HI, i'm back!
I apologise for not updating on Monday, I was severely ill, much better now though!
StarStableGal- I agree with you, I don't think her leadership will ever really fade. After all these boys spent three years looking up to her. Thank you so much for the review, I cannot stress the joy I receive from reading them!
Ariel- Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoy the forecoming chapters xxx
CHAPTER 2:
A weak grumble of hunger sounded in the still air of her and Minho's bedroom, reminding Adira of her perpetual starvation. Assuming WICKED was behind all their problems, they'd done a good deal of fiddling and meddling with the Gladers in the past and the present, but keeping food away from them was an eternal sin. Especially in Frypan's eyes, who seemed more devastated at the idea of not cooking and handling food rather than eating.
Minho gave a light groan, "I can't believe I'm going to die like this."
She huffed out a light breath, turning on her side so her legs were splayed out over his, "I can't believe there's nowhere to bury you."
"You're so nice." he said, eyes closed as they lay side by side on their bed, listlessly staring as confinement turned boring. The day after pizza night was left on a confused note with a hint of panic as no one found a solution for their lack of food. As the light of the second day bled into the third, they realised soon that they were screwed and there was nothing anyone could do about it, whether they liked it or not. Frustration wasn't strong enough to describe what they felt.
"I know." she whispered, pressing herself to Minho's skin to extract his warmth, hopefully conserving energy in the process. Who knew when they'd have access to food- and therefore energy- again?
"I'm shucking starving." Minho said bleakly and she looked up to see his jaw jutted out at the ceiling in an obstinate manner.
"Gee, Minho, aren't we all?" she mumbled irritably, burrowing herself deeper into the sheets, throwing some of the material over the Asian boy to conserve heat, "Thanks for the reminder, babe."
"Your welcome." he grinned, flashing his usual smirk at her thinning face, worry shining in his smile. Biologically speaking, Adira as a female needed more body fat than the boys, and factoring in three days of starvation and the sparse amount of food they'd had access to during the last days of the Glade, she'd lost a significant amount of weight. Not to mention, she had a lot of muscle, meaning her baseline metabolic rate was higher than most. All in all, she wasn't looking too great, something Newt and Thomas had also picked up on in the brief moments they had enough energy gathered to move beds and talk to them. He didn't know, but the concern he was radiating was reciprocated by her.
"I'm okay Minho." she said stiffly, not used to so much concern from him. Sure, he'd always worried in the past when she was ill or injured but never to this extent. Either she was in really bad shape, or Minho didn't care to conceal his unease anymore.
"Tell me that when you're back to normal." he muttered, "You know you're not healthy right now, and there's not much to do about it, but don't lie to me."
"Kay, sorry." she apologised softly, hoping to ease the hardness of his face. Minho gave a small grin, giving her a kiss to her temple.
"I'll shower." she said finally and he nodded, letting her crawl off the bed and enter the bathroom, stunned as always when she caught sight of her reflection. While earlier she'd had colour in her face, she looked like a ghost now, like someone had rubbed whitewash over her skin. Grimacing, she sank underneath the heat of the shower, sighing in relief as her muscles relaxed. Showering felt good- cleanliness was at a primitive level back in the Glade, so to have the time to access a working, heated shower whenever she wanted was a luxury she was grateful for.
Drying herself off, she dressed, tucking in her shirt as she walked out, finding Minho upright, talking to Newt and Thomas. They all looked exhausted, like lifeless waxwork models, pasty and layered with tiredness.
"Hey." she greeted and they waved back, not having enough energy to speak. Their efforts were appreciated either way as they sank against the opposite walls that served to prop them up.
"We were just saying," Newt said in an exhausted voice, feebler than she'd ever heard, "that Nico's not doing great. We don't know how long he'll last."
Her stomach turned and she staggered to the bed quickly, knowing her weakened body would be unable to handle shock, "How is he now?"
"Fast asleep," Newt said miserably," Let him be. It's hard catching shut eye when you can feel your bones diggin' into ya."
She winced. Newt was naturally on the skinnier side already but taking away his food meant he lost further weight leaving his bones protruding. Minho rubbed his face and Thomas readjusted himself on the bed.
"I'm going to go bat crazy if I don't get food." she muttered and the dismal atmosphere darkened with thoughts of insanity. It was highly possible.
"Yeah, well." Minho said, stretching his arms over his head, "let's hope we don't get to that point."
