A small cry escaped from deep within Thomas’s chest, and he didn’t know if it was audible or something
he just felt inside, imagined. Brenda stood next to him, silent—transfixed, maybe—her light still fixed on
the hideous stranger.
The man took a lumbering step toward them, having to wave his one good arm to keep his balance on
the one good leg.
“Rose took my nose, I suppose,” he repeated; the bubble of phlegm in his throat made a disgusting
crackle. “And it really blows.”
Thomas held his breath, waiting for Brenda to make the first move.
“Get it?” the man said, his snarl trying to morph into a grin. He looked like an animal about to pounce
on its prey. “It really blows. My nose. Taken by Rose. I suppose.” He laughed then, a wet chortle that
made Thomas worry he might never sleep in peace again.
“Yeah, I get it,” Brenda said. “That’s some funny stuff.”
Thomas sensed movement and looked over at her. She had pulled a can from her bag, slyly, and now
gripped it in her right hand. Before he could wonder whether it was a good idea and whether he should try
to stop her, she pulled her arm back and tossed the can at the Crank. Thomas watched it fly, watched it
crash into the man’s face.
He let out a shriek that iced Thomas to the core.
And then others appeared. A group of two. Then three. Then four more. Men and women. All dragging
themselves out of the darkness to stand behind the first Crank. All just as gone. Just as hideous, consumed
fully by the Flare, raging mad and injured head to toe. And, Thomas noticed, all missing their nose.
“That didn’t hurt so bad,” the leading Crank said. “You have a pretty nose. I really want a nose again.”
He stopped snarling long enough to lick his lips, then went right back to it. His tongue was a gruesomely
scarred purple thing, as if he chewed it when bored. “And so do my friends.”
Fear pushed up and through Thomas’s chest, like toxic gas rejected by his stomach. He now knew
better than ever what the Flare did to people. He’d seen it back at the windows of the dormitory—but
now he faced it on a more personal level. Right in front of him, with no bars to keep them away. The faces
of the Cranks were primitive and animalistic. The lead man took another lurching step, then another.
It was time to go.
Brenda didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. After she pulled out another can and flung it toward the
Cranks, Thomas turned around with her and they ran. The psychotic shrill of their pursuers’ cries rose
behind them like the battle call of a demon army.
Brenda’s flashlight beam shakily crisscrossed left and right, bouncing as they sprinted straight past the
slew of right and left turns. Thomas knew they had an advantage—the Cranks looked half broken, riddled
with injury. Surely they wouldn’t be able to keep up. But the thought that even more Cranks might be down
here, maybe even waiting for them up ahead …
Brenda pulled up and turned right, grabbing Thomas’s arm to drag him along. He stumbled the first few
steps, got his feet under him, pushed himself back to full speed. The angry shouts and catcalls of the
Cranks faded a bit.
Then Brenda turned left. Then right again. After this second turn she flicked off the flashlight but didn’t
slow.
“What’re you doing?” Thomas asked. He held a hand out in front of him, sure he was going to smack
into a wall at any second.
A shush was the only response he got. He wondered about how much he was trusting Brenda. He’d put
his life in her hands. But he didn’t see what other options he had, especially now.
She pulled up again a few seconds later, stopping completely. They stood in darkness, catching their
breath. The Cranks were distant but still loud enough, coming closer.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Right about … here.”
“What?” he asked.
“Just follow me into this room. There’s a perfect hiding spot in here—I found it while exploring once.
There’s no way they’ll stumble on it. Come on.”
Her hand tightened around his, pulled him to the right. He sensed that they were passing through a
narrow door; then Brenda pulled him down to the floor.
“There’s an old table here,” she said. “Can you feel it?”
She pushed his hand out until he felt hard, smooth wood.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Just watch your head. We’re gonna crawl under it and then through a small notch in the wall that leads
to a hidden compartment. Who knows what it’s for, but no way those Cranks’ll find it. Even if they have a
light, which I doubt.”
Thomas had to wonder how they got around without one, but he saved the question for later—Brenda
was already on the move, and he didn’t want to lose her. Staying close, his fingers brushing her foot, he
followed her as she scooted on her hands and knees under the table and toward the wall. Then they
crawled through a small square opening into the long, narrow compartment. Thomas felt around, patting
the surfaces to get a sense of where he was. The ceiling was only about two feet off the ground, so he
continued to drag himself farther into the crevice.
Brenda lay with her back against the far wall of the hideout by the time Thomas awkwardly got himself
in position. They had no choice but to lie stretched out, on their sides. It was a squeeze, but he fit, facing
the same direction she did, his back pressed against her front. He felt her breath on his neck.
“This is real comfy,” he whispered.
