Thomas whipped his head around to see the cause.
A man stood there, just on the edge of her flashlight's range.
He was like an apparition―there was something unreal about him. He leaned to the right, his left foot and leg jiggling slightly, like he had a nervous tic. His left arm also twitched, the hand clenching and unclenching. He wore a dark suit that had probably once been nice, though now it was filthy and tattered. Water or something more foul soaked both knees of the pants.
But Thomas took all that in quickly. Most of his attention was drawn to the man's head. Thomas couldn't help but stare, mesmerized. It looked like hair had been ripped from his scalp, leaving bloody scabs in its place. His face was pallid and wet, with scars and sores everywhere. One eye was gone, a gummy red mass where it should have been. He also had no nose, and Thomas could actually see traces of the nasal passages in his skull underneath the terribly mangled skin.
And his mouth. Lips drawn back in a snarl, gleaming white teeth exposed, clenched tightly together. His good eye glared, somehow vicious in the way it darted between Brenda and Thomas.
Then the man said something in a wet and gurgly voice that made Thomas shiver. He spoke only a few words, but they were so absurd and out of place that it just made the whole thing that much more horrifying.
"Rose took my nose, I suppose."
CHAPTER 32
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."