The Storm: Chapter Seventeen
The two women to the far right lifted their weapons even higher, the wide, round muzzles pointed at the group.
"Don't make us use these," one of the women cautioned. "You have zero room for error. One false move and we pull the trigger."
The five men, their expressions obscured by shadows, swung the straps of their launchers over their shoulders with a chilling precision. As they advanced toward the group, a shiver crept down my spine, and my heart pounded like a drum in my chest. The air crackled with tension, each step they took sending waves of nervous energy rippling through the crowd. It felt as though time had slowed to a crawl, every second dragging out agonizingly. Despite the facade of calmness I tried to maintain, a gnawing sense of unease clawed at my insides. Why did they need so many armed guards for a group of teens? The answer hovered just out of reach, elusive and foreboding.
The men seized the boys first, their grip firm as they were yanked from the room. Newt fought against their hold, muscles straining against the restraint, but his efforts proved futile against the overwhelming strength of the guards. Meanwhile, the last guard approached Maya, assuming that she would yield without resistance. However, he underestimated her resolve, falling to anticipate the raw power of someone accustomed to toiling in the gardens for years. Maya was no delicate flower, she was a force to be reckoned with, and she was not about the surrender quietly.
Alone in the room, I found myself facing three guards, their weapons trained on me with unwavering determination.
"Join the group and you'll live," the woman's voice sliced through the tense air, laden with a chilling promise. "But if you resist, you'll regret it."
Fear crawled up my spine, twisting into a gnawing terror as I contemplated the grim fate awaiting me beyond those walls. It was clear: if I obeyed and followed these guards, my survival would be measured in mere hours. Their reluctance to leave me unscathed hinted at the danger lurking ahead.
"You'll return before you know it," came the reassuring voice of Maggie. I turned to face her, masking my fear with a tight-lipped expression. She was smiling – not a broad grin, but a subdued one, tinged with reassurance and relief. Maggie was always dependable in a storm, the anchor amidst chaos. Yet, beneath her comforting façade, a simmering resentment brewed within me. How could she make such a reckless decision?
Before I could voice my frustration, Maggie sprung from her bed and enveloped me into an unexpected hug. Despite the lingering anger, the embrace offered a fleeting sense of security. "I'll see you in a bit. Don't panic and you'll be fine," she whispered, her words a fragile lifeline in the face of uncertainty.
With a swift retreat, Maggie withdrew before the guards could intervene, slipping back to her bed with a quickness that belied her earlier boldness. I offered a nod of acknowledgement, a silent gratitude for her fleeting act of defiance, before following the guards out of the room.
I fell into step with them, matching their pace with precision, determined not to give them any excuse for punishment. As we move forward, I stole glances at the others being ushered along – some half-dragged, others stumbling forward under their own will. It was difficult to discern who among us was the most resistant, though a suspicion lingered in my mind.
I trailed behind the guard leading the way, noting the deliberate distance she maintained between us as we navigated the corridors. Suddenly, she halted, her hand raised in a silent command. The convoy came to an abrupt stop, and I instinctively took a step forward, intending to inquire about the delay.
Before I could utter a word, the menacing sound of raised launchers echoed from behind, freezing me in place. "Don't move," came the stern command, my hands rising in surrender without conscious thought. The guard ahead swiftly pivoted to confront me, her intense gaze piercing through me, rendering the situation inscrutable.
There was a palpable tension in the air as the guards remained eerily silent, their usual discipline momentarily suspended. Even the distant commotion of the others had dwindled to a hushed murmur, leaving an unsettling stillness in its wake.
A wave of nerves surged through me, threatening to overwhelm my senses. Desperation clawed at my insides—I needed someone by my side, now more than ever.
You're trapped.
They're gonna end it here.
Silence.
"Copy that," the guard's voice broke the suffocating silence, infusing the air with a chilling finality. "García has given the green light. The subject is cleared to join the others."
Her gaze bore into me with a deadly seriousness. "Make a single misstep, and you'll meet your end, understood?"
My response was a timid nod, fear rendering me incapable of forming words.
"Good. Escort her to the room," she ordered, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air.
A sudden jab in the small of my back spurred me into motion, a silent directive to advance. The guard ahead pivoted on her heel, leading the way as we traversed the corridor, passing by the stoic figures of the other guards lining the walls.
As we reached our destination, she signalled for me to halt. With practiced efficiency, she produced a card from her array of pockets, positioning herself in front of a door while two guards positioned themselves at her flank, their weapons trained on the entrance. With a swift motion, she unlocked the door, her voice commanding those on the other side to retreat.
