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

- BOOK THREE : THE CURE -

The jeep roars to life.

We come barreling down the slope, tires chewing dust and stone, engine groaning with the weight of the gear and gravity. The old vehicle skids sideways before biting into the dirt again, grinding to a halt with a shudder. Newt's out first, already slinging his pack onto his back.

In the distance, the rest of the train's still moving - slow but steady. A long black snake coiling through the flatlands, metallic and ominous under the sun. I spot Thomas and Vince beside one of the stopped rear cars, waiting for us.

"Newt! Cooper!" Vince shouts, waving us over. I lift a hand and wave at Thomas, who doesn't wave back but gives this tiny nod. Eyes sharp, face already drawn tight. That's how I know we're really in it now.

Newt's hauling our gear, staggering slightly under the weight of it. Dodie jumps down beside me, boots crunching dry gravel. Remy doesn't say a word, just follows, gun poised.

As I step into the bare land, the wind hits me - dry and cutting. The kind that scrapes your cheeks raw. There's no clouds above, just that brutal sun casting everything in harsh gold. "You want my coat?" Newt asks, already shrugging it off one shoulder.

I glance down. I'm wearing my own, patched and sun-bleached. "I'm alright," I tell him. "Pull up your scarf," I add and do the same with mine He smiles, then nods once, adjusts his pack, and we all start running.

Thomas is banging his fists against the side of one of the cars, shouting Minho's name. There's a rhythm to it, frantic and deliberate. Then - faint, but there - voices inside. Screaming. Children.

My stomach flips.

"This one," Thomas calls out, pointing. "He's in here."

Newt drops the gear. I kneel, yanking open one of the flaps. He rummages through, fast and practiced, and I pull out his goggles, hand them to him. "Thanks, Darling," he says with a crooked grin. The goggles make his hair stick out in all directions and he looks slightly ridiculous, and for one second, I smile at him. Just one.

Then it's gone.

Because I hear it - shouts. Gunfire. Farther down the tracks. I turn. The rest of the train has stopped, about six hundred meters out. Just a shimmer in the heat, but you can feel the violence boiling toward us. "It's gonna be close," I say to Vince and Thomas, who are both staring the same way.

I think about Brenda. Jorge. I press my radio to my mouth, even though there's nothing but static now. Please let them be okay. Harriet and Fry were waiting - alongside other Right Arm members. That trap better hold.

"Ropes, (Y/n)," Thomas says, and the urgency in his voice snaps me back into the moment like a slap of cold water. No time to space out now.

I scramble up the side of the third car, fingers gripping hot steel, the wind knifing across my cheeks. The sun's merciless overhead, and the whole train groans beneath our weight like it's warning us to hurry. We don't have long. I crawl across the roof on hands and knees, the metal rattling beneath my boots as I reach the midpoint.

Thomas and Vince are already up here with me, working fast. We each take a corner, wrestling thick industrial ropes out from our bags, threading them through metal hooks that've been welded into place. I tie my first corner off tight, the coarse rope biting into my palms as I yank hard and secure the knot. "Newtie! How's it going down there?" I yell over my shoulder.

"Don't rush me, Darling!" Newt calls back, voice strained but still with that familiar sarcastic charm. I smile - just briefly. Then I look up.

And my breath stutters.

The black-dabbed soldiers are relentlessly advancing, blotches of movement against the dusty horizon. They look like a wave building ahead of us, steady, fast, and cold. A beat later, they stop - and that's when the gunfire starts.

The bullets scream past like hornets. Sparks fly where metal takes the hit. One ricochets just inches from my head and I flatten, pressing myself against the roof of the train. "Cooper, behind me!" Vince shouts.

He slides off the roof like a soldier trained for this kind of madness, landing clean on the gravel beside the tracks. He's already shooting - covering Remy, who's crouched low and firing from beside Dodie as she works her side of the rig. "Newt, get up here!" Thomas yells.

"Almost there!" Newt calls.

I hear the click even over the chaos - his side's secured, or, rather unsecured is a better way to put it. "Newt, go!" Vince orders.

A second later, Newt hauls himself up, hand over hand, onto the roof beside us. His blond hair's stuck to his forehead with sweat, eyes scanning wildly. "Where the hell are they?!" He barks.

"I don't know," Thomas replies, breathing hard beside me.

"There!" I shout, pointing toward the horizon just beyond the soldiers. "Remy! Dodie! Get up here!" They don't hesitate. Remy slings his rifle across his back and grabs Dodie's hand, both of them scaling the ladder up the side like they've rehearsed it. We make room. And at last the shadow falls over us.

The Berg.

It descends like a hawk with steel wings, rotors cutting through the wind, dust blasting around us. The air pulses. We brace ourselves as the hook lowers - a huge steel claw hanging from a cable that sways in the wind. It dangles for a moment, and Thomas reaches up, grabbing it and pulling it down with a grunt.

We work fast, all of us. Ropes looped, knots secured, hands moving like we've done this a hundred times. Thomas's voice rises over the howl of the rotors: "Go, go- up, up!!"

Above us, Fry's in the cockpit of the Berg next to Jorge, visible just for a heartbeat through the front glass. The cables tense. The train car groans and shifts beneath us, then begins to lift. "Vince! Get up here!" I shout, eyes searching for him.

He's still on the ground, crouched and firing from behind the rear wheels. But now, with Newt and Remy and me all firing together - forcing the soldiers back - he makes his move. Sprinting. Vaulting onto the ladder. I grab his wrist and yank the rest of the way up as the car lifts fully off the tracks, swaying with altitude.

The ground drops away beneath us.

The train car swings like a pendulum, suspended midair from the Berg's cable. We hold onto the roof for dear life, wind whipping our coats around our bodies, hair lashing across our faces. Below, the soldiers shrink into shadows. Dust clouds swirl where our feet had just been.

I look up.

Brenda leans out through the open hatch at the bottom of the Berg, both hands on the edge. Her shoulder-length hair falls forward across her face, and she tucks it back behind her ear as she spots me. There's a fire in her eyes. Relief. Victory.

We did it.

The hum of the engine levels out as we gain altitude, soaring higher into the pale blue sky. The sun bathes everything in light now - bright and brutal and beautiful.

I turn to Newt, who's lying on his back beside me, chest heaving. Without thinking, I throw my arms around him. He laughs softly, surprised, but hugs me right back, tight and real. I bury my face against his shoulder for a second longer than I mean to.

Then I move to Thomas. He's cheering and huffing, grinning - this electric, easy grin. I pull him into a hug, too. He's stiff at first, like he doesn't know how to respond - but then he sinks into it and my heartbeat slows.

Finally, I reach Vince. He's crouched low, still scanning the ground below for threats, even now. But when I wrap my arms around him from the side, he doesn't protest. He just lets out a long breath and mutters, "Told you we'd make it."

And we did.

The wind rushes past, carrying the scent of metal and dust and something like hope. The desert falls away beneath us - silent, endless. And above it all, the six of us cling to this shaking, swinging rooftop together. Survivors.

~