James Dashner: The Eye of Minds

“You tell Kaine that I’m going to kill him,” Michael replied, the rage a rising tide in his chest. “I’m going to find him and root out every last digit of his code. I’m going to drain every bit of his fake intelligence into a toilet, and then I’m gonna flush it into oblivion. Tell him I said that.”

“No need for such a command,” the silver menace answered. “Kaine hears all.”

The words had barely come out when the brightness of the room intensified, burning everything white. Michael squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fists against them. There was a steady hum that transformed into a buzz, then a high-pitched trilling ring.

It vibrated inside Michael’s skull, and the wound in his temple throbbed with pain. He sensed a fresh trickle of blood seeping into his hair.

The light and the sound grew to an unbearable strength, like tangible walls pressing in on all sides, crushing him. A scream formed in his lungs, a desperate plea for someone to save him—it surged up his throat and exploded out of his mouth, only to be lost in the storm of noise that had filled the room.

Then everything went dark and silent. The sound of his breath filled his ears. Sweat covered his skin. Instinct told him to stay still, to keep his eyes closed, to pray that whatever waited for him next would just go away and leave him be. Having his Core removed— coded out by monstrously illegal means—had terrified him more than he thought possible.

He didn’t want to die. Up until the robot, he’d been scared, but at least he’d known that death meant going back to the Wake to get out of his Coffin and collapse in bed. His only lasting injuries would have been psychological—something a good shrink could fix in a few sessions of therapy. He could deal with the VNS when he had to.

But now it was all for real. Without the Core—without that safety barrier and its link to the Coffin—his brain would stop functioning back home when he died. It was part of the system, as much a part of their makeup as a beating heart. Otherwise the infrastructure of the VirtNet would never work like it did—it wouldn’t be so lifelike. The Core barrier was vital to the programming.

And his was gone.

He did not want to look. If he’d had a blanket, he would’ve pulled it up over his head and whimpered like a baby.

He lay there for several minutes before he sensed a blinking red light. Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw that there was a red neon sign hanging above a simple wooden door, bathing the door in the light of its bloody letters.

The sign read HALLOWED RAVINE.

He almost jumped to his feet, but caution won out. He’d been on his side, curled almost into a ball, but he carefully stretched out his legs and moved to lie flat on his back. He scanned the area, looking for anything that might be in the mood to hurt him. But all was dark except another neon sign that hung above a similar door opposite the first one.

This sign was in green letters, also flashing, and read, EXIT THE PATH.

Michael sat up, pulled his legs in, and hugged them. Those two signs and the doors below them were the only things he could see, anywhere. There were no discernible walls or ceiling, and even the floor seemed like part of an empty space, as if he was floating.

Hallowed Ravine .

Exit the Path .

Two choices. He stood up, kept looking back and forth between his options. After everything he’d been through, here he was—perhaps on the threshold of the place he’d been looking for. Commanded to go to. A chance to complete a mission to stop something the VNS believed threatened the entire world. Michael was tagged, and if he went through that door to the Hallowed Ravine and found Kaine, VNS agents could break in and save him.

Something didn’t feel right—hadn’t felt right for a while. He knew that he hadn’t been given the whole story. The Path wasn’t like a firewall. He had the overwhelming feeling that he was doing exactly what Kaine wanted him to do, that it had nothing to do with the VNS, and that opening the door of the Ravine would only be the final step into… what? He had no idea.

Plus, his life was on the line now.

Bryson was back home. Sarah was back home. Michael’s family…

His family. His mom and dad. Helga. He’d forgotten. What had happened to them? How could he possibly go on when he didn’t know what was at stake?

But something hardened inside him. How could he turn away now? His family had been threatened. His best friends. And he’d made a promise to Sarah. Not to mention a commitment to stop a Tangent that was out of control.

He was being presented with a final choice. And he chose his only option.

Moving with more confidence than ever before, he took strong and determined steps over to the door marked HALLOWED RAVINE. He opened it and walked through.

The space on the other side of the door was pitch-black and completely still. No sounds, no stir of breeze, nothing. Just complete darkness. But Michael didn’t hesitate. He pulled the door closed behind him.

The air changed instantly, as if his senses had been robbed and now returned. A wind swept by, carrying something gritty like sand that stung his eyes. It rapidly grew warm, then hot. As he wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, he sensed a brightness, and when he looked again, his breath caught.

He stood in the middle of a desert.

The door had disappeared, and grand golden sand dunes extended in every direction, the crisp lines of their peaks against the cloudless blue sky so perfect they seemed impossible. Billowing clouds of sand blew into the scorched air like the trailing smoke of an old steam-engine train from the movies. The land was utterly barren, not a tree or shrub in sight—nothing in all the world that was green. Only sand for miles.

Except one thing.

Nearby there was a shabby little building the size of a closet, made from warped gray wood with rusted nails poking halfway out along the sides. There was a door that hung loosely on broken hinges, creaking with movement from the stiff breeze. The drab structure couldn’t have looked more out of place, as there was absolutely nothing in any direction for as far as the eye could see.

Michael headed toward the door, feeling a pang of regret that he hadn’t chosen to go home.

The sun beat down on Michael as he pressed through the sand to the small building. His thoughts were dark, but he did his best to empty his mind—he’d made his decision, and he could only follow it now. And something told him it was almost over, one way or the other. He just hoped it didn’t include his demise.

Sweat poured down his face as he walked, and he felt the hot sun on his neck. It seemed as if his hair would burst into flames at any second, and his shirt felt like laundry straight out of the dryer. He approached the little building, hoping it had something more than a bucket inside its shabby walls. That it held some answers.

He was just bringing his hand up to open the door when a man spoke behind him.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Michael spun around to see a person dressed in a dirty wrap of some sort—a huge piece of tattered cloth that swept around his body from head to foot. His eyes were covered with a pair of dark sunglasses.

“Excuse me?” Michael asked. Could this be Kaine? he wondered.

“I’ll grant you it’s windy on the dunes,” the man replied, his words muffled through the cloth. “But you heard me, and you heard me fine.”

Michael had indeed. “You don’t think I should go inside this building? Why not?”