tough guy ✔️ | the scorch trial minho

19

IT STARTED AS a faint call.

"Frankie..."

Her name, whispered, then it got louder, louder, louder, up into a reverbrating shout.

"Frankie!"

Frankie's eyes snapped open and all her senses returned in one painful blow.

One, hearing.

Her name, shouted repeatedly.

Two, smell.

It was of air, grass, morning dew, soil, and a thick hint of the boys' lily scented soap.

Three, touch.

Something was hurting her wrists and her feet were only half planted on the ground.

Four, taste.

Blood. Maybe she accidently bit the inside of her mouth, or her tongue. Why, though?

Five, sight.

It all came as blurry at first. But like a camera lens being adjusted and focused, the image sharpened. She could see all of their poker faces and judging eyes staring back at hers.

Why—

Frankie wriggled in her spot and realized that her hands were bound together. She knew this position. She had been standing on their side a few times already.

"What—"

"Frankie of the Runners," Alby announced, cutting her words short. "You've been sentenced to Banishment. The Keepers have spoken, and their word ain't changing. And you ain't coming back. Ever."

Frankie didn't quite know how to compute what information her senses were sending to her brain.

"Keepers, take your place on the Banishing Pole!"

Hearing that, she finally jerked on her spot and started to call for help. "Why are you doing this? Guys?"

They seemed indifferent, like they didn't hear any of her fervent plead.

"Minho? Newt? Alby!"

She was pushed. Her feet shuffled backwards, one, by one, by one.

"Newt! Alby! Zart!"

Her left foot stepped backwards onto the sacred line between the safety of the Glade and the horror of the Maze.

"Minho! Guys, please!"

She frantically whipped her head around, afraid of what might lay behind her.

"Please, please! Gally! Clint!"

The Doors began to move with a thundering rumble. What time was it? She didn't have her watch on.