~Sara~

Sitting for hours upon hours next to a not-so-friendly shank on a berg wasn't the most effective way to kill time, Sara realized.

They came from freaking Alaska.

Alaska.

And now they were flying in the middle of the Scorch, somewhere in Central America—Sara wasn't even sure. She didn't know why she was acting like it wouldn't be a long ride, and she envied the Gladers only for the small fact that they got to use a flat trans. Instant travel.

Why didn't Rebecca send her in one of those fancy things, and on her own? She hated complaining about people, but this Rachel girl was making it so difficult.

A sudden jerk on the berg almost made her heart stop beating.

"What was that?" she asked Rachel as she grabbed on to the nearest object. Rachel slid her hand along the wall to steady herself, and she looked out the window.

"I don't know," she replied cautiously. Another jerking movement shook their little world, harder this time.

"What the heck?" Sara muttered under her breath. She tried to contact Rebecca with the device on her wrist, but there must've not been good signal in the berg. "Shuck!"

Rachel frowned at her. "I can't get over the way you and the other sticks talk."

Sara rolled her eyes. She was used to hearing Minho's inopportune commentary, but this was just weird. The resemblance between those two was remarkable. "Yeah, it's not like you guys didn't also make your own vocabulary or anything."

"At least we came up with it, and it sounds better," said Rachel. "For you, the boys made it up, and then you just had to adapt. You didn't create it," she added with a shrug.

"Yeah, 'cause I had the fortune of skipping the amnesia portion," Sara retorted. "But I give the guys credit, I like their talk better."

Rachel was about to say something, but she was cut off on the spot. The berg shook repeatedly, as if it were hitting things in the air, making it shake and vibrate violently. The movement made Sara fall over, but she regained her feet as she, too, looked out the window.

"WICKED found us," she said as she began to panic. "How much left to get there?"

"I don't know. Rebecca programmed this thing to land exactly in Jorge and Brenda's location. And if WICKED found us, then I don't know." Rachel sounded nervous, and she looked through another window.

Suddenly, a computerized voice filled the air. "Self-defense mode activated." The virtual lady repeated that over and over again, and they heard shots of fire release from the berg. There was more turbulence, so Rachel and Sara had to grab onto something for dear life.

Sara shut her eyes, wishing she was dead. She wasn't necessarily afraid of heights, but if the berg was getting shot to the ground, then she had all the right to be terrified. The turbulence only got worse, the sounds of fire ripping through the air, and the girls' screams joining the noise in a choir of chaos.

We're gonna die, Sara repeated in her head.

The berg came to a slow descent, and a not-at-all smooth one at that. Sara hit the side of her head against a seat, and she could already feel the blood trickling down her face. Rachel's shoulder crashed against the controls. Once the berg reached the ground, it immediately powered off, forcing them to snatch their luggage and get out of there immediately before it could explode.

"There goes our transport," Sara panted as they ran out. "I'm surprised they took this long after I set off the alarms."

"Guess we'll walk," said Rachel, struggling to catch her breath.

"How far are we from the building?" She was already dreading to hear how tired they'd be from the unexpected turn of events. Walking in the Scorch was like a free ticket to hell. Except it wasn't free; it cost physical endurance.

"Let's just get to the nearest building and go from there. They all look the same anyway," she replied.

Sara looked up at the sky that was beginning to darken. She cringed and shielded her eyes with her hand. "Cover up your face," she said, gesturing to Rachel with her head. "Looks like there's a storm coming."

As Sara covered her own face, she received an annoyed look from the girl. 

"I know. I was the one who told you to wear this stuff," Rachel said, matter-of-factly. She matched Sara as she wrapped her head and face entirely, nonetheless.

It was so much more difficult when people couldn't work together. If Rachel was taking leadership, Sara didn't know what she was gonna do since this once, she wasn't the one being on top of things anymore. It felt strange.

The building Rachel first chose to inspect looked way too dilapidated, even for a group of Cranks to live there. "Look, Rachel. I don't know if you wanna trust my judgement, but if Jorge and Brenda work for WICKED, and they were sent out on this mission in the Scorch, I'm sure they would've had better residing preferences."

