Would you like to inspect the original subtitles? These are the user uploaded subtitles that are being translated: PROLOGUE Teresa looked at her best friend and wondered what it would be like to forget him. It seemed impossible, though she’d now seen the Swipe implanted in dozens of boys before Thomas. Sandy brown hair, penetrating eyes and a constant look of contemplation—how could this kid ever be unfamiliar to her? How could they be in the same room and not joke about some smell or make fun of some clueless slouch nearby? How could she ever stand in front of him and not leap at the chance to communicate telepathically? Impossible. And yet, only a day away. For her. For Thomas, it was a matter of minutes. He lay on the operating table, his eyes closed, chest rising and falling with soft, even breaths. Already dressed in the requisite shorts-and-T-shirt uniform of the Glade, he looked like a snapshot of the past— some ordinary boy taking an ordinary nap after a long day at an ordinary school, before sun ares and disease made the world anything but ordinary. Before death and destruction made it necessary to steal children—along with their memories—and send them to a place as terrifying as the Maze. Before human brains were known as the killzone and needed to be watched and studied. All in the name of science and medicine. A doctor and a nurse had been prepping Thomas and now lowered the mask onto his face. There were clicks and hisses and beeps; Teresa watched as metal and wires and plastic tubes slithered across his skin and into the canals of Thomas’s ears, saw his hands twitch reexively at his sides. He probably felt pain on some level despite the drugs, but he’d never remember it. The machine began its work, plucking images from Thomas’s memory. Erasing his mom and his dad and his life. Erasing her. Some small part of her knew it should make her angry. Make her scream and yell and refuse to help for one more second. But the greater part was as solid as the rock of the clis outside. Yes, the greater part within her was entrenched in certainty so deeply that she knew she’d feel it even after tomorrow, when the same thing would be done to her. She and Thomas were proving their conviction by submitting to what had been asked of the others. And if they died, so be it. WICKED would nd the cure, millions would be saved, and life on earth would someday get back to normal. Teresa knew this in her core, as much as she knew that humans grow old and leaves fall from trees in autumn. Thomas sucked in a hitching breath, then made a little moaning sound, shifted his body. Teresa thought for a horrifying second that he might wake up, hysterical from the agony—things were inside his head doing who knew what to his brain. But he stilled and resumed the soft and easy breathing. The clicks and hisses continued, her best friend’s memories fading like echoes. They’d said their ocial goodbyes, and the words See you tomorrow still rang in her head. For some reason that had really struck her when Thomas said it, made what he was about to do all the more surreal and sad. They would see each other tomorrow, although she’d be in a coma and he wouldn’t have the slightest idea who she was—other than an itch in his mind that maybe she looked familiar. Tomorrow. After all they’d been through—all the fear and training and planning—it was all coming to a head. What had been done to Alby and Newt and Minho and all the rest would be done to them. There was no turning back. But the calmness was like a drug inside her. She was at peace, these soothing feelings keeping the terror of things like Grievers and Cranks at bay. WICKED had no choice. She and Thomas—they had no choice. How could she shrink at sacricing a few to save the many? How could anyone? She didn’t have time for pity or sadness or wishes. It was what it was; what was done was done; what would be … would be. There was no turning back. She and Thomas had helped construct the Maze; at the same time she’d exerted a lot of effort to build a wall holding back her emotions. Her thoughts faded then, seemed to oat in suspended animation as she waited for the procedure on Thomas to be complete. When it nally was, the doctor pushed several buttons on his screen and the beeps and hisses and clicks sped up. Thomas’s body twitched a little as the tubes and wires snaked away from their intrusive positions and back into his mask. He grew still again and the mask powered down, all sound and movement ceasing. The nurse leaned forward and lifted it o Thomas’s face. His skin was red and marked with lines where it had rested. Eyes still closed. For a brief moment, Teresa’s wall holding back the sadness began to crumble. If Thomas woke up right then, he wouldn’t remember her. She felt the dread—almost like panic—of knowing that they’d meet soon in the Glade and not know each other. It was a crushing thought that reminded her vividly of why she’d built the wall in the rst place. Like a mason slamming a brick into hardening mortar, she sealed the breach. Sealed it solid and thick. There was no turning back. Two men from the security team came in to help move Thomas. They lifted him o the bed, hoisted him as if he were stued with straw. One had the unconscious boy by the arms, the other by the feet, and they placed him on a gurney. Without so much as a glance toward Teresa, they headed for the door of the operating room. Everyone knew where he was being taken. The doctor and the nurse went about the business of cleaning up—their job was done. Teresa nodded at them even though they weren’t looking, then followed the men into the hallway. She could barely look at Thomas as they made the long journey through the corridors and elevators of WICKED headquarters. Her wall had weakened again. Thomas was so pale, and his face was covered with beads of sweat. As if he were conscious on some level, ghting the drugs, aware that terrible things awaited him on the horizon. It hurt her heart to see it. And it scared her to know that she was next. Her stupid wall. What did it matter? It would be taken from her along with all the memories anyway. They reached the basement level below the Maze structure, walked through the warehouse with its rows and shelves of supplies for the Gladers. It was dark and cool down there, and Teresa felt goose bumps break out along her arms. She shivered and rubbed them down. Thomas bounced and jostled on the gurney as it hit cracks in the concrete oor, still a look of dread trying to break through the calm exterior of his sleeping face. They reached the shaft of the lift, where the large metal cube rested. The Box. It was only a couple of stories below the Glade proper, but the Glade occupants were