ACT II   SCENE XXXVII
ALCMENE

   AFTER THE last of the Cranks were put down, Minho bent down and wiped the blood off his knife. The street had gone eerily quiet, the only sounds now the rasp of shallow breaths and the wind kicking dust across the pavement. Around him, the others stood frozen in place, shoulders heaving, faces splattered with grime and gore.

Cassandra remained still for a moment, her chest rising and falling as she stared at the last body twitching on the ground before it stilled. Her grip on her knife didn't loosen. Minho glanced over at her, then down at the crimson stain he was smearing across the hem of his shirt.

"That all of 'em?" he asked.

She nodded slowly, finally lowering her blade. "For now," she muttered, though her eyes stayed locked on the horizon, half-expecting another monster to come crawling out of the shadows.

Jorge gave her a long, assessing look, like he was weighing her worth on some internal scale. His eyes lingered on the bloodied knife still clutched in her hand and the way she stood with her shoulders squared. She was still panting heavily, but her breaths were steady.

"You've got some moves, hermana," he said finally, a grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. "Didn't think you had that kind of fight in you. Pretty damn impressive."

Cassandra didn't answer right away. She was still catching her breath, wiping the blade against her thigh. Her side throbbed where the Crank had slammed into her, but she straightened anyway.

"Thanks," she muttered. "But I'd rather not do that again anytime soon."

Minho glanced her way with a teasing lilt in his voice. "Show-off. I'm into it."

Before she could roll her eyes, Frypan's voice cut in from behind. "Where are we anyway?"

The group gradually began to gather around Jorge as he took the lead again, pacing back toward the centre of the street. "Zone B," Jorge replied, glancing around at the crumbling structures. "This is where they burn the bodies."

"Sounds perfect," Newt said, grimacing as he wiped sweat from his brow. "Lovely little holiday spot."

"Where we just came from was Zone A," Jorge went on, already starting down the cracked road. "This part's somewhere in the middle of the city. Everything worth anything's already been stripped clean. And that's good for us—"

"How is that good for us?" Minho asked sharply.

"Good because it'll be less likely we'll run into any Cranks through the buildings," Jorge said, chuckling under his breath. "Those not yet past Gone, anyway."

Cassandra kept pace beside him, scanning the ruined buildings and alleys. "So where are we headed?"

"To Zone C, other side of the city," Jorge answered. "You're headin' for the mountains, right? I'll get you there. To the safe haven."

"Wait." Newt squinted at him. "How the bloody hell do you know that?"

"Your friend Thomas told me everything," Jorge replied without pause.

"Always said that boy had the biggest mouth I've ever known," Cassandra muttered, rubbing at her side with a wince.

"What about Thomas and Brenda?" Frypan piped up, anxiety creeping back into his voice. "We lost 'em back there. Are they gonna be okay?"

"They're tough kids," Jorge said confidently. "And Brenda knows her way around this city better than anyone. We'll try to circle back, but if we can't, I trust her to meet us outside."

With no other option, they started down the road again, turning left toward the north. The streets narrowed as the city thickened around them, buildings leaning overhead like skeletal arms shielding them from the worst of the sun. Cassandra couldn't see the mountains yet, but Jorge's direction seemed sure, and that was enough for now.

Then the smell hit them.

It rolled in like a wave: rancid, thick, and clinging. The unmistakable stench of rot and scorched flesh. The moment they stepped onto the main road, all the Gladers recoiled at once.

"Oh my god," Aris gagged, covering his face with both hands.

"Bloody hell," Newt coughed, pulling his shirt over his nose. "What in the shuck is that?"

Jorge didn't flinch. "Welcome to Zone B."

A plume of dark grey smoke curled into the sky further down the road. Cackles echoed in the distance, followed by the sharp shatter of breaking glass. Streaks of dried blood clung to the cracked cement, and in the backs of rusted trucks, bodies were piled in grotesque heaps. Most of the buildings had been gutted or broken into, their innards spilt out into the street in complete disarray.

Cassandra's stomach clenched at the sheer ruin of it all. She scrunched up her face in disgust, one hand briefly brushing her nose. The fetor was suffocating—foul and ever-present—clinging to their clothes, their hair, sinking into their lungs. Every branching alleyway revealed more of the same: smouldering pyres, burnt shadows of what used to be people.

