--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?
Oops! Ang larawang ito ay hindi sumusunod sa aming mga alituntunin sa nilalaman. Upang magpatuloy sa pag-publish, subukan itong alisin o mag-upload ng bago.
By morning, the storm had passed, but Trace hadn't been able to sleep a wink. To be fair, she hadn't tried. She'd just sat in the corner, shivering, though she knew she wasn't cold.
It just didn't seem real. She knew it was a ridiculous thought- after all, this whole experience was based on a fictional series she'd once read- but she couldn't get over how non-fictional this was; Rose was just a little girl. Not a book character. Not a movie character. A real person. A child.
A child who'd burnt to death.
Trace shook her head in a pathetic attempt to clear the new cascade of tears. She shouldn't feel this way. This was The Scorch after all. But she'd held hope. She'd been stupid enough to hope for a moderately happy ending. To make it to the Safe Haven with Rose in tow. She'd even said she'd introduce her to Chuck and the others. She'd genuinely thought they'd make it that far.
Of course she was wrong.
There was no point in holding hope as long as WICKED was still around, sending kids to their deaths.
"Arghhhh!" Trace screamed, punching the ground below her. "Why?! Why would you do this?! She was just a kid! A kid!"
She didn't stop her tears this time; she didn't care. Let them fall. They made her human. If she didn't cry, it only made her more like them. It only made her more like WICKED. A loud sob escaped her lips; she hated all of this so much.
She wasn't even entirely sure that it was WICKED's fault; maybe they sent the storm, maybe they didn't. She did know that they sent her out here, directly on the path to go to that town, to meet Rose, to pass through that city. That couldn't have been a coincidence.
So why wouldn't they have sent the thunderstorm?
Trace screamed again, punching the floor a few more times. "I hate you!" she said. "I hate you, WICKED! I hate you, Ratman! Ava Paige? More like Ava Pay-For-What-You've-Done!"
When she was done punching the floor, she gave it a quick slap and flicked it for good measure. She decided that wasn't enough and kicked it as well.
The floor did not respond.
So, Trace returned to sitting in silence. She knew she should get up and keep going, but she couldn't. She didn't want to step out that door. She didn't want to look back and see that car in the distance, visible now in the light of day.
She didn't want to see the crumpled figure beside it.
Trace didn't want to leave.
"Scorch Trials," she muttered. "It's scorching, and it trials you. Get it now for the cheap price of YOUR ENTIRE SANITY AND WELLBEING."
She wished she'd taken something from Rose. Not in a thieving way, but as a keepsake. A momento. Something to remember her by.
She knew Rose had kept Spots and Bernie in her backpack since they'd left her house, but there was no way Trace could have taken them from her. They always had been and always would be her company. Rose had said it herself; they stopped her from being lonely.
The only thing she had was her tattoo. She was still proud of it, even if it had been tattooed by a guy who'd tried to kill her an hour later. It meant so much to her now. The Flame. She didn't think too hard about it at the time. To be honest, it just sounded cool when Flint said it, and that sounded like reason enough to get it tattooed she decided.
She supposed she hadn't changed much since the time she suggested she and Thomas get tattoos that said 'be careful, don't die' and 'great, we're all bloody inspired'. They still sounded like great tattoos to Trace.
The Flame. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Rose was the candle, supporting Trace's wild, vibrant flame. Flint was the one who started it all. He got them out. He let them escape. He was the literal flint.
How poetic, she thought. But it gave her spontaneous tattoo that much more meaning. She missed them both. She hadn't known Flint for long, but that short time she got to spend with him was so pivotal that he felt like an old friend. Rose, on the other hand, was her family. Not in the same was as the Glader; this was so different. One sister was nothing like a family of brothers.
"This is so shucking stupid," Trace muttered. "This is shuckiest shuckfaced shucking situation there'll ever shucking be."
She wished Minho was here to be impressed with her language. Actually, she was glad Minho wasn't here because she'd just survived a shucking lightning storm. She didn't want Minho around to witness that. Or be in that. Or having anything to do with that.
Still, she wanted Minho around. She missed that sassy shank more than she'd anticipated. It was hard being the sole deliverer of sass. Things worked a whole lot better when she could take sass breaks and let Minho take over for a bit.
But she was alone once more. This felt so much worse than the first time; at least then she'd known that her friends would probably survive. Now she was only alone because of death.
"I hate it," she said, for what was probably the 535th time. "I hate it all. Send me back to my friends."
If she'd expected anything miraculous to happen, it didn't. In fact, part of the ceiling collapsed in the far corner just to let her know that her life sucked and nothing magical would happen any time soon. Thanks, ceiling.
It was probably mid-morning by now, and Trace knew she had to get going; the Scorch Trials wouldn't wait for her, as much as she wished it would. Of course she was keen to see her friends again, but part of her felt as if time had already stopped. What other reason would there be for life to feel so pointless all of a sudden?
Rose would tell her to get up and Trace would argue back, probably with something along the lines of 'I can't, I'm allergic to standing up'. Then Rose would probably laugh and tell her to 'deal with it'. Trace couldn't say 'no' to Rose for very long, so she'd do what the girl said. Rose could keep Trace going.
And, somehow, even after her death, that's what she did.
Trace pushed herself up to her feet, knowing that everything she did from now on would be for Rose. In tribute of the girl who'd been so strong in the world that was so incessantly damaging. Trace would keep going, because that's what Rose had done for so long on her own. Trace would be strong, because that's how Rose had learned to be.
She'd keep going.
And on the way she'd find the glue to keep herself together.
Because right now, that prospect alone was the only thing that kept her from falling apart.
