Free The Maze Runner by James Dashner Page A

should be back in a few hours. Why don’t you ask
them?”
    Thomas ignored the sarcasm, digging deeper. “What do they do when they get back every night? What’s up with the concrete building?”
    “Maps. They meet right when they get back, before they forget anything.”
    Maps?
Thomas was confused. “But if they’re trying to make a map, don’t they have paper to write on while they’re out there?” Maps. This intrigued him more than anything else he’d heard in a while. It was the first thing suggesting a potential solution to their predicament.
    “Of course they do, but there’s still stuff they need to talk about and discuss and analyze and all that klunk. Plus”—the boy rolled his eyes—”they spend most of their time running, not writing. That’s why they’re called
Runners
.“
    Thomas thought about the Runners and the maps. Could the Maze really be so massively huge that even after two years they still hadn’t found a way out? It seemed impossible. But then, he remembered what Alby said about the moving walls. What if all of them were sentenced to live here until they died?
    Sentenced
. The word made him feel a rush of panic, and the spark of hope the meal had brought him fizzled with a silent hiss.
    “Chuck, what if we’re all criminals? I mean—what if we’re murderers or something?”
    “Huh?” Chuck looked up at him as if he were a crazy person. “Where did that happy thought come from?”
    “Think about it. Our memories are wiped. We live inside a place that seems to have no way out, surrounded by bloodthirsty monster-guards. Doesn’t that sound like a prison to you?” As he said it out loud, it sounded more and more possible. Nausea trickled into his chest.
    “I’m probably twelve years old, dude.” Chuck pointed to his chest. “At the most, thirteen. You really think I did something that would send me to prison for the rest of my life?”
    “I don’t care what you did or didn’t do. Either way, you
have
been sent to a prison. Does this seem like a vacation to you?”
Oh, man
, Thomas thought.
Please let me be wrong
.
    Chuck thought for a moment. “I don’t know. It’s better than—”
    “Yeah, I know, living in pile of klunk.” Thomas stood up and pushed his chair back under the table. He liked Chuck, but trying to have an intelligent conversation with him was impossible. Not to mention frustrating and irritating. “Go make yourself another sandwich—I’m going exploring. See ya tonight.”
    He stepped out of the kitchen and into the courtyard before Chuck could offer to join him. The Glade had gone back to business as usual—people working the jobs, the doors of the Box closed, sun shining down. Any signs of a crazed girl bearing notes of doom had disappeared.
    Having had his tour cut short, he decided to take a walk around the Glade on his own and get a better look and feel for the place. He headed out for the northeast corner, toward the big rows of tall green cornstalks that looked ready to harvest. There was other stuff, too: tomatoes, lettuce, peas, a lot more that Thomas didn’t recognize.
    He took a deep breath, loving the fresh whiff of dirt and growing plants. He was almost positive the smell would bring back some sort of pleasant memory, but nothing came. As he got closer, he saw thatseveral boys were weeding and picking in the small fields. One waved at him with a smile. An actual smile.
    Maybe this place won’t be so bad after all
, Thomas thought.
Not everyone here could be a jerk
. He took another deep breath of the pleasant air and pulled himself out of his thoughts—there was a lot more he wanted to see.
    Next was the southeast corner, where shabbily built wooden fences held in several cows, goats, sheep, and pigs. No horses, though.
That sucks
, Thomas thought.
Riders
would definitely be faster than
Runners
. As he approached, he figured he must’ve dealt with animals in his life before the Glade. Their smell, their sound—they seemed very