Hi!
Hope you enjoy this chapter, took a while to edit- there were so many spelling mistakes and questionable phrasing through the entire thing. Then I remembered I wrote this at 3am in the morning and let's just say, my brain does not function normally at that time.
StarStableGal- Thanks so much for your review! And same, teresa is a *****.
2021- Thanks so much for your consistent reviews!
CHAPTER 4:
Billowing sheets, sand in mouths and flying hair. The moment the Gladers woke up, they were met with the adversity of nature, though the wind felt wonderful on their sun beaten skin. She spat out sand, wincing as the gritty particles travelled down her throat anyway, creating abrasions she's despise over the coming days.
Tying her hair back with no band had proven to be a challenge on its own, but walking against the wind with her hair flapping aorund her was twenty times harder. Unbelievably, she started to wish for the sun's return rather than the awful wail of the wind in her ears after she'd blinked sand out of her eyes for the millionth time.
Minho had been quiet since waking up, his eyes flicking to the dangerous swell of clouds looming at the edge of the sky and his pace quickening sporadically. She didn't push him for answers, knowing he'd open up when he needed to but that didn't mean she didn't feel uneasy at his silence. Something had happened, some revelation that left him tense.
The night fell fast, a blanket of danger as the wind whipped around them like the reins of Helios' chariot. She craved the sun again. A simple comfort was that the city was approaching quickly, only a few miles off and they'd arrive there soon, hopefully replenishing their fast dwindling supplies and energy before setting off again, into the mountains.
Minho's predictions of a storm were proving true as the night waxed, their worry growing as the minutes ticked by. She knew it was bad when they had to scream to make themselves heard over the wind, even though they were face to face. The buildings were closer than ever.
Thomas' perpetually serious face looked graver than she'd seen before, the dark look he shared with Minho only ramping up the tension. With weather as damaged as in the Scorch, the storms would be no joke; heavy, hard and devastating. If they wanted to leave the Scorch trials alive, they had to act fast.
"We have to run." Minho yelled, his voice still only reaching her as a faint whisper although his face was screwed up with the effort of making himself heard. "Otherwise we'll get caught up in the storm."
Just as the words came out of his mouth, a flash of bright blue-white light boomed through the darkness, the crashing sound of thunder following seconds afterwards. The Gladers watched in horror as the bolt of lightning struck the ground, shaking the sand beneath them, the screaming wind going an octave higher. The buildings were a little less than two miles away.
"We're going." Thomas said his eyes locked on the distant burn of the lightning, his hand tapping her back as a gesture to start moving, "We're leaving right now."
No words were exchanged as they leapt into a practiced sprint, feet beating the sand up into airy plumes that were met with the enthusiastic resistance of the water droplets starting to fall from the roaring sky, and the heavy wind.
Somehow, she found herself next to Minho, both subconsciously seeking each other, occasionally separating when the land deemed necessary, but finding each other once again nonetheless. It transported her back in time to the Maze, but there were obvious differences that sent the adrenaline coursing through her body. A bloodthirsty, fast approaching storm, pitch black dark and roaring wind were dangers even the Maze hadn't been able to conjure.
The storm was catching up with them, moving at supernatural speeds through the sky, lightning hitting the ground more frequently. Pushing herself, she cursed the strength of the wind, feeling as if an omnipotent god was blowing at their tiny, fragile figures, laughing at their fear. Or maybe WICKED.
A sudden scream was cut short by the wind as a bolt of lightning annihilated one of them. The rain fell thick and fast and it was all she could do to focus in front of her, despite every cell in her body wanting to look back to see who they'd lost.
Minho was in front of her, all out sprinting and she marvelled at his ability to fight back against the force of the wind; the sheer strength of the gale made it difficult to keep even the most seasoned Runner going. Another bolt of lightning, more screaming cut violently short with the mighty blowing of the wind. She was soaked, water running down the lines of her face, dripping steadily from the tip of her nose, her eyelashes and her hair, a torrential river on its own landform.