"Great plan." Newt muttered, closing his eyes briefly, "We'll stick with that."
"Not much else to do." Thomas agreed, clasping his hands together, "I'm bored."
"What d'ya want to do Thomas?" Minho asked, "Play a game?"
He rolled his eyes, sighing deeply, "I don't know what I want."
Minho pursed his lips in understanding, "I get that, shank. I get that."
Being a previous Runner didn't make the aimless sitting around any easier. Minho's trained body hadn't adjusted to the inactivity and its nervous protesting was giving the Asian a hard time keeping still and saving his energy.
"How much longer?" she muttered, collapsing backwards onto the bed and closing her eyes again. Newt groaned in response, standing up shakily to his feet and extending a hand for Thomas to take.
"Let's hope not too much longer." Newt sighed, "We'll leave you two alone. Get sleep."
"And only sleep." Thomas muttered as he trailed behind Newt, ignoring Minho's boyish grin in his direction.
"Come on." Minho said as Adira failed to move from the uncomfortable position she was in, "Move over so we can sleep like normal people."
Making a weird, strangled noise, Adira pushed herself to a better position as Minho chuckled weakly at her antics. The sheets fell on top of them as she shivered, suddenly colder than she had been for the past few days. Minho must've noticed the goosebumps lining her skin because he pulled her tighter to himself, his face turning alarmed as her consciousness wavered.
"Adira!" he whisper-shouted as her eyelids fluttered shut, releasing a groan as she lay dead to his calls. Pressing his fingers against her neck, he found her pulse steady but weaker than normal and sighing deeply, positioning her under the sheets while calling for Thomas to come back. Her brother didn't waste much time, hearing the slight hint of panic and uncertainty in Minho's voice and turning around with Newt in tow.
"Shucks." Newt murmured, staring at her pale face, "She's a bloody skeleton."
Minho looked upset as he propped her head under a soft pillow, "She always ate like she was about to die the next day too."
Newt released an odd combination of a laugh and a moan of sadness, "She's like you that way. When she eats, she eats, doesn't talk to a soul until she's done, god forbid a poor shank interrupts her."
"That poor shank was me." Minho muttered fondly, remembering the countless times she'd attacked him for interrupting her dinner. Thomas sat next to his sister, his golden brown irises firmly fixed on her face.
"Sucks that I don't really know her." he said bluntly and Minho watched quietly as Thomas pried her fists open and enclosed her hand with his own, wincing at the coldness of her skin. He saw what the younger boy did not see. The void in their minds may have broken the memories of the little things, but their titles to each other confirmed and solidified the love between them.
"I'm sure you'll get to know her soon." Newt said, "Girl has a striking personality. Besides, you're twins, right?"
Thomas rolled his eyes, "Yeah, that just means we look kinda similar, not that we act the same."
"Get educated Newton." Minho laughed as Newt's face warmed.
"Slim it." the blonde ordered good-naturedly, though his embarrassed mumble only aggravated Minho's mirth further. "Similarities wise, you both apparently don't know how to smile."
"I smile!" Thomas defended, "So does she!"
"Never in public, shank." Newt grinned, "At least, not much."
"That's not true." Thomas huffed, though he knew they were right.
"She's the opposite of you sometimes." Minho said, "Always has been careful, y'know what I mean? Then this shank comes along and suggests we jump down the Griever Hole!"
"It worked didn't it." Thomas shrugged, before pulling his hand away from his sister's, "I'll be back later. Tell me if she gets up or anything."
"Shoo." Newt said, flapping at the brown haired boy, feeling a swell of affection for his golden brown glare. Minho scrutinised the blonde, before shaking his head in confusion and rolling back so he could lean against the headboard of the bed, stroking Adira's hair.
"She'll be okay." Newt said as he observed Minho's worried actions, rolling his eyes as the former Keeper gave a scoff.
"She better be." he muttered, "Otherwise she'll be dealing with a very mad Minho."
Smiling to himself, Newt staggered out of the room, his mind at peace once he saw just how much his best friend loved his other best friend, and how they would never leave each other behind, opting to stand and fight together, never backing down.
It was this one sentiment that held him together when he pleaded for Thomas to shoot him through the head- they'd all be safe and loved with each other.
Even if he was gone.
Thomas groaned as someone pulled back the arm he had purposefully placed over his eyes, effectively gaining his irritated gaze and complete attention. It was Minho, chewing something and he straightened in shock as the Keeper calmly stared down at his disorientated actions, all the while obnoxiously eating an apple.
