Subject A250: The Flame (COMPLETED)

Thirty-Five: Berg-Watching

Trace ran with Newt in tow, heading straight for one of the pods. Newt was quick to catch on, and picked up the pace, soon running just ahead of her, turning back every now and then to make sure she was still following, despite their tightly clasped hands indicating that she was.

She glanced over to Thomas and Teresa. Thomas was trailing behind her. It looked as if she might be pulling him along, forcing him to go with her. Typical Teresa behaviour really, but Thomas kept turning to look behind him. Something was definitely wrong. It was different to what she knew, and Trace hated it when that happened, but she didn't have time to investigate; she had to get to the pod.

Newt tugged on her hand and Trace realised she'd slowed down a lot; he was pulling her along behind him just so that she could keep up. She stumbled a little because of it, but managed to keep her balance.

Lightning struck and the ground lurched, sending them both sprawling across the ground. Trace got a nice faceful of dirt and was momentarily disorientated. She was blinking the grit from her eyes when strong hands reached below her arms and pulled her to her feet. Her vision cleared to reveal a smoking hole in the dirt ahead of them, the earth completely black and scattered where it had once been flat. They'd narrowly missed being hit.

Newt gripped Trace's hand tightly. She was even slower now and he definitely had to apply some force to get her to keep up.

Suddenly, Minho darted across her vision ahead of them, reaching the pod and opening it up with some effort. He beckoned to the two of them frantically before changing his tactic and deciding to run towards them. Trace hadn't really noticed the rain before now, but trying to see Minho through it all was proving to be a difficult task.

She hoped the pod they'd picked wasn't flooded. She didn't really feel like going for a swim right now. Not in a lightning storm.

Minho reached them and grabbed Trace's other arm, pulling her along. She tried to ignore the fact that this meant he was pulling on the shoulder that she'd only recently dislocated and then relocated; not getting hit by lightning for far more important that not having a sore shoulder.

Another lightning strike. A scream was cut short somewhere behind them. They kept running.

They reached the pod within the next minute and Minho climbed inside, he reached out and helped to lift Trace in. Newt scrambled in behind them, surveying the area one last time, ensuring nobody else wanted to join them, before squatting down and helping the other two to close the lid, immediately muffling the sound of the storm.

The three of them sat there in the murky pool of foul-smelling water, struggling to catch their breath. Minho glanced at his watch.

"Seven minutes," he breathed.

Trace rested her head back against the wall of the pod, praying for this all to be over. Hoping that the rest of her friends were okay. She'd barely seen any of the girls.

Minho was watching her. "You alright, Trace?"

She stared at him. "Am I alright? Are you? We almost died out there. Some of us probably did die!"

Minho rolled his eyes. "I know that. I meant your leg."

"Oh. Right. Well, it's not really doing its job so I'm going to have to dock its pay unless it sorts itself out." She glared at her leg. "You hear that? Sort yourself out or face the consequences; you're letting the team down!"

Newt shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. "You're unbelievable," he sighed.

"You're welcome."

"I didn't thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Once again, I didn't thank you."

"Actually, you just said 'thank you' twice, so my response stands. You're welcome."

"Like I said, unbelievable."

"You're wel-"

"Trace! If you say 'you're welcome' one last time I'll have to send one of those monsters back to get you to shut up!" Minho interrupted.

"I don't think they speak English."

"What?"

"How are you going to direct them to me if they can't understand you, Mint-Fro? In fact, they'll probably attack you first, considering you're approaching them for a chat and they're trained to kill whatever's in sight."

Minho opened his mouth and closed it again.

"She does have a point," Newt added, with a smirk.

"I know, Newt. I know she does. I'm just going through the logistics."

"You could just throw me out there, without any chat involved. That would probably work better. They'd get the message then."

"That's true," Minho considered. "I'd probably just do that."

"But I could just climb into another pod," Trace continued. "And point towards your one and yell 'attack!'"

"Hey!" Newt frowned.

"Sorry, Newt. I'd yell 'get Minho and not Newt, please!'"

"Much better."

There was another bright flash and loud bang. The whole pod shook, and Trace could swear she heard it crack. They all fell silent, waiting as if the lightning might hunt them down.

"One minute," Minho said, mostly to reassure himself, Trace believed.

A low rumble broke through, not quite as deep as the thunder. More mechanical. Trace's eyes lit up. The Berg was coming.

"What's that?" Minho asked, as if the others might know. Trace did know, but that was beside the point.

Newt shrugged. "Should we check?"

The Berg got louder; it was much closer now, and easier to hear over the thunder and rain. Lightning struck again, shaking the ground.

"I'll check," Trace decided. She slid open the top of the pod and peered outside, squinting into the rain. There, hovering about thirty feet above the ground, was the Berg. Blue flames shot out from its thrusters, revealing its location. She glimpsed over and saw the occupants of Thomas' pod peering out as well, Brenda and Jorge having squeezed in to join Thomas and Teresa.

"It's a Berg," she muttered. Newt and Minho rose to their knees, joining the Berg-watching spectacular.

It lowered itself to the ground within seconds and the back door opened wide, sending down a ramp for them.

Trace sighed. It was time to run again.