WITH A PROMPT move, Reggie discarded the used needle and snaked his arms around Newt. A blink later, Newt was laying limply on Reggie's back.
Frankie knew that they couldn't waste anymore time in here. She scrambled over to take Newt's abandoned Launcher and shot it to a Crank —one who had Thomas pinned underneath him.
The Crank fell screaming to the ground, writhing, and Frankie said threateningly, "Let us go, or else."
She motioned for Reggie to go, and he did, with Newt securely carried. When she saw that every one of her friends was up on their feet, she stepped back slowly with her finger still placed readily on the trigger. Then she turned around and broke into a run, as fast as a girl in an orthosis could.
There was no sign of the guards who'd escorted them there, but there were even more Cranks than when they'd entered the bowling alley. And most of them seemed to be waiting for the newcomers. Frankie tried her best to keep up with her friends and ignore the intensifying jeers around.
Thomas ran as he held Brenda's hand, whipping his head back every once in a while. Jorge, Reggie, and Newt were far in front of them.
And Newt.
The plan of 'talk to him nicely, get him out, then tell him about the cure' had gone down the drain, but they had Newt now.
Good job, Reg.
Minho had his hand on the small of her back, pushing her forward slightly. Frankie still had the Launcher in her hands.
It was probably the only thing that kept those Cranks from murdering them right now.
"Behind you!" Thomas called out suddenly, frantic, "Minho! Frankie, behind you!"
Frankie looked over her shoulder and saw a cluster of Gone Cranks chasing them. At least a dozen. Between them were their two guards, now without the safety of their Launchers.
"Run!" Stan yelled, "Run!"
"Don't stop!" Not-Stan added. The two of them suddenly peeled off in another direction.
"Shuck," Frankie cussed, pushing her log-like foot forward. She kept her eyes glued to her destinations, now visible: the gate, then straight to the Berg.
Logically speaking, she knew she was slowing them down. Especially Minho, but she knew he would kill her if she so much as suggested for him to go on without her. She would, if their position was reversed.
So she halted, turned around, and jogged backwards as she emptied the Launcher's ammunition. Some of their pursuers were hit, blocking the way and slowing the group down.
When it was empty, she threw the Launcher carelessly onto the ground. With less weight to carry, she could limp faster.
"They can't catch us," Minho said, not only for her but for all to hear, "Keep going, we're almost there!"
Now that she had her hands free, Minho intertwined his fingers with her once more and pulled her along.
Everything passed by like a quick blur.
Jorge immediately dived to the pilot seat and closed the ramp, exactly when Frankie and Minho stepped in. They hurled themselves inside and slid next to Reggie, who was heaving short breaths with still-dazed Newt laying beside him.
Frankie smiled. Newt.
The Berg rose into the air just as the door sealed shut.
〰️
JORGE HOVERED THE ship just a few dozen feet in the air while they gathered their wits. The Cranks who chased after them were no threat from the ground. None of them had weapons, anyway.
"Is he—" Frankie gasped in a deep breath, "Is he okay?"
"I injected his thigh," Reggie said, looking at Brenda, "Was that a bad move? Because in movies, they just randomly inject his thigh and that's it. Was that a bad move, huh?"
"Well—"
"Tell me, I'm a big guy. I can take it."
Brenda scratched her head, "I guess we just have to wait it out and see. We don't even know how the enzyme works, anyway."
"Oh, shit. Did I kill him? Is he dead now?" Reggie hovered over Newt's limp figure. Brenda rolled her eyes at him, "No, he's not. Let's just carry him to a bed."
With Thomas' help, they carried him and disappeared behind the wall that led to the sleeping quarter.
"I'm not close to that shank, but I'm glad you brought him along," Minho said to Frankie, "Too bad he was in the girls' Maze."
Frankie kept quiet. She had told Thomas about the four boys' relationship in the past, but it was actually Reggie's secret to tell, not hers.
She wasn't 100% sure that his move was driven by his personal attachment to Newt, anyway.
