The Maze Runner

In truth, as Thomas silently watched the commotion, he didn’t feel nearly as panicked or frightened as his instincts told him he ought to be. And it surprised him that so many of the others looked like lost chicks thrown from the coop. It was, in fact, ridiculous.

The sun obviously had not disappeared—that wasn’t possible.

Though that was what it seemed like—signs of the ball of furious fire nowhere to be seen, the slanting shadows of morning absent. But he and all the Gladers were far too rational and intelligent to conclude such a thing. No, there had to be a scientifically acceptable reason for what they were witnessing. And whatever it was, to Thomas it meant one thing: the fact they could no longer see the sun probably meant they’d never been able to in the first place. A sun couldn’t just disappear. Their sky had to have been—and still was—fabricated. Artificial.

In other words, the sun that had shone down on these people for two years, providing heat and life to everything, was not the sun at all. Somehow, it had been fake. Everything about this place was fake.

Thomas didn’t know what that meant, didn’t know how it was possible. But he knew it to be true—it was the only explanation his rational mind could accept. And it was obvious from the other Gladers’ reactions that none of them had figured this out until now.

Chuck found him, and the look of fear on the boy’s face pinched Thomas’s heart.

“What do you think happened?” Chuck said, a pitiful tremor in his voice, his eyes glued to the sky. Thomas thought his neck must hurt something awful. “Looks like a big gray ceiling—close enough you could almost touch it.”

Thomas followed Chuck’s gaze and looked up. “Yeah, makes you wonder about this place.” For the second time in twenty-four hours, Chuck had nailed it. The sky did look like a ceiling. Like the ceiling of a massive room. “Maybe something’s broken. I mean, maybe it’ll be back.”

Chuck finally quit gawking and made eye contact with Thomas. “Broken? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Before Thomas could answer, the faint memory of last night, before he fell asleep, came to him, Teresa’s words inside his mind. She’d said, I just triggered the Ending. It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? A sour rot crept into his belly. Whatever the explanation, whatever that had been in the sky, the real sun or not, it was gone. And that couldn’t be a good thing.

“Thomas?” Chuck asked, lightly tapping him on the upper arm.

“Yeah?” Thomas’s mind felt hazy.

“What’d you mean by broken?” Chuck repeated.

Thomas felt like he needed time to think about it all. “Oh. I don’t know. Must be things about this place we obviously don’t understand. But you can’t just make the sun disappear from space. Plus, there’s still enough light to see by, as faint as it is. Where’s that coming from?”

Chuck’s eyes widened, as if the darkest, deepest secret of the universe had just been revealed to him. “Yeah, where is it coming from? What’s going on, Thomas?”

Thomas reached out and squeezed the younger boy’s shoulder. He felt awkward. “No clue, Chuck. Not a clue. But I’m sure Newt and Alby’ll figure things out.”

“Thomas!” Minho was running up to them. “Quit your leisure time with Chucky here and let’s get going. We’re already late.”

Thomas was stunned. For some reason he’d expected the weird sky to throw all normal plans out the window.

“You’re still going out there?” Chuck asked, clearly surprised as well. Thomas was glad the boy had asked the question for him.

“Of course we are, shank,” Minho said. “Don’t you have some sloppin’ to do?” He looked from Chuck to Thomas. “If anything, gives us even more reason to get our butts out there. If the sun’s really gone, won’t be long before plants and animals drop dead, too. I think the desperation level just went up a notch.”

The last statement struck Thomas deep down. Despite all his ideas—all the things he’d pitched to Minho—he wasn’t eager to change how things had been done for the last two years. A mixture of excitement and dread swept over him when he realized what Minho was saying. “You mean we’re going to stay out there overnight? Explore the walls a little more closely?”

Minho shook his head. “No, not yet. Maybe soon, though.” He looked up toward the sky. “Man—what a way to wake up. Come on, let’s go.”

Thomas was quiet as he and Minho got their things ready and ate a lightning-fast breakfast. His thoughts were churning too much about the gray sky and what Teresa—at least, he thought it had been the girl—had told him in his mind to participate in any conversation.

What had she meant by the Ending? Thomas couldn’t knock the feeling that he should tell somebody. Everybody.

But he didn’t know what it meant, and he didn’t want them to know he had a girl’s voice in his head. They’d think he’d really gone bonkers, maybe even lock him up—and for good this time.

After a lot of deliberation, he decided to keep his mouth shut and went running with Minho for his second day of training, below a bleak and colorless sky.

They saw the Griever before they’d even made it to the door leading from Section Eight to Section One.

Minho was a few feet ahead of Thomas. He’d just rounded a corner to the right when he slammed to a stop, his feet almost skidding out from under him. He jumped back and grabbed Thomas by the shirt, pushing him against the wall.