ACT II   SCENE XXXIX
PHRIXUS

   THEY WAITED nearly an hour before the bass finally cut off, no longer rattling the walls of the alley across from them. Jorge sprang to the window, his movements sharp with anticipation. He adjusted the strap of his bag, the buckle clinking softly, then reached down to unsheathe the sword at his belt. The blade caught the dim light, gleaming for a moment in his grip.

Chairs scraped back as everyone stood. Cassandra checked the pistol at her hip, fingers brushing over the cool metal to make sure it was secure. Then she reached for her katana, drawing it in one smooth motion—the blade sliding free with a low, satisfying rasp that echoed faintly in the quiet room. Around her, the Gladers moved with silent purpose, each one tightening their grip on their chosen weapon. The air had shifted; the nervous chatter and pacing had ceased.

"Okay, muchachos," Jorge said, turning to face them. "You know the plan."

Minho took point, his expression set with determination. "No dinkin' around, got it?" he said. "Stay alert. We go in, grab our shanks, and get out. Simple."

They nodded in unison. Without another word, Jorge threw open the door and stepped out into the street. The group followed closely, boots crunching against broken glass and gravel as they crossed into the narrow alley. Cassandra peered into the grimy basement window, but the dirt-streaked glass offered little more than shadows.

Minho motioned for them to take position. He crept toward the door and pressed his ear against it, body tense, listening. Cassandra's heart pounded loudly in her ears. She didn't know why, but a chill ran down her spine, and she had to force her breath to stay steady.

"Okay," Minho whispered, glancing back at them. "Everyone ready?"

He didn't wait for a response. Stepping forward, Minho raised his hand and knocked—three slow, three fast, followed by two sharp taps of his knuckles. There was a brief silence. Then came the creak of floorboards and the heavy thud of footsteps from the other side.

The door cracked open, revealing a hulking Crank of a man. He was nearly six feet tall, with long, white hair tangled around a face marked with numerous piercings. Tattoos snaked down his bare arms and neck like vines. His bloodshot eyes narrowed when he saw Minho.

"Who the hell are you supposed to be?" he growled.

Minho grinned. "Surprise, shuckface."

Without hesitation, he drove a fist straight into the man's nose. The Crank reeled backward with a howl, blood streaming down his face. That was the cue. The Gladers surged through the door. The first thing to hit them wasn't resistance but the stench. A foul, choking wave of sweat, rot, and vomit. Cassandra stumbled to a stop just inside, clapping a hand over her mouth as her stomach turned. Behind her, the others weren't so quiet.

"Oh God, what is that?" Frypan gagged.

"I suddenly want to bathe in bleach," Newt muttered, eyes watering.

"No argument here," Aris said, already pulling his hoodie over his nose.

"Okay, nobody move!" Minho barked.

Naturally, everyone did the exact opposite.

A few of the Cranks started screaming and rushed about the room trying to escape. It quickly turned into utter chaos and Cassandra had to throw off a couple of crazed Cranks that grabbed hold of her. One of them bit her on the arm which prompted her to knock him out cold with the hilt of her katana.

The Gladers were trying to hold down the exit but a few Cranks managed to slip past and flee into the street. Frypan was yelling at a sobbing girl to stop jumping on him and Newt managed to get a scratch on his cheek after a guy tried to claw his face. Aris was pressed against the wall as a rabid Crank with a metal collar chained around his neck snapped his teeth in the boy's face.

Minho's gaze swept the room in a frantic search for Thomas when three more Cranks suddenly came thundering up the basement stairs. One of them, a girl wielding a rusted screwdriver, lunged straight at him, but Cassandra moved on instinct. She darted forward, swept the girl's legs out from under her, and landed a hard kick to her ribs that sent her sprawling.

Minho quickly turned and took down the man with the knife in a single, clean strike. The third Crank—a blonde man with wild eyes and a twisted smirk—slipped past them in the confusion. Before anyone could react, he vanished onto the street.

"Cassie, c'mere." Minho cocked his head toward the cellar, and she followed without hesitation.