"Where-where did you get that?" Thomas gasped out, pulling back his hair from his forehead and catching the apple Minho threw at him.
"You'll see." Minho said obscurely and Thomas narrowed his eyes.
"Adira?"
The former Runner softened slightly, rolling his apple in his hand, "She's up. I got her to eat some food and she says she's feeling better."
Thomas nodded briefly, wincing as the world span around him before sinking his teeth into the juicy flesh of the apple, the satisfying crunch only serving to aggravate his furious stomach further. Minho snorted at his pace as Thomas practically inhaled the fruit.
"Slow down or it'll come straight back up." he advised and Thomas stood to his feet, completely ignoring his words.
"Where's the food?" he asked, looking around as if an answer would appear in the air. He noted gratefully that although Minho's voice was far from its usual vigour, it was much improved from the exhausted drawl he'd been communicating with over the past days.
"In the mysterious room." Minho said, signalling to the room all the boys had been religiously avoiding since the disappearance of the dead bodies. Though the physical evidence of murder had disappeared, the mental scars of purpled bodies hung from a ceiling had made their mark.
Thomas galloped off through the corridor and Minho followed leisurely, eagerly waiting for his reaction to the newest addition to the Gladers. Needless to say, Thomas wasn't happy. The Glader watched as he charged forward angrily.
"Who the shuck are you?" he asked, advancing on the white suited man who was sipping on coffee, reading a book and completely ignoring everyone. Thomas walked faster, only to rear back in shock as he walked straight into a wall that he couldn't see, leaving his forehead bruised and his anger riled up.
"Who are you?" Thomas repeated, louder and the man gave a long suffering sigh as if Thomas had personally ravaged his room and spilled black coffee over his expensive white clothes.
"There is time before I have been instructed to speak with you all." He started, voice nasally and familiar through Thomas' mind block, "And I would greatly appreciate if you left me alone; this book is quite excellent, a brilliant read- but I'd prefer to read it without your screaming."
"Met the slinthead, huh?"
Thomas turned, gobsmacked, as his sister's voice sounded behind him, cold and cynical as always, her exhausted features pulled up into a barely there smile. He let the relief flood his body-she'd been unconscious for the better part of the day and to see her revived was hugely soothing.
"Hey brother." she said, shrugging a little, "I'm back from the dead."
"Thank shuck." Thomas breathed as he swallowed her in a hug, "We thought you were dead."
"Nah, you'll have to work harder to get rid of me." she chuckled into his ear, pulling back, "Go get food, you look like klunk."
"Thanks." Thomas grinned, before making his way to the pile of food Frypan had already asserted ownership of. It was somewhat calming for them to fall back into the routine of the Glade with Frypan slapping away boys' hands himself since Arden never made it and the muted chatter that came with an organised meal time.
"I swear protein bars have never tasted better." Winston sighed dramatically, shoving the rest of the cakey white bar into his mouth and discarding the flimsy plastic, already reaching for another one-chocolate flavour.
Minho grimaced at the wrappers next to the boy, choosing another fruit with relish, before picking up two packets of trail mix and heading to Adira.
"Take it." he muttered, handing a packet of trail mix to her and pressing an orange into her palm, "Eat while you can. Rat Man there gave a warning."
She glared at the white suited, prim figure of a man who had never seen struggle with his own eyes, the memory of an electric shock creeping up her spine playing in her head. She knew Minho recognised him judging by the deathly aura he'd been emanating since he laid eyes on his irritating face.
"Bloody hell!" Newt cried as Winston gagged and the blonde pulled the boy up, pushing him forwards as he raced away to the bathrooms. He shook his head for a few moments in disapproval before squatting down next to Thomas, plucking a banana from the boy, grinning mischievously as he protested.
"Best friends," Minho started, looking haunted, "just by looking at them, I can well believe it."
She nodded, tearing her eyes away from the duo, who had reverted to maniacally laughing about something incomprehensibly stupid, "Sweet how they found each other in the end."
Minho grinned soppily, "Like us?"
She shot him an impassive look, her tone dry, "Shucks, how could I forget? The perfect love story."
Minho winced, "Ouch."
"I don't think anyone expected us to be friends, let alone together." she said, remembering Newt's calming voice rising in volume as he tried to compete with the two of them shouting at each other. It never worked, but he'd always known that. When Minho and Adira argued, it didn't matter if the world was collapsing around them.