"In you go," she said.
With a forceful shove from the guard behind, I stumbled into the room, the door slamming shut with a resounding click as the lock engaged. The sound reverberated through the cramped space, enveloping me in a sense of confinement.
Taking in my surroundings, I realized I was in a modest bedroom adorned with two sets of bunk beds and a makeshift kitchenette tucked into the far corner, complete with a small table and chairs. The others had already begun to settle in, making themselves at home in this unfamiliar space.
"Clarke, thank goodness!" Maya's voice carried a mixture of relief and concern as she hurried over, pulling me into a seat on one of the bunk beds beside Poe. "I thought they were taking you somewhere else," she continued, her brows furrowing with worry.
"Me too, but some guy named García cleared me to be with you all," I explained, a hint of uncertainty lingering in my tone.
Maya arched an eyebrow in confusion. "That's strange. Why would they need clearance for you to be around us?"
I shrugged in response. "No idea. How are you holding up?"
Maya's response was a noncommittal shrug, her gaze drifting away momentarily.
"Looks like we missed our window of opportunity," Minho remarked, flopping onto the bunk below and stretching out lazily. "By the time your 'magic moment' arrives, we'll be old and wrinkly, Thomas. They're not exactly announcing prime escape chances left and right. We've gotta take some risks."
"Ease up, Minho," I retorted sharply. "Just because your pride took a hit doesn't mean you have to take it out on him."
Minho propped himself up on his elbows, fixing me with a challenging stare. "Take it out? If you hadn't hesitated, we might've had a shot."
"Had a shot?" I chuckled incredulously. "You'd have barely made it five steps. You have no idea where we are, but they sure do."
"It doesn't matter. We had an opportunity," Minho insisted, narrowing his gaze at me. I matched his intensity, refusing to back down.
"Listen, I'm sorry," Thomas interjected, diffusing the tension. "It didn't feel right at the moment, and facing all those weapons, it seemed futile to try anything."
"Yeah, well," Minho muttered. "Then you and Brenda had a cozy little reunion."
"She mentioned something," Thomas admitted.
Minho sat up, his interest piqued. "What do you mean she said something?"
"She warned me not to trust them—only her and someone named Chancellor Paige."
"What's her deal anyway?" Newt interjected. "She works for WICKED? Was she just some actress in the Scorch?"
"Sounds like she's no different from the rest of them," Minho added with a hint of bitterness.
Thomas ran his hand over his head. "Look, I used to work for them too, but you trust me, right? It doesn't mean anything. Maybe she had no choice, maybe she's changed. I don't know."
Minho let out a disgruntled huff before flopping back onto the bed. Thomas shook his head, his movements heavy with fatigue, and made his way across the room to the fridge.
"I've had enough of fighting for one day. Wake me up when something interesting happens," Maya declared with a weary sigh, her expression reflecting her disapproval of the conversation. She climbed up to the top bunk and curled into a ball, seeking solace in solitude.
I could tell Maya wasn't okay, but I didn't know what to say to comfort her. Neither did Poe. Without a word, he rose from the bed and crossed the room to Thomas, offering a silent gesture of support.
Newt stood up from the floor and took Maya's place, wrapping a gentle arm around me and pulling me close to his warm chest. As we settled onto the bed, his arms enveloping me, I began to speak, but he hushed me softly.
"I wanna a quiet moment with you," he murmured into my ear. "We haven't had that in a while."
"What about the Scorch?" I whispered back.
"That doesn't count. You kept me up most of the night."
"Hey," I playfully tapped his chest, feeling it shake with his stifled laughter. "You said it didn't matter."
"I lied. It was soooo annoying," he admitted, a small smile tugging at his lips—a rare sight after the tension of our recent reunion.
"Whatever," I huffed, resting my head on his shoulder as he planted a tender kiss on the side of my temple. He brushed a loose strand of hair from my face, his thumb caressing my cheek as we lay together in quiet intimacy.
We allowed the others to carry on with their own interactions—Poe and Thomas engaging in a small conversation, Minho sulking on his bed, and Maya peacefully asleep above us. Though the moment was far from perfect, it was perfect for us. There was no urgency, no pressure—just a fleeting glimpse of tranquillity in the midst of chaos.
