The Scorch Trials (The Maze Runner Book 1) (2)
CHAPTER
2
That
was how it started. He heard Teresa say those three words, but it seemed from
far away, as if spoken down a long and cluttered tunnel. His slumber had become
a viscous liquid, thick and sticky, trapping him. He became aware of himself,
but realized he was removed from the world, entombed by exhaustion.
He
couldn’t wake up.
Thomas!
She
screamed it. A piercing rattle in his head. He felt the first trickle of fear,
but it was more like a dream. He could only sleep. And they were safe now,
nothing to worry about anymore. Yeah, it had to be a dream. Teresa was fine,
they were all fine. He relaxed again, let himself drown in slumber.
Other
sounds snuck their way into his consciousness. Thumps. The clang of metal
against metal. Something shattering. Boys shouting. More like the echo of
shouts, very distant, muted. Suddenly they became more like screams. Unearthly
cries of anguish. But still distant. As if he’d been wrapped in a thick cocoon
of dark velvet.
Finally
something pricked the comfort of sleep. This wasn’t right. Teresa had called
for him, told him something was wrong! He fought the deep sleep that had
consumed him, clawed at the heavy weight pinning him down.
Wake
up! he
yelled at himself. Wake up!
Then
something disappeared from inside him. There one instant, gone the next. He
felt as if a major organ had just been ripped from his body.
It
had been her. She was gone.
Teresa!
he
screamed out with his mind. Teresa! Are you there?
But
there was nothing, and he no longer felt that comforting sense of her
closeness. He called her name again, then again, as he continued to struggle
against the dark pull of sleep.
Finally,
reality swept in, washed away the darkness. Engulfed in terror, Thomas opened
his eyes and shot to a sitting position on his bed, scooted out until he got
his feet under him and jumped up. Looked around.
Everything
had gone crazy.
The
other Gladers in the room were running around, shouting. And terrible,
horrible, awful sounds filled the air, like the wretched squeals of animals
being tortured. There was Frypan, pointing out a window, his face pale. Newt
and Minho were running to the door. Winston, hands held up to his frightened,
acne-plagued face like he’d just seen a flesh–eating zombie. Others stumbling
over each other to look out the different windows, but keeping their distance
from the glass. Achingly, Thomas realized he didn’t even know most of the names
of the twenty boys who’d survived the Maze, an odd thought to have in the
middle of all that chaos.
Something
at the corner of his eye made him turn to look toward the wall. What he saw
immediately wiped away any peace and safety he’d felt talking to Teresa in the
night. Made him doubt such emotions could even exist in the same world in which
he now stood.
Three
feet from his bed, draped by colorful curtains, a window looked out into a
bright, blinding light. The glass was broken, jagged shards leaning against
crisscrossed steel bars. A man stood on the other side, gripping the bars with
bloody hands. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, filled with madness. Sores and
scars covered his thin, sun–burnt face. He had no hair, only diseased splotches
of what looked like greenish moss. A vicious slit stretched across his right
cheek; Thomas could see teeth through the raw, festering wound. Pink saliva
dribbled in swaying lines from the man’s chin.
“I’m
a Crank!” the horror of a man yelled. “I’m a bloody Crank!”
And
then he started screaming two words over and over and over, spit flying with
every shriek.
“Kill
me! Kill me! Kill me! …”
0 comments:
Post a Comment