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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IT TOOK A few hours before the truck shook violently one last time and there was nothing but eerie silence before the blinding light greeted his eyes again.
Minho covered his eyes with his arm and he had to blink five or six times in order to adjust his sight.
"Aha!" Jorge exclaimed. Despite looking old and being called 'old', he managed to land on both feet as he jumped out of the tall trailer. "Ahaha!"
One by one, the Gladers and Aris filed out along. Minho stumbled out last. He was sure he could landed masculinely like Jorge did, but his feet sunk into the sand and he almost fell.
This part of the Scorch was more barren than ever. There was literally nothing in sight except for sand, sand, sand, sun, and bright blue sky.
"What the klunk?" Minho blurted out, "Where's the city? Where you said Thomas is headed? Are you trying to kill us in the middle of nowhere?"
"We have to dump our tracks, slinthead," Frankie said, "Now we're going on foot."
She began to turn around.
"Frank," Minho called. He groped into his rucksack and pulled out a bottle of water. With one swift motion, the half-filled bottle was thrown into her grip.
"You should clean up your wounds."
Frankie glanced down onto the drink and laid an undechiperable look at it. Then she threw it back to him. "You should stay hydrated."
Minho grinned, "Is Frankie the Great concerned about me?"
"Eat your klunk, shuckface."
That made him blossomed even more, "You first, slinthead."
Frankie turn around and stomped towards Reggie, who was lounging at the back, keeping an eye on the sandy haired boy who was busy conversing with Doug. The two seemed like they were in the same age.
"You good?"
"Oh, yeah," Reggie hummed, "That guy's strange, that one."
"Who? Doug?"
"Is he the one with the yellow scarf?"
Frankie looked at him, "Yes."
"No. The other guy. The one who claimed that he came from my Maze —Aris."
"Why?"
"He knows things," Reggie paused with a deep etched frown, "I think."
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Guess it's just me and my conspirator head," Reggie grunted as he raised his arms to stretch.
"Alright, boys and girl!" Jorge bellowed, "If you want to survive in the Scorch, you have to follow my every word. If I tell you to run, run. If I tell you to play dead, you play dead. If I tell you to act crazy, act crazy. Is that clear?"
Incomprehensible murmurs filled the air for a moment. Jorge didn't know if that was a 'yes' or a 'no', but that was good enough for him.
"Good. We're walking North, then."
"Everyone, put your sheets above your head and cover your nose," Minho instructed with a louder voice, "Walk two by two, make sure you shuckfaces don't stray. Good that?"
The Gladers answered clearly with a chorus of "Good that," much to Jorge's dismay.
Frankie also did what Minho had told the other Gladers to do; covering her head with her rag-like cloth. She threw one end of it over her opposite shoulder, letting her mouth and nose be covered by the rough fabric.
"Stephen, take the lead. Newt and I'll stay—"
"I'm taking the lead, hermano," Jorge cut in with a what-do-you-think-you're-doing look, "Frances and Reggie are gonna keep an eye for you all from the very back. Now, move."
"I hate this," Frankie heard Minho said to Newt, "I'm the leader. Now I'm supposed to just follow that old shank like a lost shucking puppy?"
There was a small pause before he continued, "Frankie won't even talk to me. The most genuine thing she said was 'eat your klunk'. This is borderline frustrating, man. Shuck, shuck all this."
She looked away at once, knowing that he and Newt would be glancing her way when his sentences ended.
〰️
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THE LONG, QUIET walk brought back horrifying memories of her first few days being set loose in the Scorch.
With the weird-nosed doctor's voice echoing inside her head, she remembered how she went through the cold, grey matter which they called the Flat Trans, and opened her eyes to find an impoverished wilderness that reflected the glow of the night moon. Nothing but sand, sand, and cold winds that sent pain into her bones everytime they swept by.
A cloth —this cloth, draped around her head, a backpack filled with only a bottle of water and a few strips of beef jerky, and a companion from another maze named Reggie. Those were all WICKED gave her to survive.
Perhaps they didn't even want them to survive. They just wanted them gone.
"I'm Reggie," the boy took off his knitted beanie and put it securely on her head, "Though apparently it's not even my real name. I never share my clothes with anyone before, so take this as a compliment. Use it to cover your ears. It'll keep you warm."
The Flat Trans disappeared, and they were left alone.
"What's your name?"
"Frank—" but when she said her own name, the memories of all her friends calling her on different occassions reverberated in her own head, so she detoured, "Frances."
"Heard you came from a Maze?"
"Yes."
"Me, too. There are a bunch of girls, though. I'm the only boy."
"I'm the only girl."
"Really?"
Reggie's enthusiastic question was answered with silence.
"Not much of a talker, are you? It's fine. I'll talk for the two of us. Besides, I need to keep myself sane," he chuckled, "Isn't it ironic? That weird nosed guy said we're not even sane anymore."
