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- Джеймс Дэшнер
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"
Say
something
,
"
Chuck
said
for
the
fifth
time
since
they
'd
set
out
their
sleeping
bags
.
"
No
,
"
Thomas
replied
,
just
as
he
had
before
.
"
Everyone
knows
what
happened
.
It
's
happened
once
or
twice
--
some
Griever-stung
shank
flipped
out
and
attacked
somebody
.
Do
n't
think
you
're
special
.
"
For
the
first
time
,
Thomas
thought
Chuck
's
personality
had
gone
from
mildly
irritating
to
intolerable
.
"
Chuck
,
be
glad
I
'm
not
holding
Alby
's
bow
right
about
now
.
"
"
I
'm
just
play
--
"
"
Shut
up
,
Chuck
.
Go
to
sleep
.
"
Thomas
just
could
n't
handle
it
right
then
.
Eventually
,
his
"
buddy
"
did
doze
off
,
and
based
on
the
rumble
of
snores
across
the
Glade
,
so
did
everyone
else
.
Hours
later
,
deep
in
the
night
,
Thomas
was
still
the
only
one
awake
.
He
wanted
to
cry
,
but
did
n't
.
He
wanted
to
find
Alby
and
punch
him
,
for
no
reason
whatsoever
,
but
did
n't
.
He
wanted
to
scream
and
kick
and
spit
and
open
up
the
Box
and
jump
into
the
blackness
below
.
But
he
did
n't
.
He
closed
his
eyes
and
forced
the
thoughts
and
dark
images
away
and
at
some
point
he
fell
asleep
.
Chuck
had
to
drag
Thomas
out
of
his
sleeping
bag
in
the
morning
,
drag
him
to
the
showers
,
and
drag
him
to
the
dressing
rooms
.
The
whole
time
,
Thomas
felt
mopey
and
indifferent
,
his
head
aching
,
his
body
wanting
more
sleep
.
Breakfast
was
a
blur
,
and
an
hour
after
it
was
over
,
Thomas
could
n't
remember
what
he
'd
eaten
.
He
was
so
tired
,
his
brain
felt
like
someone
had
gone
in
and
stapled
it
to
his
skull
in
a
dozen
places
.
Heartburn
ravaged
his
chest
.
