This takes place during chapter 24 of The Scorch Trials (the lightning storm scene)
As the gladers sprinted across the sand, a rumble erupted from the sky and when Newt glanced upwards he saw the dark clouds ahead illuminate with light. Streaks of yellow began to light up the skyline, and soon the beams began to strike the earth. Shard after shard hit the ground, reverberating so much that Newt could feel every strike under his feet.
He tried to hasten his pace, limping horribly now, face flushed as fear started to trickle up his spine. The horizon grew darker as Newt and the gladers raced towards the building – their only hope of survival. They had only run about half the distance and time was ticking. A bolt flashed by him and he jumped. As he tried to pick up his pace again, a pain started to grow in his side. It had been too long since he'd been a runner and the racing had started to take its toll on him.
The wind churned around the gladers and soon Newt's vision was clouded by earth and haze. The tremendous storm roared in his ears and Newt fell deaf to the world around him. The bolts had tossed up swirling sand into the air that got into his eyes, but he did not stop to clear them. Half-blinded by the sand, he could not help but let out a cry as another streak shot by him and he tumbled to the ground.
Glader after glader ran by him as he struggled to regain his footing. He had landed badly on his poor leg and the pelting flashes around him did not help him get back to his feet. A rough hand tugged at his arm and pulled him harshly upwards. Newt caught a glimpse of brown hair and knew it was Thomas. After making sure he was stable, his friend ran past him, hurrying towards the shelter.
Newt took a step forwards and broke out into a run. His leg screamed in pain and his limp worsened by the second. Digging his fingernails into his palms, Newt sprinted as fast as he could. The shelter was barely visible now as Newt could only see a couple of metres ahead of himself. The goal, seemingly unreachable, Newt focused on the gladers directly in front of him instead.
A bright light lit up in front of him and Newt felt the force of it. He was thrown to the ground where he landed in a sprawl, this time on his back. He sat up tiredly but when he saw the damage the bolt had created he scrambled quickly to his feet. A small crater was in front of him, and inside a boy; unidentifiable. The top half of his head had been blown off and blood oozed out of the gaping hole, colouring the earth. Newt could tell from the way the boy's mouth was wrenched open that during his last moments he'd been screaming. Newt trembled as he stood, gazing down at the lifeless body of a boy he could not even identify. Judging by his small scale, he must have been one of the youngest gladers.
Boil rose in his throat and he stumbled past the body. His feet pelted the ground, as he dashed forwards as far as he could. He felt as though he must be nearing the old building now, but he couldn't say for sure. All he knew was that he had to gain shelter as quickly as possible, or he would surely die.
Another flash lit up near him, this time to his left and Newt turned his head just in time to see another boy fall to the earth. Newt stopped in his tracks. A little reluctantly, he ran towards the boy. It was Jack, and although he had been thrown to his knees, the burst of lightning had missed him. Clumsily, Newt helped Jack back to his feet, but just as he started to regain his balance another jagged spike came down from above and struck him hard.
The two were sent hurtling to the ground, and Newt screwed his eyes shut as Jack landed on top of him. Something wet began to trickle down Newt's arm and he pushed the boy off of him in alarm. He stared in horror as he realised what had happened: Jack's arm had been blasted off, leaving a stump behind. He stared down at his own arm, wet with Jack's blood.
Jack erupted into a writhing fit as he clutched at his stump. His mouth opened in a scream and Newt was glad that he could not hear it over the pealling of the electric storm. He tried to help the boy to his feet but Jack was inconsolable. He swatted Newt's extended hand away and kicked at him, the pain driving him mad. Newt backed away and stared down in dismay. He turned round and saw the lightning advancing towards him. He looked ahead and saw more golden streaks hitting the earth. Time was waring thin. Newt felt his stomach turn.
Feet beating against the earth, head and heart pounding in sync, Newt fled, not stopping for anyone any more. Around him, gladers fell. Some got back up. Others were left behind.
The building rose up from the ground in front of him like a giant. Now in sight, the goal seemed achievable. He saw Aris at the building, punching out the last shards of glass from the front door and hurrying gladers inside. As he got closer and closer to the shelter, he felt his hope rise. But then he caught a glimpse of someone out of the corner of his eye: Thomas. Newt wondered fleetingly how Thomas had ended up behind him, and then he noticed that he was dragging someone with him.
Thomas tugged an almost lifeless figure along with him, absorbing the body's, his arm wrapped around the person's waist whilst the other gripped the boy's arm round his shoulder. Newt's eyes grew large as he recognised the figure: Minho.
Newt changed direction and sprinted towards them, all but forgetting the shelter. He tried to call out, but his cry was swallowed by the storm. As he reached Minho, he skidded to a halt. Quickly, he lifted his friend's free arm and draped it round his shoulder, absorbing some of the weight for Thomas as they ran together towards the building.
Newt focused on Minho. His clothes were ripped and charred and the ends of his hair were singed, his cheeks browned with dirt. His eyes were screwed tight in pain. Minho's nails sunk into his shoulder. Newt swallowed down his fear and concentrated on the goal, looking ahead as they carried Minho towards the building. Aris stood in the entrance, his hands moving rapidly as he willed them to hurry. The bolts of the storm seemed to be getting closer and sparks of light danced around Newt's feet as they ran. Soon they were at the entrance, and Aris helped carry Minho through the open door as they laid him down carefully on the stone floor.
The building was gloomy and filled with shadows, and just as they all collapsed to the floor the lightning came to an abrupt halt, as if a switch had been flicked, and a light rain started to fall from the clouds.
Newt glared at the clouds but quickly turned his attention to Minho, who lay panting heavily as though every breath sent a shiver of pain through his beaten body. Newt crawled forwards, settling down on his knees next to him. Thomas was nearby, slumped against the wall, chest heaving as he stared out at the rain, clutching at his shirt for support.
Newt pushed the hair out of Minho's eyes and a shaky hand met his own and held it there. Wincing, Minho opened his eyes and stared up at Newt, his eyes flashing signs of relief, worry and pain all at once. Newt stooped over and softly kissed Minho on the forehead, tears coming to his eyes as he did so. He wiped his eyes with his free thumb as Minho held his other hand tightly. He twitched as he lay, and he coiled in on himself in a ball on the floor. Newt lay down next to him.
Minho gazed past Newt to Thomas and met his gaze. He nodded his head, and Thomas nodded back. Then, Minho let out a deep sigh and turned his eyes on Newt. His eyelids fluttered wearily but a small smile played on his lips as he continued to hold his hand.
Newt gazed at Minho's face as he began to drift off, dirty with earth and wet with sweat. Anger rose up his stomach as he thought about the people who had let this happen to him. His grip around Minho's hand tightened. He lay there for several minutes, thinking hard about the people at WICKED and imagining what he'd do to them if he ever got the opportunity to show them.
'Ease up there,' Minho whispered, his eyes opening tirely as his met Newt's, each word sounding hoarse, his voice all scratched, 'You're gonna squeeze my hand off.'
Newt lessened his grip on Minho's hand and focused on his breathing. Minho closed his eyes and finally fell asleep, his twitching growing less violent and his breathing coming out less strong. And Newt gazed at him, thoughtful. And despite the concern that Newt felt for Minho's injuries, he could not help but smile as he watched the rise and fall of Minho's chest. Newt allowed his eyes to close and he let out a sigh.
Despite all they had been through, they were still together. And they were alive.
Thanks for reading!