A woman entered the room bearing plates of sizzling pork chops and steaming potatoes, their savoury aroma instantly captivating my senses. The rumble of hunger echoed from my stomach, jolting me out of the drowsy haze I had settled into. With Newt by my side, I gently roused Maya from her deep slumber. She stirred, her eyes heavy with sleep, tear stains marking her cheeks.
As Maya slowly descended from the top bunk, I swiftly grabbed plates for both of us, eager to appease our hunger. Settling onto the floor, I positioned myself between Maya and Newt, forming a makeshift circle of companionship. The pork chops were seasoned to perfection, the potatoes slightly undercooked, but the imperfections did little to dampen my appetite. I devoured my portion in just a few bites, savouring the fleeting moment of shared camaraderie amidst the chaos.
Still no one spoke to each other until Minho decided he had too. "Maybe we should just give in to those shuck-faces. Do what they want. One day we'll all sit around and be happy."
"Yeah, we're all gonna be sitting on sun decks on a beach somewhere," Thomas added, either encouraging him or irritating him.
Minho wouldn't stop with Thomas having the last word. "WICKED's gonna figure out this blueprint business and we'll live happily ever after."
"That's not even funny," Newt said grumpily. He went back to the bed and sat on it. "Even if they did find a cure, you saw it out there in the Scorch. It's gonna be a long time before the world can ever get back to normal. Even if it can – we'll never see it."
"After everything they've put us through, I don't trust a word they say," Poe interjected, surprising the others with his inclusion in the conversation. They turned to stare at him, unaccustomed to his participation. I, too, felt the weight of their scepticism. Despite knowing them longer, I wasn't sure if they truly accepted us into their fold, especially after everything that had transpired with other groups.
"They made us think Clarke was dead, then brought her back. They sent us into the Scorch, knowing many wouldn't make it out alive. And for what? Their so-called greater good?" Poe continued, his words carrying a weight of disillusionment. "I don't buy it. They've betrayed us before, who's to say they won't do it again?"
"Exactly," Thomas agreed with his new friend. "That Janson guy thinks that all this comes down to the greater good. Either the human race dies, or let a bunch of teenagers kill each other to save it. Even the few immune probably won't survive that long when most the population are them psycho monsters."
"What's your point?" I muttered.
"My point is that before they swiped the memory, I think I used to buy all that junk. But not anymore," Thomas declared, his tone resolute.
"Well, that's enlightening," I replied, struggling to keep the sarcasm from seeping into my voice. "And what do you suggest we do with this newfound clarity?"
"Not waste our chance," Poe asserted.
"Tomorrow then," Thomas added. "Someway somehow."
We all murmured our agreement, the weight of uncertainty hanging heavy in the air.
Silence descended once more until Newt broke it with a yawn. "Right I'm going to sleep so you'd better stop yapping."
I joined him, finding solace in the familiar embrace of his arms. The others soon settled into their own beds, with Thomas taking the one above us.
Newt and I didn't exchange words. Instead, we rested in companionable silence in the darkness, his warmth enveloping me as I counted his steady breaths until sleep claimed me.
"Ah my sweet thing, look at the mess you've made," a man with a tender expression cooed, his round, golden-framed glasses perched delicately on the bridge of his nose as he gazed at me with clouded eyes. I giggled with delight, thrusting my paint-covered hand towards him, splattering his pristine white shirt and face with vibrant blue hues, earning a hearty chuckle in return.
"Come here and I'll clean you up sweetheart." he said warmly, drawing nearer to me and sweeping me up from the floor with gentle hands. The familiar scent of him enveloped me, comforting and familiar—he was my father.
"Darling," he called behind him. "Get me some towels. Diana has decided to paint the dining room floor."
With me securely cradled in his arms, my father guided us into a small bathroom, just spacious enough for a bathtub nestled snugly in the corner. Passing me over to a woman with a similarly kind face already in the room, he smiled fondly.
"Vat has kone on here? Haffe vu peen trying to baint daddy akain?" The woman, undoubtedly my mother, chuckled as she spoke, her hands resting on her hips as she regarded me with affection. I clapped my hands gleefully, sending another cascade of paint into the bathtub.
"Are vu not ein zilly little zing?" she teased lovingly, her laughter filling the room with warmth and joy.
Then I'm seated on a wooden chair, my legs dangled freely, barely grazing the ground below. I found myself humming a tune—a melody unfamiliar to my conscious mind, yet my subconscious recognized its chords effortlessly.
