James Dashner: The Eye of Minds

Going to school was furthest thing from his mind. Dazed and scared, Michael wandered to a coffee shop and got the biggest cup they had. Then to the train station and home. The first thing he did there was arrange a meeting for the next day with Bryson and Sarah. He gave them just enough information to get them interested—he knew if he told them too much, they wouldn’t sleep, and he had a feeling they were going to need all the rest they could get.

Michael made the mistake of watching the NewsBops that night.

He was all alone, curled up in the Chair—his parents weren’t home, and he still couldn’t remember when they’d be back. Helga usually went to bed when the sun set. His NetScreen shot out of his EarCuff and hovered before him, revealing all the dreary news of the day. Murders, bank failures, natural disasters. Nothing like a pick-me-up right before going to bed , he thought sadly. Usually such things seemed far away—things that happened to others. But for some reason it all felt a little closer to home after his talk with Agent Weber.

He was just about to turn the news off when a story flashed open that made him stop. An older news anchor was talking about the latest buzz lighting up the VirtNet: the cyber-terrorist known as Kaine.

With a flick of his finger, Michael turned up the volume and leaned forward, focusing as if the next couple of minutes were the most important of his life.

“…the cause of several suicides, according to witnesses and messages sent by victims before their deaths,” the lady said. “Kaine has been known to infiltrate almost every popular game and social site in the VirtNet, not to mention countless reports of individual harassment. Not since the disappearance of the legendary Gunner Skale has an individual’s story lit up the VirtNet quite like this. What Kaine’s purpose might be, no one can guess. The VNS has given its word in an official statement that they are doing everything within their vast resources to locate the man and shut his access down permanently.”

She continued speaking, and Michael stared and listened, half fascinated and half terrified. Virtual kidnappings that ended in virtual torture and incarceration from which people were unable to Lift themselves back to the Wake. Entire games or networks shut down or erased, nothing left but a line of code stating that “Kaine was here.” Brain-dead players found in their NerveBoxes.

Michael had now heard all too much about the horrors committed by Kaine. What could be the man’s purpose? Was he doing it all just for kicks?

Kaine.

The Mortality Doctrine.

People trapped in the Sleep. People showing up brain-dead. Others killing themselves just to escape the guy.

Michael sighed. Happy thoughts, all .

On that note, he crawled into bed and went to sleep. For some reason he dreamed about his parents and a vacation to the beach they’d taken together long, long ago.

Michael was thankful the next day was Saturday. Helga made some mean waffles and topped them with all the things that make a person fat—butter, whipped cream, syrup. She threw in a few strawberries to lessen the guilt factor. Neither of them spoke, and Michael wondered if she’d been watching the same NewsBops as he had. Cheerful stuff. At least he was going to see his friends later.

A couple of hours after breakfast, Michael’s real body was snug inside the Coffin, while his liberated VirtNet body sat down on an out-of-the-way bench in New York’s Central Park, another one of his favorite meeting spots. The second-best thing to virtual food was to be surrounded by nature. A sight he didn’t see too often in the smoggy concrete jungle he called home.

Bryson and Sarah were waiting impatiently when he arrived.

“This better be good,” Bryson announced. “Like, wet-my-pants good.”

“Why were you so cryptic, anyway?” Sarah added.

Michael wasn’t so much scared anymore as excited to spill everything that had happened since he’d been nabbed in the alley. A little worried that someone could be eavesdropping, he started his story in a whisper but soon was speeding through the details so fast he was barely coherent.

Sarah and Bryson just stared at him in confusion.

“Um, maybe you should start over,” Bryson said.

Sarah nodded. “From the beginning. And talk like a normal person.”

“Okay, yeah.” Michael inhaled a long pull of fresh—but fake—air and started over. “So, I was walking to catch the train for school yesterday when this car pulls up and practically runs me down. Then these psycho dudes in black masks jump out and drag me into the backseat.”

Bryson interrupted. “Wait. Michael, did you eat something funny today?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “No, just… listen.” He couldn’t blame them for having doubts, but he was starting to get frustrated that he couldn’t get his story out.

He took another breath and kept going, and by the time he got to Agent Weber discovering he’d been followed and having her guards whisk him away, he could see that his friends believed he was dead serious. He finished up by relaying the horrible things from the NewsBops—most of which they’d heard themselves.

They sat in silence for at least a minute, stealing glances at the trees and bushes around them to see if anyone might be spying.

Bryson broke the silence. “Wow. Why would they ask three teenagers to solve their problems?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Michael said. “Agent Weber said others would be searching, too. Maybe they’re finding the best gamers and coders around and giving them an opportunity to crack whatever secret location Kaine has created. She knew we could hack and code. I’m telling you, it wasn’t a joke.”

“But how can we do anything the VNS people can’t do?” Sarah asked. “That’s their whole job, and frankly it scares me that they’re trying to pawn it off on kids.”

Bryson scoffed. “Old geezers always know that the next generation is smarter than they’ll ever be at this stuff. I mean, we hang out in this place. We do know it better than anyone. We can do it because it’s not our job. It’s our hobby.”

“And it has to do with more than programming,” Michael added, glad that Bryson was making it sound legitimate. “They need users, not just makers. Who’s better than us?”

“You sure that’s it?” Sarah asked. “Or do you just want an excuse to play?”

“Don’t you?” Michael asked.

“Yeah, well.” She shrugged and smiled.

“And what was that little part about being set for life if we find it?” Bryson asked. “That lady better have meant all three of us, not just you.”

“I’m sure she did,” Michael answered, even though he didn’t know for sure. “We’ll be rich, work for the VNS, whatever. But we absolutely can’t tell anyone about this.” For some reason he couldn’t bring himself to mention the less-than-veiled threats Agent Weber had also doled out. But then, maybe they didn’t apply to his friends.

“I admit, it sounds fun—it’d be a good challenge,” Sarah said.

Michael agreed. A game that wasn’t a game anymore—it was more important than a game. In that second he got so excited to start that he almost stood up, ready to move.

Bryson must’ve read the expression on his face. “Hold on to your pants, there, brother. We’ve gotta be sure about this.”

“I know,” Michael replied. “I am.” And he meant it fully.

Something happened then. An uncomfortable oddness suddenly permeated their surroundings, flooding Michael with fear. Everything in the park around them slowed to a crawl, like a fly trapped in syrup.

Sarah’s hand was moving to tuck her hair behind her ear. Bryson’s mouth was stretching into a smile—his mischievous one, his way of letting everyone know he agreed and was committed. The tree branches above them swayed lazily. A bird flew past, and Michael could see its wing move up, then down. The air thickened, filled with a stifling humidity.