Doctor Winnie Allen just wanted to contribute to the war effort. She had no idea that when she volunteered her services to train medics in the paratrooper division that she would end up on the other side of the world and risking her life for these m...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Notes:
A/N: Is this what James Dashner refers to as an unfortunate little incident? Yes. Yes it is. Y'all ARE NOT prepared for the next few chapters. That being said, I'm double-updating today and I'm updating State of Grace for you Masters of the Air fans, so go and give that some love haha!! Enjoy (at least as much as you can) and I'll see you in the second update later today. Oh and Happy Father's Day! (And yes, there's some intentional irony with these chapters being on Father's Day oops).
Chapter Text
It all started with a crack in the wall that made Winnie Allen feel like she was Cassandra of old. See, the thing about Cassandra was that she saw things that no one else did. She knew what was coming. And she warned them. But she was cursed to never be believed. Something about women never being believed by a group of men who personally thought that they knew better than some woman.
There was a legitimate crack in the wall that Winnie had pointed out to one of the doctors and the nurses.
Right on the ceiling—the floor above them sagging ever so slightly, the crack above their heads. There were even a few other cracks in the walls of the church.
But this was the safest place, they had said.
What would a doctor know about structural damage anyhow?
Well Winnie Allen had grown up in a house that chewed up and spat out structural damage after every winter and well into the spring. Her house's roof had caved in in the kitchen—right in the middle of 12 year old Winnie cooking spaghetti for her brothers. There had been cracks in their rooms, signs of water damage.
Her father had ignored it.
She had dealt with it quietly, as she always did.
So when Winnie saw the crack in the wall in the church, it felt like some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. Sure, it wasn't from water damage. It was much worse than that—the damage was from the bombs that were consistently falling overhead.
And being underground, all Winnie could see was that this place was going to be one large mass-grave for all of them.
Winnie Allen had no intention of dying in a church. The irony of that would have been in the cruelest order.
There were other signs that she was right. The fact that Toccoa wouldn't come down the stairs anymore, whining and shaking at the sight of going underground when just a few days prior, Toccoa was just fine doing so. And when a dog was scared of doing something, it usually was because they sensed some sort of danger that the rest of them were all nissing.
She had never had a dog before. But back in school, she had been friends with a girl whose father was a sheriff and he had had a dog. And the sheriff would take the dog with him into places. The girl had told all sorts of stories about how that dog had saved lives.
