Maze runner- yas
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ALSO BY JAMES DASHNER
Th e 1 3 th Re ality se rie s
The Journal of Curious Letters
The Hunt for Dark Infinity
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Fo r Lyn e tte . Th is b o o k was a th re e -ye ar jo u rn e y,
an d yo u n e ve r d o u b te d . iDoc.co
CHAPTER 1
He began his new life standing up, surrounded by cold darkness and stale, dusty air.
Metal ground against metal; a lurching shudder shook the floor beneath him. He fell down at the
sudden movement and shuffled backward on his hands and feet, drops of sweat beading on his
forehead despite the cool air. His back struck a hard metal wall; he slid along it until he hit the
corner of the room. Sinking to the floor, he pulled his legs up tight against his body, hoping his
eyes would soon adjust to the darkness.
With another jolt, the room jerked upward like an old lift in a mine shaft.
Harsh sounds of chains and pulleys, like the workings of an ancient steel factory, echoed through
the room, bouncing off the walls with a hollow, tinny whine. The lightless elevator swayed back and
forth as it ascended, turning the boys stomach sour with nausea; a smell like burnt oil invaded his
senses, making him feel worse. He wanted to cry, but no tears came; he could only sit there, alone,
waiting.
My name is Thomas, he thought.
That that was the only thing he could remember about his life.
He didnt understand how this could be possible. His mind functioned without flaw, trying to
calculate his surroundings and predicament. Knowledge flooded his thoughts, facts and images,
memories and details of the world and how it works. He pictured snow on trees, running down a
leaf-strewn road, eating a hamburger, the moon casting a pale glow on a grassy meadow, swimming
in a lake, a busy city square with hundreds of people bustling about their business.
And yet he didnt know where he came from, or how hed gotten inside the dark lift, or who his
parents were. He didnt even know his last name. Images of people flashed across his mind, but
there was no recognition, their faces replaced with haunted smears of color. He couldnt think of
one person he knew, or recall a single conversation.
The room continued its ascent, swaying; Thomas grew immune to the ceaseless rattling of the
chains that pulled him upward. A long time passed. Minutes stretched into hours, although it was
impossible to know for sure because every second seemed an eternity. No. He was smarter than
that. Trusting his instincts, he knew hed been moving for roughly half an hour.
Strangely enough, he felt his fear whisked away like a swarm of gnats caught in the wind,
replaced by an intense curiosity. He wanted to know where he was and what was happening.
With a groan and then a clonk, the rising room halted; the sudden change jolted Thomas from his
huddled position and threw him across the hard floor. As he scrambled to his feet, he felt the room
sway less and less until it finally stilled. Everything fell silent.
A minute passed. Two. He looked in every direction but saw only darkness; he felt along the
walls again, searching for a way out. But there was nothing, only the cool metal. He groaned in
frustration; his echo amplified through the air, like the haunted moan of death. It faded, and silence
returned. He screamed, called for help, pounded on the walls with his fists.
Nothing.
Thomas backed into the corner once again, folded his arms and shivered, and the fear returned.
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He felt a worrying shudder in his chest, as if his heart wanted to escape, to flee his body.
Someone help me! he screamed; each word ripped his throat raw.
A loud clank rang out above him and he sucked in a startled breath as he looked up. A straight
line of light appeared across the ceiling of the room, and Thomas watched as it expanded. A heavy
grating sound revealed double sliding doors being forced open. After so long in darkness, the light
stabbed his eyes; he looked away, covering his face with both hands.
He heard noises abovevoicesand fear squeezed his chest.
Look at that shank.
How old is he?
Looks like a klunk in a T-shirt.
Youre the klunk, shuck-face.
Dude, it smells like feet down there!
Hope you enjoyed the one-way trip, Greenie.
Aint no ticket back, bro.
