Just like the Griever's Hole, the dead men hung by hooks, the Rat Man, the Cranks and the brick walls, Minho had hopes that Frankie's death was just another illusion. As much as he tried to distance himself from disappointment, this was one thing he...
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THE SUN WAS always too harsh and too bright in Scorch.
Frankie had learned about it the hard way: ditched with only one friend and two scratchy sheets over their thin sets of clothes.
Usually, even when there was a layer of half-tinted window by her mattress' side, she could feel the stinging sensation of its ray against her unprotected skin.
Now, however, a troop of thick, dark cloud had gathered in the sky, barricading the barren Earth from its solar star. She kept her eyes glued on the curious view. It would be the first time she saw what rain actually was in person.
The Glade never rained.
She missed its clear blue sky and fresh green grass, contrasting them deeply with her current home's red dust and orange sky.
She couldn't believe she was mentally admitting this, but she missed its people and couldn't help but wonder where they all were every time she tried to sleep. Newt's grin, Alby's grunt, Chuck's cheeks, Nick's glasses, Winston's snort, Clint's hair —again, those details were what she longed for the most. She missed Minho.
Minho.
They promised to never leave each other behind.
Minho, she thought. If only she had a telekinetic power and she could project her thoughts into his, tell him what she wished to say, ask him where he was at the moment so she could run into his arms.
No. No, he betrayed me.
Then she fell asleep.
〰️
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FRANKIE JOLTED AWAKE when the endless string of thundering sounds began to resonate throughout the compound.
Another blinding lightning struck and touched the dry ground, followed by a deafening crack, and she jolted in her bed again.
Suddenly, the door to her hideout swung open with a louder bang.
Reflexively, Frankie reached for a knife hidden under her pillow and pointed it straight towards the intruder.
"Don't think you wanna do that, WICKED girl."
It was one of the many Cranks who roamed this place.
Jorge, the self-proclaimed leader, had given her and Reggie a brief history lesson about the Flare, the Gone, the Past-Gone, the Scorch and W.I.C.K.E.D. when they first got here. Clueless, hungry, desperate and sunburnt —she chose to stay so she could simply survive.
She regretted joining this population from the moment she was assigned to this dusty godown. And then again when she had to join the guard duty.
It was ironic that those who were the least Gone had to give in under the Cranks' orders.
Frankie kept telling herself that she looked fine. She thought fine. She felt fine. But she wondered when she would turn into a hideous, bonkers being like the one standing before her right now. Half of his face was red, raw and rotten, including the balding part of his greyish hair.
The crank stumbled in with his one and a half working legs.
"Intruder alert," the Crank grinned, "Might mmm wanna see this."
Frankie sighed, lowering her arm, "I don't want to witness another execution, Karl. Thanks."
"Mmm! Not one, but many, many boys. And it's not a request, Frances, it's an order mmm. From Jorge."
He snarled at her before leaving the room with a cackle.
Frankie sighed. She tucked the knife in her hand into her right shoe and made sure that the other weapons she had hidden in other parts of her body and clothes were still in tact. She made sure to keep her original clothing style of plain t-shirt, baggy pants, and running shoes. Right now, the absence of running vest was replaced by a worn-out leather jacket in the color of black.
"Frances?"
Reggie's voice welcomed her as she jogged into the barren hallway.
"Jorge is talking to one of them right now. Did you hear? They're from WICKED."
"WICKED?" Frankie frowned.
Could it be?
Unknowingly, her steps quickened along with her heartbeat as they crossed over creaky floors and wooden beams. She stayed on the farthest, Northest, Eastest point of this rundown camp with Reggie's room on her right. Any commotion usually happened in the spacious hall on the ground floor, since unfortunate people always stumbled into it, thinking it was empty.
"Yes. I heard they're boys. It's possible that they're from your Maze."
"I doubt that," Frankie muttered, "Remember what happened last time."
Last time, the intruders were girls.
Reggie had literally zoomed through the compound wishing they were his buddies from his old home —oh, yeah, he came from another experiment where the Maze was filled with all girls and one boy. Only to find out that they were Half-Gone cranks who came from a demolished camp a few hundred miles away. Jorge had them killed on the spot because they had dug into the inventories without consent.
"Yeah, yeah, ice queen," Reggie smirked, "There's nothing wrong with having hopes, especially on a gloomy day. What's up with the weather tonight, anyway?"
They ducked under a pole and slid down the handrail. From there they could see shadows of people gathered like a conference in the hall.
"Don't know," Frankie shrugged.
Reggie was the first to enter the hidden shadows of the hall's corner. Frankie followed and stood on her tip toes.
As much as she missed them, she dreaded the time they would eventually meet. She strained her eyes to catch a glimpse of the strangers in the dimly lit vicinity.
Then she saw them. At last.
Kneeling on the floor with hands tied behind their backs. Some looked confused and some looked scared. Different types of weapons were pointed at them from every direction.
She almost fell forward due to her legs giving away. Almost, if she didn't catch herself back on guard.
Because she saw him.
Panting, sweating, dirty and sick, but still Minho.
