HI! SO SORRY I'M LATE WITH AN UPDATE.
I had many, many exams (still have more but they're lowkey) so I couldn't post. Nevertheless here is the last chapter of Phase 2 and the next update will be Phase 3 (Death Cure)
I hope you enjoy!
SatsukiiSama- HEY! Gald to know you're here! And thank you, exams weren't altogether terrible though they left much to be desired.
CHAPTER 7:
Adira scrambled to her feet, dread rearing its head like a serpent as her friends followed suit, craning their necks for a better view of horror.
"What the shuck?" Thomas gasped, paling almost immediately. He recognised the black coffin like containers spiralling out of the ground on metal screws; they were the Griever pods. Minho seemed to recognise them even though the light had been dim in the computer chamber where they'd landed in the Griever Hole.
"I ain't fighting no Grievers," he said furiously. It was cruel for WICKED to give them another hurdle, especially when numbers were so low. Combining both the girls and the boys gave them roughly 24 people. Pathetically low.
"Well, what are they here for?" Thomas yelled, "Do ya think we get in or something?"
"You always have shucky ideas," Minho spat back, worriedly glancing at the raging storm in the distance before he changed sides. "But maybe? They might transport us to the real Safe Haven or something."
Minho, Newt, Adira and Thomas tightened into a knot, sinking together naturally. It was back to normal; more problems, more worry and more danger but they were together, plotting and fighting. Harriet and Sonya joined them, faces grim but lined with determination that could only be brought with previous hardship.
"The two glorious queens of Group B," Minho applauded. Harriet rolled her eyes and Sonya grinned briefly, though it disappeared faster than the lightning scorching the ground like a rapid predator.
"There's more coming around," Harriet observed, her dark eyes widening in fear as twenty three other coffins spun out of the sandy rock, spinning on corkscrew like metal installations.
"One for each person," Minho observed and Harriet nodded slowly.
"I think Thomas is right," she said, pointing at the dark grey and red clouds intensified into black fog. "Maybe this is shelter from the Creators."
Adira shook her head, feeling that something was off, not quite right, when a sudden hiss, loud enough to penetrate the roaring gale pierced their bubble of confusion. Turning around, her stomach rolled violently.
"Ah shucks," Minho muttered, his hands searching for her fingers. She swallowed harshly, interlocking their hands together, as the creature dragged itself out of the box.
It was huge, seven or eight feet in height, all lumbering metal with a skeletal metal frame, spikes covering the arm-like appendages and dangerous weapons littering its body. Most distinctly, there were big, bulbous orange balloons, the same colour as the flag, dotting its body, pulsating and bright to the eye.
"This isn't good," Thomas muttered and she just about managed to catch the sight of Harriet and Sonya grabbing their weapons and holding them ready.
"There's one for each person," Minho yelled out and Newt rolled his eyes as if he couldn't believe that they had to do this again.
"We'll take on each one. Get those orange balls!" Minho ordered, screaming to be heard above the raucous gale.
None of them could tell if everyone heard the message but there was no time to make sure. The huge monsters lumbered towards the tight knit group, metal flashing ominously in the light of the spasming skies.
"Let's go," Minho muttered, his grip tightening.
"Again," Newt spat, his weapon held dangerously close to her nose. Moving back, she nodded somewhat defiantly at Thomas who made a gesture that she interpreted as "be careful". Returning it proved difficult as Teresa blocked their connection, her weapon strung out.
A monster was targeting her, the face of the creature directly trained on her vulnerable figure and before she knew it, Minho had pressed a blade into her hand before facing his own demon.
Rain spat down onto her eyes, blinding her from the torture ahead. Spitting out water she stumbled backwards, hoping to delay the inevitable long enough to mentally prepare herself.
It struck first, a long blinding gleam of metal careening her way and she ducked, feeling the harsh grit of the sand rub an abrasion on her elbows, a gift from hell. It felt like the concrete of the Maze and the harsh reality that her life was literally on the line came into full focus.
She pulled herself up, charging at the clumsy creature, savagery fuelling her intentions. Letting loose a scream of vengeance and propelling off her back foot, she flung the sword at the orange balloon on the shoulder of the monster, watching in grim satisfaction as it popped with a loud sound, releasing a burst of white gas.
