The healer [Maze runner Newt x OC]

Chapter six

Grace pulled out the notebook again, eager to learn more about what had happened to her and the others. But as she flipped open the pages, a gunshot rang out, sending her heart racing.

"Winston!" she shouted, instantly leaping to her feet and rushing toward him. Newt yelled for the others, "Hey! Guys, get down here!"

Frypan was the first to reach them, pulling a gun out of Winston's hands. "What the hell, Winston?" Frypan demanded. "Give it to me."

Winston's eyes were wide with panic. "Please... please... give it back," he pleaded, his voice shaky as he reached out for the gun.

Grace crouched down beside him, one hand on his back. "Winston, are you okay?"

But Winston didn't respond, his hands trembling. His body jerked violently, and he gagged before vomiting up a thick black liquid. Grace stepped back quickly, her heart hammering in her chest. The sight of the black liquid was familiar, a clear sign of what was happening.

"Grace..." Winston whispered, his voice barely audible. He looked up at her, his face contorted with pain. "It's growing... inside me."

Her eyes shifted to his stomach, and it was clear that the wound was worse than she had feared. This wasn't just a Griever sting—this was something else entirely. A mutation, a flare that was eating him from the inside out.

"I'm not going to make it," Winston said, his voice shaking. "Please... don't let me turn into one of those things."

Grace swallowed, her throat tight with emotion. She had always been able to help. Always been able to fix things. But this time... this time, there was nothing she could do.

Newt made his move then. Without a word, he pulled the gun out of Frypan's hand and placed it into Winston's trembling grasp. "Wait, Newt..." Thomas called, but Newt ignored him, his face hardening as he guided Winston's hand to his stomach where the gun now was.

"Thank you," Winston whispered, his voice strained. "Now, get outta here."

Newt turned away, the pain in his eyes clear, but he nodded solemnly. "Goodbye, Winston."

Grace's heart shattered as she leaned down, grabbing Winston's hand in her own. "Go. It's okay." 

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more..." Grace whispered, feeling his grip on her hand weakening.

"You did enough..." He whispered back.

Newt wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close as the rest of the group walked away, their hearts heavy with grief. The sound of a gunshot echoed across the desert, and Grace closed her eyes, knowing that Winston had done what he thought was best. He had ended his own suffering, choosing to go out on his terms.

The group walked in silence, the desert stretching out before them, barren and unforgiving.

The fire crackled softly in the center of their makeshift camp as the group settled in for the night. The desert had grown colder with the falling night, but the warmth from the fire and their blankets provided some comfort against the chilling wind that swept through the dunes. The faint scent of the burning wood mixed with the dryness of the air, and Grace could feel the exhaustion settling into her bones.

Minho had stopped in his tracks earlier, bringing the group to a halt without so much as a word. His sharp eyes scanned the horizon for danger, but there was none. It was as if the silence itself was a warning.

"I thought we were supposed to be immune," Minho muttered, his voice cutting through the stillness. He twirled a small knife between his fingers, the blade catching the firelight as it spun.