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.