Her moment of triumph dissolved as the creature flung an arm out at her, swatting her away like a fly. Stinging with pain, she stumbled back to her feet, counting with savage triumph- five balloons left.
"Thomas!" Newt cried and she barely had time to whip her head around before the rain became a blur in front of her eyes and the danger of death loomed ominously overhead. The creature seemed to laugh at her dismay but she fought against the threat valiantly, blinding stabbing and hoping her limbs would stay intact.
A pain shot across her torso and she gasped as the metal shredded her shirt leaving a trail of ruby, a splash of colour against the paleness of her skin. Gritting her teeth, she burst the last balloon watching with a weird fascination as the monster collapsed at the knees, as if it were human, falling over buried into the sand.
"That's not looking pretty," Thomas said and she almost jumped at the suddenness he'd approached her with. Her shirt was ruined, red and grimy, long losing the shiny white shade it had been. Not to mention, but the middle area was ripped, so that the top part was intact and the bottom tucked in like normal but with a gaping hole that showcased her wound.
"Hurts," she said briefly, surprised to hear her voice fading slightly. Thomas noticed, eyes widening, face paling to a deathly tone.
"Hang on," he said, supporting her for no other reason than his own sanity. "I've killed mine, Newt and Minho got theirs and there's only Emily and Aris left."
She nodded, abruptly stopping as the dizziness set in. Her hands flew to her torso, staunching the flow of blood. A sticky red coated her skin.
"Oh shucks," Thomas muttered as the rain whipped them harsher and harsher. "Newt's hurt."
Her head whipped up to attention, "Where is he?"
Thomas didn't speak, instead pulling her along to the blonde. Every monster was dead by now and Aris was clustering around Newt, who had helped exterminate the last metal beast.
"Move," Minho ordered curtly and Aris didn't hesitate, reverting to the shy boy they'd known, obedient and terrified of the higher powers. Minho crouched next to Newt, "Where did it get you?"
"Just a broken bone, you know how my ankle is," Newt winced, breathing out in a shuddering movements that resonated in them all. "I'll bloody live, Minho."
"You better," Minho replied shortly, hoisting the boy from the floor and turning to Adira, lingering on the dripping scarlet. "Same goes for you."
"That's all I needed. Your instruction to not die," she deadpanned and Minho grinned despite the morbidness of their situation.
"A little guidance hurt nobody," he replied before turning to the gathering crowd of confused teenagers. Whatever they'd expected, it hadn't been radio silence from WICKED's end. Killing all the beasts hadn't given them a secret portal or a means of shelter and communication- only a dead body and the impending doom of the lightning.
"We're running out of time," Minho announced and the Gladers and Sticks waited eagerly for some call to action, "I say we go into those pods things. They look like they can take some heat. Better than the open outdoors anyway."
If there was protest no one heard it because at that exact moment lightning blasted the sand ten feet away from them, a white hot eruption of light and fire that elicited screams of horrified distress.
Thomas was already dragging her away before she had a chance to gather her wits and she picked up her pace, watching with sick misery as people scrambled for safety, some with tears streaming down, some with gaping wounds, some with pale shock written like a death sentence on their faces.
Someone pulled her into a pod and she crouched into the space, relieved to find Minho was there too, on the opposite end from her, setting Newt upright as best as he could. Blood was sticky on her hands, her trousers, her hair. It was a cloying smell and she grimaced at the pungent iron in the air.
"Now we shucking wait, I suppose," he said, straining to keep his head bent.
"How long though?" Thomas persisted, "We can't stay here forever. Nothing's to say we don't get hit in here."
"Well that would suck," she said succinctly. "But we'll wait till the storm passes and see how long we're left out here. If it's longer than a day, I'm leaving."
No one commented because it would make it too real- they were abandoned and it seemed like it would stay that way. An explosion screamed through the air and Thomas looked sick, before a look of extreme relief gave way.
"Teresa?"
She didn't like her. Not ever and not now. But if Thomas was unhappy when she was in danger then Adira was unhappy when she was in danger- it was just the way it was. Sibling code bound her with Teresa.
Thomas shook his head, "She's okay."
