James Dashner: The Kill Order

Gasping for air, he looked up into the bright sky and he saw Alec’s head poke out of the house.

“You really have lost your mind,” the man said, but he was already helping Trina climb out the window before he’d finished the short sentence.

He jumped down after Trina landed safely. Then they were both helping Mark to his feet and Trina took Deedee back into her arms. Some of the infected had seen their escape and were following; others were streaming out the front door. Screams and shouts filled the air. People were already fighting each other outside.

“I’ve had enough of this party,” Alec grumbled.

Mark was finally catching his breath, and the four of them started running across the dusty yard, angling toward the street that would lead them back to the Berg. Alec tried to take Deedee from Trina but she refused, kept moving, her face showing the strain of carrying the burden. As for the little girl, her cries had been replaced at some point by silence. There weren’t even any tears on her face.

Mark looked behind him. A man stood on the front porch, blasting away randomly with the Transvice, sending people to their wispy deaths. He finally noticed the group running away down the street and fired off a couple of shots. They came nowhere close, the white bolts smashing into the pavement, sending up poofs of dust. The guy gave up, returned to killing closer quarry.

Mark and his friends kept running. When they passed the house full of small children, Mark thought of Trina and Deedee and the future. He didn’t stop.

Finally they saw the Berg once again. It rose up in the distance, more beautiful than Mark would’ve ever guessed one of the beat-up old things could look. Though each one of them was heaving like every breath might be their last, they didn’t slow down, and soon the big hunk of scarred metal loomed above their heads.

Mark didn’t know how in the world Trina had done it with Deedee in her arms the entire time. But she’d refused to let anyone else help.

“You… okay?” he asked her between deep breaths.

She collapsed to the ground, spilling the girl next to her as gently as she could. Trina looked up at him, still no recognition in her eyes. “I’m… fine. Thank you for rescuing us.”

Mark knelt next to her, the pain creeping back into his heart now that the craziness of escaping was over. “Trina, do you really not remember me?”

“You seem… familiar. But there’s too much in my head. We just need to get the girl-she’s immune, I know it-we need to get her to people who matter. Before we’re all too insane to try.”

Mark felt something turn in his stomach and leaned back, away from his best friend. The chilling way she’d said those last few words…

He knew that there was something seriously wrong with her. And couldn’t he say the same thing about himself? How long did he have until nothing mattered anymore? A day? Maybe two?

The huge door of the Berg lurched into motion with a thump and a squeal, giving Mark an excuse not to respond. He watched as it lowered to the ground.

Alec spoke loudly over the grinding gears and hydraulics. “Let’s get them on board, get everyone fed. Then we need to figure out what to do with ourselves. We might be like those kooks we just ran away from soon.”

“Not the girl,” Mark said, so quietly he wondered if his friend even heard him.

“What do you mean?” the man replied.

“The scar on her arm. She was hit by a dart months ago. Think about it. Trina’s right. She’s immune somehow. That’s gotta mean something.”

Trina had perked up at the statement, was nodding vigorously. Too vigorously. Mark’s heart sank a little bit more. She just wasn’t quite there.

Alec let out one of his infamous grunts. “Well, unless you wanna swap bodies with her, I reckon it won’t do you a bit of good, now, will it?”

“But maybe it could help others. If they don’t already have a treatment…”

Alec gave him a doubtful look. “Let’s just get on board before some of them crazies catch up to us.”

And blast us with my Transvice, Mark thought grimly. He appreciated Alec’s not giving him a hard time about it.

Alec headed for the ramp, which was almost all the way down, leaving Mark to deal with the two girls. Mark reached for Trina’s hand.

“Come on. It’ll be nice and safe on board. And there’s food, somewhere to rest. Don’t worry. You… can trust me.” It hurt to even have to say such a thing.

Deedee stood up, her face still set in stone, and took Mark’s hand before Trina could. The little girl looked at him, and even though her features didn’t change, something in her eyes almost made him think she had a smile hidden inside somewhere. Trina got to her feet.

“I just hope the boogie man doesn’t live on that thing,” she said in a distant, haunted voice. Then she started walking toward the ramp.

Mark sighed and followed, Deedee in tow.

The next few hours passed quietly as the sun sped toward the horizon and darkness fell on the land outside the Berg. Alec flew the ship to the neighborhood where they’d parked before-it still seemed deserted. Then they ate and prepared bunks for Trina and Deedee to get some sleep. Trina mumbled a lot, and Mark even caught her with a line of drool on her chin at one point. As he wiped it off, sadness once again welled up in his heart.

As for him, sleeping seemed utterly impossible.

He planned to talk to Alec, figure out exactly what their next move should be, but when he found him, the old bear was snoring in the pilot’s chair, sitting straight up with his head lolling to one side. Mark was half tempted to throw a chunk of food in his mouth, and giggled at the thought of it.

Giggled.

I really am starting to slip, he thought. And his mood sank into a low and dark place. He desperately needed to do something to take his mind off things.

He suddenly remembered the workpads he’d seen in the cargo room-the ones he’d secured against the shelf with the straps. His spirits rose a bit at the hope that maybe something within those devices would shed some light on what they should do. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to get rid of the virus somehow. Maybe there was a chance.

He banged his knee twice-and his head once-running through the dimly lit Berg toward the cargo room. He remembered halfway there that he’d need a flashlight and went back to get it out of his backpack. Then, finally, he was standing in front of the shelf. He quickly removed the workpads and sat down to read through them.

There were three. The first was dead. A password prevented him from getting into the second, but it flickered and would probably die soon anyway. Mark’s excitement almost crashed to a halt. But the third came to life, its glow illuminating the large room so brightly that Mark turned off his flashlight. The owner-evidently a guy named Randall Spilker-had felt no need for a password, and the home station popped up immediately.

He spent the next half hour perusing useless information. Mr. Spilker loved games and chat rooms. Mark was almost ready to give up, thinking the guy had merely used the device as a toy, when he finally discovered some hidden work files.

Folder after folder revealed nothing. But Mark finally hit the jackpot in a place most people would never have had the patience to find. It was a folder, marked as plainly as the rest, practically lost within a list of a hundred others that were empty.

It was titled KILL ORDER.

There were so many documents that Mark didn’t know where to start. Each file had a number assigned to it and seemed to have been saved in random order. Mark knew he didn’t have time to read every single file, so he decided to just start opening and see what he could see.