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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FRANKIE LEFT MINHO to make some snarky remarks at Teresa and Aris —especially Aris and his bloody t-shirt, and found her Scorch squad talking together at the very back.
Scorch squad as in Reggie, Jorge, and Brenda.
Reggie was the first to speak when she arrived, "Can you believe them, France? They actually want to stick around and beg WICKED to give us the freaking cure."
Frankie frowned, "I don't think—"
"Exactly!" Reggie exclaimed, "We are here, banished, for a reason! We should go! We don't have a business here anymore! They're here, safe, at the safe haven."
"Which is a stick," Brenda crossed her arms, "I think something's coming. One last battle."
"We've gone this far, muchacho. Might as well ask for something to save our fried brains, right?" Jorge shrugged.
"Not from WICKED, I won't."
"Frances?"
Frankie pursed her lips together, "I'm with Reggie, whatever he'll choose."
"Fine! Then stay for your freaking friends, keep them safe until WICKED comes to swoop them all off their feet. Jorge and I will go with them. If you want to stay on the ground and return to the compound that you have annihilated or the city where you're well known as traitors, do as you wish."
Brenda grabbed Jorge's arm and pulled him along as she stomped away, clearly frustrated.
"Even if we choose to stay, my friends won't let me and nor will yours," Frankie pointed out to Reggie, now that they were left alone.
"I know," Reggie sighed, "Just... I really hate going back to them."
"Me, too."
"I guess we don't have a choice. Brenda was right. It's either dying of heat, starvation, Crank killers, or WICKED. We have crazy odds of surviving."
"I don't mind not surviving, at this point," Frankie admitted, sighing.
"Me, too."
"I just want to send them off safely."
"Yeah. Me, too."
Reggie sat down on the sand, looking away from the other Maze survivors. Those who weren't extracted forcefully from the experiment.
Frankie sat down next to him, supported her elbows on both knees, crossed her arms, and laid her chin on top of the intersection. "How are you? Your head?"
"Fine," Reggie scratched the top of his head, "It was very painful, like being stabbed by millions of needles, before I moved without my control. Was yours like that, too?"
