ACT II   SCENE XL
PHAETON

   THOMAS HAD started burning up. His skin glistened with sweat, yet his body shook with violent tremors as if the barren chill had sunk into his bones. The sun had set hours ago, and the cold was creeping in fast. They had lost everything in the tunnels: the blankets, the packs, even Cassandra's jacket.

They'd managed to start a small fire, its orange glow flickering against the cracked earth as darkness settled around them. It offered a hint of warmth, but not enough to ward off the bite in the air. Jorge had dug the bullet from Thomas's shoulder with nothing but his knife and bare hands.

Now, Cassandra knelt beside him, her movements careful and deliberate as she dampened a torn strip of cloth with the barest trickle from their canteen. Gently, she pressed it to his searing forehead, hoping the small comfort might soothe the fever raging through him. His skin burned beneath her touch, and each shallow breath he drew made her chest tighten. The wound was festering now, and a sickly stench drifted on the wind.

"What the hell are we supposed to do?" Minho asked. The others hovered nearby, talking in low voices.

"He needs medicine," Newt muttered, running a hand through his tangled blond hair. He sounded exhausted. "But there's no buggin' hospital out here. We're in the middle of nowhere."

A moment of silence followed, filled only by Thomas's laboured breathing and the crackling flames. Cassandra bit the inside of her cheek. She wanted to move, to help, to say something. But what could she possibly offer? Her mind was racing, but all she could do was sit in the dirt and watch Thomas's body fight the infection.

"There was an abandoned factory west of here," Frypan told them. "I saw it when we ran past earlier."

Newt straightened slightly. "Could have medical supplies. A first aid kit, maybe?"

Minho shook his head. "We don't know what could be out there, man."

"Yeah?" Newt shot back. "You wanna just sit here and watch Tommy die then?"

Cassandra's voice was calm but firm. "I'm with Newt. We can't just sit around and do nothing."

Minho hesitated, then let out a sharp sigh. "Fine. But only a few of us go. We move fast, grab what we can find, and get back before anything finds us."

"I'm coming with you," Brenda said, stepping forward before anyone else could speak. Her eyes held a fierce, unyielding determination.

No one argued. They didn't have the energy, and frankly, they didn't need to. Brenda's mind was already made up. Cassandra caught the way Brenda had been hovering near Thomas earlier, noticed how her hands clenched into tight fists when he started shivering. Her mouth was drawn tight with worry.

They rounded up Frypan, Archie, and Aris to complete the group. Jorge watched them from his perch atop a low outcrop, lit dimly by the flickering fire below. His arms were crossed, but his expression was unreadable, caught somewhere between concern and resignation.

"Hey," he called as they began to move. "You kids be careful out there."

Brenda glanced back and gave him a short nod. "We will."

They gathered what little gear they had left—one half-full canteen, a rusted crowbar, and a couple of makeshift bags—and set off across the barren land once more. The desert stretched endlessly before them. It was cold and silent, with only the moon being their guide. A breeze stirred the dust, carrying it in thin swirls around their feet as they moved.

For twenty minutes, they trekked through the darkness, boots crunching over cracked ground. The factory finally loomed into view as just a silhouette at first, swallowed by shadows, its jagged outline cutting into the star-strewn sky. It looked deserted, forgotten by time, and yet something about it felt watched.

As they approached, the structure became clearer. Walls were scorched and crumbling, with windows that had been broken wide open. A rusted sign hung loosely from a bent post, swaying with each gust of wind.

They slipped through the front entrance. The air inside was still and stale, thick with dust and the metallic scent of rust. Their boots crunched over broken glass and debris littering the floor. The main hall yawned wide before them, ceilings stretching high overhead into the dark.

Each of them switched on their flashlights, narrow beams cutting through the gloom. Shadows danced across the walls as they moved deeper into the building, the sound of their footsteps echoing like whispers in the cavernous space.

"We should split up," Minho said in a hushed tone. "In pairs, just to be safe."

Everyone nodded and began moving in different directions. Minho and Cassandra headed toward a dark opening ahead. The deeper they went, the heavier the silence became. Cassandra kept her lips sealed, afraid that even a whisper might give away their presence.

The corridor eventually opened into a large room, dimly lit by shafts of moonlight filtering through broken windows. Two doors stood on either side, and in the centre lay an old conveyor belt, rusted by time and coldly silent. Crates and scattered furniture littered the space.

They spread out, rifling through the debris in search of anything useful.

Minutes passed before the faint sound of footsteps approached from the door on the right. Cassandra's heart jumped. She glanced at Minho, who immediately signalled for her to hide. They positioned themselves on opposite sides of the doorway, holding their breath as voices grew louder. Then, a beam of light caught their eyes in the shadows.

"Hey, look at—"

Minho pounced suddenly, his knife flashing as he landed on top of Frypan with a strangled yell.

"Dude!" Frypan shouted, struggling beneath him. "Are you crazy? You could've taken out my eye with that thing!"

Minho froze for a moment, then relaxed when he recognised the voice.

"Oh, it's you." He eased off Frypan, who grumbled as he pushed himself to his feet.

They stepped back into the large room. Archie nodded toward the rusted conveyor belt in the centre. "What's that thing?"

Cassandra shrugged. "Dunno."

Frypan wiped dirt from his sleeve and asked, "You find anything useful around here?"

"We've been digging through all this junk," Minho said, then pointed at a battered metal filing cabinet in the corner. "I was just about to pry that shuck thing open."

"I'll help," Archie offered, and the two of them moved toward the cabinet together.