"Again, ouch." Minho repeated, his face light hearted at seeing her standing and talking. Passing out on him meant that he was constantly hanging around her now, but she couldn't muster enough energy to get annoyed at him, not when he gave her his puppy eyes, his face flushed with concern. Besides, she hated it when he wasn't around.
She rolled her eyes at his comically hurt expression, "Shank, you hated my guts when we first met. Those two? Nah, they loved each other at first sight. I know I'll be a maid of honour in a few weeks and they'll be shucking married."
"I didn't hate you!" Minho defended, "I was just…cautious."
She cracked a smile, "So cautious you almost killed yourself running into the Maze."
"And you saved me." he said, grinning goofily, "My princess in shining armour."
"That's me!" she murmured, smiling widely as his fingers danced on her waist, teasing her. He smirked, knowing exactly what he was doing and she stepped away from him, causing it to fall, eyes narrowing. But before he could give chase to her, Rat Man cleared his throat clinically, shutting his extremely interesting book with a decisive slam and rising to his feet, smiling coldly as the room went silent.
"Why are you here?" Minho barked, his attitude doing a full 180 as Rat man appraised him with a steely gaze. He didn't reply, pulling off his glasses and cleaning them in a practiced motion.
"I am sure you all have a lot of questions." he started finally, propping his glasses on his lengthy nose, "And although I cannot answer all, I can definitely answer most. Firstly- the Maze trials."
She could tell Minho was itching to scream at the man again, but she held his hand, a silent plea for him to restrain himself.
"I know you are angry and confused." He continued, his voice turning saturated with sugary condescension and a weak attempt at placation, "I understand. The Maze trials were a test, an experiment. Their whole purpose was to pick out the strongest, the best."
He smiled as if they'd achieved a monumentous milestone, "And you made it. Your will to survive despite all the odds being stacked up against you has given you the privilege of standing here. You are all due for a pat on the back."
Minho looked seconds away from "patting" the Rat Man on the back, just hard enough for him to smack his large head on the ground and unfortunately die.
"But why the Maze Trials? What was the reason?"
He smiled again. Colder.
"I'm sure some of you might've heard, but the Flare is the reason behind everything WICKED does. Don't be put off by the name; it stands for World In Catastrophe Killzone Experiment Department. Simply put, we're trying to save the world, save humanity."
He paused deliberately, clasping his fingers together solemnly.
"A virus has decimated the human population. There is no cure. WICKED is trying to find that very cure. Which is where you come in- the strongest candidates, the fittest and best of them all, both in body and," he tapped his temple, a cruel smirk curving up his features, "in mind."
"We test you," he continued, his face returning to a blank expression, "with Variables and we map your killzone- otherwise known as your brain. We take brain scans, see what sets you apart from the rest of humanity and what drives you forward."
He leaned forward, suddenly looking dead serious.
"These brain scans will provide the blueprint for the cure." he leaned back, "You are the people the world needs. Unfortunately Phase one- the Maze trials- did not deliver as expected. We need more."
"Get on with it." Minho said irritably and Adira nodded in agreement as Rat man dragged out the pause.
"Hence Phase two. This is where we'll amp things up. Where things may get difficult. But of course, you have the reason to fight. I'm sorry to say, that every one of you has caught the virus."
An immediate rumbling swelled within the Gladers and Rat Man flapped his hands at them, looking like an overgrown chicken as he issued shushing noises. They quietened eventually, though it was more to do with Minho's yells for them to slim it rather than the WICKED official's pathetic attempts to calm them down. The Gladers didn't take orders from untrustworthy people, it went against every instinct in their bones. They stuck to what they knew and who they knew.
"No need to panic, no need to panic." he muttered, tipping back his glasses in gratitude to Minho who scoffed, "The Flare is slow moving and by the end of this Phase, we'll have the cure and that's a promise. You'll be the first to receive it."
"But of course, that is in the future and the future," he gave them a cynical smile as if he was confessing something private, "isn't ever easy to predict. Never is straightforward. So we have to get through Phase two first, which will start promptly at six in the morning tomorrow. There will be a device on this wall, which will appear as a grey screen, which you will step through. The screen will close at five past- anyone not through will be exterminated."
"You are to journey 100 miles north to the Safe Haven in two weeks. Your supplies are given already and it must be noted, that not all will make it. Some will die. There is peril in the Scorch trials. Nevertheless, know we have the cure at the other end waiting for you."
