+++

THE GLADERS DECIDED NOT TO WASTE TIME. Everyone was assigned a job to help them prepare for their journey across the Scorch. Samson helped Frypan organize the food for their trip, the two of them teaming just as they used to back in the Glade. He helped divide everything up and instructed every Glader to control their portions while they were out in the Scorch.

It felt good to talk to Frypan again. It'd been at least a few days since they'd spoken. They had been so close in the Glade that Samson hadn't really thought that things might have been awkward between them. But, things had changed. 

After a few minutes of light small talk, Samson finally decided to break the tension on his own. He stepped forward toward Frypan and hugged him. Frypan seemed taken aback at first, but eventually wrapped his arms around Samson and laughed into his shoulder.

"Sam...you alright?" he asked. 

Samson nodded, pulling away from the boy. "Yeah, for now. Are you?"

He shrugged in response. "For now,"

The two of them got back to work, sorting through their food supply and helping the Gladers prepare however they could. 

That night, Samson couldn't seem to get himself to settle down. After sleeping for three days straight, combined with a full stomach, sleep felt so far away from him. It seemed that was the case for many of the Gladers. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched them as they tossed and turned in their bunks, some of them even groaning or sighing in frustration every few minutes.

Newt, however, was sound asleep. This was what felt most important to Samson. He had wanted him to rest. Samson stayed with him throughout the night and tried to close his eyes to sleep, but sleep never came.

Instead, five o'clock came and the watches of each Glader went off at the same time, making Samson nearly jump out of his skin. There would be no sleeping through this alarm. Everyone rose at the same time and began to pack of the last of their belongings. Everyone was quiet and seemingly on edge, packing frantically. Samson had packed his backpack from the Glade with extra clothes, some food, and a blanket. He swung it over his shoulder and followed his friends out into the hallway. 

Everyone had managed to gather out in the common room twenty minutes before the Flat-Trans was supposed to open. Those twenty minutes were mostly spent in silence. They were all too exhausted and anxious to speak.

Samson stayed close to Newt and Leo for those twenty minutes. As they stood there, his lack of sleep had definitely begun to catch up to him. Samson leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes, yawning again. 

"You've yawned like six times, Sam," Leo pointed out.

Newt nodded. "Yeah. Did you sleep?"

"No," Samson said quietly. Newt and Leo shot him similar looks of concern. "How could I?"

Before Newt and Leo could snap back at him, Minho stood up and cleared his throat.

"We've got three minutes," he said, in all seriousness. "Everybody sure they still wanna go?"

Everyone nodded, including Samson. "Anybody change their mind over the night?" Minho continued. "Speak now or never. Once we go wherever we're going, if some shank decides he's a sissy pants and tries to turn back, I'll make sure he does it with a broken nose and smashed privates."

Samson grimaced at Minho's comment, and glancing to his right, he could see that Newt had his head in his hands. He groaned loudly, and Minho crossed his arms over his chest and stared him down.

"Newt, got a problem?" Minho asked.

Newt shook his head. "Just admiring your bloody leadership skills,"

Minho pulled his shirt away from his neck and leaned over to show off his tattoo. "What does that say, slinthead?"

"Guys," Leo tried to intervene, but it was too late.

"We know you're the boss, Minho. Slim it," Newt glanced around the room, but his eyes eventually trailed back to Samson. Samson managed a small smile to try and calm his nerves, and it worked. His face softened and he rolled his eyes at Minho.

Leo stepped forward. "It's six o'clock!" he shouted.

As if Leo's statement had triggered it, the wall in front of the Gladers transformed into a flat, shimmering surface that was a murky gray color. It was the Flat Trans.

Minho was the one to step towards it. He cocked his head at the wall and then sighed loudly. He turned back to look at everyone else and shrugged. "See you shanks on the other side,"

Then without a moment's hesitation, he stepped through the Flat Trans, and the wall of gray swallowed him whole. Samson shook his head in disbelief. Where had Minho gone? He and Newt exchanged frightened looks and then turned their attention back to Thomas, who had taken over for Minho for the time being.

Thomas herded everyone towards the Flat Trans, and Newt helped him line everyone up. They only had five minutes to get everyone through. Samson didn't want to think about the consequences of being left behind.

