Wayward (Wayward Pines, #2)

by Blake Crouch

The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven. —JOHN MILTON, PARADISE LOST

Megan held out a wooden bowl and Theresa scooped in two handfuls. She thought beets smelled like dirt in a weirdly pleasing way.

Beets do smell like dirt - even to my Russian nose

Wow, he stunk. It was almost like he’d developed his own musk.

No dream without the nightmare.”