Whatever it was, Minho was right. She was glad.
"We're really spent, muchachos," Jorge said, walking in, "Maybe we should take a couple of days and rest. Think it all through. Wait for Newt to recover."
Minho nodded, "Yeah. I can't think of anything right now."
"There's only one place to start," Thomas replied. He came out of the bedroom with Brenda. "Where we were going before all Newt's hell broke loose. Gally's."
"I second that," Minho grunted.
"You think the Right Arm will let me in?"
"Obviously," Minho said as-a-matter-of-factly, "Gally even asked for you."
Frankie nodded, "Good that."
She reached for the nearest thing to support her as she tried to stand up. That happened to be Minho's shoulder. He looked at her with a frown and held onto her wrist to help steady her. "Hey, where are you going?"
"...I'm hungry."
"Me, too! Come on, France," Brenda walked over, "Let's make something to eat."
〰️
NEWT WOKE UP and found himself staring at the Berg's ceiling.
"Bloody hell," he muttered, taking a deep breath, "There's no getting through those shanks' thick skulls."
He remembered feeling very, very angry, a Launcher in hand, a hug, and then a painful prick on his leg.
It was Reggie, wasn't it?
The Frankie of Group B. Except for the fact that their personalities were completely opposite of each other.
He was all loyal and reserved for Frankie, Jorge, and Brenda at the Scorch. After that, they only conversed infrequently or if necessary. So it was safe to say that he didn't really know the kid well.
At all, maybe.
...But, why wasn't he irritated at that?
He felt different, somehow.
Like... Like the fact that he no longer felt claustrophobic of being locked in this Berg. He wasn't impelled to throw some chairs around or bang his head against the wall, just so Minho and his other friends could get the point that he wanted to be left behind. He didn't have the urge to continuously scratch this disgusting scab in his stomach that he had been hiding under his shirt for quite a while—
Newt lifted his shirt and saw that the wound was cleaned.
A click noticed him that someone had opened the door and entered the room.
"Hey," the intruder called out. It was Thomas.
The boy closed the door behind him and stood up awkwardly.
"Why did you take me here, Tommy?"
Even Newt himself was surprised of his soothing tone.
"We tried to tell you. The shank who deactivated my implant gave us two vials, said it might be... the cure."
Newt blinked, totally loss at words.
"It's some kind of an enzyme from my blood and Minho's. It's not guaranteed, but best scenario is you're Immune now. Worst scenario, it gives you another month of sanity. Maybe more. And— and there are two vials, so at least two months."
"That injection," Newt faltered, "Was that one?"
Thomas nodded, "How are you feeling? How did it feel? You slept for eighteen hours straight."
"I feel... better, actually," Newt admitted.
"I get your point, man. I wouldn't want you and Minho to watch me decay slowly. But while there's still hope, we won't let you go. You're our friend. I don't fancy losing another good one," Thomas took a step forward, "You better stick around for another few weeks and we'll see how it rolls along the way. Good that?"
Newt didn't know how to feel or react about that. He sent Thomas a grin, "Good that."
"Take a shower, shank. You stink," Thomas chuckled, "Brenda's making breakfast. We'll wait for you. And, by the way..."
Thomas pulled a familiar looking envelope out of his pocket.
Newt recognized it. How could he not? It was a note that he had written in a rush, back in WICKED's weapon rooms, witnessed by a dozen gagged guards. He wrote it so quickly that he used the closest stationary he found —one of the guards' ballpoint pen, and the closest plain surface as writing pad —the glass windowed wall.
By the look of Thomas' face, Newt knew that he had read it. The top of the envelope was torn and the paper was terribly crinkled.
Thomas put them into Newt's palm.
"Get rid of that before Minho or Frankie sees. If you really want to make a will, make a better one."
Newt took out the slip of paper and read what he had written.
Kill me. If you've ever been my friend,
kill me.
He tore the paper to pieces and shoved it into his pocket.