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...
He ran forward to catch Thomas as he fell back. The bullet left a gaping, bloodied hole right above his armpit.
Minho was the second to move.
He ran and rammed himself against the shooter, a blonde Crank, before he could take anyone else. The gun went off once more, but Minho managed to push the Crank's arm so it hit something a few hundred meters away. Then he beat the living crap out of him.
Frankie was the third, and Clint.
She took off her jacket then threw it at Newt, who caught it midair skillfully.
"He shot me," Thomas croaked.
"Yeah, but you're gonna be okay, Tommy," Newt said hurriedly.
"Press onto it, Newt," Clint instructed, "That should slow the bleeding down. Here."
He took over and pressed onto the wound as hard as he could.
Dean and Marc ran over to Minho and tried to stop him from killing the guy. The Crank was already passed out, bloodied on the ground.
"Minho— Calm down, man!"
That caught his attention, like he was broken out of a trance. He kicked onto the Crank one last time before he turned around to assess the situation.
Everyone was crowding around Thomas.
"I can get that sucker out of him," Jorge announced, "But I'll need a fire."
"We can't do this here," Newt stated with a deep etched frown.
"Let's get out of this shuck city," Minho grumbled. He ran his fingers through his hair twice, clearly frustrated with the whole situation.
"All right. Reg, carry him."
Reggie slipped his arm under Thomas' armpits and tried his best to lift him. The younger boy screamed painfully.
"Okay, I need help, people!" Reggie grunted.
Minho took Thomas' feet. Stephen and Marc, with their good built due to their former Runner experience, helped carry Thomas' waist.
"On the count of three. One— two— three!"
And the four lifted his body over their shoulders. Thomas jerked in pain, but he fell back into unconsciousness almost immediately.
"Come on," Newt said to Frankie, who had been watching the ordeal in silence, "Let's go."
〰️
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THEY FOUND A hut a few miles out of the city —a distance Jorge deemed as 'safe enough'. Especially after they barely managed to escape an angry mob. Cranks didn't appreciate being held captive, apparently.
Brenda had started a fire, and Jorge was prepping himself for the operation.
She knew this operation. God, she did.
Thomas had fainted from the blood loss and pain. He was laid under the shade, over someone's scarf. He was topless now, and everyone could see the nasty wound the bullet had made on his left shoulder.
"You better hold his arms and legs," Brenda said hoarsely.
"Yeah," Jorge lifted the knife he had repeatedly wash, dry, and burnt over the fire. Its tip was glowing red. This way, he said, the knife was sterilized, as sterile as it could be in the middle of the desert. "This is gonna hurt somethin' awful."
Thomas screamed when the searing knife made contact with his wound. He thrashed around, almost conquering the eight boys who were caging his limbs down.
The fact that the bullet went deep and Jorge needed at least a minute to dig it out wasn't exactly helping. Then he needed to cauterize the wound, wrap it, et cetera, et cetera.
Newt, struggling to keep Thomas' foot still, saw Frankie running somewhere from the corner of his eyes. He glanced left and let his grip loosened for a second. Unfortunately, a second was enough for Thomas to scream once more and kick him right on the shin.
"Ouch! Newt, you good?" Clint winced.
"Yeah," Newt hurriedly captured the rogue foot and planted it securely on the ground once more.
Then he met eyes with Reggie. The latter seemed to witness what he had seen earlier as well.
Reggie looked at him like he was calculating, judging him with extra scrutiny. Could he be trusted?
It felt like minutes had passed before he gave Newt a small nod and a small jerk of the head. A message.
Go after her.
"Uh— Hey, Joe!" Newt called out, not tearing his eyes off the other Maze's boy. "Can you take over for a minute?"
Joey ran over, "Yeah. Sure."
Newt cast a look at Minho and saw that he was too lost in Thomas' world, too scared of losing another one of his best friends. So he turned around and left.
He found Frankie on the other side of the hut. She was sitting, alone, staring at the barren wasteland and the extremely polutted sky before them. There was no sign of electricity around, but the flickering light from the fire could be seen even from back here, giving them the much needed illumination.
She was hugging her stomach.
"Frankie?"
Frankie glanced at him then turned to face the scenery once more.
Newt figured she didn't want to be bothered. And from his experience, she would never talk unless she wanted to talk herself.
"I'll leave you to yourself, then."
"Newt."
Her call was so soft, he almost mistook it as the wind.
But when he turned around, she was looking at him expectantly. Then she patted the ground next to her, gesturing for him to sit.
This was it, wasn't it?
Thomas shriek rang through the air once more, and she flinched, and he could hear someone saying, "Gag his mouth or something! Do you have a spare cloth?"
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