Mask of Promises (MinhoxOC) Sequel to Just Smile

Chapter 17- Poor Frankie

So far, we hadn't met any big dangers or creepy Grievers lunging at our heads. We didn't stubble into a cheese grater that would eat us up either. What we did meet was heat and thirst. Exhaustion surrounded us and I had to remind myself that most of these Gladers weren't Runners. My patience was starting to melt away, and frustration flowed in my veins.

Suddenly, Frankie screamed from behind me. It started out as an abrupt shriek, like simple surprise, but then escalated into pure terror. He was now screaming his throat raw, screeching and squealing like an animal at the old Blood House in the Glade. I heard the sounds of a body thrashing on the ground. I rushed back to his screams and felt another presence in front of me, his grunting clearly showing who he was: Thomas.

He struggled against who knew what. Chaos broke out among the other Gladers, questions being hollered and the boy's screams echoing off the hall.

"Hey!" Thomas yelled at the squirming boy. "What's wrong with you?"

I held back a scoff and instead reached out for the boy, trying to see why he was thrashing, and what he was thrashing from.

"GET IT OFF GET IT OFF!!" Frankie screamed. I could feel him clawing for something around his head, and assumed he was getting strangled by something and accidentally smacked his chest. I then felt something collide with me and I yelped before realizing it was Thomas.

"Stop it!" Thomas shouted. "What's wrong!"

The screams gurgled to a stop, almost like poor Frankie had just been pulled underwater. But the convulsing didn't ease in the slightest. He put an elbow and forearm on the chest of the Glader for leverage, then reached out to grab his hair or his face. I joined him and reached his face, but was met with something strange.

There was no head. No hair or face. Not even a neck. None of those things that should've been there. Instead, my hands were on a large and perfectly smooth ball of cold metal.

Frankie stopped convulsing, and the ball of metal that held his head moved away from me, dousing my hand with the familiar metallic smell of blood. He was dead. Poor Frankie who was a Bricknick. Dead.

"It's all your fault!"

No. The blood oozed over my hand, drowning it in his blood. I heard Thomas scream and freak out, kicking my hand while trying to run away. Vigorous rubbing noises were heard, and several of the Gladers that had crowded around us helped him up. I heard him scuffling, and grunting, like he was shoving everyone away. All I did was sit there, silently mourning the Glader.

"Thomas! Thomas! What happened!" Minho yelled from somewhere close to me.

"I ... I don't know. Who was that? Who was down there screaming?" He panicked.

Winston answered, his voice shaky. "Frankie, I think. He was right next to me, just making a joke, and then it was like something yanked him away. Yeah, it was him. Definitely him."

"What happened!" Minho yelled again. I stood up calmly. Thomas was still wiping his hands on his pants.

"Look," he gasped before taking a long breath. "I heard him screaming, and ran up here to help. I jumped on him, tried to pin his arms down, find out what was wrong. Then I reached for his head to grab him by the cheeks—I don't even know why—and all I felt was ..."

I felt blood rush into my ears.

"Say it. Say it, Tommy. Tell them what you saw and what you did," I snapped.

"What?" Minho shouted.

"His head wasn't a head. It was like a ... a big ... metal ball. I don't know, man, but that's what I felt. Like his shuck head had been swallowed by ... by a big metal ball!" Tommy groaned.

Nice job explaining Thomas.

"What're you talking about?" Minho asked. That was enough.

"Didn't you hear it rolling away right after he stopped screaming? I know it—"

"His whole head was swallowed by a big metal ball. It was like it replaced his head. There's blood all over the shuck place, now let's go," I snapped again.

The boys were silent for a second as if they were registering what I said. All that was heard was Frankie's blood dripping off my fingers onto the hall.

"It's right here!" Newt grunted with effort. "I heard it roll over here. And it's all wet and sticky—feels like blood."

"What the klunk," Minho half whispered. "How big is it?"

The Gladers went in an uproar, throwing questions here and there, mostly addressed at Newt, Thomas, and me.

"Everybody slim it!" Newt yelled. "I don't know. Bigger than a buggin' head for sure. It's perfectly round—a perfect sphere."

I heard murmurs of people wanting to back out, and something strained in me again.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" I screamed, making silence overwhelm us again. "You can go on ahead and hold a shucking gathering for all I care, but we're still in danger. Do you really think the Creators would send only one of the balls? I don't know about you shanks, but I'm getting my ass outta here. So you guys can either follow Minho, Thomas, Newt, and me, or you can get your butts back there and die by Janson."

Silence followed.

"Zia is right. No more dinkin' around. Spread out a couple of feet from each other, then run. Hunch down, and if something comes near your head, hit the living crap out of it," Minho took charge.

We started running in the dark, reminding me of when Thomas, Minho, and I ran in the dark maze at night, trying to live.