Disclaimer: I don't own the Scorch Trials. I wish!

Chapter Forty Four:

After a long while, I could see Thomas and Teresa heading back over to the rest of us, it's so boring waiting for the timer to run out. I wanted to sleep, but anxiety and caution kept me awake and going.

Nyx and Jacob are sparring with each other of all times. I guess to train for what comes next, it's a pretty close battle as of now. Jane and Curie are working on something with the left over scraps Minho help retrieve from the truck a few days ago.

People did something to keep busy, because waiting and doing nothing was way worse. Thomas then looked down at his watch. "Fifty-five minutes left." He mentions then speaks again. "I, um, need to talk to Newt." He said walking away from Teresa.

Newt was sitting on the ground with Frypan, Minho, and myself. All four of us looking as if we were waiting for the end of the world.

The tearing wind had gained a moisture to it, and the billowing, churning clouds above had lowered considerably, like a dark fog dropping to swallow the earth. Glimpses of light flashed here and there in the sky, burning patches of purple and orange in the grayness. We've hadn't seen an actual lightning bolt yet, but I knew they were coming. The first big storm had begun just like this.

"Hey, Tommy," Newt said when Thomas joined us. He sat down and wrapped his arms around his knees. Two simple words with nothing behind them. It was as if Thomas had just gone for a leisurely walk instead of being kidnapped and almost killed.

"Glad to see you guys made it here," Thomas said. I knew he meant the others.

Frypan snorted his usual animal-like bark of a laugh. "Same back at ya. Looks like you had more fun, though. Hangin' with your love goddess. Guess you two kissed and made up?"

"Really, Fry. There nothing lovely being beaten upside the head with spear by her." I added.

"Not exactly," Thomas said. "It wasn't fun."

"Well, what happened?" Minho asked. "How can you trust her after all that?"

"I'll let you tell this one." I said folding my arms.

Thomas hesitated at first, but he knew he had to tell them everything. And there was no better time than the present. He sucked in a deep breath and started talking. He told them about WICKED's plan for him, the camp, his talk with Group B, the gas chamber and lastly the rescue. He seemed to cheer up just a bit.

"And you forgave that witch?" Minho asked when Thomas finally finished. "I won't. Whatever those shuck WICKED people wanna do, fine by me. Whatever you wanna do, fine by me. But I don't trust her, I don't trust Aris, and I don't like either one of them."

"Before you ask, I couldn't bring myself to kill either Aris or Teresa. Even when I had the chance.." I said half-heartedly.

Newt seemed to consider it more deeply. "They went through all that―all that planning and acting―just to make you feel betrayed? Doesn't make any bloody sense."

"Tell me about it," Thomas muttered. "And no, I haven't forgiven her. But for now I think we're in the same boat." He looked around―most people were sitting down, staring off into the distance. Not much conversation, and not a whole lot of mingling between those who remained. "What about you guys? How'd you make it here?"

"Found a gap through the mountains," Minho answered. "Had to fight through some Cranks camping in a cave, but other than that, no problems. Food and water almost out, though. And my feet hurt. And I'm pretty sure another big bolt of shuck lightning's about to come down and make me look like a piece of Frypan's bacon."

"Not that you'd taste any good, you'd be overly chewy." I joke.

"Well you look like brunt mummy, you crispy shank." Minho said in his defense.

"All jokes aside," Thomas said. "Everyone had a chance to leave, so there no regrets when the storm break's?

"No way," Newt replied. "We didn't come this far to go back now. Let's just hope the buggin' storm holds off a little longer, for Ross's and his friends sake." He looked up at the almost black clouds with a grimace.

The other Gladers had grown silent. The wind had continued to pick up, and its rushing roars and whips now made it hard to hear each other anyway. Thomas looked at his watch.

"Thirty-five minutes." No way this storm would hold for―

"What's that!" Minho shouted, jumping to his feet; he pointed at a spot over Thomas's shoulder.

Thomas turned to look as he stood up, alarm igniting inside him. The terror on Minho's face had been unmistakable. I soon followed suit by turning to look.

About thirty feet from the group, a large section of the desert ground was ... opening. A perfect square―maybe fifteen feet wide―pivoted on a diagonal axis as the dirt-packed side slowly spun away from them and what had lain underneath rose up to replace it. The sound of groaning, twisting steel pierced the air, louder than the roaring wind. Soon the rotating square had fully flipped, and where once had been desert ground now lay a section of black material, with an odd object sitting on top of it.

