tough guy ✔️ | the scorch trial minho

27

FRANKIE GAPED AT the alien sight. Every coffin seemed as frightening as the others.

It was like the great unknown she had to face when she first woke up in the Maze or when the Flattrans first transported her into the Scorch. It was something unfamiliar. Something dangerous.

It had been awhile since she faced something completely new.

She looked at Reggie, who looked as surprised as she was, then at Minho. He looked like always did every morning in the Glade —determined. Like he was convincing himself that he could do this.

The scream of metal rubbing against metal stopped. No one spoke. The wind ripped across the land, blowing dust and dirt in streams across the rounded containers.

Teresa suddenly walked over towards them.

"Hey," Thomas greeted out loud.

"So what do we do?" Minho asked. He gave Teresa an annoyed look like he didn't want her to be any part of the decision making.

Newt answered. "If those things have bloody Grievers in them, we best start getting ready to fight the shuck buggers."

"What're you guys talking about?"

Harriet, Sonya, and Reggie approached them.
Brenda stood right behind them, with Jorge by her side. It turned into one big group all of a sudden.

Harriet continued, "I'm assuming you all saw those pods back in your WICKED chamber, too. They had to be where the Grievers charged up or whatever it was they did."

"Yeah," Newt said. "Gotta be that."

In the sky above, thunder crackled and boomed, and those flashes of light grew brighter. The wind tore at everyone's clothes and hair and everything smelled wet but dusty—a strange combination.

Thomas checked on his watch. "We've only got twenty-five minutes. We're either gonna be fighting Grievers or we need to get inside those big coffins at the right time. Maybe they're the—"

A sharp hiss cut through the air from all directions. Everybody went silent and weapon-ready as the top half of the object began to move upward, opening on hinges like the lid of a coffin. It made no sound, at least not enough to be heard over the rushing wind and rumbling thunder.

Frankie could sense the Gladers and the others slowly moving closer together, forming a tighter knot. They stood back to back with their weapons out. Now that the girls were considered friends, they shared their handmade spears, bows, arrows, while the boys shared their assortments of knives.

Something bulky rested inside each vessel. Frankie couldn't make out much, but she remembered that Grievers had spiky and sharp appendages. From where she stood, though, she couldn't see anything like the them.

"Frank," Minho said, suddenly grabbing her wrist, "You good?"

Frankie understood that the question was deeper than mere 'how are you - I'm fine, thank you' question. It was more of 'I may not be here with you all along the way, is that okay?'

And yes, it was okay.

"Good."

"Good. You better be alive when I'm done," He said firmly. She wasn't the type that needed protection, anyway. Then he hollered, "Thomas!"

The wind, still wild, was drowned out by the approaching thunder and lightning now, cracking and exploding in brilliant displays above them and on the horizon. The storm was about to fully beat down its fury on them.

"What?" Thomas yelled back.

"You, me, and Newt! Let's go check it out!"

Minho was just about to move when something slipped out of one of the pods.

A misshapen arm hung over the edge, and its hand dangled a few inches above the ground. On it were four disfigured fingers—stubs of sickly beige flesh—none of them the same length. They wiggled and grasped for something that wasn't there, as if the creature inside was searching to get a grip to pull itself out. The arm was covered with wrinkles and lumps, and there was something completely strange right where what passed for an elbow was located. A perfectly rounded protrusion or growth, maybe four inches in diameter, glowing bright orange.

It looked like the thing had a lightbulb glued to its arm.

The monster continued to emerge. A leg flopped out, its foot a fleshy mass, four knobs of toes wriggling as much as its fingers. And on the knee, another one of those impossible orange spheres of light, seemingly growing right out of its skin.

"What is that thing?" Minho shouted over the noise of the surging storm.

No one answered. Because nobody knew.

The thing had somehow gained purchase enough with its right arm and leg to begin pulling the rest of its body out.

Roughly human-shaped, though at least a couple of feet taller than anyone around, its body was naked and thick, pockmarked and wrinkled. There were two dozen bulbous growths all among its body, glowing with brilliant orange light.

The monster got to its feet, swayed a bit as it balanced, then turned to face the group of humans. A quick glance around showed that each pod had delivered its creature, all of them now standing in a circle around the Gladers and Group B.

In unison, the creatures raised their arms until they pointed toward the sky. Then, all at once, thin blades shot out of the tips of their stubby fingers, out of their toes, out of their shoulders. The flashes of lightning in the sky glittered off their surface, sharp and gleaming silver.

Though there was no sign of any kind of mouth, a deathly, creepy moan emanated from their bodies. And it had to be loud to be heard over the terrible thunder.

"They're Grievers' brothers, I'm sure," Reggie said for all to hear.

Minho turned quickly and faced the crowd, "There's about one for each of us! Grab whatever you got for a weapon!"

Almost as if they'd heard the challenge, the lightbulb creatures started moving, walking forward. Their first couple of steps were lumbering, but then they recovered, growing steady and strong and agile. Coming closer with every step.

Frankie patted her gun's holster, making sure that the weapon was still there, and pulled a long knife out of some part of her pants, twirling it within her delicate fingers.

As the lighted giants stepped closer and closer, Minho and Harriet spoke to their respective groups, moving them around, positioning them.

They managed to get the groups to stand together in an almost perfect circle, facing outward.

Frankie stood next to Minho, eyes glued to the WICKED's latest brute, now only thirty feet away.