Antidote | A3

c h a p t e r . s i x

A blinding, searing light shone down from above.

After so long in the darkness, I couldn't help but cry out as I flung my hands over my eyes. A wave of hot wind swept down into the stairwell.

I heard the scrape of metal and a distinct clunk before we were plunged into darkness again.

"Shuck me," Minho said. "Looks like we found a way out, but I think it's on the freaking sun! Man, that was bright. And hot."

"Let's wedge it open a little to get used to it," Newt said. He started up the stairs some more, and instinctively I followed him. "Here's a shirt - wedge it in there. Everybody shut your eyes!"

I did as I was told as the orange glow appeared again, impossibly bright even through my hands. After a couple of minutes, I lowered my hands and cracked my eyes open, squinting. It was still almost painfully bright, but far more bearable.

"Anybody blind now?" Minho asked. "I feel like my eyeballs are roasted marshmallows."

I managed to laugh. It was desperately nice to see again, and I think the whole ordeal had left me slightly delirious.

"What's out there?" Winston asked, scaling the steps.

"Can't really tell," Minho responded. "All I can see is bright light. Maybe we are on the shuck sun. But I can't see any people. Or, uh, Cranks."

"Well, I'd rather a sunburn than getting my head attacked by some ball of steel. Let's go."

Minho, Thomas and Newt began to push on the hatch, requiring the strength of all three of them to get it open all the way. With one final heave, it flipped open properly, immediately turning the stairwell into an oven as thick heat rushed in.

"Something's wrong. It feels like it's already burning my skin," Minho complained.

"He's right," Newt said. "Maybe we should wait for the sun to-"

Newt was cut off by a sudden outburst from Winston. "Whoa! Watch out!"

I snapped my head to the ceiling above where he was pointing, and my mouth opened in horror. A big glob of liquid silver was melting from the ceiling, impossibly fast. It grew larger and larger, melting into a teardrop, before it detached.

But instead of plopping straight down at our feet, the ball seemed to defy gravity and hurl itself horizontally, directly into Winston's face.

His screams filled the hallway as he fell backwards, tumbling down the stairs.

I watched on in horror, rooted to the spot. Thomas was flying down the stairs himself in a matter of seconds, kneeling at Winston's side.

Winston was grabbing at the silver as it melted over his head like a thick syrup, pushing to keep it off his eyes. Thomas grabbed at it on each side of Winston's head, trying to yank it off like a too tight helmet.

"Winston, we've gotta pull together!" Thomas yelled. "On the count of three!"

Winston was thrashing around, a writhing mess on the floor. I had no idea if he'd even heard Thomas as the silver rushed down over his ears.

"One, two, three!" Thomas screamed, and then heaved. Winston must have heard, because his hands were pushing in the same direction as Thomas', and it looked like it was actually working.

With a final shove, the entire mess of silver came off, impossibly, somehow, and Winston's head was freed. Thomas lobbed it down the hallway without a second thought, the now-solid metal clattering into the darkness. He yanked Winston to his feet and hauled him back up the stairs.