James Dashner: The Eye of Minds

He didn’t dare glance behind him, but he could feel the approach of the vehicle. It was close, and he had no chance of outrunning it. He gave up on trying to flee and dove behind the next garbage pile. The car screeched to a halt as he rolled and jumped back to his feet, ready to sprint in the other direction. The rear door of the sedan popped open and out stepped a sharply dressed man with a black ski mask pulled over his head, eyes fixed on Michael through slits in the fabric. Michael froze, just for an instant, but it was long enough. The man tackled him, slamming his body to the ground.

Michael opened his mouth to scream, but a cold hand clamped over his face, silencing him. Panic cut through his body like a hot sword, and adrenaline flooded his system as he twisted and shoved his attacker. But the man was too strong and flipped Michael over onto his stomach, pinning his arms behind him.

“Stop fighting,” the stranger said. “No one’s gonna hurt you, but we don’t have time to mess around. I need you to get in the car.”

Michael’s face was pressed against the cement. “Oh really? I’ll be perfectly safe? I was just thinking that.”

“Shut your smart-aleck mouth, kid. We just can’t let anybody know who we are. Now get in the car.”

The man got to his feet, dragging Michael up with him.

“Your butt,” the stranger said, pausing for effect. “In the car.”

Michael made one last pathetic attempt to break free, but it was useless. The man’s grip was iron-strong. Michael had no choice but to do what he was told. The fight drained out of him, and he let the man guide him to the backseat of the car, where he squeezed in next to another masked man. The door slammed shut and the car lurched forward, the screech of the tires echoing up the walls of the concrete canyon.

As the car tore out of the alley and onto the main road, Michael’s mind spun—who were these people, and where were they taking him? Another wave of panic washed over him, and he acted. He slammed his elbow into the crotch of the guy to his left, then lunged for the door as the man doubled over in agony, cursing things that would’ve made even Bryson blush. Michael’s fingers had just curled around the door handle when the original thug yanked him backward, his arm encircling Michael’s neck. The man squeezed until Michael was gasping for air.

“Stop it, boy,” he said far too calmly. For some reason those were the last words Michael wanted to hear. Anger surged in his chest, and he struggled to break free from the grip.

“Stop it!” the stranger screamed this time. “Stop acting like a child and calm yourself. We’re not going to hurt you.”

“You’re actually hurting me right now,” Michael coughed out.

The man loosened his grip. “Behave, and that’s the worst of it. Do we have a deal, kid?”

“Fine,” Michael grunted, because what else could he do? Ask for time to think about it?

The man seemed to relax at that. “Good. Now sit back and shut up,” he directed. “Wait, no, first apologize to my friend—that was totally uncalled for.”

Michael looked over at the guy to his left and shrugged. “Sorry. Hope you can still have babies.”

The man didn’t respond, but his glare through the ski mask was fierce. Humbled by the man’s anger, Michael looked away. The adrenaline had faded, his strength was exhausted, and he was being driven through the city by four men in black masks.

Things didn’t look so bright.

The rest of the ride went by in complete silence. Michael’s heart, however, continued to thump away like a heavy-metal drumbeat. He thought he’d known fear before. He’d been thrown into countless horrific situations in the VirtNet that had felt perfectly real. But this was real. And the fear was beyond anything he’d experienced. He wondered if he would drop dead of cardiac arrest at the ripe old age of sixteen.

As if in mockery, every glance outside seemed to land on those red-on-black Lifeblood Deep posters. Even though the tiny optimistic side of his brain kept trying to tell him that somehow he’d get out of this alive, he knew that being kidnapped by masked men usually didn’t end well. The signs only reminded him that his dream of reaching the Deep probably wouldn’t happen after all.

Finally, they reached the outskirts of the city and turned into the huge parking lot of the stadium where the Falcons played. It was completely empty, and the driver pulled to the very front row, where he stopped and set the emergency brake, the massive structure looming above them. A sign in the front of the parking space read RESERVED. VIOLATORS WILL BE TOWED.

A beep sounded from somewhere in the car, followed by a crack from outside, then the whir of machinery. Immediately afterward the vehicle started to sink into the ground, and Michael’s heart leaped. As they descended, the brightness of day quickly melted into fluorescent interior lighting.

Finally, the car came to rest with a soft bump, and Michael looked around to see that they were in a huge underground garage with at least a dozen cars parked along one wall. The driver released the emergency brake and pulled into an empty spot, then cut the engine.

“We’re here,” the driver announced. Rather needlessly, Michael thought.

They offered Michael two options: they could drag him by the feet, facedown, for a close-up view of the cement, or he could walk with them under his own power without trying anything. He chose the second option. As they marched next to him, his heart kept trying to break through his rib cage with its relentless pounding.

The four men escorted him through a door, down a hallway, then through another door into a large conference room. At least, he assumed that was what it was, based on the long cherrywood table, plush leather chairs, and lit bar in the corner. He was surprised to see only one person waiting for them: a woman. She was tall with long black hair and wide-set, exotic-looking eyes—somehow she was gorgeous and terrifying at the same time.

“Leave him with me,” she said. Four words, softly spoken, but the men practically dove out the door, closing it behind them, as if they feared her beyond anything else.

Those striking eyes focused on Michael’s face. “My name is Diane Weber, but you’ll refer to me as Agent Weber. Please, have a seat.” She gestured toward the chair closest to Michael, and it took every ounce of his willpower to hesitate before he sat. He forced himself to count to five, staring at her, trying not to look away. Then he did as she asked.

She came over and sat next to him, then crossed her long, pretty legs. “Sorry for the roughhousing to get you here. What we’re about to discuss is extremely urgent and confidential, and I didn’t want to waste any time… asking .”

“I’m missing school. Asking would’ve worked just fine.” Somehow she’d put him at ease, which made him angry. It was clear that she was manipulative, that she used her beauty to melt men’s hearts. “What could you possibly want me for, anyway?”

Her smile revealed perfect teeth. “You’re a gamer, Michael. With serious coding skills.”

“Is that a question?”

“No, it’s a statement. I’m telling you why you’re here because you asked. I know more about you than you do. Understand?”

Michael coughed—had all his hacking finally caught up to him? “I’m here because I’m a gamer?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice steady. “Because I like to dink around in the Sleep and code a little? What’d I do, knock you out of first place somewhere? Steal from your virtual restaurant?”

“You’re here because we need you.”