manipulated into thinking the trip up was an impossibly long and arduous journey. It was all meant to stimulate an array of emotions and brain patterns, from confusion to disorientation to outright terror. A perfect start for those mapping Thomas’s killzone. Teresa knew that she’d be taking the trip herself tomorrow, with a note gripped in her hands. But at least she’d be in a comatose state, spared of that half hour in the moving darkness. Thomas would wake up in the Box, completely alone. The two men wheeled Thomas next to the Box. There was a horrible screech of metal against cement as one of them dragged a large stepladder to the side of the cube. A few moments of awkwardness as they climbed those steps together while holding Thomas again. Teresa could’ve helped but refused, stubborn enough to stand there and watch, to shore up the cracks in her wall as much as she could. With a few grunts and curses, the men got Thomas to the edge at the top. His body was positioned in a way that his closed eyes faced Teresa one last time. Even though she knew he wouldn’t hear it, she reached out and spoke to him inside her mind. We’re doing the right thing, Thomas. See you on the other side. The men leaned over and lowered Thomas by the arms as far as they could; they dropped him the rest of the way. Teresa heard the thump of his body crumpling onto the cold steel of the floor inside. Her best friend. She turned around and walked away. From behind her came the distinct sound of metal sliding against metal, then a loud, echoing boom as the doors of the Box slammed shut. Sealing Thomas’s fate, whatever it might be. THIRTEEN YEARS EARLIER CHAPTER 1 Mark shivered with cold, something he hadn’t done in a long time. He’d just woken up, the rst traces of dawn leaking through the cracks of the stacked logs that made up the wall of his small hut. He almost never used his blanket. He was proud of it—it was made from the hide of a giant elk he’d killed himself just two months prior—but when he did use it, it was for the comfort of the blanket itself, not so much for warmth. They lived in a world ravaged by heat, after all. But maybe this was a sign of change; he actually felt a little chilled by the morning air seeping through those same cracks as the light. He pulled the furry hide up to his chin and turned to lie on his back, belting out a yawn for the ages. Alec was still asleep in the cot on the other side of the hut—all of four feet away—and snoring up a storm. The older man was gru, a hardened former soldier who rarely smiled. And when he did, it usually had something to do with rumbling gas pains in his stomach. But Alec had a heart of gold. After more than a year together, ghting for survival along with Lana and Trina and the rest of them, Mark wasn’t intimidated by the old bear anymore. Just to prove it, he leaned over and grabbed a shoe o the oor, then chucked it at the man. It hit him in the shoulder. Alec roared and sat up straight, years of military training snapping him instantly awake. “What the—” the soldier yelled, but Mark cut him o by throwing his other shoe at him, this time smacking his chest. “You little piece of rat liver,” Alec said coolly. He hadn’t inched or moved after the second attack, just stared Mark down with narrowed eyes. But there was a spark of humor behind them. “I better hear a good reason why you chose to risk your life by waking me up like that.” “Ummmmm,” Mark replied, rubbing his chin as if he were thinking hard about it. Then he snapped his ngers. “Oh, I got it. Mainly it was to stop the awful sounds coming out of you. Seriously, man, you need to sleep on your side or something. Snoring like that can’t be healthy. You’re gonna choke on your own throat one of these days.” Alec grumbled and grunted a few times, muttering almost indecipherable words as he scooted o his cot and got dressed. There was something about “wish I’d never” and “better o” and “year of hell,” but not much more Mark could make out. The message was clear, though. “Come on, Sergeant,” Mark said, knowing he was about three seconds from going too far. Alec had been retired from the military for a long time and really, really, really hated it when Mark called him that. At the time of the sun ares, Alec had been a contract worker for the defense department. “You never would’ve made it to this lovely abode if it hadn’t been for us snatching you out of trouble every day. How about a hug and we make up?” Alec pulled a shirt over his head, then peered down at Mark. The older man’s bushy gray eyebrows bunched up in the middle as if they were hairy bugs trying to mate. “I like you, kid. It’d be a shame to have to put you six feet under.” He whacked Mark on the side of the head—the closest thing to affection the soldier ever showed. Soldier. It might have been a long time, but Mark still liked to think of the man that way. It made him feel better—safer—somehow. He smiled as Alec stomped out of their hut to tackle another day. A real smile. Something that was nally becoming a little more commonplace after the year of death and terror that had chased them to this place high up in the Appalachian Mountains of western North Carolina. He decided that no matter what, he’d push all the bad stu from the past aside and have a good day. No matter what. Which meant he needed to bring Trina into the picture before another ten minutes ticked off the clock. He hurriedly got dressed and went out to look for her. He found her up by the stream, in one of the quiet places she went to read some of the books they’d salvaged from an old library they’d come across in their travels. That girl loved to read like no one else, and she was making up for the months they spent literally running for their lives, when books were few and far between. The digital kind were all long gone, as far as Mark could guess—wiped away when the computers and servers all fried. Trina read the old-school paper kind. The walk toward her had been as sobering as usual, each step weakening his resolve to have a good day. Looking at the pitiful network of tree houses and huts and underground burrows that made up the thriving metropolis in which they lived—all logs and twine and dried mud, everything leaning to the left or the right—did the trick. He couldn’t stroll through the crowded alleys and paths of their settlement without it reminding him of the good days living in the big city, when life had been rich and full of promise, everything in the world within easy reach, ready for the taking. And he hadn’t even realized it. He passed hordes of scrawny, dirty people who seemed on the edge of death. He didn’t pity them so much as he hated knowing that he looked just like them. They had enough