A flurry of questions attacked the man and he pursed his lips, transforming his face into an unpleasant grimace as he waved his hand. The invisible wall fogged up and disappeared altogether, leaving behind a very confused, angry and shocked group of Gladers, their questions hanging unanswered in the air as they tried their best to prepare for the starkly presented Scorch trials.
"What the shuck?" Minho muttered and Newt caught her eye, shaking his head to signal that he wasn't happy with the proceedings. She'd expected that from them; the rigid order they treasured had collapsed further, leaving them disorganised and shocked.
But she didn't feel as terrified as she probably should have.
Maybe that would change.
"We have five minutes." Minho said loudly.
It had come to the attention of the Gladers that Minho was stepping in as Leader and surprisingly enough, people seemed to understand her reasoning even if it barely made any sense to herself and they'd accepted the news efficiently, helped by Minho's new tattoo. Since he had always held a certain degree of power back in the Glade, the Maze and in their newest edition of entrapment, the shift of leadership hadn't been abnormal and instead, the transition was smooth, much to everyone's relief.
The night before, Minho and Adira had confessed to Newt and Thomas that they'd had memories of the "Scorch" and judging from the short blip of memories they'd held onto, it wasn't a pleasant place. They'd reacted better than she expected, Newt burying his fist in his hair for a few minutes before shrugging and Thomas simply stared off into the distance. Still, it didn't slip past their notice that the rescue had been staged and that they'd never truly escaped WICKED.
"Excited?" Minho asked Adira as she tied up her bedsheet with the food supplies Frypan had rationed out for each person. Minho helped her hoist the massive sack on top of the WICKED rucksack strapped around her back, securing it as well as he could.
"Very." she said, glancing at the wall the Flat Trans was meant to appear, "I want to see the place our eleven year old selves were marching around in."
"Twelve year olds." Minho corrected, pointing to himself and Newt, "Not all of us are small people."
She rolled her eyes, "I'm not small."
"If you say so, Ad." Minho smirked, resting his elbow on her head, "If you say so."
"I was talking about age." she muttered, flicking his arm off her head and pursing her lips at his laugh. It wasn't her fault they were built like shucking trees.
"The wall," Thomas interjected, his golden brown eyes wide, "it's shimmering."
"And this is a fairy tale." Minho snorted, turning to see that Thomas hadn't been lying. He paused, "Well I'll be shucked."
"Do we go through it?" Frypan asked and Minho stood taller.
"Yeah, like Rat Man said." Minho said, "Unless any of ya want to chicken out, fine by me."
When nobody responded, he nodded in approval, "Adira and I'll go first. Thomas and Newt bring up rear. Make sure you hurry the shuck up, five minutes ain't a lot of time and I personally don't want to be "exterminated", whatever that means."
"Everyone got everything?"
A chorus of nods and yeses urged Minho to grab hold of her hand and step through the Flat Trans, a feeling of cold water caressing their skin descending over their heads. She bumped into Minho's back, the darkness of the place they'd been transported to overtaking her senses.
"Watch it shuckette." he warned lightly, "You're falling for me."
"Been there, done that." she huffed, as they started walking forwards, feeling the number of boys start to increase behind them. Minho stuck his hands to the sides.
"Feels like a tunnel." he observed, running his fingers along the rock, "A very dark tunnel then."
"Glamorous." Adira snorted, "I guess we walk forward. Maybe that's what they want."
"Shucking genius." Minho said, and despite it being a joke, she could hear a creep of pride in his voice, "We'll wait till Thomas and Newt get here."
She nodded and although it was pitch black, she knew Minho had picked up on her gesture. They shuffled forward until they heard Newt's voice and Thomas' muffled shout.
"Everyone's in!" Thomas relayed and Newt steadied the boy from running around the tunnel in his excitement.
"Shall we count?" Newt suggested, "Just in case. No one knows what the bloody hell that Flat Trans klunk really is."
"Was just about to." Minho said readily, "One!"
They continued counting themselves until they reached twenty one and Minho nodded approvingly to himself.
"It's a tunnel." he informed to the stragglers who were still confused, "So we'll walk forward, see how long it goes on for."
"This the Scorch trials?" Frypan asked, almost incredulously.
"Shuck knows." Minho shrugged, "Guess we'll find out."
The Gladers walked in dead silence, the only sound resonating in the tunnel, the scuffing sound of their boots hitting concrete and the occasional readjusting of their heavy backpacks. It was a dreary walk through the pitch black, but a slicing sound followed by a gloomy whisper stopped them in their tracks.
