Mine (The Maze Runner Minho Fanfic)✔

Part 3: Chapter 1

Sam

6 months later.

After almost 7 failed rescue attempts to find Minho, we were finally on our 8th.

Each time we even got near to a WCKD facility in the desert, a berg would appear and chase us away. However, they weren't completely failed attempts, as we had managed to take roughly 200 kids from WCKD.

Vince and the Right Arm had been preparing a ship for months, and they were all desperate to find a Safe Haven. But I wouldn't leave until Minho was back, and safe in the camp once again.

They had all tought us to drive, shoot a gun and basic survival if we got bitten by a crank.

"On three." The radio crackles, Vince having heard Newt's request.

"Here it comes... Three..."

"Two."

"One. Now!" He shouts as the jeep appears from a sandy slope, Vince speeding to catch up with the WCKD train.

Newt and I glance over at eachother, eyes filled with anticipation as Thomas leaps onto the bonnet of the car. Vince pulls in closer to the train, and Thomas leaps onto the back end of it, attaching a hook onto a suitable enough loop; Aka, a piece of ladder.

Vince then jumps onto the back of the train as the rope breaks and the jeep falls back into the rails, destroyed.

Brenda and Jorge speed in from the right in a similar jeep, a berg hot on their heels.

The plan was coming in to action.

I grin as Vince and Thomas shoot down some WCKD guards, unhooking two train carriages and letting them roll freely on the tracks as the rest of the train comes to a stop.

Guards spill into the desert, as I begin to put my snipering skills into action. As Vince and Thomas cover for us, Newt and I scramble from out of the bushes and towards the two carriages.

We could only take one.

I sprint up to the carriage, slamming my hands and banging against the walls screaming "Minho!"

There is some screams in reply, but my heart aches when there is no scream from Minho. I tried to reassure myself that he was screaming back, but not loud enough for me to hear.

He had to be in that carriage.

I cover for Newt as he begins to cut off the rail clips. The guards cease their fire as the berg comes into view again. Confusion washes over them as the berg begins to lower ropes to the carriage. And their firing then continues as they all figure it out.

The berg had been hijacked.

Newt finishes cutting the rail clips, he helps me up onto the carriage roof, where Thomas and Vince perched already.

They fasten the ropes onto the carriage as Newt clambers up the ladder. The berg takes flight, and we are then flown across the desert wasteland.

-----

A smile falls onto face as my 8 month old son crawls into my arms, "ma!" He babbles, a huge smile on his chubby face.

"Hello baby boy!" I coo, smiling at the black haired child. "Have you been good for Laura?"

Laura, my mother, came over, standing next to me "he was as good as gold."

I grin at Alex, and he stares up at me with his large brown eyes. My heart pounds as he resembles Minho.

Thomas rushes over to me, "we've got the door open!" He pants, addressing the carriage door.

I smile at my mother once again, and hand her my babbling son, before sprinting off towards the carriage, ignoring the too familiar ache in my ankle.

"Is he there?" I call out into the carriage, my heart breaks again as Newt answers.

"No." He glances up at my tear filled eyes. "But we'll get him, Sam."

I nod, hiding my face as the tears cease to fall, as I collapse outside of the camp on the beach.

The tears rip through my body, as my head begins to pound, it crawls and swirls, as if there were tiny insects crawling around in it.

I frantically claw in my bag for the vial, injecting the blue liquid into my arm, and instantly the crawling and aching in my head decreases.

My hands find themselves at my ankle, as I pull up my jeans, exposing the large, deep mark in my skin. I pat the area with spare cloth in my bag.

But the bite mark was getting worse, and an injection a week was barely stopping the spread of black veins up my leg.

But nobody knew and I couldn't bring myself to tell them, as I roll my jeans back down, concealing the mark.

I hadn't got much time left.