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- Джеймс Дэшнер
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- Стр. 113/344
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He
got
back
to
work
.
Using
the
same
method
of
pushing
each
of
Alby
's
arms
and
legs
up
two
or
three
feet
at
a
time
,
Thomas
slowly
made
his
way
up
the
stone
wall
.
He
climbed
until
he
was
right
below
the
body
,
wrapped
a
vine
around
his
own
chest
for
support
,
then
pushed
Alby
up
as
far
as
he
could
,
limb
by
limb
,
and
tied
them
off
with
ivy
.
Then
he
repeated
the
whole
process
.
Climb
,
wrap
,
push
up
,
tie
off
.
Climb
,
wrap
,
push
up
,
tie
off
.
The
Grievers
at
least
seemed
to
be
moving
slowly
through
the
Maze
,
giving
him
time
.
Over
and
over
,
little
by
little
,
up
they
went
.
The
effort
was
exhausting
;
Thomas
heaved
in
every
breath
,
felt
sweat
cover
every
inch
of
his
skin
.
His
hands
began
to
slip
and
slide
on
the
vines
.
His
feet
ached
from
pressing
into
the
stone
cracks
.
The
sounds
grew
louder
--
the
awful
,
awful
sounds
.
Still
Thomas
worked
.
When
they
'd
reached
a
spot
about
thirty
feet
off
the
ground
,
Thomas
stopped
,
swaying
on
the
vine
he
'd
tied
around
his
chest
.
Using
his
drained
,
rubbery
arms
,
he
turned
himself
around
to
face
the
Maze
.
An
exhaustion
he
'd
not
known
possible
filled
every
tiny
particle
of
his
body
.
He
ached
with
weariness
;
his
muscles
screamed
.
He
could
n't
push
Alby
up
another
inch
.
He
was
done
.
This
was
where
they
'd
hide
.
Or
make
their
stand
.
He
'd
known
they
could
n't
reach
the
top
--
he
only
hoped
the
Grievers
could
n't
or
would
n't
look
above
them
.
Or
,
at
the
very
least
,
Thomas
hoped
he
could
fight
them
off
from
high
up
,
one
by
one
,
instead
of
being
overwhelmed
on
the
ground
.
He
had
no
idea
what
to
expect
;
he
did
n't
know
if
he
'd
see
tomorrow
.
But
here
,
hanging
in
the
ivy
,
Thomas
and
Alby
would
meet
their
fate
.