"So... what's your point?" she asked as they both trudged along.

"We should save ourselves the time, and let's just find a building in salvage conditions," Sara suggested.

"'Cause that's not hard at all," she rebuked. Their voices were muffled by the excessive fabric covering their faces, but Sara could still picture the annoyance on Rachel's face. "I guess it doesn't hurt to look."

Just like Sara predicted, the building was empty. They were entering the next one after hours of walking along the sand. Ripped fabric, damaged concrete, mangled cables and debris were found all over the place.

The tiring part was having to carry all the luggage and provisions, and Sara grunted, giving a long sigh of relief as they both set the bags on the floor.

"Let's get some rest. Then we can eat something before setting out again," Sara huffed, and Rachel only nodded. They were out of breath.

It was also burning hot, especially with all that clothing on them, but they couldn't afford to take it off since they couldn't risk being recognized for their own safety. That led Sara to wonder how the Gladers and the girls were doing, if they were okay—they simply never left her thoughts.

"Intruders," a gruff voice called with disgust, from somewhere inside the building, but when both girls looked around, they saw no one. "Don't like 'em."

"Who are you?" Rachel asked loudly.

The person appeared from the second floor, and jumped to the ground, rolling as he landed. He was followed by a large group of people covered in haggard clothing, all with an insane look on their faces, and armed with the most ridiculous weapons—old home tools. When the man who spoke stood up, he held his arms out as if expecting to be congratulated for his acrobatic abilities.

"And you guys are...?" Sara added to Rachel's question as soon as the others came to view.

"Hold it, hermana. I'm the only one asking the questions here," the man said. He didn't look old, but he was certainly around long enough to know about the hardships of the last few decades.

"Yeah, okay, you're Jorge, aren't you?" Sara asked, but it did not sound like a question.

He looked slightly taken aback but quickly tried to cover it up. "Well..." He raised his eyebrows, "I see you're well-informed around here, muchachas. And to whom do I owe the honor?"

"That doesn't matter," Rachel replied with a flat tone. "All you need to know is that we were sent by Rebecca Paige."

His stern look turned into a smile. "Hm." Then he turned to his people. "Ladies and gentlemen," he raised his voice, "drop your weapons, the girls are harmless." They did as he commanded but kept giving each other disgruntled looks.

"Yeah, pull off a threat like that again, and I'll show you harmless," Rachel growled at him.

Jorge turned his body halfway, facing her. "I'm really starting not to like you, niña."

"Well, that makes two of us. I didn't come here to be friends with you. I have work to do. A mission," she retaliated with a stern voice.

Jorge gritted his teeth and pursed his lips angrily. Sara had enough of her too, and oddly enough, she sympathized more with this man she barely met a few minutes ago than she did with Rachel in a couple of days.

"Rachel!" Sara shouted. "Shut up," she muttered as Rachel turned to her.

Jorge gave Sara a satisfied smile. "Looks like you're a nice girl. No rude commentary or anything like that."

Rachel rolled her eyes, but Sara said, "Don't get ahead of yourself, you might change your mind."

"Don't care," Jorge replied, turning to Rachel, "I want you to apologize."

She scoffed. "For what? Hurting your feelings?"

"You have five seconds to apologize!" he shouted, making Sara flinch.

Rachel didn't even bat an eye. "I've been threatened like that before, so don't bother doing that. I'm not scared," she confronted him nonchalantly.

"One!"

She didn't budge.

"Two!"

"How intimidating," she mocked him with her arms crossed.

"Th—"

"Jorge, stop! You act more like a girl than this chick," the voice of another girl was heard behind him. She stepped forward, and Sara noticed she was dressed in ripped clothing, she had short hair, and she looked like she could fight off a whole group of people all by herself.

Jorge's shoulders slumped with discouragement. "Brenda... let the old man have a little fun, mija."

Brenda walked up to Sara and extended her hand, which she shook. "Nice to meet you, Sara."

