We All Have Scars

4

How is cutting off Minho's fingers going to make the others happy? Maybe Jorge was pretending, just to  show them he's boss. That's a possibility, right? 

But then Jorge looked at each of the 'chosen few' as some of the other Cranks started to hoot and holler, and there was something there, in his eyes. He was just pretending, thankfully. 

Minho, on the other hand, was a different story. He'd stood up as soon as Jorge had pronounced his punishment, and would've charged if Brenda hadn't stepped right up to him and placed her blade under his chin. It drew a drop of blood, bright red in the daylight pouring through the busted doors. He couldn't even talk without risking serous bodily harm. I knew Brenda wouldn't let anything happen, she was too smart. Unless of course Minho charged again. 

"Here's the plan," Jorge said calmly. "Brenda, Isobel and I will escort these moochers to the stash, let 'em eat up. Then we'll all meet on the Tower, let's say one hour from now." He looked at his watch. "Make that noon on the dot. We'll bring up lunch for the rest of you."

"Why just you three?" Barkley asked. "What if they jump you? There's eleven of them to three of you."

Jorge squinted - a scoffing look. "Thanks for the maths lesson, Barkley. Next time I forget how many toes I have, I'll be sure and spend some time counting with you. For now, shut your flappin' lips and lead everyone to the Tower. If these punks try anything, Brenda will slash Mr Minho to tiny bits while Isobel and I beat the living hell out the rest of 'em. They can barely stand they're so weak. Now get!"

Barkley was old but tough, veined muscles stretching the sleeves of his shirt. He held a nasty dagger in one hand and a big hammer in the other. "Fine," he said after a long stare-down with Jorge. "But if they do jump you and slit your throat, we'll get along just fine without ya."

"Thanks for the kind words, hermano. Now get, or we'll have double the fun on the Tower."

Barkley laughed as if to salvage some dignity, then started off down the same hallway we used before. He waved his arm in a "follow me" gesture and soon every last Crank was shuffling after him except, of course, Jorge, Brenda - who still had her knife at Minho's throat- and I. 

Once the majority of the group left the room, Jorge shared an almost relieved look; then he subtly shook his head, as if the others might still be able to hear them. 

Movement from Brenda grabbed my attention. I looked to see her drop the knife away from Minho and step back, absently wiping the small trace of blood there on her pants. "I really would've killed you, ya know," she said in a slightly scratchy voice. Almost husky. "Charge Jorge again and I'll sever an artery." I guess you could say Brenda was protective of Jorge, he was kind of like a Dad to us, but more so her. I still don't trust him completely. 

Minho wiped at his small wound with a thumb, then looked at the bright red smear. "That's one sharp knife. Makes me like you more."

I tried to sustain a chuckle as Newt and another glader simultaneously groaned. 

"Looks like I'm not the only Crank standing here," Brenda responded. 

"You're even more gone than us." I finished. 

"None of us are crazy yet," Jorge added, walking over to stand next to us. "But it won't be long. Come on. We need to get over to the stash and put some food in you people. You all look like a bunch of starved zombies."

Minho didn't seem to like the idea. "You think I'm just gonna waltz over to have a sit-down with you psychos, then let you cut my freaking fingers off?"

"Just shut up for once," Thomas snapped, trying to communicate something different with his eyes, I think. "Let's go eat. I don't care what happens to your beautiful hands after that."