Kidnapped// Maze Runner Fanfiction ✔

Chapter 1:

Newt found himself sprawled on the floor, dumped like trash and sore all over. His body ached where it had been resting on the chalky concrete ground but that was nothing like the ache in his head, which thumped with a headache so bad that the filtered light was becoming too painful to bear. Even sitting upright sent nausea pitching in his stomach and his vision blotched white from dizziness. 

Almost as soon as it got to the point where Newt thought he was about to slump and pass out again, the headache vanished as if a switch had just been flicked. The buzzing in his head disappeared and his vision came back so clear that he could finally make out his surroundings, taking his breath away. 

He was in a large room, debris covering the floor and wires dangling from the ceiling like the cut strings of a puppet, casting strange shadows in the poor light. Small scraggly weeds and stringy vines clung to life in the concrete as nature tried to seize the uninhabited place from the humans that had disappeared. The gaping holes, that were once filled with glass windows, amplified the strength and sound of the wind as it whipped through the room, making the wires sway and strike like an attacking snake. Dappled sunlight filtered in through cracks in the deteriorating structure and created a patchwork of shadow and light, allowing for various areas to be concealed so that many things could be lying in wait to attack. From the heat and the barren, bleakness of his surroundings, Newt knew that he had to be in the Scorch.

The boy glanced around the room, trying to work out why there was a feeling of dread deep in his stomach that was not just from being alone in a room in the Scorch. Then he realised why and a panic threatened to claw its way up his throat. 

Alone.

He was the only one in the room and there was no sign that anyone else was there. The last thing he could remember was being in the middle of the Scorch with his friends and now, suddenly, he was in a room somewhere else, all by himself. He half expected for his friends to just walk in and laugh that they were playing a stupid little joke on him, but the logical part of his brain said they would never do something so absurd after everything they'd already been through.

Yet, he still couldn't help hoping they were nearby.

"Hey, is anyone here!" he called, scared that shouting would attract unwanted attention but he was too desperate to find his friends to care about the fear, "It's Newt!"

No one answered.

"I think I'm lost! Can someone help me!"  

Silence but for the wind.

"Minho! Tommy!"

Nothing.

The air hitched in his throat at the sudden impact of emotions. Not just fear but also sadness and a small degree of anger. Questions were running through Newt's mind, pulling in the headache again and stopping him from concentrating on much else.

Why was he here? 

Where was here? 

Dust was dancing in the light while Newt was trying to think-

A noise.

He jerked his head around, fear rising in his chest. Any hope he had gained, burned away and he knew he had to be ready to face whatever it was head-on. Newt slowly bent down, sweat beading on his forehead, and picked up a chunk of a rusty support beam, holding it defensively in front of himself. The low scratching noise came again, but this time, louder.

Time ticked on for what felt like hours and Newt was about to lose his cool when, suddenly, a plank of wood shifted.  He jumped but maintained his defensive position, scared as hell, but what appeared out of the shadows wasn't a flare infected person or anything out of a horror movie. 

The scrawny looking rat jolted about, its head twitching and its fur greasy and mange-ridden. Its eyes were red and crazed as it tottered towards Newt for no other purpose than the need for food. As it reached his foot, Newt kicked it in disgust, where it rolled and squealed in irritation but got back up and scurried away. He gasped out the breath he didn't know he had been holding and slumped onto a fallen concrete beam, clutching his chest as his heart calmed down. 

It was just a rat, he thought, nothing to worry about.

Once again, Newt was back to square one. What was he to do? Should he wait here for his friends? But did they know he was here? Should he look around? But what about cranks and other dangers? He wasn't the fastest with his limp and he didn't think he was brave and heroic like Thomas and Minho. The only thing he had that might keep him alive was his initiative and that was poor when he all he could think about was how dismal everything was.  

An ache suddenly filled his stomach, causing him to clutch his belly rather than his chest. Luckily though, the thought of needing to eat finally snapped him out of his brooding mood and got him back on track. However, it only made his panic more pronounced.   

It took Newt five minutes to debate what to do before he made a final decision. He'd paced for the most part, tugging at his hair and biting his lip, sometimes getting side-tracked and bringing the fear bubbling back up but his drive to work something out had held strong. He would look around the floor he was on for food scraps and hopefully some type of decent weapon before it got dark and then would return to where he was.

He stood up but before he moved anywhere, closed his eyes, and gave himself a little time to think about his friends, about Thomas, just in case things went wrong before he had another chance. Moments in the Glade flashed before his eyes. The happy memories and the sad. Moments like when Thomas came up in the box, looking like an antelope in headlights or when he'd gained his limp... Then times in the Scorch appeared in the murky depths of his mind, collecting in a bundle of fear, sadness and even joy. It all became too much and silent tears dripped down his face at the prospect of not seeing his friends again. He tugged on his hair again as he thought about not surviving one night alone, let alone as long as it takes to find the others. As much as Newt hated this godforsaken, apocalyptic world, he still had his reasons to live.

Before he could slip into territory he knew he couldn't return from, Newt picked up his makeshift weapon, that probably wouldn't save him if a crank or worse attacked him, and walked towards one of the three exits in the room.