In the corner of the dimly lit room, my mother sat on another chair, her body racked with heavy sobs as she buried her face in her hands. Beside her, my father lay on the floor, unnervingly still. The air was heavy with despair, punctuated only by the flickering lights overhead, casting ominous shadows around me. I knew all too well the significance of the crimson stains that marred his once pristine lab coat—the colour red, a harbinger of tragedy.
"Diana," my mother's voice cracked as she raised her tear-streaked face, her trembling lips now pale and quivering. "Diana my dear, my little huntress." She extended her trembling hands, revealing a dark object she had been clutching tightly.
The room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of grief hanging thick in the air as my mother's words lingered, fraught with unspoken sorrow and anguish.
"Mama what's happening?" my small voice asked her as I gripped the chair's side tightly with my tiny hands, ready to push myself off. But the strangled cry that escaped my mother's lips froze me in place.
"Don't get off the chair dear. Stay on it. For Mama. Will you do that for me?"
I nodded silently, my eyes locked on her, absorbing every word she uttered. Even in my dreamlike state, I sensed the impending dread, the anticipation of a tragic conclusion. Helpless, I could only watch as the nightmare unfolded before me.
"Lina," a commanding voice boomed from beyond the doorway, sending shivers down my spine. A figure appeared at the window, his hair a greying white cloud. "Lina open this door. Let me help you."
"I'm sorry Papa," my mother sobbed, her voice trembling with anguish. "I can't. It's gone wrong... it's all wrong." She rocked back and forth in her chair, trapped in a loop of despair.
"My dear," the older man pleaded in a hushed tone, his voice heavy with sorrow. "Please, we can work through this. Please just let Diana go. She's just a child."
Faint sounds of fiddling echoed from the other side of the door as the old man's gaze momentarily shifted, his lips moving in silent prayer.
"Mama," I whimpered, my voice trembling with fear. "Mama I'm scared. Why is Papa not moving?"
"It's alright, my brave little huntress," my mother reassured me, her own hands trembling as she held a black object. "It's just a little mistake. I'll fix it. Everything will be okay."
Suddenly, the door burst open, and an object hurtled towards my mother, striking her with such force that she tumbled from her seat. Her hands flailed wildly, and a deafening bang pierced the air. I instinctively covered my ears and dove behind the chair, tears streaming down my face as my ears rang with the shock.
"Lina, please, put the gun down," a woman's strained voice pleaded. Peeking out from my hiding spot, I saw an older woman with greying brown hair stumbling towards my mother, her hand tightly clutching her side, stained bright red. "We can find a way to fix this."
"No, no, no!" my mother screeched, her voice filled with desperation. "It went wrong. It has to be fixed."
Struggling to her feet, my mother trembled, black veins creeping at the corners of her eyes and neck as she aimed the black object at the woman, trying to maintain control.
"This problem won't just disappear," she spat. "They'll take her away, dispose of her. Diana will never have a life beyond this room."
"We can help you," the woman reasoned gently, inching towards me. "This is what we do. We can intervene before it escalates."
In anguish, my mother screamed, "You don't understand, Mother! She'll never have a normal life, and it's all my fault. I can't let that happen to her. It's all my fault."
With tears streaming down my face, I weakly reached out to her. "Mama, please... take me home."
"Lina, don't!" The older woman lunged towards me as my mother fired the gun. I shut my eyes, bracing for impact, the sound of a thud and a scream piercing the air.
"Ingrid?" Dr. Adlai's voice echoed in the room as he appeared in the doorway, locking eyes with me. The click of the object seized his attention. "Lina, no!"
With a rush of terror, he lunged towards my mother, and I closed my eyes once more, shielding myself from the horror unfolding before me, tears streaming down my face as I cried out in fear.
Bang.
"Lina!"
The following morning, I was jolted awake by a loud knocking on the door. I struggled to untangle myself from Newt's embrace as the door swung open, revealing the same guards from before, their weapons at the ready. Janson entered the room, his presence commanding attention.
"Rise and shine," Janson said. we've decided to give you your memories back after all. Like it or not.
Still groggy from sleep, or perhaps too stunned to fully comprehend what I had just witnessed, I tried to shake off the haze. The memories flooded back in fragments—dark, haunting scenes of my father's lifeless form slumped on the floor, my mother's desperate attempt to end his suffering, and the tragic sacrifice of the woman named Ingrid, supposedly my grandmother. What had transpired to cause such anguish in that room? And why was Dr. Adlai at the centre of it all? It seemed he held the key to unravelling the mystery of my own identity, the only one with the answers I so desperately needed.
Wait.
Diana.
