The Maze Runner (Maze Runner, #1)

by James Dashner

But now he was gone, Banished to the world of the Grievers, taken to wherever they took their prey, victim to whatever was done there. Though he had plenty of reasons to despise Ben, he mostly felt sorry for him.

“Only seen three Banishments, Tommy. All as nasty as the one you peeped on last night. But every buggin’ time, the Grievers leave the collar on our doorstep. Gives me the willies like nothin’ else.”

“You better stop this nonsense, before others hear about it. That’s not how it works around here, and our whole existence depends on things working.”

Thomas finally met the infamous Frypan, if only from a distance. The guy was too busy trying to feed breakfast to an army of starving Gladers.

yanked out a huge weed, clumps of dirt swaying on the roots.

“What about the Baggers? I know they take care of dead people, but it can’t happen that often, can it?” “Those are the creepy fellas. They act as guards and poh-lice, too. Everyone just likes to call ’em Baggers. Have fun that day, brother.” He snickered, the first time Thomas had heard him do so—there was something very likable about it.

But even though he didn’t understand it, or where it came from, the desire was undeniable.

“What’s wrong with him?” the boy whispered. “Looks like you did when you popped out of the Box.” “I don’t know,” Thomas replied. “Why don’t you go ask him.” “I can hear every bloody word you guys are saying,” Newt called in a loud voice. “No wonder people hate sleepin’ next to you shanks.”

Newt was terrified of the Maze. Whatever had happened to him out there—maybe even related to his lingering ankle injury—had been truly awful.

Thomas was quickly learning that jokes about Frypan’s cooking were just that—jokes. Everyone gobbled up his food and usually begged for more.

“Where are they?” Newt said, his voice thin and strained. Thomas was touched that Newt cared so much about Alby and Minho—as if they were his own kin.

His eyes finally focused through the initial blindness of fear,

The walls slammed shut behind him, the echo of its boom bouncing off the ivy-covered stone like mad laughter.

“Greenie,” Minho said, “if you think that was brave comin’ out here, listen up. You’re the shuckiest shuck-faced shuck there ever was. You’re as good as dead, just like us.” Thomas felt his face heat up—he’d expected at least a little gratitude. “I couldn’t just sit there and leave you guys out here.” “And what good are you with us?” Minho rolled his eyes. “Whatever, dude. Break the Number One Rule, kill yourself, whatever.” “You’re welcome. I was just trying to help.” Thomas felt like kicking him in the face.

his insides turned to rot.

Minho glanced up at him with a look that said he was dumber than cow klunk. “Didn’t you hear me? They made it back before sunset, you dong. Made it back and got the Serum. All of them.”

“That freaking graveyard’s back in the woods for a reason. Nothing kills happy time more than being reminded of your slaughtered friends every day.”

Minho looked down at his hands clasped to Thomas’s shirt and shame washed across his face. Slowly, he let go and backed away. Thomas straightened his clothes defiantly.

He had to quit wasting time waiting for them to come and end his life.

Thomas rocked back on his heels, then ran his arm across his forehead, wiping away the sweat. And at that moment, in the space of only a few seconds, he learned a lot about himself. About the Thomas that was before. He couldn’t leave a friend to die. Even someone as cranky as Alby.

He began to think how easy it would be without … He refused to finish the thought. He couldn’t leave Alby behind.

He had no idea what to expect; he didn’t know if he’d see tomorrow. But here, hanging in the ivy, Thomas and Alby would meet their fate.

A fear he had never known filled him to the point of insanity.

The Griever had altered its course from Alby to head directly for Thomas. Finally, Thomas thought, something went right.

It was over. Not even a week of salvageable memory, and his life was over. Almost consumed by grief, he made a decision. He’d go down fighting.

Without a moment to think, Thomas collected himself.

Instinctively Thomas knew what he had to do. Looking to Minho, he nodded, then turned. Both boys ran in at the Griever and jumped feetfirst at the creature, kicking out at the last second with every waning bit of strength. They both connected, sending the last monster plummeting to its death.

“What did we do differently?” “I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to ask a dead guy what he did wrong.”