"Brenda?" Newt asked, "Where's she then?"
"Probably with Jorge. Y'know they're like family, she'd want to be with him."
"Sweet," she said drily.
"Should we see up there?" Thomas asked suddenly and Minho slapped his forehead.
"I tell you, this shank always has the worst ideas!"
"And this shank got us out of the Maze," Thomas replied steadily and Minho blew out a harsh breath because he was irrevocably right and everyone was struck by the same curiosity whether they admitted it or not.
"Fine."
Thomas moved up and she waited for the crack of the lid to reveal blood and terror, shouting and horror but all they received was the lashing of the rain and the scream of the wind. Newt pulled it down harshly, simultaneously bringing Thomas into the capsule of delusional safety.
"Sit back down Tommy," he muttered, glancing at the weak protection above them. "Don't want to tempt the gods."
"What gods?" Minho replied scathingly. "If there were any we wouldn't be here right now."
"Got a point," Adira muttered, feeling a wave of anger slamming into her like a tsunami. WICKED was beyond the point of forgiveness- perhaps, somewhere very deep down, after many decades, they'd find it in themselves to move on from the injustices of the Maze trials. Phase 2 had ruined any chances of that.
"Do you hear that?" Thomas asked suddenly and his agitation vibrated in the closed air. Minho rolled his eyes.
"I swear you just want to be hit," he accused. "The lightning is still going, we don't have a shuck chance Thomas."
"No, listen," Thomas urged, straining to hear past the screams of the weather. She focused, not entirely sure on what she was looking for but willing to try.
"There!" Thomas said and his arms reached up and pushed at their ceiling so that she had to place a hand over her eyes at the sudden onslaught of rain. Although reprimands were on the tip of her tongue, the sight of a massive machine, a flying thing that would whisk them away from hell snatched her words away.
"We have to get on," Thomas cried. They were later than most, she knew that as she stumbled out of the coffin, giving Newt a hand up and cupping her wound.
Grabbing Minho's hand, partially because she felt like she would fall and partially for support, she started through the dense fall of water, trying to follow the bright blue white lights of the ship. A door seemed to be extending from the main body but her heart quickened when she realised that people were clambering on and the Berg was a big distance away from them.
"We're Runners," Minho yelled suddenly. "We'll see who gets there first!"
And it felt like she was back in the Glade, competing against him, chasing the cheerful victory of a race. This time around though, her tongue felt heavy with thirst, her body weak and her blood spilling onto the sand as a mark of her fading existence.
"Come on then! Keep up!"
She could tell he was scared, the foreign flash of fear darting through his eyes breaking the cold composure he was so well known for. Bit he wasn't scared for himself. He was scared for her. She was slowing and weakening with every gulp of air and every step. Thomas' blurry form struggled to haul Newt along and several other people fought against the unforgiving winds. Broken pods littered the sand and a few unmoving dark lumps felt the force of nature.
"Come on!"
She heard his voice crack because she was falling into a coma of deep, desperate tiredness, a state where she couldn't fight any longer. He was scared. The vulnerability in his eyes shone like the tears of a small child, ripped away from his parents and watching his world collapse around him. He'd die right along with her if she quit now.
Tears streaming down her face because of the weight of the decision she'd taken, her feet forced themselves forward and Minho pulled them along, the steel of determination fuelling their jagged run. Her blood poured down, accompanying her tears but they went against the odds.
"Hurry up!" Thomas yelled, turning back and finding their faraway figures cloaked with darkness and wind. Newt had just got through the door, his small cries of pain jabbing through Thomas' heart. A whirring sound joined the din of the rain and his eyes widened as the door retracted, slowly but surely.
Racing blindly for his sister and his best friend, he grabbed her arm and ran for all he was worth, Minho's haunted eyes aimed for the door. It was closing, faster now, not halfway there but almost. Screams erupted around them as people realised their doom but not once did the trio stop.
"Get her on fast," Minho said roughly, grabbing her waist and pushing her up as far as he could before someone- Brenda, maybe, lent a hand and pulled Adira through. Minho waited and he gestured for Thomas to hurry.