They had all called me Diana in the dream.
And Diana was the girl that he was trying to save.
No, not save. Locked away.
He's going to kill you.
He was going to take me away from everyone. From Newt.
Like hell he was.
I snapped out of my inner monologue when Newt lurched out of beds with his fist clenched to his side, glaring at Janson. "You told us to decide, so we did."
"I'm afraid we don't have much of a choice," Janson replied, is tone tinged with boredom. "The times for lies is over. Nothing's going to work with you lot still in the dark. I'm sorry. We need to do this. Newt, of everyone, you will benefit the most from a cure, after all."
Newt's growl rumbled low in his throat. "Why is it just me that will benefit?"
Janson blinked, momentarily thrown off. "I am addressing you, so the comment is directed at you."
Newt gestured back towards me, his eyes flickering with intensity. "What about Clarke? Won't she benefit as well?"
Janson's gaze shifted to me, his expression momentarily faltering before returning to its usual blankness. "The comment can stand for her as well." He took a deep breath, sensing the tension in the room. "Look, I understand how you must feel. You've seen some awful things. But the worst part is over. We can't change the past, can't undo what has happened to you and your friends. But wouldn't it be a waste not to complete the blueprint at this point?"
Anger simmered within me, but it was Newt who reacted first.
"Can't take it back?" Newt's voice reverberated through the room, filled with righteous anger. "That's all you have to say?"
"Watch yourself," one of the guards warned, aiming a launcher at Newt's chest. I stood up slowly from the bed, a silent warning in my posture. The guard's eyes darted to me, and I could almost sense the fear emanating from him.
Janson continued, ignoring the outburst. "We're running out of time. Now let's go or we'll have a repeat of yesterday. My guards are willing I assure you."
Minho leaped down from the bunk. "He's right. If we can save you two, we'd be shuck idiots to stay in this room a second longer."
I shot him a puzzled look. Since when did Minho align himself with them?
"Let's just listen to what they want us to do." Thomas chimed in, his words tinged with an unexpected allegiance to their cause. I stared at them in disbelief, my mouth hanging open. Maya mirrored my expression. "I worked for these people before the Maze. I couldn't have been totally wrong, right?"
"Oh please," Newt moved towards the door, his resolve evident.
"You'll all be heroes when this is over," Janson remarked as he watched us file out of the room.
"I don't want to be a hero," I snarled as I passed him. Janson flinched at my words, a flicker of unease crossing his face.
Once again, we were escorted through the maze-like corridors, this time allowed to walk on our own two feet. As we moved along, Janson took it upon himself to narrate our journey. He explained that the facility lacked many windows due to the inclement weather outside and frequent attacks from gangs of infected individuals. He recounted stories of severe rainstorms from the Mazes and a harrowing incident where a group of Cranks breached the outer perimeter to observe others boarding a bus. Clearly, I missed a lot when I was snatched up by a Griever.
"I really wish you'd just shut your mouth," Newt finally spat out, his frustration palpable. Janson fell silent, but a faint grin lingered on his face, an unspoken challenge in his eyes.
Eventually, Janson halted by a door within the facility, flanked by guards. "Right, Clarke, if you would go through this door. This is where you will be undergoing the procedure." He gestured for me to enter, but Newt stepped forward, subtly blocking my path. Not that I had any intention of moving forward anyway.
"We stay together," Newt growled softly, his fists clenching with determination.
Janson dismissed his protest with a wave of his hand. "Yes, yes, you'll get to see Clarke afterward. There aren't enough beds, and Clarke is the lucky one to have the space all to herself." He turned to me, gesturing once more. "So, Clarke, enter the room and don't cause a fuss."
A tense pause hung in the air, a silent standoff where nobody moved, and I refused to budge.
"Very well, Captain," Janson relented, stepping aside as the largest guard lumbered forward, launcher at the ready. He shoved Newt aside and seized my arm, his grip like a vice. I struggled against his strength, screaming and shouting, but he effortlessly dragged me down the hallway. The others made feeble attempts to intervene, but the menacing glint of the guards' weapons quickly quelled any resistance. Newt, however, was physically restrained, his struggles futile against the overwhelming force of the guards. They threw him to the ground, weapons aimed menacingly at his face.
As Janson pushed open the door, I screamed Newt's name, but my cries fell on deaf ears. The guard hurled me into the dark room, darted out, and slammed the door shut behind him. I pounded my fists against the unforgiving surface, my voice echoing in the empty hallway.
"Let me out!"