The Flat Trans was cold, sending a weird tingle down Trace's body. Like stepping into a cold shower. It was an odd sensation, and one that put her on edge.
But, when she reached the other side, her heart plummeted.
It was dark. Darker than anything she'd ever experienced before. Not even the faintest glimmer of light. The world around her was pitch black.
And it stunk. Badly. Like sewerage and rot. Like mould.
Trace couldn't feel a breeze, so she didn't believe she was outside. In fact, she had a pretty good idea of where she might be, but couldn't confirm it just yet. Couldn't believe it just yet.
She took a shaky breath and, with quivering hands, she reached forward, tentatively, into the darkness. She found nothing, at first, and had to keep searching, fumbling around.
She heard nothing other than the sound of her own breathing, and she didn't dare speak in case she wasn't alone in here.
That thought sent shivers down her spine. What if something was waiting in here? What if, although she couldn't see it, it could see her?
Her lip was quivering. Trace decided she'd never liked the dark. Ever. She felt it deep down, a primal fear that she hadn't had to face since losing her memory. Not until now.
She took quick, panicked breaths, trying to calm herself.
It's just the dark, she told herself. Thomas could do this, so why can't you?
We can't all be Thomases, she argued with herself, repeating the line she'd once said out-loud, to Thomas, during their night in the maze.
Although she supposed she had been a bit of a Thomas that night, come to think of it.
And she could do it again.
Trace reached forward, and this time she felt something. A vertical, flat surface. Rock hard and cold. Smooth, but sectioned into individual blocks.
A stone wall. She'd found a stone wall.
How exciting.
She edged forward, following it through the darkness. Taking cautious, careful steps, so as not to trip on anything. She decided to take her own advice, and ducked down, just in case WICKED decided to pummel her with metallic goopy balls or whatever else they liked to do in their spare time.
She hated this. She hated WICKED. She hated Ratman. She hated Ava Paige.
Inch by inch, she crept forward, relieved to find only even ground beneath her, limiting her chances of tripping. She tripped anyway, but only over her own feet. Nothing out-of-the-ordinary. She got back up as though nothing had happened, checking to ensure she hadn't lost any of her oh-so-precious supplies.
God forbid she lose a toothbrush.
She walked about 200 metres, never veering left or right, always heading straight ahead. Wherever that may be. Then she felt something that made her pause. A corner.
Wow this is thrilling. She would hate to see what this would look like in broad daylight. A girl, hunched over, running her hands along a wall, tripping on flat ground, and then pausing- frightened- when she finds a corner.
It would be quite a sight. She hoped WICKED was enjoying this.
Just kidding, she hoped WICKED found no joy, ever, in their lives.
YOU ARE READING
Subject A250: The Flame (COMPLETED)
Fanfiction--Book two in the Subject A250 series-- She took the Grievers down. She survived the maze. She knows the story is far from over. So, how will she fare in the Scorch?
