The Wounded Healer

Chapter 15: Face Off

Evelyn and Jorge stood rooted to the spot, staring daggers at each other.

"Please give me a minute," Thomas pleaded. "Won't do you people any good to ... hurt us."

"Won't do us any good?" the Crank said; he spit a wad of red goo from his mouth. "It'll do me a lot of good. That, I can guarantee, hermano." He balled both hands into fists at his sides.

Then he cocked his head, barely enough to be noticed. But as soon as he did, the Cranks behind him pulled all kinds of nasty things from within the hidden depths of their ragged clothes. Knives. Rusted machetes. Black spikes that had maybe once been in a railroad somewhere. Shards of glass with red-tinged smudges on their razor-thin tips. One girl, who couldn't have been more than thirteen years old, held a splintered shovel, its metal scoop ending in a jagged edge like the teeth of a saw.

Evelyn knew deep down she wouldn't be able to fight all of them, and she knew only a few Gladers carried some kind of weapon, but if she had to, she'd go down fighting. Evelyn growled. Her breath was coming in icy puffs now, despite how hot it was already inside the building. The ground where she was standing had frost on it. She saw, one or two of the cranks shift nervously.

"Listen," Thomas said, slowly walking up beside Evelyn. He glanced at her, meeting her eyes he mad a small gesture to lower the axe. Evelyn blinked a few times, frowning. Thomas's eyes shifter ever so slightly over her shoulder, and gave them a dip of his chin. He then turned towards Jorge.

"There's something about us. We're not just random shanks who showed up on your doorstep. We're valuable. Alive, not dead."

The anger on Jorge's face lessened ever so slightly. Maybe a spark of curiosity. But what he said was "What's a shank?"

Evelyn felt a hand on her bicep. She turned her head and came face to face with big melted chocolate brown eyes, which were wide with fear.

"Evelyn, Sweetheart..please..." Newt quietly begged, "take a deep breath it's all right."

Evelyn blinked a few more times, clamping her eyes shut and she shook her head violently.

"Newt! Make it stop!" She whispered, "the voices are back! Make it stop!" She dropped the hatchet with a clang onto the ground.

She sunk to her knees, holding her hand, Newt held her and sank down with her. He reached out and slid the hatchet away. Teresa bent down and picked it up. Newt held her firmly pressed to his chest and rocked her gently, whispering quietly into her ear while Thomas pleaded for their lives.

"...me and you. Ten minutes. Alone. That's all I ask. Bring all the weapons you need." Thomas offered.

Jorge laughed at that, more of a wet snort than anything. "Sorry to burst your bubble, kid, but I don't think I'll need any."

Jorge paused. He watched the girl on the ground huddled in the arms of someone obviously dear to her.

Evelyn had her face pressed into Newt's chest, breathing hard still, but her hands weren't frosty, her eyes were back to their regular bright green. She shivered, and her hands looked like they had frost bite still, but she had lost the angry Crank rage. She held onto Newt's shirt tightly, trying not to whimper.

Jorge's eyes snapped to Thomas.

"Ten minutes," the Crank finally said. "Rest of you stay here, watch these punks. If I give the word, let the death games begin."

He held a hand out, gesturing to a dark hallway that led from the room on the side across from the broken doors.

"Ten minutes," he repeated, "oh. And She comes with." He pointed to Evelyn.