James Dashner: The Kill Order

“Please,” Mark whispered over the thumping of his icy heart. “Please don’t.” He held out a hand toward the man, put the other on Deedee’s shoulder. “I’m begging you. She’s only-”

“I know who she is!” the stranger shouted, a line of spit hitting his chin. His arms trembled and his knees shook. Matted dark hair hung down from his filthy head, framing a pale, scratched face that shone with sweat. He leaned up against the frame of the door as if he needed it to stand. “Sweet little girl? That’s probably what you think she is?”

“What are you talking about?” Mark wondered how he was supposed to talk to someone this far past reason.

The man was obviously beyond any hope. His eyes said it all. “Brought the demons, she did.” He stabbed the Transvice in the air to emphasize his point. “I was in the village with her. They came down on us like the flares themselves, lightning and rain of poison. Left us to die or worse, and look at her now! Even though she was hit. All fine and cute! Laughing at us all for what she’s done.”

“She had nothing to do with that,” Mark said. He could feel Deedee quaking under his hand. “Not a thing. How could she? She’s five years old at the most!” Anger seethed inside him-anger that he couldn’t hide.

“Nothing to do with it? That’s why she got shot and showed no sign of it? She’s some kind of savior to those demons, and I mean to send her back to them!”

The man lurched forward. He took two long steps, almost lost his balance, but somehow stayed on his feet. The Transvice was shaking in his hands but still pointing at Deedee.

Mark’s anger dissolved and was replaced by a huge lump of fear that lodged in his throat. Tears stung his eyes, he felt so helpless. “Please… I don’t know what to say to you. But I swear she’s innocent. We went to the bunker where the Bergs came from. We found out who’s behind the disease. They aren’t demons. They were just people. We think she’s immune- that’s why she didn’t get sick.”

“You shut up,” the man answered, ambling forward another couple of steps. He lifted the Transvice and aimed it at Mark’s face. “You’ve got the look about ya. Pathetic. Stupid. Weak in the knees. Demons wouldn’t even bother with someone like you. An utter waste of flesh.” He smiled, pulling his lips farther back than seemed possible. Half of his teeth were missing.

Something shifted deep down inside Mark. He knew what it was, even if he didn’t dare admit it: that bubble of insanity that was ready to burst for good. A rush of anger and adrenaline flooded him.

Rage formed in his chest and tore through his throat, released in a scream so loud he didn’t know he had the strength to create it. He rushed forward, leaping into action before the man could begin to process what was happening. Mark saw the man’s finger move, close on the trigger, but somehow, as if his burgeoning madness had momentarily heightened all of his senses one last time, Mark somehow outpaced him. He dove and swept his hand upward, knocking the weapon away as it shot a bolt of white heat. He heard the shot thump against the wall behind them.

His shoulder slammed into the man next, throwing him to the floor. Mark crashed on top of him but was already righting himself, getting his feet underneath him. He grabbed the man’s shirt and yanked him upward, tore the Transvice from his grasp and threw it to the ground. That was too easy a death for this psycho.

Mark started dragging him down the hallway, aware on some level that he himself had crossed into territory from which he wasn’t sure he’d come back.

The man screamed and clawed at Mark’s face, kicked blindly and tried to stand and run. But Mark didn’t let any of it affect him. A universe of fury seemed to spin inside Mark, an impossible feeling that he knew couldn’t last, couldn’t be contained. His sanity hung by a thread.

He dragged the man on. Along the curve of the hallway. Through the cockpit door. Toward the broken window. Alec didn’t even seem to notice, was sitting there with his hands clenched in his lap, staring blankly at the controls.

Mark didn’t say anything, thought something might explode out of him if he dared open his mouth. He stopped next to the window, bent over and grabbed the man around the torso, then lifted him, holding him sideways. He twisted to pull the guy back, then flung him toward the window. His head cracked against the wall and the man fell to the ground. Mark picked him up, pulled back and tried again. Same result, the man’s head thumping loudly.

Mark picked the man back up and once again threw him toward the broken window. This time the guy went through-head, then shoulders, then waist-before he got stuck. Mark didn’t let go, kept pushing and shoving, throwing all his strength into ending this man’s life.

The ship lurched just as Mark shoved the man’s hips through the open space, his muscles tensed as he pushed. The entire world tilted, his head spinning with a rush of blood through his system. Gravity seemed to disappear as well, and he was falling through the window along with the stranger. Where blue sky and wispy clouds had filled Mark’s vision before, now he saw the ground straight in front of him. He was about to plummet to his death.

Mark kicked out and latched his legs on the lip of the window frame before he could fall all the way out. The rest of his body hung from the Berg, and the man hadn’t let go of him. He clutched Mark’s upper arms, gripping his shirt to keep himself from plunging to the earth below. Mark tried to push the guy away, but he was desperate and wild, climbing Mark’s body like a rope, high enough that his legs now wrapped around Mark’s head. Wind tore at both of them.

How could this possibly be happening again? Mark asked himself. Falling out of the Berg’s window twice!

A jolt ran through the ship and suddenly it righted itself again. Mark and the man swung back toward the body of the Berg and slammed into the side, just below the window from which they dangled. Mark’s legs screamed with pain from supporting two people. He flailed with his arms, trying to find something to hold on to. The outside of the Berg was littered with various boxy protrusions and handles for maintenance workers. He ran his hands along them but couldn’t still himself long enough to get a grip.

Mark’s fingers finally found a long bar, and he gripped it tightly. Just in time, because his legs had no strength left. His feet slipped from the window and the two bodies flipped over and slammed into the Berg’s side once more. Mark felt the jolt through his entire body but held on, slipping his forearm into the gap between the handle and the ship so that his elbow took the weight. His stomach and face pressed against the warm metal of the Berg, the crazed man still clambering for some kind of position on his back. The man was screaming right in his ear.

Mark’s mind jumped between clarity and foggy anger. What was Alec doing? What was happening inside? The ship had righted itself, continued to fly forward-though at a slower speed-and no one was reaching out of the window to offer any help. Mark looked down and immediately regretted it, a wave of terror crashing over him when he saw how far away the ground was.

He had to get rid of this man or he’d never be able to climb back inside.

The wind gusted, whipping the man’s hair into Mark’s face and rippling through their clothes. The sounds were all too much-the wind, the screams, the roar of the thrusters. The closest spout of blue flame was just below them, maybe ten feet away, burning like the breath of a dragon.

Mark shook his shoulders, kicked off the side of the Berg with his feet and let himself slam back into it. Still the man held on. He’d scraped Mark’s neck and arms and cheeks, leaving painful gashes everywhere. Mark ached, every part of him. A quick examination of the Berg’s body showed several places he could wedge his feet. Going up seemed impossible with the extra weight of the crazy guy on his back. He decided to go down, a terrifying idea having formed in his head.