IT STARTED WITH A MAZE - Newt x Reader (F)

- BOOK THREE : THE CURE -

Dodie, on the other hand, fidgets next to the mounted scope. She's wiry, younger-looking, but sharp. She reminds me of Winston in a strange way - same kind eyes, same jittery, quiet loyalty. She's not made for war, but she'll do whatever she has to. That's what makes people like her dangerous.

Newt sits beside me in the front passenger seat. He's sweating through his shirt and doesn't seem to notice. No one says much. The desert does all the talking out here. Hot wind, buzzing flies, the faint click of Remy rechecking his rifle for the third time. I adjust my binoculars and scan the horizon again.

The train's a black line in the distance, moving fast. It looks tiny from here, like a toy slicing across the empty plain, but we know better. That thing is massive - several hundred tons of metal, surveillance, heat sensors, and guards. Minho's on it. Somewhere.

Thomas and Vince should be in position by now.

Our jeep is a rusted-out corpse of a thing - probably scavenged from four different vehicles, at least. No doors. Roll cage exposed. The whole thing looks like it shouldn't even start, let alone survive a desert war zone. But we reinforced the frame, added a second fuel cell, rigged the dashboard with more wiring than sense. It runs. That's what matters.

"There they come," Newt murmurs. I swing the binoculars back up. Through the heat shimmer, I catch a glimpse - two vehicles speeding up the incline near the rear of the train. The first one's Thomas, easy to recognize even from this far. He leans forward, every part of him coiled, focused. Vince is behind him, following tight, the stolen WICKED truck rattling like it's ready to fall apart.

I exhale slowly. "I still think this is a crazy plan," I mutter, not really expecting a response.

"Yeah, well," Newt says without missing a beat, "that's where Tommy thrives."

I smile without meaning to. He's right. This whole plan is crazy. Hijacking a WICKED train, trying to pull Minho out of the belly of the beast with a handful of rebels and some timed flare? Insane.

But if anyone can do it, it's Thomas.

I adjust the focus again. I catch the second Thomas swings onto the back car. Vince pulls up beside him, covering the flank. It's happening.

Then something else catches my eye.

A black shape on the horizon. Moving fast. Too fast.

I lower the binoculars, heart suddenly hammering. "Hey- Berg," I say sharply, pointing across the desert sky. Everyone looks up. It's big. Low. Engines screaming. A WICKED aircraft is descending, angled straight toward the back half of the train - right where Jorge and Brenda are stationed. I grab the radio off the dash. "Brenda, you've got to get out of there," I say into the static. "It's time. Now."

There's a beat. Then her voice comes through, calm and tense: "Thomas and Vince will be alone. Don't die, you guys."

I watch as their vehicle swerves hard off the track line, kicking up dust behind it. The Berg dives after them, guns already lighting up the dunes. I know this is the plan. We talked about it. That's their job - draw the Berg away, buy us time and freedom. But it still twists something sharp in my gut, watching them get chased like that.

Then it happens.

The explosion rips through the back half of the rail line - just ahead of where Thomas and Vince will be atop if. The blast throws up a tower of smoke and steel, and the entire train shudders violently, the back cars lifting off their wheels for a second before slamming down again. Stationary. "That's our queue," Newt says.

We all move at once.

Remy swings up into the back seat, already pulling out a second pack of charges. Dodie's on the radio, barking last minute updates to Frypan's group at the west ridge. Newt locks eyes with me - steady, focused - and I jam my foot onto the gas.