"Gimme a hand up," he said and Thomas jumped onto the door, horrified as it ascended. Hauling himself over the lip, he stretched out his hand for Minho. It was too high. There was no way the boy could get on, yet he reared back and jumped with all his might, grabbing Thomas' hand with one of his own, his fingers gripping the edge.
"Come on," Thomas yelled, pulling the leader over and just about managing to pull him into the white interior of the Berg, his stained shirt, bloody arms and panting breath all too visible.
The silence felt too loud as the Gladers and surviving Sticks looked around, ears ringing with the aftermath of rain and wind.
"Ah, shucks," Minho groaned, breaking the vigil. "That hurt-"
"Like a shucking mother," Newt finished, his tone dry with sarcastic wit or with pain, it wasn't too clear.
"He's pretty dead on point," Adira muttered, her body slumped against the impeccable white of the Berg walls.
"You look pretty dead," Minho muttered, moving to her immediately. It was a light hearted response but his urgency eradicated any laughs. Newt shuffled in his position against the wall. Someone, Minho she assumed, had ripped up his trousers so that his purpled swollen skin was visible.
"Who are you?" Harriet asked roughly and Adira rolled her eyes, looking up at whoever had decided to greet them.
"WICKED guard," the man said and she straightened at the sight of his official navy uniform and extensive weaponry. "Welcome back."
"Why am I not bloody surprised with that warm welcome?" Newt muttered ungraciously and she bit her lip to suppress a laugh. The guard didn't hear and by his rigid posture, she supposed it was for the better.
"Who the hell are those two?"
Though his tone hadn't been the friendliest before, there was simple antagonism now, blunt and harsh against the general unity they had managed to build.
"Our friends," Thomas said steadily and she leaned back, trusting he'd do a good job. "They helped us get here and we promised them the cure."
The guard laughed bleakly, "You promised them? Who gave you the goddamn authority for that?"
"I don't think it really matters," Minho interjected. "Not when we've got several people dying right now."
"That can wait," the guard said severely and her breathing became more laboured. She estimated herself five minutes before Adira would vanish and a bloody corpse would replace her. Event that was pushing it. "We need to get them off this Berg. They're both Cranks and they stay in the Crank land."
"Calm down amigo," Jorge said calmly but the guard was unrelenting, moved to agitation.
"Get them out!" he yelled, spittle flying as Thomas put his arms up in a gesture of surrender.
"We can't just do that!" Thomas cried. "We had a deal."
"Fine," the guard spat, "keep one of 'em. The other gets out."
Silence descended momentarily as Thomas froze in shock. Jorge made a step forward but Thomas moved and pointed straight at Brenda, mercilessly watching as her face dissolved into a look of fear.
"What the shuck man?" came from Minho but he didn't move from his position beside her, only turning to Brenda with a look of equal shock and remorse. He would've helped but it wasn't his battle to fight.
"Bloody hell. That's a turn of events," Newt whispered to her and she didn't have the heart to say anything back, not when her tongue was dry and her words had evaporated.
"Get her out then," the guard said, a thin trickle of perspiration following the curve of his cheek. Thomas' eyes followed the trail before he moved forward, giving Jorge a significant look and muttering something so imperceptibly that Adira would not have noticed if not for the slight relaxing of Brenda's shoulders.
"Hurry up!" the guard yelled, his gun trembling. "Or do I have to do it?"
Thomas paused, before he backed away from Brenda. "Yeah. You do it."
"Dude—"
"Just let him," Thomas shrugged, exhaustion saturating his words. It was a good act they were putting on, she decided, as Minho gave her a fleeting grin of understanding. He stood up as if he knew that Thomas would need his assistance.
"Smart," the guard commented, roughly grabbing Brenda's forearm and eliciting a deathly glare from Jorge. Brenda struggled, dragging her heels against the pristine floors of the Berg, leaving a long muddy trail of blood, sand and tears. It did nothing but aggravate the guard, who punched a button on the wall, allowing the door to curl downwards, the door of death for Brenda.
"Off you go," the guard said as the wind intensified and the gentle humming of the engines played like a funeral song. He positioned her close to the opening but at the last second, Thomas dived in front of the guard, pulling Brenda away and Minho came up behind him, shoving him out of the gap and punching the button again.
