The Maze Runner Series

You can’t be serious.” Thomas could only nod. Minho’s shoulders slumped, and his eyes fell to the floor. “How did the world get so shucked?” The words barely came out, low and full of pain. “I’m sorry,” Newt said, and there were tears streaming down his face. “I’m … I’m going to shoot if you don’t go. Now.

He didn’t know which was worse: that Newt seemed to be slipping already or that Minho—the one who should have been able to control himself—was acting like such a slinthead.

Teresa didn’t stop. “Keep talking like that and you’ll be next.” Newt turned back to face them, but his face showed anything but fear.

There are no rules. There are no guidelines.

The future of the human race outweighs all. Every death and every sacrifice are well worth the ultimate outcome.

Forgetting about you was the worst part.” At first, Thomas thought it was another message in his head; he squeezed his fists against his ears.

Maybe when their minds go, they’re not themselves anymore. Maybe the Newt we know is gone and he’s not aware of what’s happening to him. So really, he’s not suffering.” Minho almost looked offended by the notion. “Nice try, slinthead, but I don’t believe it. I think he’ll always be there just enough to be screaming on the inside, deranged and suffering every shuck second of it. Tormented like a dude buried alive.

He just said he likes the taste of eyeballs.” This from Frypan. “I think that qualifies as crazy.

And he still has clothes on, which means it couldn’t have burned his skin in too many places. He’ll be fine.” “Yeah, good that,” Newt replied with a sarcastic chuckle. “Remind me not to hire you as my buggin’ doctor anytime soon.

All he saw was madness and bloodlust and jealousy carved onto countless bleeding and mangled faces.

No way, man!” Thomas could swear his friend almost looked hurt. “We shouldn’t split up. All four of us should go – it’ll be safer.” “Minho, we need someone back here to watch over things,” Thomas said, and he meant it. This was a whole roomful of people who might be able to help them take WICKED down. “Plus, I hate to say it, but what if something does happen to us? Stay behind and make sure our plans don’t die. They’ve got Frypan, Minho. Who knows who else. You said once that I should be the Keeper of the Runners.

he wondered if he was doing the right thing sticking with Brenda. But when she started walking, he followed.

They stood in a vast courtyard several times the size of a football field, surrounded by four enormous walls made of gray stone and covered in spots with thick ivy. The walls had to be hundreds of feet high and formed a perfect square around them, each side split in the exact middle by an opening as tall as the walls themselves that, from what Thomas could see, led to passages and long corridors beyond.

Oh, man. I’m shucked. I’m shucked for good.

I’m tougher than nails. I could still kick your pony-lovin’ butt with twice this pain.” Thomas shrugged. “I do love ponies. Wish I could eat one right now.” His stomach grumbled and gurgled.

He turned to look just in time to see the rain start falling outside, as if the storm had finally decided to weep with shame for what it had done to them.

Piece by piece, you’ll learn—I’ll be takin’ you on the Tour tomorrow.

Mark had always felt like she was his as a simple matter of the situation. Pretty much everyone else she’d ever known had died; he was a scrap left over for her to take, the alternative to being forever alone. But he gladly played his part, even considered himself lucky—he didn’t know what he’d do without her.

The burst of flavour and juice was a glorious thing. Moaning, he attacked the rest of it and had eaten down to its stumpy core

You know how the world is. New disease, new drugs. Even if it doesn’t do jack to the illness itself, they still come up with stuff.

He began his new life standing up, surrounded by cold darkness and stale, dusty air. Metal ground against metal; a lurching shudder shook the floor beneath him. He fell down at the sudden movement and shuffled backward on his hands and feet, drops of sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air. His back struck a hard metal wall; he slid along it until he hit the corner of the room. Sinking to the floor, he pulled his legs up tight against his body, hoping his eyes would soon adjust to the darkness. With another jolt, the room jerked upward like an old lift in a mine shaft. Harsh sounds of chains and pulleys, like the workings of an ancient steel factory, echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls with a hollow, tinny whine. The lightless elevator swayed back and forth as it ascended, turning the boy’s stomach sour with nausea; a smell like burnt oil invaded his senses,

if some shank decides he’s a sissy-pants and tries to turn back, I’ll make sure he does it with a broken nose and smashed privates.

If you ain’t scared,” Alby said, “you ain’t human.