food—scavenged from the ruins, hunted in the woods, brought up from Asheville sometimes—but rationing was the name of the game, and everyone looked like they were one meal a day short. And you didn’t live in the woods without getting a smear of dirt here and there, no matter how often you bathed up in the stream. The sky was blue with a hint of that burnt orange that had haunted the atmosphere since the devastating sun ares had struck without much warning. Over a year ago and yet it still hung up there like a hazy curtain meant to remind them forever. Who knew if things would ever get back to normal. The coolness Mark had felt upon waking up seemed like a joke now—he was already sweating from the steadily rising temperature as the brutal sun rimmed the sparse tree line of the mountain peaks above. It wasn’t all bad news. As he left the warrens of their camps and entered the woods, there were many promising signs. New trees growing, old trees recovering, squirrels dashing through the blackened pine needles, green sprouts and buds all around. He even saw something that looked like an orange ower in the distance. He was half tempted to go pick it for Trina, but he knew she’d scold him within an inch of his life if he dared impede the progress of the forest. Maybe his day would be good after all. They’d survived the worst natural disaster in known human history—maybe the corner had been turned. He was breathing heavily from the eort of the hike up the mountain face when he reached the spot where Trina loved to go for escape. Especially in the mornings, when the odds of nding someone else up there were slim. He stopped and looked at her from behind a tree, knowing she’d heard him approach but glad she was pretending she hadn’t. Man, she was pretty. Leaning back against a huge granite boulder that seemed as if it had been placed there by a decorating giant, she held a thick book in her lap. She turned a page, her green eyes following the words. She was wearing a black T-shirt and a pair of worn jeans, sneakers that looked a hundred years old. Her short blond hair shifted in the wind, and she appeared the very denition of peace and comfort. Like she belonged in the world that had existed before everything was scorched. 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. “This book would be so much better if I didn’t have some creepy guy stalking me while I tried to read it.” Trina spoke without the slightest hint of a smile. She ipped another page and continued to read. “It’s just me,” he said. Half of what he said around her still came out sounding dumb. He stepped from behind the tree. She laughed and nally looked up at him. “It’s about time you got here! I was just about ready to start talking to myself—I’ve been reading since before dawn.” He walked over and plopped down on the ground beside her. They hugged, tight and warm and full of the promise he’d made upon waking up. He pulled back and looked at her, not caring about the goofy grin that was most likely plastered across his face. “You know what?” “What?” she asked. “Today is going to be a perfect, perfect day.” Trina smiled and the waters of the stream continued to rush by, as if his words meant nothing. CHAPTER 2 “I haven’t had a perfect day since I turned sixteen,” Trina said as she thumbed down the corner of her page and placed the book by her side. “Three days later and you and I were running for our lives through a tunnel that was hotter than the sun.” “Good times,” Mark mused as he got more comfortable. He leaned up against the same boulder, crossed his legs in front of him. “Good times.” Trina gave him a sideways glance. “My birthday party or the sun flares?” “Neither. You liked that idiot John Stidham at your party. Remember?” A guilty look ashed across her face. “Um, yeah. Seems like that was about three thousand years ago.” “It took half the world being wiped out for you to nally notice me.” Mark smiled, but it felt empty. The truth was kind of depressing—even to joke about—and a dark cloud was forming over his head. “Let’s change the subject.” “I vote for that.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the stone. “I don’t want to think about that stuff for one more second.” Mark nodded even though she couldn’t see. He’d suddenly lost any desire to talk, and his plans for a perfect day washed away with the stream. The memories. They never let him go, not even for a half hour. They always had to rush back in, bringing all the horror. “You okay?” Trina asked. She reached out and grabbed his hand, but Mark pulled it away, knowing it was all sweaty. “Yeah, I’m ne. I just wish we could go one day without something taking us back. I could be perfectly happy in this place if we could just forget. Things are getting better. We just need to … let it go!” He almost shouted the last part, but he had no idea where his anger was directed. He just hated the things in his head. The images. The sounds. The smells. “We will, Mark. We will.” She reached for him again, and this time he took her hand. “We better get back down there.” He always did this. When the memories came, he always slipped into business mode. Take care of business and work and stop using your brain. It was the only thing that helped. “I’m sure Alec and Lana have about forty jobs for us.” “That have to be done today,” Trina added. “Today! Or the world will end!” She smiled, and that helped lighten things up. At least a little. “You can read more of your boring book later.” He climbed to his feet, pulling her up along with him. Then they set o down the mountain path, heading for the makeshift village they called home. The smells hit Mark rst. It was always that way when going to the Central Shack. Rotting undergrowth, cooking meat, pine sap. All laced with that scent of burning that defined the world after the sun flares. Not unpleasant, really, just haunting. He and Trina wound their way past the crooked and seemingly slapped-together buildings of the settlement. Most of the buildings on this side of the camp had been put up in the early months, before they’d found people who’d been architects and contractors and put them in charge. Huts made of tree trunks and mud and bristles of pine needles. Empty gaps for windows and oddly shaped doorways. In some spots there were nothing but holes in the ground, the bottom lined with plastic sheets, a few logs lashed together to cover it when the rains came. It was a far cry from the towering skyscrapers and concrete landscape of where he’d grown up. Alec greeted Mark and Trina with a grunt when they walked through the lopsided doorway in the Central Shack’s log structure. Before they could say hello, Lana came marching briskly up to them. A stout woman with black