“Just be quiet.”
Thomas scooted up a little so his head could rest against the wall; then he relaxed. He settled in, taking
deep, slow breaths and listening for any sign of the Cranks.
At first the silence was so deep it had a buzz to it, a ringing in his ears. But then came the first traces of
Crank noises. Coughing, random shouts, lunatic giggles. They came closer by the second, and Thomas felt
a moment of panic, worried that they’d been stupid to trap themselves like this. But then he thought about
it. The odds of the Cranks finding the hidden cubbyhole were slim, especially in the darkness. They’d
move on, hopefully going far away. Maybe even forgetting about him and Brenda altogether. That was
better than a prolonged chase.
And if worse came to worst, he and Brenda could easily defend themselves through the tiny opening
into the compartment. Maybe.
The Cranks were close now; Thomas had to fight the urge to hold his breath. All they needed was for
an unexpected gasp for oxygen to give them away. Despite the darkness, he closed his eyes to concentrate
on listening.
The swishes of shuffling feet. Grunts and heavy breathing. Someone banged on a wall, a series of
deadened thumps against the concrete. Arguments broke out, frantic exchanges of gibberish. He heard a
“This way!” and a “That way!” More coughing. One of them gagged and spit violently, like he was trying
to rid himself of an organ or two. A woman laughed, so full of madness the sound made Thomas shudder.
Brenda found his hand, squeezed it. Once again, Thomas felt a ridiculous surge of guilt, like he was
cheating on Teresa. He couldn’t help that this girl was so touchy-feely. And what a stupid thing to think
when you have—
A Crank entered the room right outside their compartment. Then another. Thomas heard their wheezy
intakes of breath, the scrapes of their feet against the floor. Another entered, those footsteps a long slide
and thump, long slide and thump. Thomas thought it might be the first man they’d seen, the only one who’d
spoken to them—the one with the arm and leg shaking and useless.
“Little booooooy,” the man said, a taunting and creepy call. Definitely him—Thomas couldn’t forget
that voice. “Little girrrrrrrrl. Come out come out make a sound make a sound. I want your noses.”
“Nothin’ in here,” a woman spat. “Nothin’ but an old table.”
The creak of wood scraping against the floor sliced through the air, then ended abruptly.
“Maybe they’re hiding their noses under it,” the man responded. “Maybe they’re still attached to their
sweet little pretty faces.”
Thomas shrank back against Brenda when he heard a hand or shoe scruff along the floor just outside the
entrance to their little hiding place. Just a foot or two away.
“Nothin’ down there!” the woman said again.
Thomas heard her move away. He realized that his whole body had tensed into a pack of taut wires; he
forced himself to relax, still careful to control his breathing.
More shuffling of feet. Then a haunting set of whispers, as if the trio had met in the middle of the room
to strategize. Were their minds still sound enough to do such a thing? Thomas wondered. He strained to
hear, to catch any words, but the harsh puffs of speech remained indecipherable.
“No!” one of them shouted. A man, but Thomas couldn’t tell if it was the man. “No! No no no no no no
no no.” The words quieted into a murmured stutter.
The woman cut him off with her own chant. “Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes.”
“Shut up!” the leader said. Definitely the leader. “Shut up shut up shut up!”
Thomas felt cold inside, though sweat was beading on his skin. He didn’t know if this exchange had any
meaning whatsoever or was just more evidence of madness.
“I’m leaving,” the woman said, her words broken by a sob. She sounded like a child left out of a game.
“Me too, me too.” This from the other man.
“Shut up shut up shut up shut up!” the leader yelled, this time much louder. “Go away go away go
away!”
The sudden repetition of words creeped Thomas out. Like some control over language had snapped in
their brains.
Brenda was squeezing his hand so hard it hurt. Her breath was cool against the sweat on his neck.
Shuffles of feet and swishing of clothes outside. Were they leaving?
The sounds decreased sharply in volume when they entered the hallway, tunnel, whatever. The other
Cranks in their party seemed to have left already. Soon it became silent all over again. Thomas only heard
the faint sounds of his and Brenda’s breath.
They waited in the darkness, lying flat on the hard ground, facing the small doorway, pressed together,
sweating. The silence stretched out, turned back into the buzz of absent sound. Thomas kept listening,
knowing they had to be absolutely sure. As much as he wanted to leave that little compartment, as
uncomfortable as it was, they had to wait.
Several minutes passed. Several more. Nothing but silence and darkness.
“I think they’re gone,” Brenda finally whispered. She flicked on her flashlight.
“Hello, noses!” a hideous voice yelled from the room.
Then a bloody hand reached through the doorway and grabbed Thomas by the shirt.
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