Subject A250: The Fangirl (COMPLETED)

Fourteen: Edgy Grievers

As the Grievers rolled towards them down the corridor, Trace felt Thomas' hand slide into hers.

And suddenly she had no complaints at all.

"Follow me," he said, running headlong towards the pack, dragging a stumbling, fumbling, overwhelmed Trace behind him. She was barely managing to remain upright as she followed at his pace, his hand still entwined in hers, the only thing linking the two of them and stopping her from falling behind.

"Now!" he screamed.

He was lucky she already knew what he was talking about, because otherwise she'd have stood there trying to work out what he meant. Sometimes Thomas needed to do a little more explaining and a little less running.

The two of them dived towards the closest wall, pressing themselves up against the stone. Trace jumped with a little too much energy and ended up a little dizzy as she knocked her face against the wall. Ouch.

Then, they were off again, sprinting around the corner. They continued at maximum pace, entirely aware of the threat behind them; the three Grievers had turned quickly and were hot on their tail. It was only a matter of time before they caught up.

They'd made it around four more corners before something stopped them.

And that 'something' was Minho. They ploughed straight into him as he yanked them into another corridor.

How convenient.

"Shut up and follow me!" he yelled, despite the fact that neither of them had spoken. Although, Trace was panting quite loudly so she supposed he could be referring to that.

In any other situation, Trace would have thrown a rock at Minho and told him to slow down, he was going so fast. But this was life or death. She just had to cope and keep up.

Cope and keep up. Cope and keep up.

She wasn't really doing either of those things but repeating it in her mind made it seem a lot more inspirational.

Cope and keep up.

She really was lagging behind now, and Minho stopped explaining his plan to Thomas to yell at her to keep up.

Keep and cope up.

She was losing focus as her exhaustion reached new levels, but after one more corner, she breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

The Cliff. It was just ahead.

There was a change in lighting ahead of them. A faint glow. For Trace, it was a glimmer of hope. A literal light in the dark.

Now, she just had to hope the plan worked. She hoped they could keep deceiving Grievers. She hoped they could work together on this, that they could come out of this alive. As the three Griever Deceivers. Always deceiving Grievers, heaving those disbelieving thieves over the eaves and leaving with a relieving achievement.

She'd work on their catch phrase later. When they weren't in a life threatening situation.

Minho pulled her and Thomas in for a rushed pep talk, huddling at the Cliff edge. Trace was prepared to be bloody inspired.

"When those things charge, we need to be in sync," he said, glancing over his shoulder towards the corridor. The Grievers had just turned in behind them, and were lining up to charge as he spoke.

"On my mark," Minho said, pulling Trace in line to his right, with Thomas preparing himself on his left.

The Grievers started their charge, one by one, hurtling towards the group at an impossible speed. Trace had to resist the temptation to try and jump over them like hurdles.

"Ready..." Minho prepared them, "...not yet..."

"Now!"

Trace threw herself at the right wall, flattening herself as close as she could to the hard surface. Minho had jumped in the same direction, half his body pressed on top of hers. Trace was glad he couldn't see her expression; nobody should ever look that pleased to be running from Grievers.

The first Griever rolled straight past them and off the cliff edge, disappearing into the abyss below. The second Griever had time to slow a little, but not enough to prevent it reaching the same fate. The third Griever, however, slowed right down, and wobbled to a stop right on the edge of the cliff. Minho and Thomas exchanged a quick glance, before taking the opportunity to throw themselves at the creature, knocking it over the edge, allowing it to fall to its death as well.

Trace scrambled to grab both Thomas and Minho before they toppled after it, pulling them back from the cliff edge and on to the ground. Safe.

They all sat there, trying to come to terms with what had just happened. Trace, still struggling to catch her breath after all that running. Not to mention, the fact that Minho had been pressed up against her mere seconds ago.

Thomas started to cry. And Trace didn't blame him.

She knew this was coming. She'd had time to prepare, to think things through. But it was still so overwhelming. It was so much easier to read this klunk than to actually do it.

But she'd done it. She had succeeded.

Thomas had curled into a ball, but she and Minho sat staring into the space ahead of them, blank expressions to match the blank abyss.

It was only then that she remembered it. She wondered what exactly had triggered the memory, the sudden recall. There was nothing specific about it, it just came to her in two, short syllables.

And it filled her with dread.

Her name.

Ava.