hair that was always pulled tightly into a bun, she’d been a nurse in the army and was younger than Alec, but older than Mark’s parents—she and Alec had been together when Mark had met them in the tunnels below New York City. Back then, they’d both worked for the defense department. Alec was her boss; they’d been on their way to a meeting of some sort that day. Before everything changed. “And where have you two been?” Lana asked when she came to a stop just a few inches from Mark’s face. “We were supposed to start at dawn today, head out to the southern valley and scout for another branch location. A few more weeks of this overcrowding and I might get snippy.” “Good morning,” Mark said in response. “You seem chipper today.” She smiled at that; Mark had known she would. “I do tend to get straight to business sometimes, don’t I? Though I have a lot of wiggle room before I get as grumpy as Alec.” “The sarge? Yeah, you’re right.” On cue, the old bear grunted. “Sorry about being late,” Trina said. “I’d make up a great excuse, but honesty’s the best policy. Mark made me go up to the stream and we … you know.” It took a lot to surprise Mark these days, even more to make him blush, but Trina had the ability to do both. He stammered as Lana rolled her eyes. “Oh, spare me.” Lana waved and added, “Now go grab some breakfast if you haven’t already and let’s get packed and marching. I want to be back within a week.” A week out in the wilderness, seeing new things, getting some fresher air … it all sounded great to Mark, lifting his spirits out of the hole into which they’d fallen earlier. He swore to keep his mind on the present while they traveled and just try to enjoy the hike. “Have you seen Darnell and the Toad?” Trina asked. “What about Misty?” “The Three Stooges?” Alec asked, followed by a bark of a laugh. The man thought the weirdest things were funny. “At least they remembered the plan. Already eaten, gone to pack. Should be back in a jiffy.” Mark and Trina were halfway through their pancakes and deer sausage when they heard the familiar sound of the other three friends they’d picked up in the tunnels of New York. “Take that o your head!” came a whiny voice, right before a teenage boy appeared at the door with a pair of underwear pulled over his brown hair like a hat. Darnell. Mark was convinced the kid had never taken a thing seriously in his entire life. Even when the sun had been trying to boil him alive a year past, he seemed to be ready with a joke. “But I like it!” he was saying as he entered the Shack. “Helps keep my hair in place and protects me from the elements. Two for the price of one!” A girl walked in after him, tall and thin with long red hair, just a little younger than Mark. They called her Misty, though she’d never told them whether that was her real name. She was looking at Darnell with an expression of half disgust and half amusement. The Toad—short and squat, as his nickname implied—bounded in and pushed his way past her, grabbing for the undies atop Darnell’s head. “Give me those!” he shouted, leaping as he reached. He was the shortest nineteen-yearold Mark had ever seen, but thick as an oak tree—all muscle and sinew and veins. Which for some reason made the others think it was okay to pick on him, because they all knew he could beat the crap out of them if he really wanted to. But the Toad liked being the center of attention. And Darnell liked being goofy and annoying. “Why would you even want those nasty things on your head?” Misty asked. “You do realize where that’s been, right? Covering up the Toad’s nether regions?” “Excellent point,” Darnell replied with his own look of feigned disgust, just as the Toad nally was able to snatch the underwear o of his head. “Very poor judgment on my part.” Darnell shrugged. “Seemed funny at the time.” The Toad was stung his recaptured possession into his backpack. “Well, I get the last laugh. I haven’t washed those suckers in at least two weeks.” He started up with that laugh, a noise that made Mark think of a dog ghting over a piece of meat. Whenever the Toad let it out, every other person in the room couldn’t help but join in, and the ice ocially melted. Mark still couldn’t tell if he was laughing at the subject matter or just at the sounds coming out of the Toad. Either way, such moments were few and far between, and it felt good to laugh, as it did to see Trina’s face light up. Even Alec and Lana were chuckling, which made Mark think maybe it was going to be a perfect day after all. But then their laughter was cut o by a strange sound. Something Mark hadn’t heard in over a year, and hadn’t expected to hear ever again. The sound of engines in the sky. CHAPTER 3 It was a rumbling, cranking noise that shook the Shack from top to bottom. Pus of dust shot between the hastily stacked and mortared logs. A coughing roar swept past just overhead. Mark covered his ears until the sound faded enough that the Shack stopped shaking. Alec was already on his feet and heading for the door before anyone else could even process the turn of events. Lana was quickly at his heels, with everyone else following. No one said a word until they were all outside, the bright morning sun beating down. Mark squinted, hand shielding the glare, as he searched the sky for the source of the noise. “It’s a Berg,” the Toad announced needlessly. “What the …” It was the rst time Mark had seen one of the enormous airships since the sun ares happened, and the sight of it was jolting. He couldn’t think of any reason a Berg—one that had survived the disaster—would have to come ying through the mountains. But there it was, big and shiny and round, blue thrusters burning hot and loud as it lowered toward the middle of the settlement. “What’s it doing here?” Trina asked as their little group jogged through the cramped alleys of the village, following the path of the Berg. “They’ve always left supplies in the bigger settlements, like Asheville.” “Maybe …,” Misty began. “Maybe they’re rescuing us or something? Taking us somewhere else?” “No way,” Darnell scoffed. “They would’ve done that a long time ago.” Mark didn’t say anything as he ran along at the back of the group, still a bit stunned by the sudden appearance of the huge Berg. The others kept referencing some mysterious they, even though no one knew who they were. There’d been signs and rumors that some kind of central government was organizing itself, but no news that was even close to reliable. And certainly no ocial contact yet. It was true that supplies and food had been brought to the camps around Asheville, and the people there usually shared with the outlying settlements. The Berg stopped up ahead, its blue thrusters pointing downward now as it