Him || The Scorch Trials

Twenty Nine

The plan was in motion. They had waited until the night had transformed into morning, and then made their move. By the time they were ready, all of the Gladers had returned to their hideout in the building, including Jorge and Aris, which meant there were more of them to fight the Cranks.

Mara was also happy to know that she was involved in the plan; she was actually doing something to help. But the real reason she was involved was because they had planned to leave the city after the ambush, and the Gladers hadn't wanted to leave her behind. Otherwise, she would have been still stuck to the mattress in a dishevelled hideout.

Jorge had gathered weapons for the group- plenty of different types of knifes and even one gun, although it only had a couple of bullets in it. Mara carried the gun- after a lot of persuasion by Newt's hand- and had a knife tucked into her waistband, hidden under her vest.

Having Jorge on their side was a major advantage, mainly because he knew the Cranks and the layout of the building. They had decided what they were going to do, and they weren't going for stealth, they just needed to get Thomas and the girl Jorge had called Brenda back.

Jorge led them down the alley as Frypan instructed, the rest of the Gladers following behind. Mara was in the centre of them all, under Jorge's orders, since she was the most injured Glader and he thought it was best option for her. Minho walked beside her, almost like her bodyguard, a look of determination on his face.

Together, the group walked in silence as they approached a set of dingy stairs and descended them to reach the building that held Thomas and Brenda.

Mara maintained her breathing, making sure not to make a false move so not to cause herself any pain. Her hand intertwined with the gun and hovered over the trigger- just in case she needed to use it. But she couldn't push her last interaction with a gun from her head. She had shot herself. Or she thought she had shot herself. She had never figured out how she had survived, or how WICKED had managed to pull it off.

If it was her choice, she would never hold a gun again. But she knew that she had to appreciate the fact that she had it. And she would use it, if she had to.

Once they reached the wooden door, Jorge leant towards and pressed his ear against the frame, listening for signs of life and movement. Mara and the rest of the Gladers waited for his cue silently, all preparing themselves for a fight.

After a moment of stillness, Jorge moved to the side of the door and allowed Minho to step forward. Mara stepped back slightly, giving him the chance to bust through the door without hitting her in the process.

Mara wiped her sweaty hands along her thighs, catching the rough material of her trousers, which had been torn and burnt during the lightning storm, and then slid the gun into her waistband, next to the knife. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, preparing herself for what was about to happen. It had to go well. It had to.

In a moment of brash braveness, she reopened her eyes to face the wonky door, and that was when she realised it didn't have a handle. How were they supposed to get in? She didn't understand. It must be one way, could even be locked from the inside.

Jorge broke her from her thoughts, counting back from three. Everyone gripped their weapons a little tighter, and then Mara knew she was ready. They were ready, and they were going to get Thomas back.

Without a moment's hesitation, Minho kicked through the door, gripping harshly at the two knives in his hands. The door swung open swiftly, banging against the wall as it hit it, and then the Gladers stomped in.

The room was barely lit; torches hung from the ceiling, dangling silently, still in place. Screams illuminated the room, and a frantic sound of terrified bodies running away crashed through the air. Some people were still passed out on the floor, obviously still drunk and exhausted. The commotion was wild, and they had to contain it. There were at least twenty of them still in the room, maybe more. All looking at them and screaming for their lives.