He was lined up behind Leo and in front of Frypan. Newt busied himself by help Thomas as they organised everyone else in line to enter the Flat Trans. Before Samson could process it, he watched Leo step through the entrance. He took a deep breath and held his hands out in front of him before going through.

And then it was Samson's turn. He had no time to waste. Samson looked behind him one last time. He glanced back over at the dorm, and then up at the ceiling. He hoped they hadn't forgotten anything. Samson took a deep breath just as Leo had. But just before she stepped through, Newt called out for him.

"Sammy! Wait!" he cried, but it was too late. Samson had already stepped through.

Samson gripped the straps of his backpack tightly as he fell forward. He felt a wave of fresh air hit his chest, which made him shiver. The other side of the Flat Trans was pitch black. Samson cautiously took another step forward and blinked his eyes quickly in an attempt to try and get them to adjust to the new setting. But when he opened them again, it was still dark. He couldn't see anyone or anything. For a moment, Samson convinced himself WICKED had tricked him and that he had been transported somewhere in isolation, away from his friends. 

He took a deep breath. "Newt? Leo? Is anyone there?" he called out, his voice shaking with every word. He was afraid he really was all alone.

"Samson! I'm here!" It was Leo. Samson relaxed his shoulders and sighed. "I'm coming to you!"

Suddenly, Samson stumbled forward and nearly fell over. Something, or someone, had crashed into him from behind. Samson groaned at the impact and turned around to face the attacker, but it was still too dark to see anything.

"Sam? Is that you? Sorry, I can't see anything in here," That was Frypan.

"Hey," a hand had grabbed him by the shoulder, and Samson recognised that the voice belonged to Leo. "It's just me. Where's Newt and Thomas?"

"They're still in the common room. How much time do they have left?" Samson asked.

"I dunno. Can't even see the shucking time on my watch," Leo sighed and tugged at Samson's shoulder to bring them closer together. "Minho wants us to try and line up so we can make sure we're all here. Come on,"

Samson let Leo guide them through the darkness. He felt as if he was drifting through a haunted house, not that he distinctly remembered ever going to one in his life before the Maze. But this was a sensation he recalled from the past. The darkness surrounding them made Samson all the more anxious. He didn't know why it was so dark, and what was lurking around in the shadows. Most importantly, he didn't want to lose any friends. 

Newt's voice instantaneously broke through the darkness. "Samson! Where are you?"

"I'm with Leo!" he shouted back. Telling Newt that he was "over here" would help no one.

After a few minutes of Newt and Samson trying to find one another Marco Polo-style, he could finally feel his voice getting closer. He could almost feel his breath on his face. Newt sighed out of relief.

"Found ya," Newt whispered. Samson smiled into the darkness. 

"Newt?" Leo piped up. 

"Yeah?" 

"That's not Sam's hand, buddy. That's mine," Leo whispered back.

Samson felt Newt jerk back and he slammed into her. Newt spun around. "Sammy?"

"Yeah, it's me," he laughed breathlessly. Newt reached forward for his hand and he took it, squeezing back tightly. Samson kept himself close to Leo too. The three of them walked forward towards Minho's voice.

"Let's try this again!" Minho screamed, making everyone go quiet. "One!"

Someone, who Samson believed to be Thomas, called out "Two!" The next few minutes were spent playing a game of roll call, each of the Gladers calling out their respective numbers down the line they'd managed to form. 

"Alright, we're all here. Wherever here is. Can't see a shuck thing down here," Minho groaned. "We're in some kind of hallway--I can feel the walls on both sides, and as far as I can tell, most of you are to my right. Thomas, where you're standing is where we came in, and I don't wanna take any chances of accidentally going back through the Flat Trans, so everyone follow my voice and come toward me. We don't have much of a choice but to move forward."

Samson tightened his grip on both Newt and Leo's hand and the three of them began walking forward again, slowly. The whispers of shuffling feet and rustling packs against clothes filled the air. No one spoke as they moved forward. Samson hated that he couldn't get his eyes to properly adjust to the darkness. The air was cool, and Samson could feel goosebumps rising against his arms.

He couldn't help but remember the Box again, that cube of stale air that had brought him to the Glade. Being in the dark once more, confused and afraid, forced him to be reminded him of it. Samson had to be relieved that now, he had some of his memories returned, his name, and had his friends who understood exactly what he was feeling. And he had Newt, who was more than just a best friend to him now. Samson tried to make sense of the stakes that lied ahead of them--they needed a cure and had to journey into the Scorch to get to it. But another voice in the back of his mind reminded Samson of what Dr. Paige had told them in the Maze. She had told them that they were immune to the Flare. Samson still didn't know what to believe.