Thomas swerved into her line of running, his hand pulling Newt along with him and she braked suddenly, before running again, faster. The lightning struck, a perilous booming wrecking her eardrums.
She couldn't see anything through the heavy rain, the whipping wind that stung her eyes and the pitch black of night. Bright flashes of lightning provided bittersweet respite- it illuminated the path for a brief second but it warned her of impending doom.
A bolt of lightning catapulted her backwards, the air in her lungs knocked out, hair flying crazy with static and the skin on her right arm burnt slightly. Someone pulled her up, pushing her forwards- Frypan, she thought, and she propelled herself through the rain, a scream lodged in her throat.
Another bolt of lightning, stronger, harder, flashed and bludgeoned a crater into the ground, leaving the figure of Minho on fire. Thomas was there, apparently only a few paces behind the Asian boy and the scream that has refused to release itself came out in all its hellish glory as Minho burst into flame. Thomas covered him with dirt as he rolled around the sand, putting out the heat.
She'd never run faster in her life, taking up his shoulder along with Thomas and running again, the same exhausting cycle as they fought for their safety. The buildings were close, Minho stumbled, but they righted his burnt, broken body, wasting no time. None of them stopped until they were under the roof of the first building they could find, their panting joining the survivors', a chorus filled with the melody of pain and the beating bass of horror.
Quiet snoring had replaced panicked, rushed breathing and whimpers of pain, sleep numbing their minds to sadness. She hadn't slept a wink though, her head resting on her knees, arms curved around her legs as she watched Minho for a sign of life. Looking at him made her wince.
Nico hadn't made it. Her heart hurt every time her mind conjured up a picture of his bright green eyes, young pale face, wild black hair. Will hadn't made it either but she felt it was for the better. They could rest together in peace.
She wouldn't forget him. The pain that branded her heart pulsed revengefully and she closed her eyes, empathising with Thomas. He'd seen Chuck bleed out on the floor in front of him. In a way, that seemed better than imagining Nico's fried skin, charred hair, bent bones, all broken and forgotten in a crater she had no power to reach. The pain pulsed again.
She'd kill WICKED for killing Nico.
"Winston didn't make it. What happened to Minho?" Newt murmured, obviously trying to tone his voice down to keep the Gladers sleeping.
"Lightning," she heard Thomas reply, "it hit somewhere close to the shank and his clothes caught on fire from it. Dunno how it didn't fry him up."
Newt made a noise of sympathy, though it sounded empty.
"Is she sleeping?" he asked, quieter again, but her ears caught it, despite the faint ringing echoing in them.
"I don't know." Thomas shrugged, "I don't think so. You should've seen her face when she realised it was Minho on fire," he shook his head, "it looked like she's seen a ghost or something."
"I would, too, if I saw a man burnin' up in front of me, alive. 'Specially if it was someone like Minho is to her."
"He'll be fine." Thomas said, "They'll hurt, but they're not as bad as it could be."
Newt snorted, "If you say so genius."
His face turned more serious as the blonde continued, "Minho's tough as nails, he'll bounce back fine, trust me. Some of these shanks look worse though."
Thomas shrugged, before his eyes landed on the unmoving figure of his sister, her back facing them, a stab of worry piercing his clouded mind.
"Has she been crying?" Newt asked, his voice thick with concern.
Thomas shook his head in the negative, "No. She's just sitting there."
Newt nodded miserably, "Didn't expect anything else. She'll do good when he wakes."
Adira played with the end of her dirty cargo trousers, staring at Minho's face. He'd passed out once they'd gotten into the squat, red clay building, bringing her down with him and barely responding to anything but his pain.
A groan came from the boy and Adira straightened comically fast, her face wide and alert as Minho woke up, moving slowly and painfully, a frown on his face.
"You're awake." she breathed, not touching him as he got up, hissing as his skin protested. "Shucking hell, Minho."
He gave her his signature smirk despite the agony he was in, "Not getting rid of me just yet shuckette."
She rolled her eyes, pushing back his hair that had somehow managed to survive, "Thought you were fried to death for a moment."
He scoffed, "A bit of lightning is nothing. Have some faith in me woman."
