James Dashner - The Scorch Trials

The click of metal against rock stopped Thomas from kicking the boy at his feet. He looked up to see that Teresa had picked up her spear. They locked eyes for an instant; then she charged him. Thomas threw his hands up to protect himself but it was too late-the butt of the weapon swung through the air and smacked him on the side of the head. Stars floated before his eyes as he fell, fighting to stay conscious. As soon as he hit the ground, he scrambled to his hands and knees to get away.

But he heard Teresa scream, and a second later the wood came crashing down on the top of his skull. With a thump Thomas collapsed again; something wet oozed through his hair and trickled onto both temples. Pain tore through his head, as if an axe had been driven straight into his brain. It spread to the rest of his body, making him nauseated. He somehow pushed off the ground and flopped onto his back to see Teresa with the weapon raised above her once more.

“Get in the room, Thomas,” she said through heavy breaths. “Get in the room or I’ll hit you again. I swear I’ll keep doing it till you pass out or bleed to death.”

Aris had recovered and gotten back to his feet; he stood right next to her.

Thomas reared both legs back and kicked out, connecting with a knee on both of them. They screamed and crumpled, falling on top of each other. The physical effort sent a horrible rush of pain raging through Thomas. White flashes blinded him; the world was spinning. He groaned as he struggled to move, got back on his stomach, tried to get his hands under himself. He’d barely pushed a few inches off the ground when Aris landed on his back, slamming him down. Soon the boy’s arm wrapped around Thomas’s neck, squeezing.

“You’re going in that room,” Aris spit in his ear. “Help me, Teresa!”

Thomas couldn’t find any strength to fight them off. The double blow to his head had somehow sapped him of everything, as if all his muscles had gone dormant because his brain didn’t have enough energy to tell them what to do. Soon Teresa had grabbed both of his arms; she started dragging him toward the open doorway, Aris pushing him. Thomas kicked feebly. Rocks dug into his skin.

“Don’t do this,” he whispered, giving in to desperation. Every word sent a surge of pain across his nerves. “Please…” All he saw now were flashes of white on black. A concussion, he realized. He had a terrible, terrible concussion.

He was barely aware of his body crossing the threshold, of Teresa resting his arms against the cool metal of the back wall, stepping over him, helping Aris flip his legs up and over so that he now lay in a heap, facing the side. Thomas couldn’t even find the strength to look at them.

“No,” he said, but it was merely a whisper. The image of the sick boy, Ben, being Banished back in the Glade swam into his brain. An odd time to think it, but now he knew how that kid had felt in those last seconds before the walls slammed shut, trapping him in the Maze forever.

“No,” he repeated; it was so quiet he couldn’t imagine they heard him. He ached from head to toe.

“You’re so stubborn,” he heard Teresa say. “You had to make it harder on yourself! Harder on all of us!”

“Teresa,” Thomas whispered. He dug through the pain and tried to call out to her telepathically, even though it hadn’t worked in a long time. Teresa.

I’m sorry, Tom, she answered back, in his mind once again. But thanks for being our sacrifice.

He hadn’t realized the door was swinging closed, but it slammed shut just as that last horrible word floated across his darkening thoughts.

The back of the door they’d shut on him glowed green, turning the small room into a creepy, sickening prison. He might’ve cried, might’ve gushed tears and snot and wailed like a baby if his head didn’t hurt so much. The pain drilled through his skull, and his eyes felt as if they were boiling in lava.

But even then, through all that, the deeper ache of truly losing Teresa gnawed away at his heart. He just couldn’t let himself cry.

He lost all concept of time as he lay there. It was as if whoever was behind it all wanted to give him a chance to reflect on what had happened while he waited for the end. On how Teresa’s message to trust her no matter what had ended up being a cruel trick that only magnified her two-faced treachery.

An hour passed. Maybe two or three. Maybe only thirty minutes. He had no idea.

And then the hissing started.

The faint light of the glowing door revealed sprays of mist shooting from the holes that dotted the metal walls in front of him. He turned his head, sending a fresh wave of pain across his skull, and saw that all the openings were expelling similar jets of fog.

And it all hissed like a squirming nest of poisonous vipers.

So this is it? he thought. After everything he’d been through, after all the mysteries and fighting and fleeting moments of hope, they were just going to kill him with some kind of poison gas? Stupid, that was what this was. Stupid. He’d battled Grievers and Cranks, survived a gunshot and infection. WICKED. They were the ones who’d saved him! And now they were just going to gas him to death?

He sat up, actually crying out from the jolt of pain it caused. He looked around, looked for anything he might be able to…

Tired. So tired.

Something in his chest felt wrong. Sick.

The gas.

Tired. Hurt. Body exhausted.

Breathing in gas.

Couldn’t help himself.

So… tired…

Inside him. Wrong.

Teresa. Why did it have to end that way?

Tired…

Somewhere on the edge of his consciousness, he was aware of his head thumping against the floor.

Betrayal.

So…

Tired…

Thomas didn’t know if he was dead or alive, but it felt like he was asleep. Aware of himself, but as if through a haze. He slipped into yet another memory-dream.

Thomas is sixteen. He’s standing in front of Teresa and some girl he doesn’t recognize.

And Aris.

Aris?

All three of them are looking at him with grim faces. Teresa is crying.

“It’s time to go,” Thomas says.

Aris nods. “Into the Swipe, then into the Maze.”

Teresa does nothing but wipe away some tears.

Thomas reaches out a hand and Aris shakes it. Then Thomas does the same with the girl he doesn’t know.

Then Teresa rushes forward and pulls him into an embrace. She’s sobbing, and Thomas realizes that he’s also crying. His tears wet her hair as he hugs her tightly.

“You have to go now,” Aris says.

Thomas looks at him. Waits. Tries to enjoy this moment with Teresa. His last moment of full memory. They won’t be like this again for a very long time.

Teresa looks up at him. “It’s going to work. It’s all going to work.”

“I know,” Thomas says. He feels a sadness that makes every last bit of him ache.

Aris opens a door and beckons for Thomas to follow him. Thomas does, but manages to look back at Teresa one last time. Tries to look hopeful.

“See ya tomorrow,” he says.

Which is true, and it hurts.

The dream faded, and Thomas fell into the blackest sleep of his life.

Whispers in the dark.

That was what Thomas heard when he began returning to consciousness. Low but harsh, like sandpaper rubbing across his eardrums. He didn’t understand any of it. It was so dark it took him a second to realize that his eyes were open.

Something cool and hard pressed against his face. The ground. He hadn’t moved since the gas had knocked him out. Shockingly, his head didn’t hurt anymore. In fact, nothing did. Instead, a feeling of refreshed euphoria swam through him, almost made him dizzy. Maybe he was just happy to be alive.