hovered fty feet or so above the Town Square, a roughly square-shaped area they’d left bare when building the settlement. The group picked up their pace and arrived in the Square to nd that a crowd had already gathered, the people gawking up at the ying machine as if it were a mythical beast. With its roar and its dazzling display of blue light, it almost seemed so. Especially after such a long time since they’d seen any signs of advanced technology. Most of the crowd had gathered in the center of the Square, their faces pictures of expectation and excitement. Like they’d all jumped to the same conclusion as Misty— that the Berg was here for rescue, or at least some spot of good news. Mark was wary, though. After the year he’d just been through, he’d been taught many times over to never get his hopes up. Trina pulled on his sleeve, then leaned in to talk to him. “What’s it doing? There’s not enough room here for it to land.” “I don’t know. There aren’t any markings or anything to say whose Berg it is or where it came from.” Alec was close and somehow overheard their conversation over the burning snarl of the thrusters. Probably with his superpowered soldier hearing. “They say the ones that drop o supplies in Asheville have PFC painted in big letters on the side. Post-Flares Coalition.” He was practically shouting. “Seems strange that this one has nothing on it.” Mark shrugged back at him, not sure Alec’s information really meant anything. He realized he was sort of in a daze. He looked back up, wondered who could possibly be inside the vessel and what their purpose might be. Trina squeezed his hand and he squeezed hers back. They were both sweating. “Maybe it’s God inside,” the Toad said in a high-pitched voice—it always came out that way when he shouted. “Come to say he’s sorry for all the sun flare business.” Out of the corner of his eye, Mark noticed Darnell taking in a breath, his mouth opening, probably to say something smart and funny back at the Toad. But the action was cut o by a loud wrenching sound from above, followed by the groan and squeal of hydraulics. Mark watched in fascination as a large, square-shaped hatch on the bottom of the Berg began to open, pivoting on hinges to lower like a ramp. It was dark inside, and little wisps of mist came swirling out as the gap grew wider. Gasps and shouts rippled throughout the crowd; hands raised and ngers pointed upward. Mark tore his gaze from the Berg for a moment to take everything in, struck by the sense of awe surrounding him. They’d become a desperate, desperate people, living each day with the weighty feeling that the next one could be their last. And here they all were, looking toward the sky as if the Toad’s joke had been more than that. There was a longing in many of the eyes he saw, like people truly thought they were being saved by some divine power. It made Mark feel a little sick. A fresh wave of gasps spilled through the Square, and Mark snapped his head to look up again. Five people had emerged from the darkness of the Berg, dressed in outts that sent a chill racing down Mark’s spinal cord. Green and rubbery and bulky—one-piece suits that covered the strangers from head to toe. The suits had clear visors in the headpiece through which the wearers could see, but the glare and distance made it impossible for Mark to make out their faces. They stepped carefully in big black boots pulled up over the green material until the ve of them lined the outer edge of the lowered hatch door, their tense body language showing the eort it took to maintain balance. Each of them held a black tube in their hands as if it were a gun. But the tubes didn’t look like any guns Mark had ever seen. They were thin and long, with an attachment at the end that made them resemble plumbing parts someone had ripped out of an industrial pump. And once the strangers settled into their positions, they held up the tubelike things and aimed them directly at the people below. Mark realized that Alec was screaming at the top of his lungs, pushing and shoving people to move them away. Everything around them was erupting in chaos—shouts and panic—yet Mark had fallen into a trance, watching the strangers with their odd outts and their menacing weapons come out of the Berg as everyone else in the crowd nally woke up to the fact that these people weren’t there to save anyone. What had happened to the Mark who could act fast? Who had survived the year of hell after the ares ravaged the earth? He was still frozen, watching, as the rst shot was red from above. A blur of movement, a quick ash of something dark and small and fast bursting from one of those tubes. Mark’s eyes followed the trajectory. He heard a sickening thunk, his head twisting to the side just in time to see that Darnell had a ve-inch-long dart sticking out of his shoulder, its thin metal shaft planted deep within the muscle. Blood trickled down from the wound. The boy made a strange grunt as he collapsed to the ground. That finally snapped Mark out of it. CHAPTER 4 Screams tore through the air as panicked people ed in every direction. Mark bent down, grabbing Darnell by hooking his elbows under the boy’s arms. The sound of flying darts cutting through the air to his left and right, nding targets, urged him to hurry, erasing any other thoughts from his mind. Mark pulled on Darnell, dragging his body along the ground. Trina had fallen but Lana was there, helping her up. Both of them ran over to help, each grabbing one of Darnell’s feet. With synchronized grunts they hefted him up and moved away from the Square, away from the open space. It was a miracle no one else in their little group had been struck by a dart. Swish, swish, swish. Thunk, thunk, thunk. Screams and bodies falling. The projectiles kept coming, landing all around them, and Mark and Trina and Lana shued as quickly as they could, awkwardly carrying Darnell between them. They passed behind a group of trees—Mark heard a few hard thunks as darts buried themselves in the branches and trunks—then they were in the open again. They hurried across a small clearing and into an alley between several haphazardly built log cabins. There were people everywhere, knocking frantically on doors, jumping through open windows. Then Mark heard the roar of the thrusters and a warm wind blew across his face. The roar grew louder, the wind stronger. He looked up, following the noise, to see that the Berg had shifted position, pursuing the eeing crowds. He saw the Toad and Misty. They were urging people to hurry, their shouts lost in the Berg’s blast. Mark didn’t know what to do. Finding shelter was the best bet, but there were too many people trying to do the same thing and joining the chaos