"Well done," Harriet applauded sincerely her eyes glancing at the terrified faces of people before looking over Brenda with concern. "Nothing hurt?"
Brenda shrugged off her placating tone, "I'm fine and dandy. Apart from my brain. Would've liked that cure."
"We kind of need medical treatment here," Aris muttered and he would've been ignored had it not been for the severity of the statement.
"Well was anyone here a Med Jack?" Minho asked, somewhat crossly and Aris shrunk away. Sonya rolled her eyes but didn't comfort him like she maybe would have long ago, when things had been simpler. Their trust had been broken and it would take a long time to repair.
"I know a bit but I wouldn't want to tinker with that mammoth of a gash," she said. "I'm not the most experienced."
"You can say that again," Harriet snorted and the girls shared a grin that no Glader could decipher. Minho rubbed his arms, a bothered expression flitting through his sharp features before he sat back down beside Adira.
"I didn't expect you to kill him. I guess I don't blame you though."
She turned to the unfamiliar voice, squinting slightly as her vision blurred.
"Who are you?" Newt spat, his pale face twisting contemptuously.
"Woah," the guard straightened his arms in surrender, whistling noisily through his teeth, "I don't mean harm."
Brenda moved instinctively closer to Thomas, (a gesture that didn't go unobserved by Teresa), who glared ferociously at the guard and grabbed the girl's arm as if he could keep her chained to him, away from any more people trying to push her off a Berg. The man only shook his head and she felt her aggravation grow.
"I mean it," he stressed, thick, dark eyebrows climbing like caterpillars on stems. "We're done now. It's over. We're taking you some place safe, away from the Scorch."
Minho rose again, "What do we do now then?"
The guard shrugged, "Clean up a bit and maybe get some of you some care. Some of you don't look too good."
"Wonder why?" Harriet muttered and Minho nodded in approval, glowering at the sheepish guard. He scratched the back of his neck seeming more human than any of the other WICKED staff.
"I'm sorry for that," he said before people scurried in, masks over their faces, eyes clear and blank. Before she could say anything, they had carted her away, Newt not too far behind, the glint of metal and the disinfectant smell of a hospital replacing Minho's warm hands.
"It's not broken, only a very bad sprain. It should heal soon, considering the medicine we administered. Top quality, very expensive. You should be thankful."
Adira scowled at the detached voice and its condescending attitude, even in the hold of sleep. Newt seemed to agree with her based on his scathing reply.
"So thankful. I'm so grateful I got tested on like a bloody lab rat."
"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Newton."
"I'll bear that in mind, thanks."
There was a sound of disapproving anger before sharp clicks of footsteps echoed and faded. She decided the coast was clear and it was safe to get up to communicate with Newt, away from the prying ears of the Med Jacks.
"I knew you were awake!" Newt cried as she raised herself on her palms, grinning at his indignant expression. The rose of anger faded away as quickly as it had come and harsh angles were replaced with concern.
"Better? You looked pretty shucked earlier."
She pulled up the thin baby blue blanket on her, checking her stomach underneath the mint hospital garb, wincing at the long stretch of stiches visible underneath a white bandage.
"Doesn't hurt as much and there's no bleeding, so yeah, I guess?" she muttered, pursing her lips as a throb of pain became apparent. "How's the leg?"
"Bloody fantastic," Newt snorted dejectedly. "You heard the doc. It's only a sprain."
"A sprain on your bad leg," she emphasised darkly and Newt played with the edge of a copy of the blanket draped over her.
"It was bound to happen," he said quietly. "It's weak; has been since…"
He trailed off, not awkwardly but with a touch of regret and sorrow that she perhaps would never truly understand the depth of. The Scorch trials had kept him unreasonably busy, never letting a moment of solitude pass by- there hadn't been time to think. As a result, he hadn't one of his "grumpy days" as Adira teasingly phrased it, for a while but the lingering pain, doubt and self-loathing never left him and it felt like they never would. She thought back to that one terrifying moment on the Scorch, Minho urging her on but her heart numb and her mind blank, only feeling the appeal of nothingness and felt that maybe she could relate to her best friend's struggle.