She bit her lip, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his forehead, "Don't go round attracting lightning again."
"Can't help it. I'm just that magnetic." Minho shrugged, "But I sure can try."
She rolled her eyes at his flippant attitude, pulling herself up to her feet, turning to Thomas and Newt, their faces lighter at Minho's sudden return to the mortal world. Thomas looked surprised at their exchange- he'd been expecting tears, snot and more PDA than any mortal could take, but they'd defied his expectations (once again) and acted as if almost burning up alive was a normal business. Newt didn't even try understanding.
Their relief soon sobered up though, as the question that flew from their Leader's mouth dosed them with good old cynical reality.
"How many people have we got left?"
Newt counted quickly, his eyebrows shooting upwards in shock as he finished.
"Ten."
Minho blinked.
"Ten? Like…ten? One and zero?"
Newt nodded wordlessly.
Minho winced as some invisible spot of skin stung, "How in the shuck are we meant to make it across this Crank place with ten people?"
"Apparently ten people," she pointed out, "unless there's more boys in other buildings."
"That's optimistic." Thomas snorted, "The next buildings are 'bout five minutes away. Plenty time to get fried. If anyone survived, they're in here."
"Cheery one, you are, Thomas." she said, but she wasn't smiling. No one was. They all knew he was dead right.
"How many died in total?" Minho asked, frowning, "Eight? No, nine?"
"Nine shuckface." Newt spat.
"Dude," Minho gasped, "a shuck storm took us out that hard? How are we meant to make it the Haven in one piece?"
"I feel like that's a little futuristic Minho." Newt pointed out obstinately, "Those boys died, Minho. Nine of 'em. And we don't even know their names."
The Leader gave Adira a cautious look she reciprocated, knowing they were both treading dangerous waters. Newt was calm and rational but he didn't appreciate heartlessness. And for lack of better words, she and Minho were heartless. They had to be. Otherwise she would've sobbed every night for George, Nick and Ben and everyone else who'd perished and the Glade would have had to run itself. The same applied to Minho. Leadership made you cruel.
"Yeah, they died." Minho said solemnly, "But we're alive. And I don't particularly want to not have a plan if a bunch of Cranks show up here."
Newt looked morbid and Thomas frowned.
"Shuck," Minho hissed as he staggered up to his feet, his patience thinning, "Come on shank, we don't have time to mope. Y'know they'll be better off skipping around in heaven if we don't get out klunk together."
Newt shook his head, "Sorry, I—"
"Yeah, yeah," Minho said with genuine leadership, "it's fine. But we gotta move, soon."
"With you like that?" Thomas asked.
Minho shrugged, shooting him an almost disappointed look, "I'm standing shuckface. I'm fine."
"He's fine, but we won't be soon. We need supplies." Adira cut in, waving her hand at Thomas' worry, "Urgently."
"Water," Minho supplied in a sombre tone, "and food. I'm not having another of those disgusting protein bars."
"Can't fault you for that." Newt mumbled, picking himself up from the hard ground, "Where do we go next? Think we can last a day with the supplies we have?"
Adira pursed her lips, "If we stretch it."
Minho's boredom bled into his words, "We have to go anyway. Might as well up it and leave now. 'Sides, we have less mouths to feed anyway."
Newt rolled his eyes but made no comment and Adira nodded slowly, "So we head to the city centre?"
"Yup." Minho agreed, "And we'll hope to shuck someone nice will give us some food. Anything but those protein bars."
"Food?"
Her head whipped upwards, the voice of the stranger sounding from above them from within the wrecked upper floor. The building they'd been resting in had been devoid of any observable life but apparently they were wrong when they'd assumed the top half was unused. A Crank peered down at them, his coal black eyes swirling with amused madness before he jumped through the hole, free flying down. At the last second he bent his knees for impact, standing upright with an eerily wide smile.
She edged backwards, uneasy that he was closest to her. Minho watched the Crank's movements carefully, a sharp frown on his features.
