Newt said. "Gotta be that."
In the sky above, thunder crackled and boomed, and those flashes of light grew brighter. The wind tore at everyone's clothes and hair and everything smelled wet but dusty―a strange combination. Thomas checked the time again. "We've only got twenty-five minutes. We're either gonna be fighting Grievers or we need to get inside those big coffins at the right time. Maybe they're the―"
A sharp hiss cut through the air from all directions. The sound pierced Thomas's eardrums and he clamped his hands to the sides of his head again. Movement on the perimeter surrounding them caught his attention, and he watched carefully what was happening with the large white pods.
A line of dark blue light had appeared on one side of each container, then expanded as the top half of the object began to move upward, opening on hinges like the lid of a coffin. It made no sound, at least not enough to be heard over the rushing wind and rumbling thunder. Thomas sensed the Gladers and the others slowly moving closer together, forming a tighter knot. Everyone was trying to get as far away from the pods as possible―and soon they were a coiled pack of bodies encircled by the thirty or so rounded white containers.
The lids continued moving until they'd all swung open and dropped to the ground. Something bulky rested inside each vessel. Thomas couldn't make out much, but from where he stood he couldn't see anything like the odd appendages of the Grievers. Nothing moved, but he knew not to let his guard down.
Teresa? he said to her mind. He didn't dare try talking loudly enough to be heard―but he had to talk to someone or go nuts.
Yeah?
Someone should go take a look. See what's in it. He said it, but he really didn't want to be the one to do it.
Let's go together, she said easily.
She surprised him with her courage. Sometimes you have the worst ideas, he responded. He'd tried to make it feel sarcastic, but he knew the truth of it far more than he wanted to admit to himself. He was terrified.
"Thomas!" Minho called. The wind, still wild, was drowned out by the approaching thunder and lightning now, cracking and exploding in brilliant displays above them and on the horizon. The storm was about to fully beat down its fury on them.
"What?" Thomas yelled back.
"You, me, and Newt! Let's go check it out!"
Thomas was just about to move when something slipped out of one of the pods. A collective gasp escaped those closest to Thomas, and he turned for a better look. Things were moving in all the pods, things he couldn't quite understand at first. Whatever they were, they were definitely coming out of their oblong homes. Thomas focused on the pod nearest to him, strained his eyes to discern what exactly he was about to face.
A misshapen arm hung over the edge, and its hand dangled a few inches above the ground. On it were four disfigured fingers―stubs of sickly beige flesh―none of them the same length. They wiggled and grasped for something that wasn't there, as if the creature inside was searching to get a grip to pull itself out. The arm was covered with wrinkles and lumps, and there was something completely strange right where what passed for an elbow was located. A perfectly rounded protrusion or growth, maybe four inches in diameter, glowing bright orange.
It looked like the thing had a lightbulb glued to its arm.
The monster continued to emerge. A leg flopped out, its foot a fleshy mass, four knobs of toes wriggling as much as its fingers. And on the knee, another one of those impossible orange spheres of light, seemingly growing right out of its skin.