"It's okay," Adira said. "It's okay if you want to talk about it. You never did, not after you were out of bed. I worry, Newt."
He swallowed harshly as her light blue eyes gazed at him earnestly, with so much love and compassion that he felt undeserving of. She was right in that he hadn't mentioned his attempt ever since the conversation in the Med Hut but he didn't want to burden them. Something compelled him now to speak, something he couldn't decipher and didn't want to.
"I'm sorry I ever did it," he muttered, looking down at the lines of cotton on his blanket, his fringe covering his eyes. "I regretted it the moment I fell."
Fisting the cotton in his hands, he continued, "But there's times Ad, where I feel like the same person who climbed up those walls. The one who thought it wasn't worth it anymore and felt so hopeless."
He gave a bitter laugh after a few seconds of silence, "It's like a cycle I can't get myself out of. A cycle of torture. I hate feeling so bloody shucky at times, I hate feeling like there's no point to anything and being a general pain in the arse."
"But I can't help it and I can't control any of it. I might not be leapin' off walls but I sure well want to sometimes. That rush when I fell...it sounds messed up but I crave it sometimes. The freedom, the control...there's something there that I can't let go."
Adira paused before she spoke. She'd never assumed that Newt was better and that he was cheerful and happy and one hundred percent after his attempt. Even years on, she'd never assumed that he was free of his demons, only that one of his limbs had loosened from their shackles.
"It's alright to feel like that, Newt," she said, formulating her thoughts into well strung, communicable words. She was struggling but she'd struggle for him.
"You're hard on yourself," she continued, giving up on making her speech elegant and instead blurting out a stream of consciousness that was just about coherent. "Almost always, you think you could've done more, better, like you want to be the best. But…" she blew out a breath, "you don't have to be perfect all the time. Everyone feels like klunk. So let yourself feel like klunk too. It's human."
"We love you regardless. Whether you cry all the time or you don't. Leaping off a wall didn't make you weaker," she said, pointing sadly to his twisted foot. "It made you so much stronger. You can take the pain of re-injuring the same leg that's a reminder of something so…desperate. You live with that pain every single day."
She gave a small delighted laugh as the words caught up with her, "You live, Newt. If you see that, you see your strength."
She fixed a stern look on his chocolate eyes, feeling her heart thrum with an energy she felt because of gratitude for his living breathing person, "Your biggest strength was to live when all you wanted to do was die."
"And the Queen is up!"
Adira scowled at the title, pulling off her blanket and twisting herself slowly out of the bed she'd been in. Minho was there, carefully helping her down with a vaguely panicked expression decorating his clean face.
"Easy tiger!" he muttered, grinning a little as she shook his arm off defiantly, savouring independence. She trusted Minho with her life, that was undeniable but she felt better having control over herself, rather than burdening him with her weight. She thought back to Newt's confession of feeling like a burden and she reverberated with understanding.
"You both look miles better already," Minho observed, nodding his head at Newt's coloured cheeks and placid expression. "They work fast."
"Apparently they used the best medicine they got," Newt said. "Very expensive medicine."
Minho mulled over his words before shrugging, "Guess they don't want us to die then."
"I would believe that," Thomas said, introducing himself to the room with his loud statement of hatred. "Except they tried to kill us in the Scorch. Not very convincing."
Newt nodded, "But they said it was over."
Adira snorted, "We all know that's a lie."
"The guard said Rat man wants to see us soon," Thomas informed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "So we can ask about the cure or whatever. And try not to punch that shuckface."
Newt laughed shortly, before gesturing for Thomas to sit down on his bed, "I'll bet ya, some of us will become human restraints."
"Thing is," Minho started, his serious face stark against the superficial luxury of the Berg, "I don't think there is a Cure."
"Think about it," he continued as Newt frowned. "If there was a Cure, wouldn't they give it to us straight away? I'd think there'd be a warmer welcome than what we got."
"Maybe that was the last Variable or something," Thomas suggested weakly. Minho shook his head, unconvinced.
"That means they're still not done. They said a cure would be done and dusted by the time we were finished with the Scorch trials."
"So what's that mean then?" Adira asked, a familiar seed of fear growing, "There's more to this? Is it gonna end with the Last Variable, whatever that is?"