"Nice to meet you—" Wait... "how... how do you know me?" Sara raised her eyebrow.

"Well, you know our secret, and we know yours... your uncle's a sadistic prick, by the way," she said.

"That, I do know," she agreed. Right as she said that, they heard an explosion in the distance. Knowing exactly what was going on, Sara pointed her thumb toward the noise and said, "Just in case you had any doubts... there goes our precious berg."

"Ay, rough landing?" Jorge asked.

"I guess you could say that," Sara muttered. "But back to what's important. Why can't we just go and find the group? I can't stay here without knowing if they're okay or not."

"Only if you want to get yourself killed," said Jorge. Why did everyone keep telling her that? It was so frustrating. If she didn't already know this was dangerous, that would be different.

"So, what are we supposed to do—just sit here?" she demanded, raising her voice.

"Yeah, we wait," Jorge replied casually, with a quick nod. "By the way, they sent us more people, there's like almost fifty of us in here, some are upstairs. Any reason why we got an extra delivery?"

"Yeah," Rachel replied. "Some geniuses messed with the trials, so a lot more of them survived. So you got backup."

Brenda smiled at Rachel and Sara, then invited them to follow her before Sara's frustration could get the best of her.

Brenda and a couple others also offered to carry their luggage for them. She led them to a darker place in the building, where she indicated where they would be spending the nights while they were there. Both girls thanked her, they ate, and then immediately lay down to doze off. 

Sara was so tired... so tired...

~Newt~

"Let's go, keep running!" yelled Thomas.

The weather had deteriorated in the past hour like Newt had never seen before. After all, the weather was always constant in the Glade. This new change in weather was like one of those phenomenons one read about in fantasies.

Lightning struck everywhere, blocking the way, lighting up the atmosphere with rising temperatures. Some boys had already been struck. Minho was among them, but he luckily survived... unlike a few others.

It'd been a long journey ever since they crossed that flat trans. Supernatural events took place, taking the lives of a couple of their boys. They lost some in the dark tunnel with a metallic-like goo that stuck to any surface it touched. One of them got their head chopped off. Newt almost lost his breakfast after that.

Once the sun made contact with their skin, they almost got an immediate sunburn from the excessive heat. It was more than it was to be expected from desert temperatures, which was why they had to pack the provisions together to spare some sheets to hold above their heads as they walked across the Scorch.

It'd been roughly four days. They had one week to get to the Safe Haven, wherever the shuck that was. 

Newt was losing hope rather quickly. He couldn't stop thinking about Sara. She was stuck with her uncle, and no one she trusted could be there for her. He was also worried about what they were gonna do with Chuck.

Newt's arms were so close to giving in, trying to withstand Minho's weight as he and Tommy helped him walk while some others held a blanket over their heads. 

This whole situation sickened him. He didn't think some of them had to die along the way, even though they were still a large group.

"Tommy, I can't see a bloody thing!" Newt had to shout at the top of his lungs due to the howling wind. And the dust also affected the visibility. They were all draped in scarves and hoods to cover their faces, and it was hard to concentrate on walking, as well as carrying so many things—and Minho. Buggin' shank weighed so much. If he weren't that heavy, that would've been a breeze.

"It's okay, we're gonna make it!" Tommy shouted.

"Guys, I see something ahead!" Frypan yelled out next.

Sure enough, through the opaque view ahead of them, Newt could distinctively spot a large building. It was in ruins, but it did look like it would provide enough shelter for them to spend the night safely.

Once they made it to the building, Thomas and Newt could let go of Minho, sitting him against a pile of debris that was tall enough to rest his back.

As they settled in, Newt heard the exhausted groans among the crowd of boys. They were gonna have to huddle and sleep close to one another since they didn't know if Cranks might've been lurking around in there, and there were so many of the Gladers.

"I'm hungry, anyone else?" Winston asked the group.

"Shh, keep your voice down," said Jeff.

"We barely have any food left," Frypan blurted out.

"Food?" The voice startled Newt, and he couldn't even see where it was coming from.

