Shattered Love | Scorch Trials

Horror

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  Ear splitting. That's the only way I can describe it. I quickly drop my pack and press my palms to my ears.

  "What's wrong?!" I yell, slowly making my way towards the noise. There is barely any light but just enough to reflect off of the large metal ball attached to a Glader's head. The boy is rolling across the floor, attempting to get the metallic silver...thing...off of him. I remember the Gladers called him Stephen.

  He trying desperately to claw the thing off of his head when finally, his screeches stopped, the ball rolled off of him, and where a head should be attached to Stephen's body, there was nothing there but a neck and a pool of blood.

  My hand flies to my mouth as I turn around, feeling contents of my stomach rush to my throat, but I hold it back.

  "Oh my God," Someone says. "The shuck thing ate his head!"

  I turn around and see the Gladers, some's hands over their mouths, others tearing up. They just lost their friend in a horrible, disgusting way.

  "Guys?" Aris whispers, pointing to the ceiling, where similar colored goop is forming a tear drop shape, threatening to fall.

  "What in the world?" I say, studying it. "We need to get out of here." But it's too late. The stuff has already fallen down, finding another head.

  Winston screams out as he tugs the stuff off of him. I instantly run over to his fallen body. "Winston!" I scream, trying to pull off the hardening ball. I tug the corner of it off and see red, blistering skin where it once was. "Someone help!" I yell to the other boys. A couple come over and help me rip the thing off of him. It wobbles around in my hands and I throw it a couple feet away. It collects itself and rolls away like a bowling ball.

  I turn my attention to Winston, who is curled in a ball, whimpering s me crying. All of his skin on his head is bubbly and burnt, his hair missing. Some cuts are on his throat where the metallic mess had started to dig it's way into his neck. I rip part of my shirt off and press the material against his wounds, it quickly turns red and sticky. The cuts are pretty deep, three of them at least. I rip off a little more fabric and tie it around his neck.

  "Winston! Winston can you hear me?" I say to him, holding his head. He mumbled out a "mhm". "Quick, we gotta get him up." I say to the Gladers. We pull him up and wrap his arms around us.

  "What the shuck are those things?" I hear Minho ask from in front of me.

  "I don't know. Seems like they attach to your head and harden, cutting your flesh until it slices your head off?" I say between grunts of having to carry Winston's weight. "Frypan, Aris, carry our packs." I tell my friends.

  "We gotta get out of here," Newt says.

  As if on cue, I glance up and see a few more goop balls forming at the ceiling. "Shit." I whisper.

  Minho notices too. "Come on guys! Let's go!" He yells and we all take off. My feet thud against the concrete below me, straining my eyes to navigate in the low light. I hear a scream behind me. The stuff has already gotten someone. "Louis!" I hear a voice yell.

  "Don't look back! Don't stop! It's life or death!" Minho bellows. He's right. As hard as it is, we can't risk taking time to help our friends.

  One more scream.

  "Just a little farther!" Minho tells us. I see a light ahead of us, about two hundred feet away. My chest burns and my arms are sore. I turn to look over my shoulder and see everyone running after us. Newt is there. Aris is there. Frypan is there. Good.

  A scream erupts from next to me, and I see the ball connect to one of the boys helping me carry Winston's head. He falls down, wailing with pain and the weight on my shoulder doubles from Winston.

  One hundred feet.

  Fifty feet.

  Twenty five.

  "Come on!" Minho screams. It looks like he is running up some stairs towards the light. We follow his lead and I run two steps at a time. My lets cramp and threaten to fall, but I grit my teeth and push through it.

  We've reached the light. It comes from an unknown source in the ceiling.

  "Where do we go?" I manage to say, despite the dust and heavy breaths in my lungs.

  "There's gotta be a way out of here!" Minho says, searching for an exit.

  Another scream echoes out.

  "Hurry!" I hear someone yell behind us.

  I let go of Winston and help Minho look, running my hands along the walls and the ceiling. My thumb grazes across a small dent. It's subtle but it's there.

  I tug on it to the left. No use. To the right. It barely moves.

  "Minho! There's a sliding door!" I tell him, pointing to where my hand is resting. He rushes to me and tugs at the ceiling, which slowly shifts out of place. A blinding white light hits my eyes and I squint into the harshness.

  "Go!" Minho tells me, motioning for me to climb out.

  "You go before me!" I say, pushing him. He takes no time to push himself out of the small hole. "Come on guys!" I yell at the Gladers, who jump out one by one. I help lift Winston out.

  I am the last remaining one and I place my hands on either side and push myself up and out of the horrific place, my arms wobbling. I tumble across the ground, getting a mouthful of sand. I spit it out and roll over, and sit up to look at the boys, who have all collapsed as well. I take deep breaths, refreshing my lungs.

  "How many did we lose?" I ask, dreading the answer.

  "Stephen, Louis, Michael and John." Minho says quietly. I didn't know any one of them, making me feel guilty.

  We have 22 remaining Gladers now.

  "I can tell this won't be easy," Someone says.

  I nod. I crawl over to Winston, who is struggling to get air into his lungs. "Winston?" I ask. The fabric has fallen off of his neck and the entire top of his shirt is soaked from the blood of his neck. His skin has turned cold. "Winston!" I scream, running my hands up and down his chest, unsure of what to do. "Winston! Say something!" He opens his eyes, looks at me. He is barely breathing.

  "Olivia, take care of them." He tells me. He looks over at the Gladers crowded around us now. A single tear drops from his eye.

  "God dammit Winston! You're not gonna die!" I tell him, ripping a little more off of my shirt and pressing it to his cuts. He's lost so much blood that it's no use. He pushes it away with trembling fingers.

  "Stop. I'm not gonna make it." He whispers.

  "Winston." I cry out, shaking.

  "Please, leave. Get them to the safe haven." He tells me, before his eyes close one last time, and his breathes come to a stop.

  "No no no." A cry rips out through my throat.

  The other boys are crying as well.

  I squeeze Winston's hand one last time before standing up and pushing through the Gladers as they say their goodbyes. Another part of my life has been ripped out my hands. My heart sinks.

  How many more people have to die for us to be free? I ask myself.

  It makes me hate WICKED even more.