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- Джеймс Дэшнер
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Teresa
was
by
his
feet
,
squeezing
his
right
ankle
with
her
hand
.
Why
,
Tom
?
Why
would
you
do
that
?
Because
...
He
did
n't
have
the
strength
to
concentrate
.
Newt
yelled
for
the
Grief
Serum
;
a
minute
later
Thomas
felt
a
pinprick
on
his
arm
.
Warmth
spread
from
that
point
throughout
his
body
,
calming
him
,
lessening
the
pain
.
But
the
world
still
seemed
to
be
collapsing
in
on
itself
,
and
he
knew
it
would
all
be
gone
from
him
in
just
a
few
seconds
.
The
room
spun
,
colors
morphing
into
each
other
,
churning
faster
and
faster
.
It
took
all
of
his
effort
,
but
he
said
one
last
thing
before
the
darkness
took
him
for
good
.
"
Do
n't
worry
,
"
he
whispered
,
hoping
they
could
hear
him
.
"
I
did
it
on
purpose
...
.
"
Thomas
had
no
concept
of
time
as
he
went
through
the
Changing
.
It
started
much
like
his
first
memory
of
the
Box
--
dark
and
cold
.
But
this
time
he
had
no
sensation
of
anything
touching
his
feet
or
body
.
He
floated
in
emptiness
,
stared
into
a
void
of
black
.
He
saw
nothing
,
heard
nothing
,
smelled
nothing
.
It
was
as
if
someone
had
stolen
his
five
senses
,
leaving
him
in
a
vacuum
.
Time
stretched
on
.
And
on
.
Fear
turned
into
curiosity
,
which
turned
into
boredom
.
Finally
,
after
an
interminable
wait
,
things
began
to
change
.
A
distant
wind
picked
up
,
unfelt
but
heard
.
Then
a
swirling
mist
of
whiteness
appeared
far
in
the
distance
--
a
spinning
tornado
of
smoke
that
formed
into
a
long
funnel
,
stretching
out
until
he
could
see
neither
the
top
nor
the
bottom
of
the
white
whirlwind
.
He
felt
the
gales
then
,
sucking
into
the
cyclone
so
that
it
blew
past
him
from
behind
,
ripping
at
his
clothes
and
hair
like
they
were
shredded
flags
caught
in
a
storm
.