Suddenly, a man jumped from the second floor and rolled over, then he stood right before them. Newt could only assume the man was a Crank simply based on the crazed look he was giving them.

He was glad they were all supposed to be immune or something—although they were warned that not all of them were. Newt hoped he was one of those who were, as selfish as that made him feel.

"Who're you?" Minho asked with a harsh tone as he tried to stand up on his own.

"Name's Jorge," he said triumphantly. "And I'm the Crank who rules this place."

How the heck did this guy appear out of nowhere? And he was, in fact, a Crank. If they weren't already shucked...

"You guys forget how to talk?" Jorge continued. "Scared I'll eat your eyeballs? I gotta say, those are real tasty when the grub's runnin' short." He let out a maniacal laugh.

There was an obvious trace of insanity in his voice and the way he stared at their group. Newt for once was glad Sara wasn't there, or else he would—no joke—let this guy eat his eyeballs before he could mess with her.

No one spoke a word for a while, but then Newt asked the stranger, "How many of you are here?"

He outstretched his arms and gestured to the entire building. "How many Cranks? We're all Cranks, hermano."

"That's not what I meant, you know that," Newt muttered flatly.

Jorge paced around the room and warned them that they didn't know much about anything in the Scorch. He talked about WICKED, and how he and the other Cranks were left to rot or to kill each other, basically left to go completely insane.

"But that's not the point. I wanna know everything about you, where you come from, why you're here—basically whatever the heck your plan is. You're at a disadvantage, so I'd start talking immediately," said Jorge.

Minho let out a low chuckle. "Are we? Unless the lightning storm fried my retinas, I'd say there's at least a little over thirty or so of us and only one of you."

Minho and his big mouth were gonna get them all killed. If the guy wasn't intimidated by the lot of them, there must've been at least one hundred Cranks lurking about.

Jorge was surprised by his boldness, and his eyes lit up as if he were sensing a challenge. "You didn't just say that to me, did you?" When Minho showed no receptiveness to his words, Jorge lifted a warning finger. "You have ten seconds to apologize."

Minho looked over at Thomas and smirked, and when Jorge started counting, Minho refused to apologize.

What are you doing, you bloody shank? Just say it.

The Gladers were nervously glancing at each other, and Thomas took the words right out of Newt's mouth. "Minho, cut the pride, slinthead!"

Jorge continued counting, raising his voice in the process.

The Gladers sensed movement upstairs, and that was when Minho appeared to have gotten a bit scared. Of course there were more of them.

"I'm sorry," he said, with no real feeling.

Jorge kicked him in the shin, right where Minho was burned, making him cry out in pain. Newt shut his eyes tightly and clenched his teeth. He wished he had the guts to beat this man up, but he wasn't as reckless as Minho.

"Say it with meaning, hermano!" Jorge shouted, the lunacy returning to his voice.

Out of nowhere, a small rock struck Jorge in the head, startling him. He rubbed his head and glared upwards, which sent confusion among the Gladers.

What was that?

Everyone tried to look up and spot whoever threw that rock, but they saw no one.

Jorge kicked Minho a second time, making him plead an apology this time, but as soon as he recovered a bit, he slammed his arm against Jorge's shin. The move took him completely by surprise, and even more when Minho charged at him to beat him up. Minho went absolutely crazy himself, yelling profanities at Jorge, things Newt could never bring himself to repeat.

Thomas tackled him off the Crank and shouted in his ear. "There are more of them upstairs! Slim yourself right now!"

Everyone stood back as ropes suddenly dangled from the second floor, and people started sliding down from them; others jumped and rolled like Jorge did. A large group of about forty or fifty people stood before the Gladers.

The last ones to descend down the rope were a short-haired girl and two people completely covered from head to toe. The only way to tell those two apart was the color of the fabric that concealed them. 

Surely, those two were Cranks way past the Gone if they needed to cover up like that. It was explained to the Gladers earlier, that it was what happened when Cranks reached a maximum level of insanity. They got deformed, and their skin was all broken, full of sick-looking veins.

Newt thought about that for a while; he would cover it up too... if that ever happened to him.