A sudden burst of intense whispering filled the tunnel, seemed to come from above. Newt and Leo both stopped dead in their tracks and they pulled Samson backwards.

Minho broke the silence and asked the question everyone had. "Did you guys hear that?"

Several Gladers murmured yeses and started asking questions. Samson shut his eyes and waited for the voice to come back, trying to focus, but over all of the murmurs from the others, it was impossible to tell if the voice had spoken again.

Minho managed to shush everyone again and told them to listen. Less than a minute passed before the same hushed voice echoed through the hall again. But Samson wasn't able to catch any of what it'd said.

"Did anybody get what it said?" Samson asked anxiously into the void.

"Couple of words," Winston replied. "Sounded like 'go back' right in the middle."

"Yeah, it did," someone agreed.

Samson shook his head. They couldn't go back. They'd die if they went back through the Flat Trans. But if what lied ahead was just as dangerous, Samson didn't know if he wanted to go forward, either.

"Everybody slim it and listen real hard this time," Minho announced.

The next time the voice came, Samson, and everyone else it seemed, understood every single syllable."One-chance deal. Go back now, you won't be sliced."

Every Glader erupted into a panicked state and Samson glanced up at Newt even though he couldn't see him. "You won't be sliced? That doesn't sound good," he whispered.

"What is that even supposed to mean?" Leo said from beside him.

"Just keep going!" Thomas shouted, making Samson jump. He hadn't even realized the boy had been behind him. "I can't take this much longer. Just go! The voice is just a test, I bet. We need to keep going."

"He's right." This was Minho from up in front. "Come on, let's go."

The whispering voice whooshed through the air again, this time laced with an almost childish hatred. "You're all dead. You're all going to be sliced. Dead and sliced."

Samson gasped. He couldn't hide the fact that he was terrified any longer. The darkness around them was beginning to feel like it was closing in on him, just like it had in the shower before. And in the Box.

"I can't do this," he cried, sucking a deep breath. "We just started. What do we do?" 

He felt Newt turn his body toward him. Newt placed his hands on Samson's shoulders, his face just inches from his. "You're okay. It's gonna be fine. We've just gotta get out of here and find some light. Ignore that voice, alright? Tommy's right, it's just another one of the Creators bloody tests,"

Samson wiped the tears that had begun to leak from his eyes and nodded. Newt was right. Thomas was right. It was just a test. Another variable being thrown at the Gladers to test their aptitude, their intelligence. Just as all the other variables before them had. The variables were beginning to test Samson's sanity, as well. 

Leo squeezed Samson's shoulder and the three of them sauntered on, continuing to make their way deeper into the darkness. Samson tried to tune everything else out and focus on his breathing.

He was finally beginning to calm down when someone screamed a few dozen feet in front of him.

At first, it sounded like an abrupt shriek, but the scream escalated into pure terror, which made Samson want to scream back out of instinct. He couldn't tell who it was, but his screams rang out through the air and pierced his ears. A loud thud followed like the Glader had hit the ground, and the screaming was cut off.

From behind Samson and Newt, Thomas stumbled forward and pushed past them. Newt and Leo went after him and pulled Samson along, even though did not want to find out who had been behind the screaming. 

They got so close that Samson ran into the boy's legs. He laid right in front of him, kicking and thrashing his body around, his screams muffled by something covering his face. 

"Hey!" Thomas yelled at the boy. "What's wrong with you?" But the boy didn't answer, he just continued to kick the Gladers around him. 

"Stop it!" Thomas shouted. "What's wrong!"The screams gurgled to a stop, almost like the boy had just been pulled underwater.

No one spoke for a long time. Not until a hollow grating sound filled the room. Then, the Gladers began to panic again.

"He's dead," Thomas sighed. "Whoever that was, he's dead."

+++

this was intense to write and i've always thought this scene in the scorch trials book was so weird tbh like... was james dashner writing it at 3AM lmao how does someone come up with this stuff

hope you enjoyed this chapter! sorry for the delay in an update, have just been focused on other fics and school atm!

love always,

chloe