Minho slumped back down onto the bed , Thomas stared off into a spot and Newt scowled.
"That's the million dollar question, isn't?"
The Berg had been flying for only about a day when Newt and Adira had been dismissed from their medical treatments and were allowed release back with the rest of the Gladers and their new Group B friends. Most people had been hanging around in a massive white common room area, sprawled around carelessly on top of clothes, sheets and anything soft. When they'd entered, the room was quiet, most sleeping, some awake but filled with a general air of tense peace, as if they all knew it was liable to breakage.
"Where's Brenda? And Jorge?" she asked after settling in a reasonably spaced area near the back of the room. Thomas rubbed a hand across his eyes in an exhausted way, leaning back against the wall. It seemed he couldn't nod off into blissful dreamland.
"I don't know," he admitted before closing his eyes as Newt sunk down beside him, offering his shoulder as a pillow. She sighed, turning away from her exhausted brother and focusing on Minho's presence next to her. He was thinking hard and she pecked him on his cheek, grinning as he smiled down at her.
"Hey there."
"Hey," she muttered back. "Stop thinking and go to sleep."
He listened for once, using her stable breathing as a lullaby. He didn't dream much, especially not after escaping the Maze. The anomaly had been in the early days of the Scorch, when he'd remembered Adira's descent into the Maze, leaving him behind- the sting of betrayal had faded now but the memory was permanent. Compared to the sleeping girl beside him, he'd barely experienced any memories. But that night, he dreamt like he dreaming to make up for all the nights that he'd spent colourlessly.
It wasn't the past though. It was a future world.
A park. Explosions of green, pink and blue, pretty flowers dotting the thriving grass, tall trees waving gently in the breeze, the smell of fresh, clean air, devoid of smoke, death and blood ensconcing him in a gentle embrace. A playground filled with screaming, cheerful children, ranging from toddlers to kids as old as Chuck had been, all running around and panting with grins painting their faces.
A woman walked into his line of vision, blondish brown hair flowing around her shoulders, glinting in the sun, light blue eyes serene and happy. She was laughing, her pink lips curving upwards, as a small girl of maybe three careened into her arms, dressed identically to her mother. Both wore floral sundresses of cotton, loose and billowing in the wind, matching sandals encasing their feet. The child had silky black hair held in two bunches that bobbed as her mother picked her up, pressing a kiss to her cheek before the girl was gesturing to him, her little arms outstretched in his direction.
He was taking her into his arms before he could think, a grin matching the woman's forming on his face as the child's own profile sharpened. She had his eyes, almond shaped and curious but unlike the black he expected, they were a light blue. Her nose was his. Her cheeks were round and chubby with youth but he could see that they would transform into her mother's. Her lips were shaped exactly as his but their colour was undeniably her mother's.
The woman walked over to them, a device flashing in her hands as she brought the girl down, encouraging her to go off in the direction of the swings. Hazily Minho made out Newt grinning beside Thomas who twirled the child in his arms, Brenda laughing as the girl screamed with joy, a picture of perfect happiness. He felt a hand on his cheek before a kiss was gifted to him. A ring on her finger reflected the sun light, a sparkling diamond with a story to tell.
Adira. His wife. A mother. But most importantly, alive with him, happy. The first thing that had struck him first had been her courage, then her tenacity, then her eyes. He was blinded by them, so enraptured with their clearness, their transparency and the burning intensity of them. Seeing her now, her light irises focussed on him, staring with unrestrained love as their child, gifted with the same blue orbs, grabbed onto their legs, Minho felt his heart burst. He knew he loved her ages ago.
He'd loved her before he knew her name.
He loved her as their world was shredded around them and he loved her as his entire existence was wiped away from him.
He loved her.
When she woke up, she expected the steady rise and fall of Minho's shoulder to greet her but instead, white walls, white floors, and white everything welcomed her.
"What the shuck?"
Her voice echoed back to her pathetically, serving as a reminder for her loneliness. This was unexpected, not ideal. There was nothing in the room, save a tiny toilet- also white and a white door. She had been changed from her hospital clothes to a white shirt and white joggers.