"What was that?" Frypan asked, the treble of fear in his voice setting off a chain reaction and leaving everyone terrified.
Minho shushed them hurriedly, "Slim it so we can hear right."
Silence descended again before the grating whisper was coherent enough to pick apart.
Go back. Your heads will get sliced if you walk forward. Go back.
"S'like bloody Harry Potter." Newt said, startling her as his voice sounded directly above her shoulder, "Y'know, with the voices in the walls? Chamber of Secrets was it?"
Minho snorted at Newt's reference, "Anyone turning back, be my guest."
No one moved and he clapped his hands. "We'll walk forward. Not much choice."
"Wait." Frypan said, "We need to think about this."
"No we don't." Minho returned bluntly, "It could be another mind game for all we know. You heard what the shank said, Frypan, either go forward or go back and die."
Silence followed Minho's dark statement and his heavy footsteps moving along the concrete spurred everyone into action, their paces hurried and cautious behind him. She held her breath, her lungs irritated by the musty interior of the tunnel and the dust that seemed to be falling from the ceiling.
A distinct swiping sound echoed through the tunnel and she heard the murmurs of confusion ring behind her like bells.
"Ain't only me that heard that right?" Winston asked unsurely, his voice quivering in the darkness. Pulling her hair behind her shoulder, she breathed in sharply as the sound repeated itself, instinctually ducking and pulling Minho with her.
A sudden scream pierced the air before it was muffled, as if something was containing it with layers of cloth.
"Who is that?" she asked loudly and Frypan answered shakily.
"Nathan." he answered and she guided herself to the source of the screaming, almost tripping over the unnoticeable figure of her brother crouched over the pained boy.
"What's going on?" she asked, feeling her brother's back and using it as support to bend down to Nathan's level.
"There's something around his head." Thomas noted in a strained voice, and she could hear his hands moving around, grasping for knowledge, "Like a ball. It's a perfect sphere."
"Can you not get it off?" Minho asked, his voice hovering over her crouched body, "I bet the shank can't breathe."
The screaming didn't pause in its hysteria, a long line of uninterrupted suffering that made the darkness of the tunnel blaze with the fire of misery. He convulsed violently, thrashing with his uncontrolled limbs flying through the pitch black.
"I can't." Thomas said after a few moments, "I-There's something wet on him too."
She stumbled backwards as the scent of iron invaded her senses and she knocked into Minho's legs. She felt his hands search for her, before latching onto her shoulders and helping her up.
"What's going on?" Newt asked as Thomas made a noise of surprise and she could hear a heavy thump.
Thomas stood, wiping his hands on his trousers, "His head…it was covered by this weird ball. But it just rolled off, just now."
Someone let out a sob, another gagged but Minho straightened with confusion. Newt called out from the distance.
"It's here!" he said, "A perfect sphere, bigger than a shuck head. I think there's blood on it."
"Like the voice said." Frypan cut in, "We should go back."
"No," Thomas said, his voice quiet but firm, "we need to move. Run. Whatever."
"Are you ser-"
"He's right." Minho said angrily, "We can't go back now. Who are you gonna listen to, Fry? Everyone here or a shuck voice in the wall?"
Frypan didn't reply and tacitly, the Gladers started in a sprint, panic fuelling the non-Runners forward while the more experienced ones ran with purpose and grace, their footfalls practiced and familiar.
Another shriek of fear permeated the silence but horribly no one stopped, leaving the boy behind as their feet carried them away from where their hearts ached for them to be. The guilt weighed in their chest, but they let it bottle up, saving it for the concealment of night.
Her breath caught in her throat as Minho suddenly screeched to a halt, muttering out a curse of pain for reasons she couldn't tell.
"Why have we stopped?" Thomas asked and there were murmurs of confusion following up behind him.
"Cos I almost broke this face. And that would be unfortunate." Minho said, "I think there's a staircase here, hang on."
The boys panted, their weakened bodies not used to the sudden pressure they'd placed on themselves. Sounds of Minho checking out the new obstacle in their path resonated in the darkness.
"Yeah, it's a shuck staircase." Minho confirmed.
"Let's go up then." Frypan said and though he sounded abnormally grateful for stairs, she knew he was only eager to get away from the pitch black and the tunnel of slicing, whispers and the Grim Reaper.
Minho snorted, "You're always full of bright ideas shuckface."