"Who the shuck are you?" Minho asked, his tone hostile. The Crank noticed, his eyebrows rising in a dangerous manner, his hands tugging on the lapels of his worn jacket as if he meant to assert authority. And it worked. Despite his tattered clothes, thin build, hollowed cheeks, his insanity made him the king.
"A Crank!" he said, "You know what this is, don't you hermano? This is the Crank land, where the Cranks all live! And I," he paused, grinning again, "I'm the Leader of this place."
There was a brief pause filled with the static of incredulous laughter before Minho spoke again, his voice low.
"What's your name?"
The Crank laughed, a high pitched maniacal laugh with no mirth, "No, no, no hermano! No! You are the ones at my mercy! You have to tell me your names first!"
The Crank's eyes landed on her and she was struck by the festering dark madness lingering behind the irises, "Let's start with the pretty lady, sí?"
Minho bristled, "I don't know if that Flare or whatever has eaten your shuck brain, but there are ten of us against one of you."
She resisted the urge to face palm. Minho was amazing in all ways, but she couldn't deny that he had his own fatal flaw- his anger.
The Crank laughed again, but there was unconcealed menace, "Wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong, try again!"
Minho's eyes narrowed but before he could retaliate with something that would surely get a bullet through all their heads, sounds of more Cranks echoed from the upper floor.
"How many Cranks are you with?" Newt asked, and she noticed that he hadn't adopted a diplomatic tone like he normally did in bad situations. He crossed his arms, his face set in the serious mask that gave her the chills.
The Crank laughed, "Many, none, a few! Wouldn't you like to know, hermano?"
"How many?" Minho gritted out and Newt shot him a warning look. The Crank didn't look pleased.
"Respect, muchacho, respect." he hummed, his eyes glinting, "I could rip you up into pieces if I wanted to."
"Go on then." Minho muttered, rolling his eyes and she did face palm this time. The Crank stayed still for a moment, swaying, before he shot forwards, kicking Minho on his leg, fast as a snake Adira made a move forward but Newt held her back, shaking his head sharply.
Minho winced, his leg buckling under him, "Respect!"
"Shuck no." he said, spitting at the Crank's feet. He kicked him again.
"Respect!"
Another sound from above, louder and Minho realised too late that antagonising a mad man wasn't going to do him good, "Fine."
The Crank backed up, crossing his arms triumphantly, "That's bueno, hermano. Otherwise you would have been dead."
Minho looked like he was calming himself down, but at the last moment he lunged at the man, his fists raining down on his hollowed, smug face. The Crank wasn't able to evade Minho's tight hold and he was left with the company of pain and misery.
Thomas ran forward, pulling Minho off the Crank as more of the insane creatures dropped from the upper floor, forming ranks behind their leader who staggered up to his feet, extracting a long silver blade from within his jacket.
"Slim it." She said tensely as Minho stood, his fists clenched. She hated the way his anger controlled him and the sudden transformation he'd made no response and she walked over cautiously, nodding to Thomas who was negotiating with the Crank to spare their lives.
"Slim it, Minho." she repeated quietly, "They've got blades, axes, shucking wrecking balls and we have nothing. So, use that brain of yours. We ain't lasting a shuck minute unless you calm yourself."
He responded to her harsh tone, nodding once.
"Look…we're important, you don't want to kill us." Thomas said, holding his hands up, "Why don't we have a quick chat? We'll tell you everything you need to know and you tell us everything."
The man quirked his head curiously and she knew they'd found his kryptonite. Knowledge. A very human trait. He was thirsty for knowledge as much as he was thirsty for blood. Thomas realised this too and he goaded the Crank further.
"Whatever you want, I'll tell."
The Crank considered the open honesty on Thomas' face with a spark of something incomprehensible lighting his eye and he waved for the Cranks to lower their weapons.
"Come with me then. You. Only you."
Thomas gave her a significant look over his shoulder and Newt pursed his lips as her brother disappeared through a dark hallway. She pretended not to understand Thomas' wordless communication and Newt followed, completely over Thomas' martyr complex.