Their boots clattered down the stairs, echoing in the dark. At the bottom, they found Thomas tied to a chair, his eyes wide and unfocused like he'd been drugged. Brenda sat huddled on the floor nearby, gagged and only half-conscious. Minho let out a wide, triumphant smirk.

"You guys look comfy," he said dryly.

Thomas blinked. "What... how..." He stared at them like he was seeing ghosts.

"We just found you," Minho replied, stepping behind the chair. "Didn't think we'd leave you with those shuckfaces, did you? You owe us. Big-time."

He crouched and started cutting the rope around Thomas's wrists. Cassandra crossed the room and knelt beside Brenda, working to free her as well. Thomas watched them, still dazed, but a grin broke across his face.

"What do you mean you just found us?" he asked.

"Well, technically, Frypan was the one who found you," Cassandra said, glancing at Thomas.

Minho stepped forward, filling in the gaps. "Jorge's been leading us through the city, scavenging food, resting up in his hideout." He shot Brenda a sharp look. "Oh, and we know about your little secret."

Brenda turned toward them, her expression guarded, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Wait, what?" Thomas blinked, clearly confused. "What secret are you talking about?"

Minho's voice hardened. "They work for WICKED. Brenda and Jorge."

As Brenda's binds were removed, she stood, taking a hesitant step toward Thomas before pausing. A flicker of fear and uncertainty passed through her eyes.

"How are they—" Thomas tried to stand, swayed unsteadily, then collapsed back into the chair. "Oh man, does anyone have some aspirin?"

Cassandra and Minho exchanged amused looks. "Toughen up, Golden Boy," she teased. "Be a man. Do the right thing."

Thomas groaned, clutching his head. "What the shuck does that even mean?"

Brenda crossed her arms and moved to stand by the stairs. Thomas took a moment to gather himself, then looked back at them. His gaze settled on Brenda. "Brenda? You okay?"

She answered sharply, "I'm fine. Let's go. I want to see Jorge."

Thomas turned back to Cassandra and Minho, his brow furrowing. "What were you saying about her and Jorge working for WICKED? Is that true, Brenda?"

There was a long silence before Brenda's voice came, low and hesitant. "Yes."

Cassandra stepped in quickly. "It doesn't matter right now. For the moment, we can trust them to guide us to the safe haven. Whatever happens along the way, we'll deal with it when it comes. We need to get out of here—now."

"Yeah, dude," Minho agreed, nodding. "Headache or no headache, we gotta move. No telling how long we can keep those shuck prisoners quiet upstairs."

"Prisoners?" Thomas blinked, looking puzzled.

"Whatever you want to call 'em," Minho said. "We can't risk letting them loose until we're clear. We've got a dozen of them holding over twenty of us. And they're not happy. They might think they can take us soon, once they shake off their hangovers."

"They may be hungover, but they're still crazy," Cassandra added, holding up her arm to show the angry red welt. "One of them actually bit me."

"That's gross," Thomas said, eyes wide. "Maybe you're gonna start eating our brains next."

"Ha-ha, very funny," she said, rolling her eyes at him.

He tried to smile at his own joke, but it came out more like a grimace. Thomas pushed himself to stand, then closed his eyes tightly, scrunching his face as if forcing himself through the pain. When he opened them again, his gaze was steady. He gave them a quick, determined nod. "I'll be fine."

Minho let out a short laugh, disbelief lacing his voice. "Such a man. Come on."

Cassandra moved ahead, climbing back up the stairs. The rancid stench hit her full force once again as she rejoined the others. She raised her katana and swept it in a slow arc, eyes catching the gaunt, hollow faces watching them with haunted expressions. She stepped carefully over bodies scattered on the floor and slid into place beside Newt.

"Did you find him?" he asked quickly.

"Yeah, but he's hungover," Cassandra replied with a quiet snicker.

"Of course he is," Newt said, shaking his head.

Finally, Thomas emerged after Brenda, managing a genuine smile when he saw the rest of the Gladers gathered there. "What happened to you guys? Where have you been?"

"Hey, it's Thomas!" Frypan called out excitedly. "As ugly and alive as ever!"

