When The Storm Comes (When We're Older alternative ending)

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Newt

It was one of those nights again.

I stared at the ceiling, hoping that my brain would shut off and my eyes would close. It was hard enough sleeping on concrete, but it wasn't my turn for the bed or the couch. Even when it was my turn, sleep never found me.

It's been a couple months since I woke from my week long coma, and a couple months since Mae has been missing. Ali claims to know where she might be, so for two months we've been trying to come up with a plan to get us there. A plan to leave this little town unrecognized and alone. We couldn't risk anyone following us or getting caught again.

For months we've been crammed in Ali's shelter underneath Mai's Chinese restaurant, surviving off of the food from upstairs and scraps Ali grabs from food stands. My body yearned for sunlight—for a glimpse of the outdoors. But I knew it wasn't at all possible without a plan. The only way we would be able to get out of here was through escaping the town, and journeying somewhere else.

In hind sight, we could go back to the Safe Haven. I knew everyone else was having the same thought. I could see it in Minho's eyes as he stared down at his fifth meal of Teriyaki Chicken that week, and I could practically feel it when Brenda tossed and turned on the concrete floor, trying desperately to get comfortable. It was in those moments where I felt a pang of guilt come over me for putting everyone else through this. But then I remembered Mae, and Ali's journal. What he went through and what she's probably going through now. It was in those moments where I reminded myself of the pact that I made with my conscience; I wasn't going to return to the Safe Haven without Mae. No matter how long it took me.

I remembered that as I turned on my side and closed my eyes for a moment. Taking a deep breath, I allowed myself to finally decompress, and my mind went silent.

"Newt?"

Bloody hell, I thought as I opened my eyes again. Although it was pitch black, I could faintly see an outline of Minho's shoulders facing me.

"What?" I whisper shouted, trying not to wake everyone up.

Minho scooted closer. "Are you awake?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, I'm training to die. Yes, Minho. I'm awake."

"You've been spending too much time with me." He chuckled quietly. "You're starting to become sarcastic."

"What do you want?"

"Alright, alright." Minho cleared his throat. "I can't sleep, and I was wondering if you think people would wake up if I turned on the television?"

A couple weeks ago,  Ali came down in a hurry with a small box in his hands. He explained that there was new WICKED guards in town, and they were installing a huge projector in the center of the town. Said that WICKED was going to start reporting to the public now, and that they would give updates on their progress. He stole a TV from someone's house and brought it down here, thinking that since we weren't allowed to go outside, he thought we should have access to the news from down here. It was really a kind gesture, I think.

There was a total of three channels on the whole thing. The WICKED channel, which was only on in the morning and was basically just Ava talking about the progress she's been making. An opera channel, which was just some overweight lady singing her heart out in a language none of us understood. And the western channel, which was Minho's favorite. I guess he enjoyed watching men in cowboy hats shoot each other in black and white, while women with big butts in big dresses swooned over them. Personally, I thought it was rubbish, but who was I to judge. I sat in the corner all day making plans or reading books.