Thomas was hit with a wave of confusion, blistered with panic. The voices were odd, tinged with
echo; some of the words were completely foreignothers felt familiar. He willed his eyes to
adjust as he squinted toward the light and those speaking. At first he could see only shifting
shadows, but they soon turned into the shapes of bodiespeople bending over the hole in the
ceiling, looking down at him, pointing.
And then, as if the lens of a camera had sharpened its focus, the faces cleared. They were boys, all
of themsome young, some older. Thomas didnt know what hed expected, but seeing those faces
puzzled him. They were just teenagers. Kids. Some of his fear melted away, but not enough to calm
his racing heart.
Someone lowered a rope from above, the end of it tied into a big loop. Thomas hesitated, then
stepped into it with his right foot and clutched the rope as he was yanked toward the sky. Hands
reached down, lots of hands, grabbing him by his clothes, pulling him up. The world seemed to spin,
a swirling mist of faces and color and light. A storm of emotions wrenched his gut, twisted and
pulled; he wanted to scream, cry, throw up. The chorus of voices had grown silent, but someone
spoke as they yanked him over the sharp edge of the dark box. And Thomas knew hed never
forget the words.
Nice to meet ya, shank, the boy said. Welcome to the Glade.
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CHAPTER 2
The helping hands didnt stop swarming around him until Thomas stood up straight and had the dust
brushed from his shirt and pants. Still dazzled by the light, he staggered a bit. He was consumed
with curiosity but still felt too ill to look closely at his surroundings. His new companions said
nothing as he swiveled his head around, trying to take it all in.
As he rotated in a slow circle, the other kids snickered and stared; some reached out and poked
him with a finger. There had to be at least fifty of them, their clothes smudged and sweaty as if
theyd been hard at work, all shapes and sizes and races, their hair of varying lengths. Thomas
suddenly felt dizzy, his eyes flickering between the boys and the bizarre place in which hed found
himself.
They stood in a vast courtyard several times the size of a football field, surrounded by four
enormous walls made of gray stone and covered in spots with thick ivy. The walls had to be
hundreds of feet high and formed a perfect square around them, each side split in the exact middle
by an opening as tall as the walls themselves that, from what Thomas could see, led to passages and
long corridors beyond.
Look at the Greenbean, a scratchy voice said; Thomas couldnt see who it came from. Gonna
break his shuck neck checkin out the new digs. Several boys laughed.
Shut your hole, Gally, a deeper voice responded.
Thomas focused back in on the dozens of strangers around him. He knew he must look out of it
he felt like hed been drugged. A tall kid with blond hair and a square jaw sniffed at him, his face
devoid of expression. A short, pudgy boy fidgeted back and forth on his feet, looking up at Thomas
with wide eyes. A thick, heavily muscled Asian kid folded his arms as he studied Thomas, his tight
shirtsleeves rolled up to show off his biceps. A dark-skinned boy frownedthe same one whod
welcomed him. Countless others stared.
Where am I? Thomas asked, surprised at hearing his voice for the first time in his salvageable
memory. It didnt sound quite righthigher than he wouldve imagined.
Nowhere good. This came from the dark-skinned boy. Just slim yourself nice and calm.
Which Keeper he gonna get? someone shouted from the back of the crowd.
I told ya, shuck-face, a shrill voice responded. Hes a klunk, so hell be a Slopperno doubt
about it. The kid giggled like hed just said the funniest thing in history.
Thomas once again felt a pressing ache of confusionhearing so many words and phrases that
didnt make sense. Shank. Shuck. Keeper. Slopper . They popped out of the boys mouths so naturally
it seemed odd for him not to understand. It was as if his memory loss had stolen a chunk of his
languageit was disorienting.
Different emotions battled for dominance in his mind and heart. Confusion. Curiosity. Panic.
Fear. But laced through it all was the dark feeling of utter hopelessness, like the world had ended
for him, had been wiped from his memory and replaced with something awful. He wanted to run and
hide from these people.
The scratchy-voiced boy was talking. even do that much, bet my liver on it. Thomas still
couldnt see his face.
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