The Huntress Descent

The Storm: Chapter Nineteen

We couldn't afford to waste any more time. Escaping the complex and reaching the Berg was our top priority. Every second spent here increased the risk of being caught and dragged back to those dreadful beds.

I trailed behind the others, venturing into areas of the complex previously unseen by my eyes. A vast, dimly lit room loomed before us, shadows dancing in the crimson glow. It must have once served as a waiting area, a relic of a time when guests were permitted to depart the facility.

Brenda led the way, her grip firm on a bulky box. We navigated through halls that had once hosted unsettling procedures, punctuated by murmurs of disdain directed at Janson and his conspicuous absence. Yet, our focus remained fixed on reuniting with our comrades. We traversed a cafeteria, dormitories, bathrooms, and meeting rooms, only to find them deserted. The emptiness grew unnerving with each new room explored. Surely, it was inconceivable for an entire staff and their associates to vanish without a trace. We expected to encounter someone, anyone, along the way.

After tirelessly scouring every corner of the building for an hour, we reached an impasse. Doubt crept in as exhaustion weighed heavily upon us.

"Are we certain we've covered every inch?" I panted, feeling the burden of the Launchers and ammunition bearing down on me.

"As far as I know," Minho replied, his tone tinged with uncertainty. "But knowing WICKED, there could be hidden compartments we've missed."

"WICKED does enjoy their surprises," Maya chimed in, propping herself against the end of her Launcher.

"Let's zigzag toward the hangar, remaining vigilant for any signs of our allies," Thomas declared, forging ahead with resolve. We fell into step behind him, scanning every nook and cranny for a glimmer of hope.

Eventually, Poe and Maya flanked me, our footsteps falling into a synchrony reminiscent of our days in the Scorch.

"What do you imagine the outside world looks like?" Maya mused, breaking the tense silence with a question that lingered in all our minds.

"My dreams," Poe reflected, his voice carrying a wistful tone. "They depict towering structures akin to those we encountered in the Scorch, but teeming with vitality and bathed in light."

"You have dreams?" I interjected, surprised by the revelation. Until now, I had assumed my experience of regaining memories was unique among us.

"Since the moment the creature stung me," Poe admitted. "They're sporadic, but they linger."

"I had no idea you were stung by those creatures," I confessed, taken aback by the disclosure.

"You never inquired," Poe shrugged nonchalantly. "In any case, it's evident that my dreams are fragments of my past, resurrected by that sting. Unless, of course, I possess an untapped well of creative genius."

Maya couldn't contain a snort of disbelief. "Highly doubtful."

Poe rolled his eyes, unperturbed. "Have a little faith, Maya. You believed me then, and you should now. Besides, Clarke, you experienced similar dreams, just yours were a little different. You never told us what happened in them. Just that they were not right."

I nodded solemnly, acknowledging the torment of my own memories. The recollections that haunted my sleep were enough to drive anyone to madness.

"Do you recall your family?" I asked Poe, curiosity tinging my voice.

Poe paused, his expression distant as he delved into his subconscious. "I only glimpse one face—golden hair and vivid green eyes. I presume she's my mother. I know I'm happy when I have that dream."