It lasted for a long time. Her mind numbed itself and the ache of loneliness dissipated into nothingness soon. Losing count of the hours, the days, maybe months had left her disorientated but she'd resorted into sedateness to preserve her thinning sanity.
The same bland food was served to her, the same empty routine. No words, no thoughts- nothing. The only human emotion she felt was the detachment from her people, especially her brother, Newt and of course, Minho.
On the thirtieth day, the door opened.
"Good morning, Adira."
She gaped at the figure of a real life, moving person, unused to the splashes of colour he wore- a red shirt, the colour of blood and black trousers under a white lab coat.
"We have things to talk about. Many, many things."
She couldn't bring herself to say anything, her mouth dry, tongue heavy. Of all the things she'd assumed she'd do, it hadn't been utter silence.
Rat man licked his lips, "You know you have the Flare."
"I know," she echoed, surprised her voice still worked. It was rough and dry. "I'm expecting the Cure."
"The Cure," Rat man said, a grim smile on his face. "Well you'll be glad to know we're impossibly close to getting the final blueprint. So close."
"There's more to this then?" Anger rose in her throat.
"Let's take this one step at a time," Rat man said, sneering. "You have the Flare."
The repetition irritated her, "Yes, shucking hell, I do. Tell me why I'm not crazy already."
Rat man wiped his glasses and she resisted the urge to smack them out of his hands and leave him blind, like WICKED did to them.
"We were...hiding a truth."
She reeled back.
"You do not, in fact, like most of your friends, have the Flare at all," he paused for a second as if letting her digest the information before continuing.
"Before you panic, I would like to tell you that most of the aforementioned people with the Flare are immune. Munies, as the street vernacular would be. This includes your brother."
"So, you lied."
"We had to," Rat man stressed. "This is for the sake of the human race, not a game we play because we enjoy killing children. The continuation of our species depends on this cure as much as you silly, arrogant children try to deny it away and impart your glorious wisdom of right and wrong!"
He was shouting at the end and she chuckled. "Slim it. You're going to rupture a blood vessel."
"Ridiculous," he said, straightening. "That a person so intelligent could be so preposterously hopeless."
"Least I don't go round killing teenagers for a shuck Cure that doesn't seem to exist," she seethed. "Where's our promised cure, huh? How are we gonna carry out our end of the deal for Brenda and Jorge?"
Rat man gave a solitary cold laugh. "Brenda and Jorge are WICKED staff and Munies if I've ever seen them. You have no worry of upholding your end of the deal."
She felt like she'd been slapped. Brenda? The girl who'd shared her life story on the plains of the Scorch? The one who'd given her a hair tie, a glowing smile lighting up her face for a fraction of a second? The one who joked about being a Crank?
Clearly trusting her had been stupid. She'd never been extremely open but Brenda had crawled underneath her barriers with a knife in her hands.
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because you have no other choice. Because there is no point in keeping you hidden from the devastation of our world."
She felt his words slam into her because for once, they weren't painted with condescension or sneering irritation- they were blunt and simple and they fit with the narrative.
"Tell me everything."
Rat man dipped his head jerkily in approval, "You are one of a kind, more so than Immunes in general. When WICKED found out people like them existed, we sought them out, took them in here because they were our last hope. You are different."
"How?" she asked, harsher than she wanted but thankfully he didn't waver.
"You're a Deflector," he delivered. She blanched and he smiled, "Familiar? I'd think so, what with all that drama surrounding your Swipe."
"What does that mean?"
"The Flare lives in the killzone. It's rooted in every Immune there is, only difference being that they don't show any symptoms of it. You however…you're the only recorded person to not have it at all. It isn't in your brain. You repel the virus."
She didn't know what to feel. Not only was the information catharsis but it felt like the truth. It felt like there was a massive jigsaw of her life and the pieces were joining together.
"Of course, most of the candidates are immune," Rat man said in a detached manner. "However, we needed control subjects too, Adira."
Her throat almost closed up, "Who has —"
"I suppose we should wait," Rat man said. "They deserve to know first."
She nodded mutely.
"A shower first!"
And then she was being swept away, feeling as if life had gotten ten times more complicated, with her life in the variable hands of WICKED.
It felt like she was trapped all over again.