I think you’re shuckin’ me.”

Their faces showed complete awe, as if they were watching two ghosts strolling through a graveyard. Thomas knew it was because they’d accomplished something never done before, but he was embarrassed by the attention.

He almost stopped walking altogether when he spotted Gally up ahead, arms folded and glaring, but he kept moving. It took every ounce of his willpower, but he looked directly into Gally’s eyes, never breaking contact. When he got to within five feet, the other boy’s stare fell to the ground. It almost disturbed Thomas how good that felt. Almost.

Twilight fell upon the Glade and Alby’s screams continued to haunt the air.

It seemed as if all the realities of living there had finally settled in his mind, like hearing a final diagnosis of terminal cancer.

If Newt and the others hadn’t been able to solve the Maze after two years of searching, it seemed impossible there could actually be a solution. The fact that the Gladers hadn’t given up said more about these people than anything else. And now he was one of them.

“You’re disgusting when you eat,” Chuck said, sitting on the bench next to him. “It’s like watching a starving pig eat his own klunk.”

A surge of pride filled Thomas’s body, then fizzled. Thomas was sickened by the happiness he’d just felt. Alby was still in bed, screaming his head off in pain—probably wishing he were dead.

“Don’t get all humbly bumbly on us—what you did is freaking unbelievable. You and Minho, both.”

“Are they changed because they want to go back to their old life, or is it because they’re so depressed at realizing their old life was no better than what we have now?”

“Shanks who’ve been through it’ll never really talk about it. They get … different. Unlikable. There’s a handful around the Glade, but I can’t stand to be around them.”

He was at least relieved that Newt was there.

“Gally,” Newt said, “try to keep some buggin’ order, here. If you’re gonna blabber your shuck mouth every time I say something, you can go ahead and bloody leave, because I’m not in a very cheerful mood.” Thomas wished he could cheer at that.

Gally folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, the scowl on his face so forced that Thomas almost laughed out loud. He was having a harder and harder time believing he’d been terrified of this guy just a day earlier—he seemed silly, even pathetic now.

“Well,” Zart began, his eyes darting around almost like he was waiting for someone else to tell him what to say. “I don’t know. He broke one of our most important rules. We can’t just let people think that’s okay.” He paused and looked down at his hands, rubbing them together. “But then again, he’s … changed things. Now we know we can survive out there, and that we can beat the Grievers.”

“Gally, shut your hole!” Newt yelled, standing for effect this time; once again Thomas felt like cheering.

The cook smiled through his beard and sat up straighter. “Shank’s got more guts than I’ve fried up from every pig and cow in the last year.” He paused, as if expecting a laugh, but none came. “How stupid is this—he saves Alby’s life, kills a couple of Grievers, and we’re sitting here yappin’ about what to do with him. As Chuck would say, this is a pile of klunk.” Thomas wanted to walk over and shake Frypan’s hand—he’d just said exactly what Thomas himself had been thinking about all of this.

You know the rules—no idea’s unacceptable—and you’ll all have your say when we vote on it.”

“I don’t really have an opinion,” he said. “What?” Newt asked angrily. “Lot of good it did to choose you for the Council, then.”

Then it was Newt’s turn. “I agree with the lot of ya. He should be punished, but then we need to figure out a way to use him. I’m reservin’ my recommendation until I hear everyone out. Next.” Thomas hated all this talk about punishment, even more than he hated having to keep his mouth shut. But deep inside he couldn’t bring himself to disagree—as odd as it seemed after what he’d accomplished, he had broken a major rule.

Gally went first. “I think I’ve made my opinions pretty clear already.” Great, Thomas thought. Then just keep your mouth shut. “Good that,” Newt said with yet another roll of the eyes. “Go on, then, Minho.” “No!” Gally yelled, making a couple of Keepers jump in their seats. “I still wanna say something.” “Then bloody say it,” Newt replied. It made Thomas feel a little better that the temporary Council Chair despised Gally almost as much as he did.

“What’re you tryin’ to say, Gally?” Newt asked. “How ’bout having a bloody point?”