Chariot | Group B → The Scorch Trials²

ii.twenty-three

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● [ ii . continued ]

The storm raged on as the Berg continued to lower.

Diana's body lay sprawled at Rogue's feet, twisted wrong, rain washing her blood into thin, pink rivers that disappeared into the mud. Her eyes were open, staring at nothing. Rogue couldn't look for more than a second without something in her stomach churning.

All around them, pod lids clanged open. Glenners and Gladers spilled out simultaneously, blinking against rain and lightning, calling names that went unanswered. The air smelled scorched. Burnt flesh caught with wet metal.

The Berg dominated the horizon now. Enormous. Round and brutal in its design, lights flickering across its hull like cold, watching eyes. Blue fire roared from its thrusters, forcing the rain sideways in violent sheets. When it touched down on clawed landing gear, the earth trembled beneath Rogue's boots, a deep vibration she felt in her teeth.

A massive cargo door split open in the ship's belly.

Warm light poured out.

Rogue heard shouting. Thomas's overlapping Minho's and then Harriet's. The remaining Subjects broke into a run, bolting from the pods toward the ship like wild animals.

Rogue stayed frozen.

Her pulse hammered in her ears. Was this really it? Or just another test disguised as mercy?

And Gwen—

Rain blurred everything into streaks and shadows. She couldn't see far, couldn't separate bodies from monsters from mud.

Then a hand seized her arm hard enough to hurt.

"Come on!" Florence shouted, already moving, her grip iron-strong. Hashslinger barrelled past with Wally clutched tight, the kid's face pale and terrified.

Rogue stumbled forward, boots sliding. For a heartbeat she thought she'd fall again, but Florence didn't let go.

They ran.

Mud sucked at their feet. Water slapped her face so hard it stung, but Rogue couldn't bring herself to blink. Every time she closed her eyes, it was Diana again. Or Emmy, burned black. Or Rachel. Or Ada.

So she kept her eyes open and let the storm punish her.

People slipped and fell around them. Someone cried out in pain. Rogue caught a glimpse of Thomas pitching forward as he ran from his pod, hitting the ground hard before scrambling back up.

Thunder cracked so loud it felt like the sky splitting apart. Lightning turned the world white, then pitch-black, again and again.

Still no Gwen.

The Berg loomed closer. The cargo door gaped wide now, its interior glowing gold against the storm. Shadowed figures stood inside, weapons raised but unmoving.

They weren't coming to help.

"Run!" Hashslinger screamed, shoving girls ahead of her. There weren't many left to shove. Rogue counted without meaning to. Too few... far too few.

Her foot slid. She went down hard, mud filling her mouth, knocking the air from her lungs.

Florence hauled her up by the collar. "Keep moving!" she screamed.

Rogue ran again, legs burning, lungs on fire.

And then, movement. To the right.

A line of bulb-creatures emerged from behind the Berg, cutting across the open ground like a closing gate. Their silver blades gleamed wetly, some streaked dark with blood. Many of their orange bulbs were shattered, their movements uneven and twitching.