Him || The Scorch Trials

Twenty Seven

"Get up." The words were harsh and croaked, not ones that Mara recognised.

With a wave of grogginess, Mara pushed her body onto her back, only to come face to face with black, scarred eyes she didn't recognise. As her eyes began to adjust, she could make out the face of a ragged woman staring down at her like a predator.

She complied hesitantly, her mind telling her to do anything but that. She should have known that their safe journey through the city had been a rouse. This woman was so rugged, and from a quick look around the room, Mara knew she had brought company.

There were a few Cranks spotted around the room, each controlling their own group of terrified Gladers. Mara spotted Newt at the other end of the room next to a giant man with an eye patch. He watched on in shock, seemingly still half asleep. Near him stood Minho, who looked ready to start a fight, as usual.

They both watched as Mara was escorted into the line of Gladers and Jorge, but she hardly gave them her attention. Her mind was set onto the Cranks, and how to get them away from everyone else.

She was done with being controlled by other people. WICKED had thought they could do the same, but she wouldn't let them do that anymore. She couldn't.

"What the shuck do you shanks want?" Mara demanded an answer; she was sick of getting caught in stupid, dangerous situations. She just wanted answers.

The woman snarled in her face ferociously, telling her to back off, but Mara wasn't in the mood. She wasn't going to be pushed around by a bunch of Cranks; they couldn't tell her what to do, so when the woman stepped away, Mara stepped forward.

She could feel the eyes of every person on her skin, burning her flesh with a hot feeling, but she held it aside. Even though her body shook and demanded for her to stop, she wouldn't.

"You don't scare me, so just tell me what the shuck you want."

The woman spun around and grabbed Mara by the shoulders, her overgrown nails digging into her flesh. Mara winced in shock, her skin pulsating beneath the sharp sting of her nails. It felt like a ten nails pressing against her body, prodding her complexion, ready to rip flesh from bone.

"Barkley sent us." She finally gave in, telling them what they wanted to hear. Still, her nails never tore from Mara's shoulders. "We want to know why you're here."

"Barkley sent you?" Jorge's voice filled the room, along with a howl of laughter. "Too scared to come find us himself? Tell Barkley that if he wants answers, he'll have to get them himself."

Mara nodded in harmony with Jorge. She wasn't going to let a group of Barkley's Cranks hurt her or anyone else. So she grabbed the woman's nimble wrists and threw them from her shoulders.

The woman stood for a second, realising what she had done, and then snarled heavily, revealing her yellowing teeth.

Before she could do anything, Mara brought her knee up and it connected with the woman's stomach, sending her stumbling backwards. That started everything.

It broke into chaos; other Gladers ran forward and connected fists to flesh, as did the Cranks. Mara focused on the woman in front of her, digging her knees into the woman's body.

Every move blurred together as body parts connected with each other. Surges of pain rang through Mara's body as the woman struck back, but she wasn't as strong as Mara had expected. Her hits were weak and pointless.

Until she pulled out the knife.

Mara had been too late to notice it. She only realised it was there once it had intruded her stomach, erupting in a catastrophic surge of pain.

She stumbled back clumsily, bumping into someone behind her. There was a head-splitting pain coursing through the wound, breaking apart the loosely held stiches that had contained her previous injury.

All Mara could do was gasp for air, but the woman was still there, moving towards her. If she didn't do something quickly, the woman would kill her.

In an attempt to get away, she backed into a pair of fighting boys, who didn't appreciate the interruption. One boy, who she assumed was a Glader, grabbed her and tried to hold her up, while the other angrily strained to stop him.

"Mara!" The boy had cried, and she was pretty sure that it was Minho, but she couldn't tell.

Her vision was distorting and dotting, and she could still hear the woman's cackling from across the room. She knew the woman was heading towards her, by she could barely make her out.

Somehow, the boy she thought was Minho had managed to fight the Crank while holding her up, and was now leading her somewhere else. Someone let out a violent cry, and everything seemed to stop. The loud sounds of anger faded and through Mara's faze, she could just about watch the Cranks retreat through the broken down door, and soon after, the room was as empty as it had been the night before.

Then, she felt her body being lowered to the floor, its cool touch tickling her exposed skin. Her hands felt wet with blood and her stomach and head beat with anguish, but at least they were alone now. The Cranks were gone.

She was surrounded by bodies soon enough; people came to her side to help her. The boy sitting in front of her looked like Minho, but she wasn't sure. He had Minho's dark eyes, his lean frame. Yes, it was definitely Minho.

A hand rested against Mara's arm, and two others lifted her under the armpits, dragging her along the floor.

"Stitches," She mumbled, finding it hard to push the words from her lips. Why did this keep happening to her? Why was life so keen to keep her down? She wanted to yell in frustration, she wished she could just spend a single day normally.

"Someone make sure they don't come back!"

"I'll watch the door."

"Where's the first aid kit?"

"Are you okay?"

Voices thumped around her head, and it felt like they were growing louder. Mara's mind was being pushed and prodded, and it seemed to make the pain in her stomach worse.

"Mara, we'll get you through this. You'll be okay, M."

She recognised this voice as Newts, and it made her smile a little to know that he was there. She held that happiness as she slipped into a blank abyss, for one short moment imagining that her life was a dream. Pretending that she didn't really live in the pained scorch.