Cassandra glanced at Frypan and gestured toward the other door. "C'mon. Let's see what's in that room."

He nodded, and they crossed to the second exit. Behind them, Minho started counting down. Then, with a loud crash, he and Archie pushed the filing cabinet over onto its side. The noise made Cassandra jump and glance around nervously, straining to catch any sound in the sudden silence. Minho pulled out the crowbar and began prying the cabinet open, the scraping echoes filling the still air.

Cassandra and Frypan reached the far side of the room and peered into what looked like an old storage area. The place was a mess—shelves collapsed, their contents spilled out in every direction. Debris littered the floor, and a few stubborn plants had started to grow through cracks in the concrete, twisting around metal and splintered wood. They stepped inside cautiously, the air thick with dust and decay.

"I know you don't remember anything," Frypan began, his voice low. "But don't tell anyone this."

Cassandra glanced at him. "Are you gonna tell me you don't know how to cook or something?"

He rolled his eyes. "Girl, you smokin' cow klunk."

She chuckled. "What is it then?"

He paused, voice low with longing. "I miss the Glade."

Cassandra turned to face him, that quiet, familiar guilt tugging at her again. She offered a small smile, unsure of what to say. A sudden squeak made Frypan jump. From the far corner, a rat shot out from a pile of rotting wood and disappeared through a hole in the wall.

"Gross!" he exclaimed, backing up fast. "Nope. I'm outta here."

He turned and made his way back toward the main room, muttering under his breath as he moved to inspect the crates by the conveyor belt. Cassandra lingered, shining her torch deeper into the room. Dust danced in the beam of light. Something on a low shelf caught her eye. There was a faded medical symbol on one of the boxes.

Carefully, she stepped forward, her boot crunching on shattered glass. She stepped over a fallen shelf and dropped into a crouch beside the last one, hands quickly sifting through the plastic containers. The first one held two thin rolls of medical dressing. Not much, but it was something. She quickly pocketed them and reached for the next container.

Behind her, there was a crunch of debris. Her head snapped up. A figure stepped out from behind the doorframe, half-shrouded in shadow. Her torchlight caught a gaunt, hollowed face, skin clinging to sharp cheekbones, eyes sunken and wild. A Crank.

Cassandra's heart lurched. She stumbled back as the man pushed the door closed behind him. A second later, the lock clicked into place.

"What the hell!" she shouted, panic spiking in her chest.

She backed into the shelf, hands fumbling behind her for anything she could use. The metal rack groaned and rattled under her weight. The Crank didn't speak. He just moved with eerie calm, hands shifting until a flicker of orange sparked between his filthy fingers.

Cassandra froze, her breath catching. That was when she noticed the sharp, bitter stench clinging to the air. Gasoline. Thick and acrid. It dripped from the Crank's ragged clothes, soaking into the floor.

"Minho!" she called out frantically. "Help! Someone!"

A loud bang answered her from the other side of the door. Minho's voice rose, urgent and panicked as he pounded against the wood, but the door didn't budge. Inside, the lighter flared again, closer this time.

"Let it burn," the Crank whispered before giggling at her. Then he set himself on fire.

Cassandra screamed, the sound ripping from her throat as the Crank flailed wildly, flames engulfing his body. He ran blindly, shrieking in agony, knocking over crates and shelving as he went. Fire leapt from splintered wood to scattered debris, devouring everything in its path.

The Crank stumbled, fell to his knees, and kept crawling for a moment—his body burning and writhing—before finally collapsing in a smouldering heap. Cassandra stumbled back, heart pounding, eyes wide with terror. She bolted toward the door, panic overtaking every thought. It was all happening too fast.

"Cassie! It's locked from the inside!" Minho shouted from the other side.

She grabbed the handle and yanked hard. Nothing. It refused to turn. Her hands shook violently as she tried again, and again, uselessly. Tears stung her eyes. Smoke was already thick in the air, bitter and suffocating. The fire crept closer, the heat lashing at her back. Coughing, she yanked her sleeve over her mouth.

"The lock's stuck!" she cried, voice cracking.

"Shuck!" Minho cursed. She could hear the frantic thudding of his boots against the door. "Frypan! Archie! Find something to ram this shuckin' thing open!"

Cassandra choked as smoke clawed at her throat, stinging her eyes until tears spilt freely down her cheeks. Gasping, she dropped to the floor and crawled blindly toward the only part of the wall beside the door untouched by flame. The heat pressed in from all sides, and the air had turned to poison.

"Cassie, stay back!" Minho shouted from the other side. Two sharp cracks rang out as he fired at the hinges.

She curled into herself, pressing her face into her knees, arms wrapped tightly over her head. Her entire body shook as she tried not to scream. It felt like her lungs were turning to ash, like the fire was already inside her. She didn't know if she was suffocating or simply breaking apart.

A deafening crash followed. The boys were ramming the door.

The heat closed in, unbearable and merciless. Flames licked at her boots, searing through the soles, blistering her skin. The ends of her hair curled and smoked as the fire drew closer. Cassandra whimpered, curling tighter against the wall, every inch of her body screaming for air. Her grip on consciousness slipped with each strangled breath, her lungs choking on caustic fumes.

Then a violent crash sounded, and splinters exploded as the door slammed down against a metal shelf. Rough hands reached her an instant later, yanking her from the blaze. Something sharp snagged her leg, tearing a deep gash that sent a white-hot jolt through her body.

"Cassie!" Minho's voice broke through the haze. "Cassie, hang in there!"

That was the last thing she knew before she succumbed to the darkness.

Votes and comments will be used to stop Cassie from passing out!