with Darnell in tow would only get them trampled. The Berg stopped again, and once more the strangers in their odd suits lifted their weapons and opened fire. Swish, swish, swish. Thunk, thunk, thunk. A dart grazed Mark’s shirt and hit the ground; someone stepped on it, driving it deeper. Another dart hit home in the neck of a man just as he was running past—he screamed and dove forward as blood spurted from the wound. When he landed, he lay still and three people tripped over him. Mark only realized that he’d stopped, appalled by what was happening around him, when Lana yelled at him to keep moving. The shooters above them had obviously improved their aim. The darts were hitting people left and right and the air was lled with screams of pain and terror. Mark felt utterly helpless—there was no way to shield himself from the barrage. All he could do was lamely try to outrun a flying machine, an impossible task. Where was Alec? The tough guy with all the battle instincts? Where had he run off to? Mark kept moving, yanking Darnell’s body along, forcing Trina and Lana to match his speed. The Toad and Misty ran alongside them, trying to help without getting in the way. Darts continued to rain down from above, more screams, more falling bodies. Mark turned a corner and lurched down the alley that led back to the Shack, sticking close to the building on his right for a partial shield. Not as many people had come this way, and there were fewer darts to dodge. The little group hobbled as fast as they could with their unconscious friend. The structures were built practically on top of each other in this section of the settlement, and there was no room to cut through and escape into the surrounding woods of the mountains. “We’re almost to the Shack!” Trina yelled. “Hurry, before the Berg is back on top of us!” Mark twisted his body around so that he was facing front, gripping Darnell by his shirt behind him. Shuing backward had strained his leg muscles to the max, and they burned with heat and were beginning to cramp. There was nothing in their way now to slow them down, so Mark sped up, Lana and Trina keeping pace, each holding one of Darnell’s legs. The Toad and Misty squeezed in and each grabbed an arm, taking some of the load. They slipped through the narrow paths and alleys, over jutting roots and hard-packed dirt, turning left and then right and then left again. The roar of the Berg was coming from their right, muted by the dwellings and rows of trees in between. Mark nally turned a corner and saw the Shack across a small clearing. He moved to make a nal sprint for it, just as a horde of eeing residents swarmed in from the other side, frantic and wild, scattering in all directions, heading for every door in sight. He froze as the Berg rushed in overhead, closer to the ground than Mark had seen it before. There were only three people standing on the hatch door of the craft now, but they opened fire as soon as the Berg settled into a hovering position. Little silver streaks shot through the air, rained down on the people surging into the clearing. Every projectile seemed to nd its mark, slamming into the necks and arms of men and women and children. They screamed and crumpled to the ground almost instantly, others tripping over their bodies in the mad rush for cover. Mark and his little group hugged the side of the closest building and laid Darnell on the ground. Pain and weariness slogged through Mark’s arms and legs, making him want to collapse beside their unconscious friend. “We should’ve just left him back there,” Trina said, hands on knees, struggling to catch her breath. “He slowed us down, and he’s still right in the thick of things anyway.” “Dead, for all we know,” the Toad’s voice croaked. Mark looked sharply at him—but the man was probably right. They might’ve jeopardized their own lives to save someone who had no chance in the first place. “What’s happening now?” Lana asked as she moved up to the corner of the building to look around at the clearing. She glanced back at them over her shoulder. “They’re just picking people off, left and right. Why are they using darts instead of bullets?” “Makes no sense,” Mark replied. “Can’t we do something?” Trina said, her body trembling with what looked like frustration more than fear. “Why are we letting these people do this?” Mark stepped up to Lana and peeked out with her. Bodies littered the clearing now, impaled darts sticking up toward the sky like a miniature forest. Still the Berg hovered overhead, its thrusters raging with blue heat. “Where are our security guys?” Mark whispered to no one in particular. “They take the day off or something?” No one answered, but movement over at the door of the Shack caught Mark’s attention and he sighed in relief. It was Alec, waving frantically, urging them to join him. The man held what looked like two huge ries with grappling hooks on the ends attached to big coils of rope. Ever the soldier—even after all these years—the man had a plan, and he needed help. He was going to fight back against these monsters. And so was Mark. Mark pulled back from the wall and looked around. He saw a piece of wood on the other side of the alley. Without telling the others what he was doing, he ran over to grab it, then sprinted out into the clearing, heading straight for the Shack and for Alec, using the wood as a shield. Mark didn’t need to look up—he could hear the distinct swoosh of darts being shot at him. Heard the solid thunk of one of them hitting the wood. He ran on. CHAPTER 5 Mark varied his steps, speeding up and slowing down, dodging to the left and right, making his way toward Alec. Darts thunked into the ground around his feet; a second one hit his makeshift shield. As he ran through the open space, Alec—still clutching those ries—made a beeline for the middle of the clearing. The two of them almost crashed into each other directly under the Berg, and Mark immediately leaned in to try to protect both of them with his shield. Alec’s eyes burned with intensity and purpose. Gray hair or not, he suddenly looked twenty years younger. “We’ve got to hurry!” he yelled. “Before that thing decides to take off!” The thrusters burned overhead and the darts continued to slam into people all around them. The screams were awful. “What do I do?” Mark shouted. The now familiar blend of adrenaline and terror surged through him as he awaited his friend’s instructions. “You cover me, with this.” Alec shifted his ries under one arm and pulled a pistol—a dull black one that Mark had never seen before—out of the back of his pants. There was no time to hesitate. Mark took the gun with his free hand, and by the weight of the weapon he knew it was loaded. A dart slammed