Antidote | A3

c h a p t e r . e l e v e n

The plaque in front of me was breaking my brain.

"Ah," Jorge started, wandering over to us. "Yes, those."

That snapped me out of my trance. I whipped around to face him. "What? You know about this?"

"They're all over the city. All say the exact same thing. Ever since we found out what your friend's name was... Well. Sure influenced my decision to help you guys out."

I was dumbfounded. The plaque looked old, like it had been there almost as long as the building itself.

"It's just another Variable," Leo said, impossibly unfazed. "No different than Minho's tattoo."

I supposed he was right. It wouldn't do us any good to dwell on it, either. Although I did wonder how Thomas would react when he happened across one. If he and Brenda made it out of the Underneath.

"Yeah," Newt said evenly. "We need to keep going."

So that's what we did. The longer we stood here hanging around by this plaque in a big huddle, the more Cranks we were inviting to approach. I shook off my astonishment and willed myself to get moving.

We headed through the city, keeping tight behind Jorge, my eyes flicking over every nook and cranny between the buildings for signs of movement. I'd fallen near the back of the group next to Leo, who'd taken it upon himself to round up the rear again.

I was scanning an alleyway to my left when I heard a high-pitched, manic shriek, and the sound of bodies hitting the floor.

Ahead of me, Frypan was on the ground, pinned under a barely human looking creature, howling as it clawed maniacally at Frypan's head. The Glader had his arms up, blocking his face, unable to reach the knife tucked in his belt.

The Crank was rail-thin, bones protruding from awkward angles under discoloured flesh. Only for the fact that he was shirtless could I tell that it was a man - or used to be one, anyway. He looked almost alien. Almost bald save for a few wild chunks of filthy dark hair, and angry oozing wounds stretching across huge areas of uncovered, leathery skin.

Frypan was yelling for help, grunting with the effort of holding the Crank back from his face. The Crank's arms were flailing wildly, hitting, scratching and punching at Frypan's forearms.

In a flash Minho was by them, roaring as he charged the Crank. Minho caught him with his shoulder, sending him flying off of Frypan. The Crank rolled in the dirt once, before springing to his feet with the agility of someone much healthier than he looked. Leo and I gripped our knives.

The Crank howled again and began to charge straight back at Minho, who braced himself, brandishing his blade. As the Crank flung himself forwards, Minho thrust his knife at lightning speed, plunging it into the Crank's chest. He choked up a gargled cough, instantly spraying Minho's face with blood. Minho shoved him backwards, freeing the knife, and we all watched with bated breath as it looked like the Crank was about to topple over.

He managed one more lunge back at Minho, who jabbed at the Crank again. Minho's arm was moving like a jackhammer, stabbing the Crank over and over and over until his body finally went limp, and he slumped over in the dirt.

For a second, no-one moved. The whole thing had happened so fast, there wasn't even a chance for anyone else to jump in. I glanced at Newt nearby me, who hadn't even drawn his knife. He was stood there with his arms folded, staring at a panting Minho.

"Told you he needed a weapon," he quipped dryly to Jorge beside him.

Jorge began to slow clap, sauntering towards Minho. "Nice work," he crowed.