"Better?" she asked Minho quietly and he nodded, the clench of his jaw relaxing. She sighed, turning his head gently to check the red, burnt skin on his neck, "Try not to kill anyone, Minho. Please?"
He looked at her, residual anger disappearing, "Good that."
She breathed out in relief, eyeing a particularly garish looking Crank, his leering face and bloodthirsty eyes setting her on edge. They waited in tense silence until Thomas came out again, looking weary and partially traumatised, but triumphant.
"Here's the deal!" the Crank said, clapping his hands assertively, "I like this chico, and so, I've decided to keep him and his amigos alive."
A few scattered moans of disappointment echoed but the Crank dismissed them, "Give them food. Now."
"Thanks so much, shuckface." Minho said, rolling his eyes and Adira pressed her lips down to keep a smile from breaking out and enraging the Crank further.
"And don't worry." The Crank continued, giving Minho a smirk, "We'll punish that one. Minho, is it? Can't disrespect me, can we?"
He tittered and the Cranks copied him blindly, laughing. Minho didn't react to the statement, looking bored, "And what's a Crank like you gonna do to me?"
"I'll cut your fingers off, hermano." The Crank smiled, "Payback!"
She didn't know what came over her but her voice was harsh and strong as she crossed her arms, stepping slightly in front of Minho to form a barrier, "Over my shucking dead body, you will!"
Thomas briefly closed his eyes as if he was praying for patience. He'd thought his sister wasn't as aggressive as Minho but he'd been dead wrong; they were both two peas in a pod. She was happy to play negotiator until someone threatened the people she loved.
"Oh, oh, oh!" the Crank jeered, "Brenda, this girl wants to die! Get her, so she can say Jorge slit her throat when she meets Hades!"
He was smart, she'd give him that. He'd noticed the tensing of her muscles immediately- a man who'd seen enough battles and death to recognise danger. A girl with naturally dark skin smoothly dig a knife into her throat, passing her onto Jorge who pressed the blade further, coaxing out blood. Minho looked livid.
"The rest of you!" Jorge commanded and she watched Brenda stick a knife under Minho's throat with savage satisfaction. He looked less angry, more annoyed as soon as he registered that she was fine, only irritated with their restraints. Rolling his eyes, she fought to keep her laugh concealed. Brenda narrowed her eyes and Minho winced.
"Brenda and I'll get some food for these losers and you will meet us at the Tower in an hour!" Jorge said.
"Why just you two?" a rough voice asked and Jorge's grip on her shoulders increased momentarily. Minho made another face at her, and she looked away quickly as a laugh bubbled in her throat, her gaze latching onto Thomas' disapproving one. There was nothing funny about the situation, yet she couldn't help it.
"Because, "Jorge said, rolling the word in his mouth condescendingly, "I said so."
"There's two of you and ten of 'em." The Crank argued, "You'll get killed."
"I appreciate the concern, mi amigo, I do, but we'll be fine." Jorge said, dipping his head like he was talking to a child, "Run along and we'll get you your grub."
The Crank eyed them suspiciously but shrugged, "I'm leader if you die."
"Of course." Jorge granted, smiling saccharinely, "Anything you want, Trevor. I can't deny you."
The Cranks left, slithering. Brenda scoffed, releasing Minho and pushing him away from her, wiping her knife on her sleeve.
"Try and punch Jorge one more time and you'll be bleeding out." she warned, her voice a blend of lazy, low tones and a pleasant rasp. She hadn't expected that from her but she found herself liking it and the girl herself. Minho grinned.
"Nice image there." he said sarcastically, "Real nice person, you."
Newt groaned and Thomas looked like he was five seconds away from punching a wall. Frypan waved his hands with a conciliatory look on his face.
"He don't mean a word of it." he corrected boisterously, "Don't listen to his klunk."
Brenda scrutinised Frypan for a long moment before she shrugged uncaringly, pulling her short hair behind her ear as she sheathed her knife. Jorge pushed Adira away from his grip, and she coughed as Minho guided her away from the Crank, glaring.
"Follow Brenda." he said, "And she'll give you food."