He made his way up the staircase and she followed, slightly more hesitantly as she felt the thin metal bend under her weight. Soon, the irregular thumps of footsteps followed behind them and the silence dissipated to heavy breathing and footsteps.
"Shuck!" Minho cried as a heavy thumping sound blasted through the air, "Stop running up the stairs, there's something up here!"
"What is it?" she asked calmly as Minho felt above him.
"A roof," Minho started, "a heavy one, wait."
His hands went along the sides of the walls in front of him before he switched something and the lid like roof flipped open and exposed them to heat like they'd never felt before; a humid, piercing fire accompanied by a brightness that seared her retinas into ash.
"Shucking hell!" someone yelled, and the boys let out grunts of pain, turning away from the sudden light. She turned away, feeling as if her skin had melted off her face, like the Crank woman back in the building they'd inhabited only twenty minutes ago. The lid came down with a heavy thump.
"That's the Scorch." Minho said grimly, "No wonder it's called that."
"My eyes are burnt." Winston moaned, rubbing away the tears that had sprung to his eyes, "They'll never recover."
"Slim it nice and calm." Newt advised, though his face was splotchy with surprise and pain, "How 'bout we lift the lid slow, so we'll get used to the light?"
Minho nodded, cracking the lid open slightly, wincing as the light entered, burning bright and hot. She hopped up to the platform, reaching up and helping Minho support the heavy metal lid as they inched it open little by little.
"It burns." Nico said, a hint of awe in his voice, "It's so hot."
"Apparently, we've found the sun again." Minho muttered, referencing to the disappearance of their sun in the Glade.
"Lift it up a bit more, shank." Newt said, "It's starting to get better. Doesn't hurt as much."
She pushed the edge slightly, wincing as her eyes protested sharply at the influx of light, tears sliding down her cheeks. It felt and looked like they'd entered the fires of hell itself. Maybe that was what WICKED was really leading them too. Their own demises and an eternity in the pits of hell, grieving for the boys they'd left behind, the people they'd killed and the remorseless efficiency they went forward with.
"Better now." Thomas murmured, curiously extending his head to see past the slight crack of light, "Lift more."
Minho did so and she stepped away once she realised that she couldn't reach the lid anymore. Thomas took her place wordlessly, his face serious as always, the perk of curiosity awakened from its dormancy.
"Maybe we can try lifting it all the way now." Nico suggested and Minho nodded, pushing back the metal lid, immediately shielding his eyes as the light flooded through the hole. He jumped up through the cavity, before coming back down again, eyes teary from the light and his olive skin turning a reddish hue.
"We have to wait till the sun goes down," Minho groaned rubbing his skin furiously, "it's burning my shuck skin off."
"How long is that?" Frypan asked, looking horrified. She had to agree; she'd take sunburn over a dark tunnel with whispers of death any day. But the way Minho's skin had reacted to barely a second out of the hole made them think a twice.
"Dunno shank." Newt shrugged, "I guess we'll just hang around till it dims."
Frypan looked dumfounded, like he had expected Newt to have an answer to the situation that seemed so easily solvable. It might have been if they'd had the tools; sun cream and good wide brimmed hats and protective clothing could've sorted them out well enough. But WICKED clearly didn't want to make their lives easy; maybe another Variable to keep them on their toes.
Winston suddenly pointed to a flash of silver in the air, moving too fast for her to make it out, before he was screaming bloody murder, thrashing on the floor, tumbling down a couple stairs. The light filtering through the hole wavered as Thomas rushed away suddenly, leaving Minho to bear the weight of the metal, holding up the source of their answers as it illuminated the silver blob of metal crowning Winston's head. A vague memory of a Titan holding up a sky flitted through her mind, but she discarded the thought as Thomas shouted at Winston, begging the boy's attention.
"Winston!" Frypan gasped as the silver metal threatened to cover his head. Thomas groaned as the boy's attempts to push the metal off his head failed, leaving the smell of burnt flesh lingering in the air. Acting quickly, he threw aside the heavy, oppressive backpack on his back before extracting the bedsheets they'd taken from the beds and securing them around his hands. And then he pushed at the metal.
Hours of screaming later, minutes of grunting and pushing afterwards, Winston was freed from the metal sphere that had disintegrated the minute it had lost hold of Winston's skin. He didn't look good at all.
