Book 1. Book 2. Book 3. Book 4. Book 5. The Maze Runner. So there's this kid who wakes up in an elevator with no memory of his past other than the fact. Deseret News BOOKS BY JAMES DASHNER The Mortality Doctrine Series The Eye of Minds The Maze Runner Series The Maze Runner The Scorch Trials The . The-Maze-Runner-pdf-download-James-Dashner Read more about newt, minho, alby, teresa, The Death Cure (Maze Runner, Book 3) (James Dashner).
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A must-have gift for every collection—from the die-hard Maze Runner fan to the YA book lover just coming to the series to the binge reader who's catching up. Like a book completely intact but missing one word in every dozen, making it a miserable and confusing read. He didn't even know his age. The Maze Runner (Maze Runner Trilogy, Book 1). Home · The Maze Runner ( Maze Runner The Scorch Trials (Maze Runner Trilogy, Book 2) · Read more.
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A loud clank rang out above him and he sucked in a startled breath as he looked up. A straight line of light appeared across the ceiling of the room, and Thomas watched as it expanded. A heavy grating sound revealed double sliding doors being forced open. After so long in darkness, the light stabbed his eyes; he looked away, covering his face with both hands.
He heard noises above—voices—and fear squeezed his chest.
The voices were odd, tinged with echo; some of the words were completely foreign—others felt familiar. He willed his eyes to adjust as he squinted toward the light and those speaking.
At rst he could see only shifting shadows, but they soon turned into the shapes of bodies—people bending over the hole in the ceiling, looking down at him, pointing. And then, as if the lens of a camera had sharpened its focus, the faces cleared. They were boys, all of them—some young, some older.
They were just teenagers. Some of his fear melted away, but not enough to calm his racing heart. Someone lowered a rope from above, the end of it tied into a big loop. Thomas hesitated, then stepped into it with his right foot and clutched the rope as he was yanked toward the sky. Hands reached down, lots of hands, grabbing him by his clothes, pulling him up.
The world seemed to spin, a swirling mist of faces and color and light. A storm of emotions wrenched his gut, twisted and pulled; he wanted to scream, cry, throw up. The chorus of voices had grown silent, but someone spoke as they yanked him over the sharp edge of the dark box. Still dazzled by the light, he staggered a bit. He was consumed with curiosity but still felt too ill to look closely at his surroundings.
His new companions said nothing as he swiveled his head around, trying to take it all in. As he rotated in a slow circle, the other kids snickered and stared; some reached out and poked him with a nger. They stood in a vast courtyard several times the size of a football eld, 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.
Thomas focused back in on the dozens of strangers around him.
A tall kid with blond hair and a square jaw sni ed at him, his face devoid of expression. A short, pudgy boy dgeted back and forth on his feet, looking up at Thomas with wide eyes.
A thick, heavily muscled Asian kid folded his arms as he studied Thomas, his tight shirtsleeves rolled up to show o his biceps. Countless others stared.
It was as if his memory loss had stolen a chunk of his language—it was disorienting. Di erent emotions battled for dominance in his mind and heart. But laced through it all was the dark feeling of utter hopelessness, like the world had ended for him, had been wiped from his memory and replaced with something awful. He wanted to run and hide from these people. The scratchy-voiced boy was talking. Hating how everyone gawked at him, he concentrated on studying the place the boy had called the Glade.
The oor of the courtyard looked like it was made of huge stone blocks, many of them cracked and lled with long grasses and weeds. An odd, dilapidated wooden building near one of the corners of the square contrasted greatly with the gray stone. A few trees surrounded it, their roots like gnarled hands digging into the rock oor for food. Another corner of the compound held gardens—from where he was standing Thomas recognized corn, tomato plants, fruit trees. Across the courtyard from there stood wooden pens holding sheep and pigs and cows.
A large grove of trees lled the nal corner; the closest ones looked crippled and close to dying. The sky overhead was cloudless and blue, but Thomas could see no sign of the sun despite the brightness of the day. As he breathed in deeply, trying to settle his nerves, a mixture of smells bombarded him.
Freshly turned dirt, manure, pine, something rotten and something sweet. Somehow he knew that these were the smells of a farm.
Thomas looked back at his captors, feeling awkward but desperate to ask questions.