They pressed forward for nearly an hour, trudging silently down the middle of the ruined street. The city around them had gone silent again, but it held a thick heaviness. Then Jorge raised a hand and motioned toward a narrow dead end between two collapsed storefronts.

A few scattered questions rose behind him—along with one dry, sarcastic comment—before Jorge sharply shushed them with a glance. He stopped in front of a battered metal door and grabbed the handle, trying to yank it open. It didn't budge. He muttered a quiet curse and gave it another pull.

"What's wrong?" Newt asked, stepping closer.

"I think it's locked from the inside," Jorge grunted. "But cutting through here would save us at least two hours. Circling the whole damn block's not an option unless you're real eager for another Crank parade."

Minho stepped forward and slammed his shoulder against the door. The lock groaned under the pressure, shifting slightly but not enough to give. He backed up with a wince, rubbing his shoulder and muttering under his breath. Cassandra scanned the wall opposite the door and pointed to a narrow window set high above. It looked just big enough for someone to crawl through.

"There," she said. "Help me up."

Minho followed her gaze, frowning. "Cassie, are you sure? What if there are more Cranks inside? I'm not letting you go in alone."

She tilted her head up to squint at the glass, brushing her hair out of her face. "Then follow me," she said simply, with a shrug.

Minho cracked a half-smile and turned back toward the others. "Arch, Fry—get over here, give us a boost!"

He went up first since he was taller and had more leverage, and managed to wrench the window open with a loud creak. It stuck halfway, and he had to shove it harder with his forearm. Cassandra watched as he wriggled his way through the tight space, legs disappearing over the ledge. A second later, there was a hollow thump from inside—maybe a wooden box—then Minho's face popped back out, his arm waving her up.

Cassandra stepped onto Archie's shoulders, Frypan steadying her legs as she balanced against the rough brick. She gritted her teeth and hoisted herself toward the opening.

"Hold on." Newt came over and handed her back the flashlight. "The both of you better not be smackin' lips in there and forget all about us."

"Oh my God, Newt," she said, eyes wide as the boys burst out laughing behind her. "Really?"

Minho's muffled snort came from inside. "No promises."

She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched. Minho reached down and caught her arm, pulling her up and through the window with ease.

The air inside hit her like a wall. It was stale and damp, heavy with the stench of mold. Dim light from the window spilled across the floor, casting long shadows over the wooden crates stacked beneath the sill. She had guessed correctly earlier. Their boots thudded softly on the floorboards as they landed, and the faint echo made the place feel larger than it looked.

They clicked on their flashlights in sync, sweeping the beams across the room. The light stopped abruptly on a shape slumped in the corner.

Cassandra sucked in a breath.

A rotting corpse sat there, half-melted into the wall behind it. Blood had dried in a wide spray along the plaster, the gun that had done the job still nestled in its hand. Her eyes went straight to the weapon. She darted forward, yanked it from the lifeless fingers, and gave it a quick check before slipping it into her belt.

Minho raised an eyebrow, amused. "You look way too pleased about this."

She smirked in return, and they moved on, creeping toward the door together. Its rusted hinges gave a prolonged, metallic screech as Minho eased it open. They winced in unison and waited, listening. Nothing.

They slipped out into what looked like a reception area. A narrow corridor stretched beyond it, its walls streaked with water stains and cracked paint. Minho's light landed on a shape behind the counter. He stepped closer and grimaced.

"Whoa... look at that," he muttered. "She clawed her own eyes out."

Cassandra didn't hesitate. "Yeah, nope. I'm out."

She turned on her heel, already heading down the hall as Minho chuckled behind her. "Are you scared of creepy dead people?" he called after her.

"Sure, let me go back and compliment the interior design while I'm at it."

Minho just grinned at her remark. The crunch of broken glass answered her as he caught up, their footsteps echoing together through the empty corridor. The busted ceiling lights hung above them like mangled chandeliers, and the hallway stretched into a series of doors on either side. Most of them hung half open, and they checked each one, blades and lights ready, just in case.

A creak echoed as one of the ceiling lights sagged lower behind them. They pressed on down the corridor until it opened into a larger room that looked like it had once been a storage area. Rows of metal shelves stretched out before them, but all had been picked clean long ago.

At the far end, they found the back door. Minho knocked sharply.