"Woah," Minho interrupted as Thomas made his way after the girl with no question, "you're just gonna follow her? Just like that?"
Thomas cocked his head to the side and she knew he was sending them a message, "I'm starving Minho. I want some food and I know you do too."
Minho picked up on Thomas' hint and he gave him a confused look, "Whatever. We'll get food and then you can watch this shuckface cut my fingers off."
"You catch on fast, muchacho."Jorge said, before Brenda was moving and the Gladers automatically followed, Thomas eyeing the girl's back with wariness.
"You think she's gonna stab us?" Minho whispered, bending to her ear. Her lips thinned into a flat line.
"Maybe. Maybe not." Best thing we've got is to figure out what my wonderful brother was saying to Jorge. He's got a plan, Minho, otherwise he wouldn't let us go down here, And if she did try and stab us, we stab her right back."
Minho nodded in agreement, "Yeah, your shuckface brother sure knows how to talk. Better than me anyway. I always lose my klunk."
Stairs appeared in front of them, spiralling downwards into an underground unit. Familiar claustrophobia lingered at the edges of her vision.
"Yeah, about that." She edged down the stairs, feeling for the walls on either side of her, "You've gotta learn to not go completely insane. And I know it's easier said than done, but it's eating at ya shank and we can't have that."
They reached a hallway and Brenda's short black hair swing behind her as she continued on in a fast pace, her knife making reappearance.
"I know." Minho said quietly, as the line slowed, "I know. I can't blow things for us."
She nodded, softening her voice, "No you can't. And we'll work on it, good that?"
"Good that." Minho replied and their conversation terminated as Brenda shoved a can of something into her hands, a sudden grin curving up her features. Adira was surprised by the girl's friendliness and she gave her a tight nod as a form of acknowledgement.
"Here, "Brenda said, extending her hand with a hair tie between her fingers. "Take it. I cut my hair a while back and it's too short to tie up. You look like you could use it."
Adira was impressed. Sure, she'd liked the girl even when she'd held a blade to Minho's throat, but her extension of friendship secured a vague form of trust between them that she couldn't help but rejoice at. This was an opportunity that she'd never been presented with before, A female friend. She loved the boys to death but she never realised just how much she craved the trust of another girl after three years of males and only males. Of course, Teresa had been a viable candidate but they'd had a murky, dangerous past with each other, one that set her on edge,. Brenda on the other hand exuded everything she admired in a person. Strength, tenacity, loyalty and trust.
Sucked that she was a Crank.
"Thanks," she said gratefully, pulling her hair into a low bun and sighing in relief at the flow of cool air around her neck and shoulders. Brenda gave her a boyish grin that vanished as suddenly as it had come.
"Eat. We'll be moving soon."
She walked away, settling comfortably next to Thomas, her gaze trained on her brother's slightly star struck one. She rolled her eyes. Thomas had seemed pretty hung up on Teresa but she guessed that her random code words and scary disappearance had just about buried any chances of happiness for the two of them. She wasn't complaining. Rather, she was more concerned by her brother's lack of prioritising. Agreed, Brenda was pretty, but also agreed, they were stuck in the middle of a desert with barely any food and water with zombies waiting for them. Love could wait until they had the Cure running through their veins.
"This is so shucking good." Minho said, half of his can gone, "I love this.
"Yeah, you'll get sick of it soon." Jorge scoffed, grimacing at his own can, "I'd rather shoot you in the head than eat another bean but I made a deal with Thomas boy there and I'm a man of my word, Crank or not."
Minho frowned, "What'd that shank talk you into?"
Jorge gave a gleeful chuckle, "We take you to wherever WICKED wants you to go and we get the cure in return."
Minho's eyebrows shot up in mild pride, "Shank's got a loose screw somewhere, but he sure makes it work."
Jorge's vague expression of amusement morphed into something she couldn't pinpoint before he looked away, pensively finishing his food. An air of discomfort surrounded him, something she couldn't associate with the Crank. In the short time she'd known him, she could tell he was big, bold, and unafraid of saying what he wanted.
"We'll pack up, then leave." Newt said, his can long discarded to the side, "Ain't got much time."