Newt approached and clapped him firmly on the back, a bright smile lighting his face. "Glad you're not bloody dead, Tommy. Really, really glad."

Thomas scanned the room, eyes narrowing as if piecing something together. "Guys," he called, motioning for them to come closer. "The guy with the really short blonde hair—the one who seemed like the leader—what happened to him?"

"I think he got away," Cassandra said. "He came up from the basement with his buddies. We took out two of them, but he disappeared after that."

"A handful got away too," Newt added. "We couldn't stop them all."

Minho raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with him? Is he a threat?"

Thomas nodded. "He had a gun—the only one I've seen with anything worse than a knife. And he wasn't exactly friendly."

"I've got a gun too," Cassandra said, lifting the back of her shirt to reveal it. "I'll protect you."

His jaw went slack as he stared at her. "Why am I not surprised?"

"We'll be out of this shuck city in an hour anyway," Minho said, urgency in his voice. "We should move. Now."

"Okay, I want to get out of here before he comes back," Thomas said, eager to move.

Cassandra gave a sharp nod and turned, waving the others forward. "C'mon, guys. Move out."

As they shuffled toward the exit, Minho's voice cut through the noise as he addressed the Cranks. "Listen up. We're leaving now. Don't follow us, and you'll be fine. Follow us, and you're dead. Pretty easy choice, don't ya think?"

"Hey!"

Everyone whirled around to the source of the screechy voice. There, standing with a wild look in his eyes, was the blonde Crank Thomas had warned about—the one with the gun. It was aimed straight at Thomas's chest.

A deafening bang cracked through the alley like thunder. Thomas screamed, clutching his wound as he collapsed to the ground.

Without hesitation, Cassandra fired back. Her shot rang out sharp and true. Blood spurted into the air where her bullet struck, and the blonde man crumpled, hitting the ground hard, and stayed still.

"Holy shuck!" Frypan breathed, eyes wide with shock.

Cassandra spun back to Thomas. "Thomas, are you okay?"

He let out a pained groan. Newt was already at his side, pressing his fingers against the red stain blooming across Thomas's shirt. "H-He shot me," Thomas murmured, his voice distant and numb.

Blood seeped quickly from his shoulder. Frypan grabbed a clean shirt and handed it to Newt, who pressed it firmly against the wound. Thomas cried out, a sharp, raw sound that twisted something deep inside Cassandra.

"I thought you'd say you'd protect me," he murmured, his voice slurring through the pain.

She fought the urge to smack him.

"I can get that sucker out," Jorge said quietly, "but I'll need fire."

Newt shook his head, panic creeping into his voice. "We can't do this here."

Minho's eyes darkened with urgency. "Okay, then we get out of this shuck city. We'll carry him—Archie, Newt. On the count of three."

They positioned themselves carefully, hands sliding under Thomas' body. Minho gripped his legs while Archie and Newt supported his upper body. The noise from the basement intensified, growing louder by the second.

"Three!" Minho counted sharply, and together they lifted Thomas into the air.

A strangled cry of pain escaped from him. The basement door stood open, and the big man with long white hair stormed out first, his eyes locking onto Thomas' prone form before snapping up to them with a wild, furious glare.

"Go, go, go!" Jorge shouted, waving urgently toward the street.

Cassandra tossed the extra shotgun to Brenda, who caught it with a grateful nod. They fired a few warning shots into the pack of Cranks chasing them, then broke into a sprint after the others. Jorge quickly rejoined the group, leading them down winding streets toward the city's edge.

As the sun sank lower on the horizon, spilling molten hues of orange and pink across the endless barren flatlands, the group finally crossed the city's edge. The oppressive weight of the urban chaos faded behind them, replaced by the vast, open silence of the desert. Only then did they allow themselves to slow, their breaths ragged and heavy.

They collapsed into the cool shadow cast by a jagged rocky outcrop, a small refuge amid the vast expanse. Behind them, the sprawling cityscape faded away, the once-blazing lights dwindling into faint, trembling pinpricks swallowed whole by the creeping dusk. The dying light slipped away, surrendering the desert to an endless shroud of darkness.