"You guys still there?" he called.

"About bloody time," Newt answered from the other side. "You were smackin', weren't you?"

"Geez, Newt, were you spying on us?" Cassandra shook her head in disbelief.

"I shucking knew it," the blonde sighed, clearly unimpressed.

The lock was old and stubborn, but Cassandra's knife slipped into the mechanism, and with a precise twist, it snapped open. Just then, another creak sounded overhead. Minho shone his flashlight up, just as the door and a section of the ceiling gave way simultaneously with a loud crash.

Something heavy landed on top of Cassandra, and she found herself staring into a wild, deranged face. A sharp cry escaped her lips as she flailed.

"Get your hands off my Cassie!" Minho yelled angrily and kicked the Crank off of her. He then crouched down and stabbed it in the chest.

"Oh, not this again!" Frypan groaned from the doorway.

"They must've been chased in here by some other group," Jorge grunted, swinging his metal bar hard against another attacker's head. "C'mon, let's finish this quick and get the hell out."

Cassandra lunged forward at a third Crank, knocking him to the ground. Without hesitation, she slit his throat and rolled away just as a woman charged toward her. Minho stepped up quickly, grabbing the woman's arm and swinging her over his shoulder with brute strength before slamming her to the floor. He dispatched her swiftly, and the others finished off the remaining Cranks.

Jorge wasted no time. He darted across the room to another door and kicked it open with a loud crash.

"Come on, hurry!" he called, waving them over. They sprinted down the narrow corridor.

They spilt out of the building through a side entrance, greeted by the harsh glare of the evening sun. Cassandra squinted, shielding her eyes as she scanned the street for any sign of more Cranks.

"Alright," Jorge said, turning to face them. He climbed onto a pile of rubble for a better vantage point. "There's a hideout nearby where we can lay low for the night and refuel."

He dropped back down and led the way toward an alley across the street. Minho exchanged a glance with the others, eyebrows raised, before following Jorge. This part of the neighborhood felt quieter, less chaotic than where they'd been earlier. They slipped through another building before Jorge halted at the edge of a crumbled ruin.

With a grunt, he kicked away some rubble and pushed aside a heavy slab of rock, revealing a dark opening beneath.

"Welcome to my humble abode." Jorge grinned at them before dropping down onto his knees and crawling through the narrow hole. "Make sure the last of you put that slab back in place."

Minho went after him, followed by Cassandra. The others crawled in carefully behind her, with Newt being the last to roll the heavy rock back into position.

Ahead, a faint glow flickered, and the scent of a smouldering fire greeted Cassandra as she emerged at the end of the short tunnel. 

Inside, the room was small but surprisingly cosy. A threadbare carpet covered most of the dusty floor, while a battered bed was shoved into one corner. A couple of sunken, worn sofas leaned against the walls. Neatly stacked crates and boxes filled the rest of the space, evidence of careful scavenging and organisation.

"You... live here?" Cassandra asked, her voice tinged with hesitation.

"Found it while scavenging around," Jorge replied with a shrug.

Cassandra frowned and took another look around. A small generator hummed quietly in one corner, and nearby stood a tall refrigerator.

Frypan wandered over, pulled open the fridge door, and let out an excited shout. "Holy shuck, is that ice cream?"

"Whoa, are you serious?" A few of the Gladers gathered around the fridge, eyes wide as they stared at the packets of ice cream in disbelief.

"Help yourselves, muchachos." Jorge waved a hand dismissively, busy rummaging through some nearby boxes.

Laughter and hoots of delight broke out as Frypan started handing out the ice cream. Cassandra poured herself a cup of water from a large bottle on the table and wandered around the room, inspecting the stacks of boxes while the others helped themselves to whatever food they could find.

She stopped in front of a box stuffed with crumpled brown packaging paper. Something caught her eye at the bottom. Slowly, she cleared the mess away and uncovered a black box. A chill ran down her spine and a burning knot tightened in her stomach. She turned sharply, eyes narrowing.

"So... how long have you been out in the Scorch?" she asked carefully, voice low but steady.

Jorge glanced up distractedly, lifting a crate and dropping it with a heavy thud. "A few weeks."

Without warning, Cassandra drew her knife and stepped forward, pressing the blade against his neck. He tensed, eyes flicking to her with wary caution. The others froze, watching silently, tension thick in the air.

