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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JORGE WAS THE first to return, carrying two plastic bags of stolen snacks.
Less than five minutes later, Stephen and Joey returned with empty hands. Then, slowly but surely, the spies began to return with no Thomas and no Brenda in tow. Only Aris' group brought a few cans of food and Minho's, just incoming, brought a few blunt knives recovered from an abandoned shed.
Frankie noticed that Minho seemed a bit ticked off and deep in tought.
"Hey, Minho!" Jacob jogged over, "Did you see the writings on the walls?"
Of course.
Of course he was confused on what to feel about those signs all over the city: Thomas, you're the real leader.
(Newt and him had come up with a thousand possible explanations on their way back, but nothing seemed to tame his enraged emotion.)
"Yeah. Apparently our real leader is gone," he said as-a-matter-of-factly.
"You good, man?" Jacob raised his eyebrows and fold his arms together.
"Of course! He can be God for all I care —I just want to get the shuck out of this hell."
Nobody noticed. Nobody, but Frankie (and Newt, because he was there in person when they read the painted walls), noticed how heavy his shoulders moved when he shrugged. How disappointed he was, deep down, for being ripped off the title that made him felt entitled to make decisions.
Shuck, he had been a shucking leader all his life. At least, all his life that he remembered. Now the Greenie was taking his place?
No wonder Jorge seemed eager to make a deal with Thomas and urged Minho to get into the city.
"Yeah!" Jacob chuckled as he walked away.
Reggie and Doug came in, surprisingly, much later than anyone's expectation.
The former groaned once they stepped their feet on the marble flooring of their current hideout, "This crazy stick can't even stay quiet properly! And he's so slow, I would've arrived old if I didn't drag him along."
"So nobody saw Brenda? or Tommy boy?" Jorge raised his eyebrows in inquiry.
Nobody said anything.
He sighed, "Alright. Let's feast, then rest up. We'll walk again when the sun set. Is this everyone?"
Right at that moment, Frypan and Marc appeared into view like two blurry dots over the horizon.
It took them nearly ten minutes to reach the base camp —sweaty, dirty, and panting heavily.
Jorge pushed his way towards the front of the group, to where Minho had been standing in wait for his two comrades' return. "Elaborate."
"Hey," Reggie cut in, "Let them sit."
As much as he knew that Marc and Frypan needed the rest, Jorge didn't really appreciate the delay.
He barked at the crowd to move towards the center of the room and ordered for them to sit down. Most of the boys did, except for the two leaders —Jorge and Minho.
Frankie filled two bottles with the everflowing water and threw it at them.
"Thanks, Frankie," Frypan said. He downed the water with a few big gulps, eager to satisfy the thirst of his parching throat.
"Okay. Timing is important in rescue mission," Jorge tapped his foot impatiently, "They might be dead waiting for you to rest. Elaborate, now."
"Um. We went North, and there's this city. Full of shucking Cranks, though not totally gone, you know? There are, like, houses and markets and— and we saw Thomas ran out of a building then right up into the crowd."
"Where's the girl?" Jorge interjected, "Brenda. Was she—"
"With him, yes," Frypan answered, "She was running after him. Judging from the sound, we guessed it was a party. Right, Marc?"
Marc nodded, "Yeah. We managed to follow them up some stairs, with this wooden door. We couldn't hear what they were saying, since the music was crazy loud. There was some arguing with a girl Crank and they— they pulled out guns and knives. Planted the nozzle right on their backs and forced them inside!"
Frantic conversations erupted almost immediately. Minho felt annoyed by their panicky behavior and had a sarcastic retort ready on the tip of his tongue. But then he remembered.
Thomas is the real leader now. Not me.
"Shut the hell up!" Jorge yelled. And thus, Minho felt grateful that he didn't need to ponder whether he should do something to soothe the situation or not. "Being a freaking chicken won't help getting them back. Let's devise a plan to save them. You— Frying Pan, tell me about the building."
"Minho."
Minho felt a hand landed on his right shoulder and gripped it tightly. It was Newt, looking at him with wide, concerned eyes, and he hated it. He hated how vulnerable he felt right now.
"Slim it, Newt."
"You good, man?"
"Just slim it," Minho said as he shrugged Newt's hand off his shoulder, "We gotta save our shucking leader."
