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- Джеймс Дэшнер
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- Стр. 67/344
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He
looked
up
,
wanting
answers
,
but
Alby
was
already
gone
,
a
trembling
branch
the
only
sign
he
'd
ever
stood
there
in
the
first
place
.
Thomas
squeezed
his
eyes
against
the
blinding
light
of
the
sun
as
he
emerged
from
the
woods
.
He
was
limping
,
his
ankle
screaming
in
pain
,
though
he
had
no
memory
of
hurting
it
.
He
held
one
hand
carefully
over
the
area
where
he
'd
been
bitten
;
the
other
clutched
his
stomach
as
if
that
would
prevent
what
Thomas
now
felt
was
an
inevitable
barf
.
The
image
of
Ben
's
head
popped
into
his
mind
,
cocked
at
an
unnatural
angle
,
blood
running
down
the
shaft
of
the
arrow
until
it
collected
,
dripped
,
splattered
on
the
ground
...
.
The
image
of
it
was
the
last
straw
.
He
fell
to
his
knees
by
one
of
the
scraggly
trees
on
the
outskirts
of
the
forest
and
threw
up
,
retching
as
he
coughed
and
spat
out
every
last
morsel
of
the
acidic
,
nasty
bile
from
his
stomach
.
His
whole
body
shook
,
and
it
seemed
like
the
vomiting
would
never
end
.
And
then
,
as
if
his
brain
were
mocking
him
,
trying
to
make
it
worse
,
he
had
a
thought
.
He
'd
now
been
at
the
Glade
for
roughly
twenty-four
hours
.
One
full
day
.
That
was
it
.
And
look
at
all
the
things
that
had
happened
.
All
the
terrible
things
.
Surely
it
could
only
get
better
.
That
night
,
Thomas
lay
staring
at
the
sparkling
sky
,
wondering
if
he
'd
ever
sleep
again
.
Every
time
he
closed
his
eyes
,
the
monstrous
image
of
Ben
leaping
at
him
,
the
boy
's
face
set
in
lunacy
,
filled
his
mind
.
Eyes
opened
or
not
,
he
could
swear
he
kept
hearing
the
moist
thunk
of
the
arrow
slamming
into
Ben
's
cheek
.
Thomas
knew
he
'd
never
forget
those
few
terrible
minutes
in
the
graveyard
.