into the wood as he cocked the pistol. Then another one. The strangers on the Berg had taken notice of the two people scheming in the middle of the clearing. More darts thumped into the ground like a sudden hailstorm. “Fire away, boy,” Alec growled. “And aim well, ’cause you’ve only got twelve bullets. Don’t miss. Now!” With that, Alec spun and ran to a spot about ten feet away. Mark pointed the gun at the people on the hatch door of the Berg and red o two quick shots, knowing he needed to get their attention immediately so they wouldn’t notice Alec. The three green suits backed up and dropped to their knees, hunching down to get the metal ramp between them and the shooter. One of them turned and clambered to get back into the ship. Mark tossed the wood shield to the side. He clutched the gun with both hands, steadied himself and concentrated. A head peeked over the edge of the hatch above and Mark quickly set it in his sights, red a shot. His hands jumped with the recoil, but he saw the red mist, a spray of blood in the air; a body tumbled o the ramp and crashed into a group of three people below. Fresh waves of screams erupted from all directions as people saw what was happening. An arm stretched around the Berg door above, holding the tube-weapon out to take random shots. Mark red, heard a sharp ping as the bullet hit the metal contraption, then watched the weapon fall to the ground. A woman scooped it up and started examining it, trying to figure out how to use it to fight back. That could only help. Mark risked a quick glance back at Alec. He was holding up the grappling-hook weapon as if he were a seaman about to harpoon a whale. A pop sounded and suddenly the hook was ying toward the Berg, the rope spinning out behind it like a trail of smoke. The hook clanged against one of the hydraulic shafts keeping the hatch door open and twisted around it, catching hold. Alec pulled the rope taut. “Throw me the gun!” the soldier yelled at him. Mark looked up to make sure no one had reappeared from inside to shoot another volley of darts; then he sprinted to Alec, handed him the pistol. The man had barely taken it when Mark heard a click and Alec was shooting into the sky, his device pulling him up the rope, toward the hovering Berg. He held on to the grappling-hook weapon with one hand and pointed the pistol above him with the other. As soon as he cleared the edge of the hatch door, three shots rang out in quick succession. Mark watched as the man climbed onto the ramp, his feet the last things to disappear from sight. A few seconds later, another green-suited body was launched over the edge, slamming onto empty dirt. “The other hook!” Alec screamed down at him. “Hurry, before more come out or they take off!” He didn’t wait for a reply before turning to face the main body of the Berg. Mark’s heart raced, almost hurting as it thumped rapidly against his ribs. He looked around, spotted the other hulking device on the ground where Alec had dropped it. Mark picked it up, examined it, felt a rush of panic that he wouldn’t know how to use the stupid thing. “Just aim it up here!” Alec shouted down. “If it doesn’t catch, I’ll tie it on myself. Hurry!” Mark held it like a rie and pointed it directly toward the middle of the hatch door. He pulled the trigger. The recoil was strong but he leaned into it this time, felt the bump of pain on his shoulder. The hook and trailing rope shot toward the Berg, up and over the edge of the open hatch. It clanged and slipped backward, but Alec grabbed it just in time. Mark watched as Alec hurried to one of the hydraulic shafts and wrapped the hook tightly around it. “Okay!” Alec yelled. “Push the green retractor butt—” He was cut o when the Berg’s engines roared to a higher pitch and the vehicle vaulted into the air. Mark gripped the end of the grappling device just as it pulled him o his feet, yanking him skyward. He heard Trina shout at him from below, but the ground fell away, the people growing smaller by the second. Fear suused Mark as he held on, squeezing his ngers so tightly they turned bone-white. Looking down made his head spin and his stomach lurch, so he forced his gaze to the hatch door. Alec was just scrambling back over the edge of the ramp door—he’d almost been sent sailing to his death. He kicked and pulled himself to safety, using the same rope to which Mark clung for dear life. Then he opped onto his stomach and peered down at Mark with wide eyes. “Find the green button, Mark!” he yelled. “Push it!” The air was rushing around Mark’s body, the wind combined with the power of the thrusters. The Berg was ascending, now at least two hundred feet o the ground, and moving forward, heading for the trees. They’d clip Mark within seconds and either tear him to pieces or rip him from the rope. He held on as he frantically searched the device for the button. There it was, a few inches down from the trigger that had shot out the hook and rope. He hated to let go, even for a second, but he focused all his strength into his right hand, clenching his ngers even tighter, then went for it with his left. His entire body opped back and forth in the air, swaying against the wind and jolting at every bump of the Berg. The tops of the pines and oaks rushed in. He couldn’t get enough control to push the button. Suddenly there was a clank and a clanging and the squeal of metal above him and he looked up. The hatch door was closing. CHAPTER 6 “Hurry!” Alec screamed at him from above. Mark was just about to try for the button again when they reached the trees. He slapped his left hand back on the weapon and gripped it as hard as he could. He curled into a ball and squeezed his eyes shut. The top branches of the tallest pine slammed into his body as the Berg swung him into it. Needles poked his skin and the spiky points of tree limbs snagged his clothes and scratched his face. They were like skeleton hands trying to claw him free, pull him to his death. Every inch of his body seemed scraped by something. But he made it through, the Berg’s momentum and the rope jerking him from the tree’s clutches. He relaxed his legs, then kicked out wildly as the ship swung around, sending him ying in a huge arc. The hatch door was halfway closed and Alec leaned out and over, trying to pull the rope up, his face almost purple from yelling. His words were lost in the noise of it all. Mark’s stomach was churning, but he knew he had only one more chance. He let go of the device with his left hand, felt along the side until he found the trigger again, ngered his way to where he knew the green button to be. His peripheral vision showed more trees coming his way, the Berg dipping lower now so that there’d be no chance of his