Minho nodded, releasing a yawn, "Right on that, shank."
Adira scooped the dredges of sauce from the bottom of the can, sighing as nothing showed up on her spoon. It was a sign that they had to start moving.
Getting to her feet and stretching her stiff shoulders, she gave Minho a hand up, grinning slightly as he bumped into her. Jorge snorted but her retort never rang out as a deafening boom echoed through the room. There was a brief second of silence.
The cracking of splintering wood burst through like a gunshot and then the ceiling was caving in on them and Minho was pulling her away from the hallway, a mad rush of confused sprinting following them and before she knew it, they were out and Thomas was gone.
Thomas was gone.
Her brother was, once again, separated from her.
"What the bloody hell was that?" Newt asked, frowning as he swiped his hand over his forehead. Jorge didn't look troubled, brushing off his clothes with a bravado that juxtaposed the weariness of the boys.
"Trevor got a little insecure," Jorge cackled, spitting on the floor and peering up at the sky where the big ball of fire burnt like a heating lamp.
"What about Thomas and Brenda? We can't just forget about them," Minho cut in and Newt nodded emphatically. Adira stayed silent as Jorge's face morphed into brief worry, the hollows of his cheeks deepening.
"Brenda's a smart girl," he said, as if that solved all their problems and gave them an answer.
"And?" Minho asked, his eyebrows stitching together.
"She'll look after your boy, that's what," Jorge shrugged.
"How are we meant to trust you?" she asked finally. It was a valid question. Not even an hour into their newly forged alliance and their group was split up, bombed and disorientated.
Jorge gave her a penetrating look, "One. You don't really have a choice, hermana. Two. Because we had a deal. And trust me, I know I look as crazy as the drug dealers that used to run the clubs, but I'm a man of my word. Three. Brenda's more than just capable. She knows this place better than I do. Kid's had a rough past, but it'll keep your brother safe and sound."
"Good that," she said reluctantly. It wasn't like they could run after Thomas. The entire ceiling had caved and getting through the debris alone would take days. If Jorge was being truthful about Brenda's wits, the pair would already be on the move, fighting to get to them.
The Crank himself gave her a mildly impressed look before he started walking, god knew where, his strides long and purposeful. They followed because Minho followed and Minho's actions were really the only thing they had left to attach them to the line of rationality. His confidence soothed their uneasiness but Thomas' lack of presence set them back on edge.
Jorge was rambling, something she could tell was not unusual, Crank or not. The light bore down on them and the glint of sharp metal caught her eye, a signal for something that drew her in irrationally.
"What's that?"
Jorge suddenly looked like he'd smelt vinegar as she walked over to the sign stapled across the door of a dilapidated building with several badly aligned floors. A frown was immediately borne on her forehead as she read it aloud.
"Thomas. The real top Candidate- WICKED."
"And what's that meant to bloody mean?" Newt cried, "What's Tommy's name doing out here?"
"You knew about this," she accused, jabbing a finger at Jorge whose lips had turned downwards in guilt, "but you didn't say a word."
"I didn't think there was any point in you knowing." Jorge said, "It's not like you can do anything about it. They're everywhere."
"Thomas really does know how to lie low," Minho whistled, ripping the intricate silver plaque off the door as if it would physically hurt WICKED.
"Always has, and always will," she replied grimly, "Let's go."
Jorge looked wearier as they journeyed on, avoiding Cranks the best they could, scavenging for food occasionally- always beans. It got so repetitive that Minho was back to wishing for protein bars. They'd managed to camp out for the best part of the night in a tiny alcove in a hidden part of the city, small and easy to miss. Nevertheless, they were up soon, no matter how much they wanted to curl up and fade away.
"Right," Minho finally said, the starting of sunrise were firing up in the sky as he turned around, framed with the romantic glowy orange behind him, "We should split up, look a way around. Brenda and Thomas should be 'round here somewhere."
No one argued, clumping into pairs or threes to venture out the wasteland in front of them. It felt like a sick adventure as she twisted a sharp blade she'd managed to pick up in her hand. Minho glanced at her tense shoulders, feeling a sense of apprehension move up along his spine.
