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...
SEEING IT TRIGGERED the unpleasant memory of Grievers cutting her to near death, and Frankie couldn't help but wonder if these creatures would be as brutal. If so, then she could die here. Anyone could.
She knew there was no time left for her to prepare in case she die (again, but this time for real), so she turned her head to face Minho.
She reached out her hand towards him.
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Minho noticed that, and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion at first.
Then he reached out his hand, too, and their fingers met right in the middle of the gap between them.
It was a touch of reassurance, that everything would be alright. That even if everything wouldn't, they would be alright.
The creatures were twenty-five feet away now.
Minho released her hand and pointed towards the monster in front of him, marking it as his. Frankie nodded and claimed the one beside it.
"Now!" He yelled, a bare and distant bark because of the storm's sounds. "Charge them!"
〰️
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"HOW'S THE WEATHER down there, Nick?"
Someone hollered down the Box hole, followed by chuckles of several Gladers.
He had descended for some time now, half of the rope's total length had disappeared into the total darkness of whatever laid within the contraption's machinery.
Nick hollered back, his voice echoing upwards, "Cold! Do you got any more flashlight up there?"
"Haven't you got shucking plenty?" Gally yelled as he gripped onto the edge of the entrance.
