Dawn seemed to come late the next day, as if the sun had decided to sleep in, the sky wrapped in gray clouds, the threat of rain heavy and imminent.
They’d decided to get a good night’s rest—or what passed for such a thing in the circumstances—before heading out the next day. For one thing, they wanted to maximize their daylight. For another, they didn’t want to be wandering the streets with the other escapees in the middle of the night. Talk about spooky. Most of them had already left, and Newt figured they might as well give them a head start, give them some space. The more the better.
They stood outside the little hut they’d called home for a few days. He looked at the pathetic little structure, wondering if he could’ve spent the rest of his descending days in such a place—with a kid who didn’t talk and a woman who only made him miss the shadow of a mother he almost remembered. Keisha and Dante already meant the world to him, but staying in this place until they went completely insane sounded like a special kind of hell on Earth.
“Here they come,” Keisha said. She had her backpack hitched up, packed to bursting with food and supplies, just like the one on his own back. Dante sat on the ground at her feet, staring at the approaching group of ragamuffins as if to say, “You’re putting our lives in the hands of them ?”
Jonesy lead the group of eight shady-looking Cranks down the path, right on time, one hour past sunrise. Newt didn’t know why the word ragamuffin had popped into his head just now—surely a term his mum or dad used to describe the teenage hoodlums in the neighborhood—but it seemed to fit. There were more tattoos, piercings, leather boots, and ripped, shoddy clothing than Newt had ever seen in one place. And they apparently weren’t too keen on baths or getting haircuts. But they had volunteered to risk their lives to help him reunite Keisha with her family. That said all that needed to be said.
“Master Newt!” Jonesy called out, a huge grin revealing the less-than-full-load of teeth inside his mouth. He slicked his hair back with one hand, a favorite hobby of his. “Are we ready for the adventure of a lifetime?”
Newt gave him a nod, like he’d imagine a cowboy doing in the stories of old. “Actually, hoping for the lamest adventure of my lifetime. With the guards gone, let’s hope we can walk straight there and be done with it. Keisha says it’s about 20 miles.”
Jonesy usually had a goofy, blank look on his face, but he had a flash of something very serious cross him upon hearing Newt’s opening salvo. As if he knew, absolutely knew, that there was zero chance on God’s green Earth that they’d just stroll to Keisha’s meeting place without incident. Without an incident that left scars.
“I hope you’re right,” Jonesy said, mostly recovering his former, and normal, carefree expression. “I’m sure you’re right. Who’d mess with a bunch of dudes and ladies like us?” He gestured at his friends as if revealing a prized possession. And maybe he was.
Newt noticed, with a sadness that pierced him more strongly than he would’ve thought, that Jonesy’s girlfriend had not come along. He almost asked about her but thought better of it.
“I don’t guess the Munies left any Launchers behind?” Keisha asked. “That would’ve been downright peachy of them if they did.”
“Not a one, the bastards,” Jonesy replied. “But we’ve got plenty of sharp objects.” He lifted his shirt to reveal a shard of glass tucked into his pants, half of which had been wrapped with black tape. “I’ll try not to cut my hand this time.”
Keisha eyed him up and down. “Better be careful or you might cut something worse. I wouldn’t run too fast with that thing stuck in your pants.”
This earned a respectable enough laugh from the group.
“I’ll be super duper careful,” Jonesy responded. “Shall we get a move on? Sun only stays up for so long, ya know.”
“Good that,” Newt said, something he hadn’t uttered in decades, or so it felt. “Let’s get the hell out of this place.”
“Who wants to carry the kid first?” Keisha asked.
* * *
Newt refused to believe that each and every guard had left—at least he wouldn’t until they’d put the wall a few miles behind them. All the same, he’d taken his Launcher out of his backpack and held it, charged and ready to “Jones” anyone who needed it—that’s what Jonesy kept saying Newt had done to him, like it was a badge of honor. “Remember that time you Jonesed me?” he’d ask. “Oh yeah that was yesterday.” Or, “I was Jonesed by a Maze-kid, ain’t that a thing?” Newt was really starting to like this guy he’d violently electrocuted not 24 hours ago.
As they approached the gate through which they’d just entered less than a week prior, he saw that it was open, which was a good start. One of the doors had been knocked off a hinge, the big slab tilting toward them. There wasn’t a single person in sight.
“Careful, now,” Jonesy called out. “Everyone wrap around Newt and his mom, his brother. Keep them in the middle.”
“They’re not…” He left it. “I’m the one with the Launcher!”
“Don’t matter. Do as you’re told.”
He gave Newt a creepy wink that did nothing to make him think this man was sane enough to be their leader. Gotta work with what you got , Newt thought.
They made it to the gate, looking in all directions between the 10 of them—11 if you counted Dante, but he wasn’t much good as a lookout. Newt eyed the doors, expecting the boogeyman to jump out at any moment. The gray morning made it hard to adjust his eyes between the lights and the darks. But the world seemed abandoned by the human race. The sounds of birds were the only signs of life besides his little group.
They passed under the archway created by the open gate. No one jumped from the top of the wall; no one sprinted out of the woods; no one swooped down from the sky with man-made wings. They were alone, at least for the time being.
Newt looked back up at the wall, remembering that he’d seen a sign on the way in but didn’t catch the words in time as their truck zoomed past. It was just a piece of wood that someone had nailed to the planks of the main structure, a short message scratched onto its surface with a nail. Then someone had filled in the grooves of the words with dark mud, now dried.
HERE THERE BE CRANKS, it said.
Stupid , Newt thought. Although it struck him that he really was a Crank, now, a word that had become synonymous with monstrous ghoulish cannibal people before he caught the Flare, himself. He knew he’d be there before too long. Soon, if the incident in the bowling alley had been any kind of indicator. Past the Gone. He shuddered as he stared at the sign. He’d wanted Tommy to kill him so he didn’t have to go through it all. But Thomas had failed him, hadn’t he? Or maybe he hadn’t read the note in the envelope, yet. Maybe.
“Hey, Captain Newt,” Jonesy said, interrupting his morbid thoughts. “You having another episode or what?”
Newt turned to him. “No, just gonna miss the place, is all. Shame to leave so soon.”
He set off after the others, ignoring the urge to look back one last time. And so it was that his short stay at the Crank Palace came to an end, he thought with a melodramatic flair. He swore he’d never come back.
Not alive, anyway.