"A few weeks?" she repeated, her voice sharper now. "And neither of you have succumbed to the Flare yet? We've been fighting off Cranks for ages, but I haven't seen you look anywhere near infected. You're as calm and sane as the rest of us."

"I guess it hasn't hit me yet." Jorge's lip curled into a small scowl.

"Cut the crap!" Cassandra snapped, voice sharp. "I knew there was something off about you. They sent you here, didn't they? What's your purpose?!"

"Cass, what are you talking about?" Newt's voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, as if he already suspected the truth.

"The Flare doesn't take weeks to kick in," she said, voice steady and cold. "It takes hold of the brain almost instantly. At best, you've got a couple of weeks before the symptoms start. Then it's a downward spiral into complete insanity. You saw the others—they're nothing but animals. It shuts off your humanity."

"Cassie, what makes you so sure he's one of them?" Minho asked, his brow furrowed.

"The box over there." She pointed toward the corner. "There's a radio inside."

Footsteps shuffled across the room. A scraping sound followed as Minho pulled the radio out.

"WICKED..." he muttered under his breath.

Suddenly, the room erupted into questions, the Gladers pressing Jorge from every side.

"Okay, everyone shut up!" Minho barked, raising a hand. "You better start explaining yourself right now, shuckface."

Jorge sighed, exasperated, and raised his hands in surrender. "You're cleverer than I give you credit for, hermana. Fine. We were sent here to guide both groups through the Scorch," he began. "To make sure the elements or the Cranks don't kill you."

"Half of us are already dead," Newt said sharply. "What are you talking about?"

"They don't need all of you," Jorge replied quietly. "Just enough."

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Cassandra's eyes narrowed in anger. WICKED was always playing them like pawns.

"What exactly are they planning to do with us?" Frypan asked, voice low.

"I don't know, man." Jorge shrugged. "I'm not part of their research team. I'm just a pilot. I do what I'm told, that's all I know, I swear."

"You said both groups," Aris pressed. "Where's Group B now?"

"They've already made it out of the city," Jorge answered. "We took the tunnels, but your group is supposed to cross the surface through the city."

Cassandra slowly lowered her arm, bitterness settling over her features. Every moment spent with these people, every uneasy alliance forged, was just another piece in WICKED's relentless game. It was an endless cycle of manipulation and control. No matter how far they ran, no matter how many battles they fought, the puppet strings of WICKED would always pull at their lives, dragging them deeper into a web of lies.

"We still need to find Tommy," Newt said quietly. "But he could be anywhere."

"Don't worry, hermano," Jorge said, pulling a handheld device from the box he'd been rifling through. "WICKED's been tracking all of us. I didn't expect him or Brenda to get separated. That's why I had to bring you here—to track them down."

"How exactly are they keeping tabs on us?" Minho asked.

Jorge shrugged again. "The chips in your brains, I guess."

"So we find them, get out of the city, and then what?" Frypan asked, wary.

"We follow the plan," Jorge said. "We bring you to the safe haven."

"And the cure? We'll get it, right?" Archie raised an eyebrow. "They promised us a cure."

"If that's what they said." Jorge shrugged. "For now, let's just focus on the present. Get your friend back. Capiche? Go eat, rest, whatever. We set out again in the morning."

"We don't exactly have time to rest," Minho said, frowning. "They gave us a deadline to reach the shuck Mountains."

"Trust me, you don't want to be out in the city at night." Jorge's expression grew serious. "Cranks will be crawling everywhere."

"I wouldn't mind some proper rest," Frypan said, and a few others murmured their agreement.

"Okay, fine," Minho rolled his eyes. "Do whatever you want."

"Cass... are you okay?" Newt's voice softened, concern creeping in. "Your nose is bleeding."

"Huh?" She touched her upper lip, then looked down to see blood smudged on her fingers.

Minho turned toward her, worry in his eyes. "Cassie?"

Around her, the world began to unravel. Memories of the day bled into one another. Faces, sounds, and moments blurring together in a chaotic swirl. Colours and shapes melted like wet paint running down a canvas. No matter how fiercely she fought to hold onto the fragments of memory, they dissolved into the encroaching darkness. She grasped desperately for clarity.

But the black abyss swallowed her whole.

Vote and comment for ice cream! They deserve a treat.