Yay for minor characters? I think yes.
3. Siggy
The moment Frypan had sat down on the bottom bunk next to Clint, his headache had disappeared.
He had nearly yelped out in joy. The damn migraine had been bugging him since he got his Swipe removed, and he had been just about ready to write WICKED a formal complaint for being downright jerks. Train your damn medics, right?
But Frypan's joy had dissipated in an instant. With the disappearance of the headache came an unexpected, foreign feeling of clarity. Clarity. It was something he had yearned for in the Maze, and he finally had it.
Seeing the big picture for the first time in his life had not been comforting, though, and his first thought had been that Thomas and Minho were right. That he should have never backed out of keeping the Swipe.
He finally understood Alby.
The second thought on his mind had been a memory.
He is four years old when they come for him.
The sun flares were the worst for him and his mom. Living in Florida meant that they were close to the place people now called the Scorch, and it was the place most affected by the sun flares.
Somehow, though, he and his mom survived. They moved northwest until they hit the Rockies. Met some other survivors. Got welcomed into a camp.
Everything was fine until the darts rained down on them.
Since that day, he and his mom were on the run. They are now close to what used to be the American-Canadian border. Probably somewhere in Montana.
He misses Florida, the sun, the humidity, the beach, the warm ocean. What was the point in them surviving the flares and the brain disease if they can't turn back time to when things were right?
They are resting in an old, dilapidated barn. It did not have any food or supplies, probably ransacked long before they got there, but that means it is safe. And it provides shelter.
It is early morning when they hear the wooshing and whirring. The mechanical sounds haunt him and constrict his chest. He knows it's a Berg, and so does his mom. She soundlessly and hurriedly wraps up their belongings and picks him up in her arms, then races for a trapdoor under a bale of hay. She opens it, urges him inside, and she follows.
Then, there is darkness. The Berg noises stop, and are replaced by footsteps and creaking floorboards.
"Here! Trapdoor!"
His mom curses under her breath and squeezes him tightly to her. He sees tears in her eyes, and hears a soft sob escape her throat.
"Let's run, mom," he whispers.
"We can't, hon," she whispers back. "Just pray, sweetheart. Pray."
His prayers are left unanswered. The trapdoor flies open, men and women in green jumpsuits come into their hiding spot with weapons in their hands. They tear him from his mom, ignoring her shrieks, his cries, and when they steal him away into the Berg, all they can do is make crude jokes.
"The kid is so attached to his mommy, huh?"
"Not for long."
"I bet he's his generation's Sigmund Freud, the big crybaby."
"Let's call him that. Siggy. How's that sound, Siggy?"
Now, it was morning. That was what the clock in their room said. Clint had taken the top bunk. Jackson - the poor Crank - was sleeping in the bed across from him, and the bed above him was empty.
That was all. They were six. From fifty-something, they were six. And two were going to drop like flies any day now.
"You awake, Frypan?" Clint called out quietly.
Frypan sat up and said, "Yeah. Didn't get a very restful sleep."
"Me too. Too much to think about."
"I don't want to think anymore."
"Me too, man. Get a load of WICKED, right? Damn shanks."
Frypan chuckled softly. He heard the bed above him creak and saw a pair of feet land on the floor. Clint sat down next to him on the bottom bed.
"You know how they said that our memories were supposed to make us see sense and want to help them?" Clint asked quietly.
Frypan nodded in reply.
"Well, it sure doesn't feel that way."
"Yeah. I know. Shucking bastards."
"What are we going to do about it?" Clint asked.
"What can we do, man?" Frypan replied. "Jackson is living a death sentence, Teresa and Aris and the rest of the girls are WICKED's number one fans... man. What a bunch of klunk."
"Hey, remember when - "
Clint's interjection got cut off by a loud bang on the door. Another bang. Another. A dent appeared around the knob. Finally, with one more loud bang, the door flew open to reveal the last people the two boys expected to see.
Teresa. Aris. Sonya. Harriet. Some more girls behind them.
"Let's make a run for it, you damn sticks."
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Sneak peek of the next chapter:
"Harriet," Sonya started calmly, "there are over two hundred people milling around a random place. If anyone can stay levelheaded for long enough to get everyone organized, it's you. After that, you can decide if you want to stay in charge or not."
Harriet glared back at Sonya. She hated when her former co-leader just made so much sense.
She had always made a lot of sense, when Harriet thought about it.