"Well," he started, "what do you think our good old Thomas is up to?"
"Probably getting into trouble," she said, shooting a short smile at Minho. They'd barely talked over the past few days and she was glad he'd called an interruption from the monotonous group travel that deprived them of space to talk.
"If that's not right." Minho whistled.
"Wanna eat?" she asked, pulling out a protein bar she'd saved especially for him. It wasn't the freshest, or nicest looking considering it had been resting in her pocket for a while, but Minho's face lit up like he'd been handed treasure.
"Shucks Ad!" he said, taking the bar as if it was gold, "Thanks!"
"No problem," she replied, turning slightly to hide the wide smile that graced her features. Seeing him happy automatically put her in a better mood. She felt a tap on her shoulder and she turned to see Minho's proffering of half a protein bar.
"You have it," she said, gently pushing it away, "you've been tired. All that Leadership is taking a toll on ya."
"Ha ha," he rolled his eyes, "getting funnier and funnier as the days go on."
She didn't reply, choosing to press a soft kiss to his cheek. They stopped walking, not wanting too much distance from the other Gladers.
"You're a real shucking tease," Minho muttered, glancing down at her dirty face. Despite the grime and sand covering her skin, he'd never felt more love for her, never thought she'd been more beautiful.
"Me?" she gasped, "You're the one who almost got us killed because you kept trying to make me laugh even though there was a knife at my throat!"
"Hey," he whined in a wounded voice, "that was a coping mechanism! That girl, Brenda. She had a knife under my throat too!"
"Of course," she agreed, "but my point is, you're the one teasing death here. I'm completely innocent."
"Poetic," he laughed, a short burst of joy in the dreary, desolate street.
The sound of hurried breathing sounded behind them and she turned, knife held up, only to find Frypan's panting form struggling to keep quiet. He wasn't someone who could blend in easily with his surroundings.
"What?" Minho asked, his light heartedness disappearing so fast, she was sure she'd imagined their entire conversation.
"Thomas," Fry panted, "he's being taken inside a party place with Brenda. Had guns and knives pointed at his pretty lil face. They didn't look good either."
Minho's temper shot up. He didn't like people threatening one of his best friends. Adira laid a steady hand on his arm, already feeling his anger. She'd warned him of his rage; he knew as well as her that he wasn't going to survive if he went in guns blazing with nothing but his anger to fuel him on.
"Gather everyone," he barked instead, "we'll make a plan and get that shuckface outta there."
Frypan nodded, tearing away down the way he came, whisper shouting for the boys to assemble again, the echoes of desperation potent enough to bring them back together like a flock of birds.
"What happened?" Minho asked Frypan, who, despite the situation, looked pleased enough to tell a story.
"I was walking down, heard voices and at first, I wasn't gonna check it out- those Cranks creep me out. But then I heard Thomas' voice and I thought we'd found 'em both, only when I turned there were three people, maybe four, threatening him to head to a party."
"All Cranks? One blonde, two of 'em twins?" Jorge asked, his finger twitching by his side.
Frypan nodded.
Jorge laughed shortly.
"What?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
He squinted at her, the edges of his mouth creased with humourless mirth, "Your brother just got trapped with the Frenzies."
"The Frenzies?" she asked, sharing a frustrated look with Minho. No one appreciated the dragged out suspense.
"The Frenzies," Jorge started, "an association of Cranks that wanna get busted. Got everything there. Drugs, guns, alcohol. Name it, they got it."
"Of course," Minho muttered. Thomas' luck was astoundingly bad as usual.
"We'll get him back," she stated confidently and the Gladers nodded in agreement; none of them wanted to lose Thomas. The guy was the symbol of hope and resilience. They needed him.
Jorge laughed, a deep cackle of insanity, "I guess so, hermana, I guess so."
"The deal is still on," she said evenly and a small spark of surprise shot through Jorge's eyes.
"Of course," he said, "Now let's get your brother before those Cranks eat him alive."