Subject A250: The Flame (COMPLETED)

Seventeen: Hanging With The Gang

They saw two members of the Corpse Collectors on the way. Flint quietly pointed them out to Trace, not wanting to scare Rose too much. Trace doubted anything could scare Rose at this point.

She could only catch a glimpse of them.They were hiding in the shadows, behind a dumpster at the entrance to an alleyway. Boulder exchanged a look with Machete, and Trace got the feeling that they weren't actually expecting to see any opposing gang members on their trip.

"They're on the east side," Flint muttered to Lightning, who simply shrugged as if she didn't want to worry too much about it at this current moment. Trace didn't blame him; there was enough to worry about in this shucked up world as it was. Why add two mysterious figures to that list?

Those figures were rather terrifying though. They crouched behind the dumpster, their eyes glowing white in the gloom of the alley. They had the rest of their faces covered with black balaclavas, but she could tell they were watching her. Trace could swear she saw the glint of something metallic. A knife perhaps. She shuddered, and before she could sneak another look back at them, they were gone.

The rest of the walk was just as tense, and Trace lived in the constant fear of rounding a corner to see one of those faces staring right at her. She lived in fear of ambush. Of surprise attack.

Rose, however, was a little less fearful now.

"I still don't understand why there was a new car in the middle of nowhere," she stated, expecting answer from the terrifying men around her.

She got one.

"It was a trap," Machete explained. "We had it set up to trigger an alarm back at base, so that we'd be prepared for any newcomers."

"I suppose that does explain why the doors were unlocked," Trace allowed, shooting Rose a look that suggested that maybe they should have suspected something.

"You're the first to come across it in months," Flint said. "We didn't really expect anyone else to come crawling out of the Scorch at this point."

"We didn't crawl," Trace argued. "We stumbled."

Her words reminded her of one of the many nicknames Newt had given her throughout their time together. Stumbling Sixteen. A much better alternative to Sweet Sixteen, she believed. Although still not as good as her own suggestion of 'Stunning Sixteen'.

She wondered what Newt was up to now. If Thomas had been shot yet. If Minho had been hit by lightning.

Scorched by lightning.

Maybe she could tone down the puns a little. After all, they caused more harm than good.

She wondered what the others were doing right now. At this very moment. She hoped they were having a nice time. She doubted they were having a nice time, but she couldn't help but imagine them all sitting around a firepit telling scary stories.

And Chuck.

She prayed he was still alive. That he wasn't struggling too much. That it was worth saving him. That being sliced with a knife and wrestling Gally to the ground had been worth it. That Chuck still had hope. That he might still get a worthwhile future out of all this. It was the least he deserved after such a rotten past.

After a few more minutes of walking in paranoia, the group reached an alleyway on the east border of the town. It was inconspicuous, and Trace would have walked straight past it if Boulder hadn't stopped in front of it. He stepped into the shadows and did a surprisingly musical knock on one of the doors near the entrance. The door opened.