It was oblong and white with rounded edges. I had seen something just like it before. Several of them, in fact. Back in my memories of working for WICKED. It was created to store and charge the Grievers, whilst not hunting the subjects in the Maze.

Before any one had time to react, more sections of the desert floor―surrounding the group in a large circle―started to rotate open like dark, gaping jaws.

Dozens of them.

The squeal of metal was deafening as the square sections slowly spun on their axles. Thomas had his hands to his ears, trying to keep the sound out. The others in the group were doing the same, including myself. All around them, scattered evenly and fully encircling the area in which they stood, patches of desert ground rotated until they disappeared, each one eventually replaced with a large black square when it finally settled with a loud clank, one of those bulbous white coffins resting on top. At least thirty in all. Honestly our numbers had nowhere been that high after people broke away or died.

The scream of metal rubbing against metal stopped. No one spoke. The wind ripped across the land, blowing dust and dirt in streams across the rounded containers. It made a gritty pinging sound. There was so much of it, it blended into a noise that made my spine itch; I had to squint to keep stuff out of my eyes. Nothing else had moved since the foreign, almost alien objects had been revealed. There was only that sound and wind and cold and stinging eyes.

When the sound subsided I march over to the others as Curie is latch on to Jacob this time. Jacob wears a very worried look on his face.

"I've seen these before in the Grove, it's where those creatures lived."

"Im thinking we In for a fight," Nyx said as his voice was carried away by the hollering winds.

"We need to push Into one massive group, hurry now let's get moving." Curie orders.

The five of us ran kicking the sand behind us as the wind tried it's utmost to prevent us reaching the others. After fighting and struggling we made it and now all three groups stood sixteen strong.

"I'm going to check our next course of action, be prepared for anything." I said running off towards Thomas and the others.

In the sky above, thunder crackled and boomed, and those flashes of light grew brighter. The wind tore at everyone's clothes and hair and everything smelled wet but dusty―a strange combination.

"So what are doing, everyone gathered together." I spoke loud enough to be heard.

"We need a course of action Tommy, before this shuck storm kills us. If not the maybe Grievers ready to slice us." Newt brought up.

Thomas checked the time again. "We've only got twenty-five minutes. We're either gonna be fighting Grievers or we need to get inside those big coffins at the right time. Maybe they're the―"

A sharp hiss cut through the air from all directions. The sound pierced Thomas's eardrums and he clamped his hands to the sides of his head again. Movement on the perimeter surrounding them caught his attention, and he watched carefully what was happening with the large white pods.

A line of dark blue light had appeared on one side of each container, then expanded as the top half of the object began to move upward, opening on hinges like the lid of a coffin. It made no sound, at least not enough to be heard over the rushing wind and rumbling thunder. Both myself and Thomas sensed the Gladers and the others slowly moving closer together, forming a tighter knot. Everyone was trying to get as far away from the pods as possible―and soon they were a coiled pack of bodies encircled by the thirty or so rounded white containers.

The lids continued moving until they'd all swung open and dropped to the ground. Something bulky rested inside each vessel. I couldn't make out much, but from where we stood Thomas couldn't see anything like the odd appendages of the Grievers. Nothing moved, but we knew not to let our guard down.

Thomas and Teresa began to walk forward, suddenly I felt nervous. I couldn't bring myself to move.

"Thomas!" Minho called. The wind, still wild, was drowned out by the approaching thunder and lightning now, cracking and exploding in brilliant displays above them and on the horizon. The storm was about to fully beat down its fury on us.

"What?" Thomas yelled back.

"You, me, Ross and Newt! Let's go check it out!"

Thomas was just about to move when something slipped out of one of the pods. A collective gasp escaped those closest to Thomas, and he turned for a better look.

I notice amisshapen arm hung over the edge, and its hand dangled a few inches above the ground. On it were four disfigured fingers―stubs of sickly beige flesh―none of them the same length. They wiggled and grasped for something that wasn't there, as if the creature inside was searching to get a grip to pull itself out. The arm was covered with wrinkles and lumps, and there was something completely strange right where what passed for an elbow was located. A perfectly rounded protrusion or growth, maybe four inches in diameter, glowing bright orange.

I have a gut feeling they aren't here to administer the Cure. What comes next will take; cunning, teamwork and the urge to survive.

A/N: We are soon reaching the part where the book plot ends and the movie plots reconnects. Thanks for reading this far.