His hair was gone and his skin till his left ear was completely raw and red, spots of blood cracking open on various spots as pitiful tears made their way down his wrecked face, paving a path through the grime. The top of his head was charred, burnt and blackened as if there had been fire and his left eye was closed and swollen.
"We're going out." Minho said decisively, "And fast."
No one disagreed.
"Frypan and Aris, take Winston between you two. You two at the back, hurry and tidy everything on the floor then make your way up. Thomas, get your shuck butt here, we're going up."
Thomas jogged up the stairs, looking mildly nauseous but determined all the same as the light rays hit his face with rage. They'd abandoned keeping the lid closed, pushing it back and exposing themselves to the sun. Minho sighed.
"No shuck way we're lasting five minutes out there bare skin." he said and she tried hard to not feel as if he had passed a death sentence on them, "Take the sheets, wrap it up around yourselves."
There was rustling and movement as the boys took the sheets, displacing their food into their packs and into spare sheets, covering each other as well as they could. It was vital they protected themselves from the burn-otherwise they'd be flat out dead in two minutes; significantly less time than the two weeks they were given to survive out in the Scorch.
She found herself nestled up under a sheet with Minho, the sheet covering every inch of their skin, the white cotton almost translucent with the light blooming through the threads. In that moment, just for a second, her heart stopped as the white cloth bloomed around them, confining them within their own small cage where content ruled and their love flourished, watered by the light that defused through the gentle string.
But reality hit her like a train as they ascended the stairs. Sweltering heat blasted through her throat, leaving her coughing, sweat trailing down her temples and her tongue drier than the sand under her boots. It felt like they'd entered a furnace.
"Holy mother of all shucks." Newt gasped out, his pale face quickly turning red with the heat, "This place is shucked."
She hadn't looked around till then, too focussed on moving her lungs and pushing against the dry, heavy heat of the air but the first thing she registered were the figures of Thomas and Newt crowed under the white sheets. Then it was the pain dancing across their features and she knew that their sheets were only a cute accessory that wouldn't help them much. Still, better than being straight on grilled. They'd settled for a slow roast.
"There's nothin'." Newt said, almost indignantly, "Absolutely nothing."
"'Part from shuck sand, there ain't much going on." Minho shrugged, sending the sheet up a little, "No wonder they called it the Scorch."
"Must've taken 'em a while to get that name." Newt said sarcastically, "Where are we meant to go then? There?"
He pointed at a crowd of buildings, so narrowly squashed together in the middle of nowhere that it looked like they were huddling together, cowering in fear. Thomas straightened, peering under the lip of the bedsheet with his usual curious expression planted firmly on his face. His lips turned down.
"That's barely thirty miles." Minho argued, "We have to head past those mountains up there to get anywhere close to a 100 miles."
Newt looked baffled, "That's far."
Minho shrugged, "Two weeks. We'll make it fine."
Thomas looked doubtful, "We've lost two people and we've literally just got onto the Scorch."
Minho rolled his eyes, "How about you take a lesson from this shuck place, Thomas? Even the freaking Scorch has more sunshine that you."
"Stating facts here." Thomas said wearily, shielding his eyes, "But I reckon we'll have to go past the mountains."
"How do you just tell?" Newt mumbled, kicking the sand.
"Runners, shank." Minho summarised, "We have to tell."
She agreed with their analysis, but they weren't going to get anywhere unless the other Gladers followed behind them and quit wasting time under the roof.
"Get out ya shanks!" Minho called, sensing her trepidation, "All's nice and safe now we killed all the bad guys, your welcome!"
Voices sounded behind them and a mirror image of what they had been like moments ago started again. It was a good while before everyone calmed down enough to speak normally.
"Well," Frypan started expectantly, voice raspy, "what's the plan?"
Minho glanced at her before he pulled the sheet over her head and talked loud, "We'll keep walking till we have to stop. Sunset's in a few hours, it seems, so we'll really pull out the big guns then. If we make it to the buildings, we can get shelter for a bit when the sun's up high then we can go from there."
No one argued, too hot and at a loss to suggest any new ideas and with that, the Gladers, two less than before, made their way across the arid, red, sandy plane of desert, their backs alive with the buzzing heat, so reminiscent of the Glade.
And they were back there.
They'd never truly escaped anything. WICKED still manipulated them, people still died and the only difference was that there were no physical barriers containing them. Newt looked up, his brain moving at the speed of light as he analysed his morbid surroundings.
No.
It was the cure that contained them now.
Only, of course, it didn't exist. So what did?