THE NEXT TIME I saw Frankie, she was carried on Stephen's back.
Something's wrong, I thought immediately. But my head knew that we had no second to lose that my heart didn't even have time to skip a beat. My feet kept moving, my mouth kept yelling for my friends to hurry, and my eyes remained glued to our final destination. The Berg's thrusters had ignited and it started to lift off the ground.
I forced myself to run faster and fell into pace with Reggie, who was clearly keeping an eye on Newt, Stephen, and her.
When we finally reached the Berg, Reggie was the first to climb in. Then Newt, then me.
"Take her!" Stephen yelled over the loud whirrs of machinery.
I circled my hands around her left armpit, Reggie her right, and we pulled her up. I don't remember much since my mind was literally all over the place, but there was a quick blur of blood, red raw skin, and blackened tissues when she slid onto the metallic floor safely.
Reggie said something to me, but all I could think of was she was safe, and there were still a few others who weren't yet. Like Stephen.
Then Jacob.
Brenda.
Frypan.
Doug, Marc, and Dean were left dismantled on the ground, either by the Monster or the lightning strike. Ten Gladers left. Shuck.
Even after everyone alive was securely on board, the hatch didn't close. I stayed by the wide opening and watched their bodies getting smaller and smaller as the Berg flew higher, silently praying and paying my respect, until they were completely out of view. Then I turned around.
Frankie was the first figure I saw, sitting against the wall motionlessly.
"What happened?" I asked (in a demanding tone, though that wasn't my intention), crouching in front of her. Now that she had my full attention, dude, it was so shucking terrifying. Every inch of her exposed skin was either scratched, burnt, or covered in dirt.
Well, I'm sure I wasn't squeaky clean either, but man. The others looked a hundred times better.
"Lightning," she replied curtly.
I frowned, "I was struck by lightning, too. It wasn't this bad for me."
"It's fine."
"It's so not fine," Stephen, who was sitting beside her, retorted between his heavy breaths.
"Okay, it's not," she winced.
"What's next on the bloody agenda?" Newt spoke up.
"Just thought you'd like to eat something, maybe take a shower. Sleep." The W.I.C.K.E.D. guy (David) started to walk around the crowd of Gladers and girls. I felt a little tug on my hand and saw that Frankie was intertwining her fingers with mine, so I held hers back.
At first, I thought David was looking straight at me when he continued, "Maybe some medical attention. It's a very long flight, after all."
But it was Frankie. I mean, it had to be.
The Berg's door moved upwards as one of W.I.C.K.E.D.'s pawns holstered his Launcher and pulled out blankets after blankets from a hidden door. I was about to stand up and help Marie distributing them when something banged lightly against my left shoulder.
"Frankie?"
She didn't reply.
"Steve," I called out, not daring to move, "Is she asleep?"
"Yeah, I think so," Stephen replied, "Just lay back, Minho. I'll help Marie."
"Thanks, dude."
I threw my share of blanket over my legs and Stephen helped tucking Frankie into hers, then I fell asleep.
〰️
I WOKE UP probably hours later with a sore neck and a sore shoulder. Everyone was either asleep, like Thomas and Newt, or engaged in silent whispers, including Reggie and Marie. The Berg's floor felt terribly cold compared to weeks of being roasted under the Scorch's sun, so I tried tucking my feet further into my blanket. But doing that was pretty hard with a person leaning on me.
"Frank?" I called with my eyes half-asleep, "Move. Your head's heavy."
I lost my focus to fatigue for a few seconds there.
"Frank?"
When she remained completely still, my focus returned. I turned my head left, but all I could see was the crown of her hair. "Frankie?"
"Hey, Frank—" Her head literally rolled off my shoulder and I instinctively exclaimed her name, catching her limp body with my arms, "FRANKIE!"
The thought of her dying (for the second time) flew past my brain in a split second and I hurriedly laid her head on my lap, hoping to get a full view of her face.
Frankie's fingertips were dangerously cold. Her eyes were closed shut and her head kept on rolling towards the pull of gravity.
"Shuck... Frankie? Hey, Frank, can you open your eyes?"
She didn't respond when I cupped her cheeks and patted them as I called her name repeatedly. My alarming tone and apparently loud voice captured a lot of attention, waking up a few unfortunate ones, too.
"What happened?"
"Minho?"
"What is it?"
"Frankie?"
"What's wrong?"
Clint, still having that Keeper of Med-Jack instinct, crawled over and put two fingers over her wrist. Then he placed a finger under her nose and his palm on her forehead. Curtly, he said, "Well... She's alive."
I spiralled further into my panic mode when I saw that he looked incredibly troubled.
"But?" I urged.
"She's burning up. Not a good sign."
"Hey!" I shouted at the guard nearby, "Can't you do something?! That David guy said medical attention!"
"We have doctors ready the second we touch down."
"And that will be in...?"
"A few hours," the guard answered as if it was the most boring statement of the year. I seriously wanted to wipe his nonchalant expression off with a punch.
Hot ran all over my body along with fear. I didn't feel cold anymore, so I tucked her blanket as well as mine under her chin while profusely hoping that she could hold out for a few hours. No, she had to. She could. She would. (And she did)
"Steve, what exactly happened back then?" Newt asked in concern.
"Remember the first lightning that killed off the Monsters?"
"Yeah," I replied.
"Frankie was way too close to it. She got thrown back. I carried her into one of the pods, and after that, she couldn't move her right arm or leg. I don't know, guys, everything happened so shucking fast," Stephen sighed, "Two steps forward and she was probably roasted meat. Like— like Marc."
Then she twitched.
"Frances?" Reggie called out hopefully to no avail.
"There's nothing we can do to help, other than letting her rest," Marie said, "Give her some space. Minho, would you like my blanket, too?"
"No, he can use mine," Reggie interjected, throwing his at me, "Here."
"Thanks, man."
Frankie remained unconscious throughout the flight. I stroke her head from time to time, letting her know that I was there. Every small movement she made sent a jolt of fear and heightened anxiety through my heart, but nothing in particular happened.
She didn't wake up when we arrived, nor when she was wheeled off by a bunch of doctors down the other hallway.
Again, I don't remember much —I never remember much when too many emotions was surging within me. I remember resisting too much when she was peeled away forcefully from my arms and the string of curse words I threw at those shuckfaces in white lab coat. Next thing I know, Newt had both of his hands on my shoulders and he spat to my face, "Stop it, Minho. Frankie needs help, and we can't do anything."
"But—"
"No buts. We'll meet her again, alive and soon," Newt sighed. That didn't really help. "We gotta have hope, man."
Yes, I did cry in fear when I first saw a Griever. I was fourteen.
But do you actually think that what scared me most were the Grievers that killed Alby? Or the Scorch's Monsters that killed Doug, or the deadly lightnings that killed Marc, and the head-eating balls that killed Winston?
No.
I was horrified of the people who actually invented them.
I was outraged by the fact that there was actually a batch of my own species who thought killing children and turning children into killers are good ideas. They manipulated and exploited everything, including everyone, to achieve their personal goal, hiding behind the fake mask that it was 'for the good of the world' and 'it had to be done in order to save human race'.
Those people, they're the real monsters.
And I was horrified by the fact that I let Frankie slipped away from my fingertips once more, right into the arms of those monsters.
— end of PART IV —