monachopsis - maze runner

chapter 26

Chapter 26
Five Minutes of Peace

The trek to the inner city took a little less than a day, and the kids spent that day in a haze of worry and fatigue. Florence had gnawed her lip to the point of bleeding. She’d taken to coiling the loose strap of Gally’s leather cuff around her finger until she cut off her blood flow just to have something else to focus on. The minimal food Jorge had managed to escape with was near expiration but it was all they had, so they’d taken shelter in an abandoned parking lot to eat.

After an awful night’s sleep in the back of a rusted old tow truck, Florence awoke to Jorge kicking a sheet of metal. “Up, get up!” Groggily, the kids tumbled from their chosen vehicles and trailed after him like a flock after their shepherd. The gentle rumblings of civilization rose as they neared the inhabited section of the city, and the kids drew closer together on instinct. Jorge undoubtedly knew where he was going, so they let him guide them while they took in the dilapidated scenery.

The buildings were in the same state of disrepair as the last city they’d seen, although some sad attempts had been made to make them livable. Half-broken strands of lights were strung from building to building. Shredded sheets and curtains flapped in the warm breeze like ghosts, outlining darkened doorways. Only one of these sheets wasn’t for decor, a long red strip of fabric painted with ZONE A in thick white letters. A WCKD mark.

Jorge’s steps quickened as they neared a squat white building, the least destroyed and most crowded of the ones in the square. Drunken civilians swayed around tables and on balconies, babbling nonsensically while they clutched dirty glasses. Florence watched Jorge’s fingers flex at his sides, curling into fists as he strode towards a man just outside the main entrance. Jorge had been internalizing his fears far better than the rest of them, but she could tell the separation from Brenda was taking its toll. He cared about her, that much was clear, but the exact nature of their relationship remained a mystery. She just knew it was based on survival - Florence and the Gladers could understand that better than most.

“Marcus!” Jorge was on the warpath now. The blonde man in the doorway flicked a hand in the air in what was probably intended to be a wave, but looked more like swatting a fly. He stumbled back as Jorge got closer, fiddling with the many jeweled rings that adorned his hands. Three gold chains dangled from his neck, disappearing down the open collar of his shirt. The purple velvet jacket he wore over this, Florence decided, was one of the ugliest pieces of clothing she’d ever seen.

“Hellooo,” Marcus drew out the greeting; Florence could smell the alcohol on his breath even from a distance. “Welcome to the party.”

“We need to talk,” Jorge demanded. He towered a good few inches over Marcus, though the other man seen unperturbed by this.

“And what is in regards to? I’m a very busy man.” 

Jorge’s fist flew out and nailed Marcus square in the face, sending his head snapping back. Jorge drew him in by the collar before he could fall and sneered “I’ve got a list, so clear your schedule.” A few partygoers had been alerted by the commotion, and a small crowd was gathering around them. The kids clumped together behind Jorge’s back, staring down anyone who came within more than a few feet. “First, is she here?”

“Excuse me for a moment.” Marcus tilted his head to the side and spat on the ground, spraying Jorge’s shoes with blood. “Is who here?”

“Brenda,” Jorge hissed. “Where is she?”

“Can’t say I recognize the name…”

“Punch him again,” Florence suggested. “Maybe it’ll jog his memory.”