THE RUSTED FIRE ESCAPE GROANED its last complaint as Madylin dropped to the ground, her knees nearly buckling. For a moment, the world felt steady again, not swaying or threatening to plummet from under her feet. She could almost laugh, except her hands were shaking and the chill in her chest wouldn't go away.
Brenda collapsed onto the grit-covered pavement, shrugging her backpack off her shoulders with a wet-sounding thud. Thomas stood a little further down the alley, watching the area with the same look he'd worn in the Maze—like every shadow hid a Griever (or in this case a Crank) waiting to lunge. Madylin looked around, her vision slowly adjusting to the bright light that filtered down. The alley was a canyon of grime and discarded memories. Rotting crates leaned against walls, overflowing with unidentifiable rubbish.
"Anyone else feel like we just survived a tornado?" Brenda wheezed.
Madylin didn't answer. Her body buzzed with leftover adrenaline, every nerve raw and overclocked. She checked the sky, waiting for the next disaster to drop out of it, then looked back down the alley, making sure nothing had followed them down.
"Hey," Thomas jerked his head. He glanced between Madylin and Brenda, "You hear that?"
Madylin paused, straining her ears. There was a noise out there—a far-off rumble, maybe a crowd or another chopper, it was hard to tell.
"I hear something," she agreed, "but it could be anything." She moved to edge forward, but then Brenda grunted. When Madylin turned, Brenda was rolling up her jeans, hands working slowly and deliberately.
Then Madylin saw it. A dark, ugly bite mark, an angry purple and red crescent moons above her calf. It looked fresh. Her breath caught. A cold dread seeped into her bones.
Thomas...
Thomas's gaze followed hers. His eyes dulled before meeting with hers. A flicker of profound sadness, a knowing acknowledgment, passed between them.
"Shit," Madylin breathed. She came over, crouched next to Brenda. "Why didn't you say anything?"
Brenda didn't look up. "Because there's nothing to say," she said, voice steady. "It was during the fall."
For a few seconds, all three just looked at the bite. The city's noises faded out, replaced by the pounding in Madylin's ears.
Madylin stared at the wound. She'd seen Crank bites before—when Winston's stomach turned veiny, when his fever had spiked. This was the same. She shivered, remembering what happened after.
