Subject A250: The Flame (COMPLETED)

Seven: Strawberries and Sleep

A/N: Sorry, this one's a little short and not super exciting. The next chapter is when the drama unfolds (poor Trace)

She will not be going with you through the Flat Trans tomorrow morning.

Trace felt physically ill. Her vision began to blur, shapes distorting before her eyes and rendering her unable to focus. Her ears started ringing. Loud. As though sirens filled the room, and she barely heard the rest of the instructions.

"...execution for anyone who remains behind with her..."

The words meant nothing to her. She couldn't register their meaning. She'd never felt more like a character in this series than right now. How ironic. The moment she really, truly veered from the plot was when she felt most a part of it.

Ratman was still speaking, but Trace's brain was running at a million miles an hour- far too fast to compute anything he was saying. She could only assume he was reiterating what he'd just said, or giving instructions to the rest of the group. Not her. She wasn't a part of the group anymore.

Why? Why her? What were they going to do? Would they kill her? That seemed like a waste of time, considering the effort it would have taken to send her to the maze. Torture? She really, desperately hoped not.

"...simply really," Ratman was saying. "Head through the Flat Trans, make it outside, head north for one hundred miles, reach the Safe Haven within two weeks...or die."

Sounds like I'll be doing the latter, was the only thought Trace's brain morbidly supplied her with.

Once the others figured out that Ratman had finished speaking, the room erupted into chaos.

"What does the Safe Haven look like?"

"Where does the Flat Trans take us?"

"What do we do at the end of the hundred miles?"

"Why isn't Ava coming with us?"

Trace really appreciated the kid who asked that last question, but it was hard to distinguish any voice among the rest. She remained silent, not wanting to add to the commotion.

"Enough! All of you! Can't you see he's not going to answer us?" Sonya's voice rang out, clear as a bell, breaking through the madness.

Ratman stood up and nodded once at Sonya, who only glared back at him. He turned and began walking towards the wall behind him, away from the group of bewildered girls. As he did so, the invisible barrier between them began to fog up, eventually turning completely opaque, a bright white, and then disappeared completely. One of the girls in front reached out to touch it, amazed as her hand found nothing but air. The desk and chair were gone, along with the man who'd occupied them (good riddance).

"Right, well we need to talk this through. Have a group meeting, like the good old days. Make a solid plan. Sound good?" Harriet was already thinking ahead, trying to keep it all under control and prepare the others as best she could.

But Trace couldn't shake the horrible, ominous feeling; something terrible was going to happen after the others left. Something she'd have no say in. She'd much rather just go with them. At least then she'd have a chance at knowing what to do. She knew nothing of what would happen now. Trace was petrified.

"Ava, you okay?"

Dozens of pairs of eyes fell on her, and only then did Trace realise that Harriet was addressing her.

"You look really pale," Sonya added, stepping forward and placing a hand on Trace's shoulder. But Trace felt too numb to get emotional over that.

"I'm gonna go lie down. Let me know if you figure out why I'm not cool enough to come with you all, because I'm 90% sure I'm the coolest one here."

"Maybe that's why you have to stay," Charlene supplied.

"Yeah," Angel smirked. "You're too cool for the Scorch."

Trace smiled sadly at that, and left without saying another word, unable to keep up the facade.

Her little room was eerily quiet compared to the loud discussion that had reignited in the main room. She closed the door behind her and the sound of it vanished immediately. She was alone.

She headed straight to the bathroom and filled the sink with cold water, splashing it into her face in an attempt to break her out of this stupor. Though it didn't work, she did feel more refreshed.

It wasn't enough. She stripped off her clothes and climbed into the shower, embracing the warm water, knowing she might never get this opportunity again. She found shampoo and conditioner tucked away in the cabinet under the sink. The sight of it made her feel queasy. Just another product of WICKED's false hope, making her feel comfortable so that they could strip it all away.

Still, it was strawberry-scented. Trace did love the smell of strawberries.

Fifteen minutes later, she wrapped herself in a towel and dried herself off, smelling like an eight-year-old girl's lip balm. She put her stupid, army green, WICKED-infested top, and her stupid, brown, eau-de-WICKED shorts. She hated it. She hated all of this. She wanted to be back with the boys, going through the Scorch with them. She hated this.

She climbed up into her bunk and pressed her face into the pillow, wishing- oddly enough- that she was back in the Glade. Wishing she could go back to the time she'd dug herself a hole and become the Glade potato. Things were so much simpler back then.

She remembered how excited she'd been. How entirely overwhelming it was to be surrounded by her favourite characters. To have them speak to her, laugh with her, laugh at her.

Yeah, it was mostly just them laughing at her. Laughing and judging.

But, she loved it. It was so hard to let that all go. It was all over far too quickly. She missed it. She missed them.

Nut, Tomato, Mint-Fro.

Aunty Alby, Zart the Fart, Ben of the Benishment.

Joking Joe.

She probably should have called him that while he was still alive. He would have liked that one.

Chuckling Chuck.

She missed Chuck. But not in the way she'd anticipated; Chuck was alive. She'd managed, somehow, to save him. She'd gone against the plot.

She hoped her efforts would be worth it. She hoped the others could keep him alive.

She fell asleep without even planning to; apparently beneath all that panic and confusion she was still utterly exhausted. Teresa crept into the room later that evening, trying not to wake her.

They'd agreed to wake up at 5am, ensuring they'd all be as ready as possible when 6 o'clock came about.

Trace, on the other hand, would never be ready.