making it through. He found the button, pressed it, but his ngers slipped. Branches reached for him, and he tried again, pressing the device against his body for leverage, then pushing the button hard. It clicked in and he shot upward just as his body swung into the thick foliage of the trees. He barreled through them, vaulting toward the hatch above, branches smacking him in the face. There was a whirring sound as the rope retracted into the device, yanking him to Alec, who had a hand outstretched. The metal slab of the door was only two or three feet from sealing shut. Mark let go of the device just before he hit the sharp corner of the slowly rising hatch door, leaping to catch Alec’s hand and grab at the metal with his other. He lost his grip, but Alec held him rmly, pulling him headrst through the narrowing gap. It was a tight t and Mark had to squirm and kick, but he nally squeezed through just in time, though he had to yank the sole of his shoe loose from the closing jaws of the hatch. It slammed shut with a thunderous boom that echoed o the dark walls of the Berg’s interior. It was cool inside, and once the echo faded, the only thing Mark could hear was the sound of his own heavy breathing. The darkness was complete—at least for his unadjusted eyes, after being out in the blinding sun. He sensed Alec nearby, also sucking in air to catch his breath. Every last inch of Mark’s body ached, and he felt blood oozing in several spots. The Berg had come to a stop, humming as it hovered in place. “I can’t believe we just did that,” Mark said, his voice echoing. “But why isn’t there an army of people waiting here to take care of us, throw us overboard? Shoot us with those darts?” Alec let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. They might have a skeleton crew, but I think there’s at least one guy in there waiting on us.” “He could be aiming one of those dart guns at my head right now.” “Bah!” Alec spat. “It’s my guess those guys were nobodies, sent in to do the job professionals should’ve done. Maybe we cleaned out their crew. Everyone except the pilot, at least.” “Or maybe there are ten guys with guns waiting outside this room,” Mark muttered. “Well, one of those two scenarios, anyway,” Alec answered. “Come on, let’s go.” The soldier shued forward; Mark could only track his movement from the sounds he made. It seemed like he was crawling. “But …,” Mark began, then realized he had nothing to say. What else were they going to do, sit there and play blind hopscotch until someone came out to greet them with cookies and milk? He got on his hands and knees, wincing from the beating he just took, and followed his friend. A faint light source appeared a few feet ahead, and as they got closer their surroundings began to come into focus a bit. They seemed to be in some sort of storage room, with shelves along all the walls and straps or chain-link doors to keep everything in place. But at least half of the shelves were empty. The light was a glowing panel above a squat metal door with bolts lining its edges. “I wonder if they locked us in,” Alec said as he nally stood. He walked over to the door and tried the handle. Sure enough, it wouldn’t budge. Mark was relieved to stand up—the oor was hard against his knees—but his muscles complained as he pulled himself to his feet. It’d been a while since he’d exerted so much energy, and getting the tar beaten out of him by a bunch of trees was an absolute first. “What’s going on, anyway?” he asked. “What does anyone want with our little nothing of a village? And shooting us with darts? I mean, what was that?” “I wish I knew.” Alec pulled at the door harder, yanking on the handle, still to no avail. “But those people sure dropped like ies once those suckers stuck in ’em.” He turned away from the door with a frustrated look, then put his hands on his hips like an old lady. “Dropped like ies,” Mark repeated quietly. “One of them happened to be Darnell. You think he’s okay?” Alec shot him a look that said You’re smarter than that. And Mark knew it was true. His heart sank a little. Everything had been such a mad rush since the Berg had arrived that it registered only now: Darnell was probably dead. “Why are we up here?” Mark asked. Alec pointed a nger at him. “Because it’s what you do when someone comes to your house and attacks your people. You ght back. I’m not going to let these bloodsuckers get away with that crap.” Mark thought about Darnell, about all those people hurt and confused, and he realized that Alec was right. “Okay. I’m in. So what do we do?” “First, we’ve got to get this blasted door open. Help me look, see if we can nd something to make that happen.” Mark wandered around the room, though the light was pitiful. “Why are we just hovering right now anyway?” “You sure like to ask questions I got no way of answering. Just peel those eyeballs and get searching.” “Okay, okay.” At rst Mark only saw junk and more junk. Spare parts, tools, boxes full of supplies— everything from soap to toilet paper. Then he saw something strapped against the wall that he knew Alec would like: a sledgehammer. “Hey, over here!” Mark shouted. He lifted the thing out of the straps, weighing it in his hands. “It’s nice and heavy—perfect for you to beat the door down with your gargantuan soldier arms.” “Not as strong as they used to be.” The old bear grinned, the faint light glinting in his eyes, as he took the wooden shaft of the hammer. He marched over to the sealed door and started whacking at it. The thing had no chance, but Mark gured it might take a good minute or two of work to break it down. He just hoped that when it opened there wasn’t an army of green-suited thugs waiting on the other side. Clang. Clang. Clang. Alec kept at it, the dents getting bigger. Mark poked around more, hoping to nd some kind of weapon for when that door nally came open. At least Alec had a huge sledgehammer to swing. Something in the darkest corner of the room caught Mark’s eye, a section full of hard-cased boxes maybe two feet long and a foot high and deep that looked like they were made to protect something important. Some were open and empty; others were sealed. He hurried over and strained his eyes to see, but it was too dark to make anything out. He picked up one of the sealed boxes—it was lighter than he would’ve guessed—and moved back into the light, then set the box down on the metal grate of the oor. Leaning over, he finally got a good look. There was a warning symbol plastered across the top, the kind that indicated the contents were some sort of biohazard. A label below the symbol said: Virus VC321xb47 Highly Contagious 24 Darts, Extreme Caution Mark suddenly wished he hadn’t touched the thing. 55160