The Rule of Thoughts

by James Dashner

  Except for Lifeblood Deep, of course. All the rules changed when it came to Lifeblood Deep.

  “Where do you guys think we are?” Sarah asked, slowly turning in a circle to take everything in. Her Aura—and Bryson’s—had been disguised, leaving just enough of their old selves to make them recognizable to each other.

  Michael, who assumed he was an altered version of Jackson Porter, studied the street a little more closely. A few people moved about here and there, but it appeared to be a quiet town, the buildings small, the businesses typical and unexciting. A barbershop, a café, a social club, a coding school. There was even a furniture store, which meant someone really wanted the place to feel like a real town.

  “I’ve never been here before,” Bryson said.

  “Me neither,” Michael said.

  Sarah pointed randomly down one of the streets, mostly empty. “There are hardly any people around. And it’s the middle of the day.” Just to punctuate the point, a slight breeze picked up and scattered a few pieces of trash, which skittered across the road almost loudly enough to echo. It made the place feel utterly vacant.

  “This place is like a ghost town,” said Michael.

  “Spooky,” Sarah agreed. “What should we do first?”

  “It’s driving me nuts not being able to see the code.” Bryson kept opening and closing his eyes, blinking as if to dislodge an eyelash or a particle of dust. “We’re going to look like idiots if we open up our NetScreens in the Sleep. Doesn’t Weber realize how important it is for us to look cool?” He shook his head.

  Sarah patted him on the back. “Your ego will survive. Come on, let’s start exploring.”

  They headed toward the more built-up part of town, where several tall buildings loomed in the distance. Oddly, though, the farther they went, the fewer people Michael saw. And even stranger, the few they did come across didn’t react to them at all, almost as if they didn’t see them. One woman walked by with a blank look on her face, and if Bryson hadn’t jumped out of the way, she would’ve run right into him.

  “Wait a second,” Michael said. “Are we literally hidden from everyone? Can they not see us?”

  “That’s about as illegal as it gets,” Bryson replied.

  Sarah was gazing after the woman as she walked away. “I guess the VNS can do whatever they want. Check that out.” She pointed at the lady.

  Michael watched as the woman stopped, then turned in a circle as if she were lost and trying to find her bearings. Her feet scuffed the ground as she turned around like a zombie several times, then started walking across the street, not bothering to check for cars first.

  Cars, Michael thought. Those were just as common in the Sleep as in the Wake—you especially saw a lot of them in a place like this, which was trying to replicate a real town as closely as possible. But he’d yet to see even one drive by.

  “What is wrong with that lady?” Bryson asked.

  “What’s wrong with this whole place?” Sarah added.

  Michael turned his back to the wandering woman. “Let’s keep moving. She gives me the creeps.”

  Things got weirder the closer they got to the downtown area. People all but vanished. Cracks appeared in the buildings and sidewalks, then disappeared. One second they were there; then they were gone; then there again. Michael looked at a wide window of an unmarked business as he passed by and saw no reflection. Of anything, not just himself. He felt off-kilter looking at it—the surface was like glass in every way, tinted, shiny, almost opaque because of the light outside. But no reflection. He hurried past.

  More glitches showed up. A light post shimmered in waves, as if it were made of water. A manhole floated up from the street like a flying saucer, then burst into a million pixels, digital butterflies that fluttered away, disappearing around a corner. The pavement buckled in places before going flat again. More and more splotches scarred the faces of the buildings, as if the code itself was starting to decay. Or someone was changing it, weakening it.

  “What do you guys think is going on?” Bryson asked very calmly.

  Michael wasn’t surprised at his friend’s calmness. Even though everything was a little weird, it didn’t feel scary. At least, not yet. They’d been through plenty of stranger stuff. “It might just be a part of this place,” he offered. “Weber could’ve put us in an actual game instead of a gathering spot. Maybe it is a ghost town.”

  Sarah stopped. “Do I dare bring up my NetScreen?” She shot Bryson an annoyed look. “And not because I give a crap if people think I’m cool or not. Do you think Kaine will be able to track us if we start connecting to the code?”

  “I’m sure Weber thought of that when she said we could do it the old-fashioned way,” Michael replied. “If our Auras are as protected as she promised, our NetScreens are safe. Don’t you think?”

  In answer she squeezed her EarCuff, bringing her NetScreen to life. After a few seconds of poking around, she said, “Man, it’s hard to see much. Everything keeps flickering and bouncing. I’m not used to coding with the NetScreen in the Sleep, but something seems wrong.”

  Michael clicked his own EarCuff to take a look, and it was just as she described. He’d rarely seen the code of the Sleep from this vantage point—from the dinky square of a NetScreen—but it did seem off. The code randomly jumbled up in some places and bounced across the screen in others, mixing itself even more.

  “Weird” was the best he could offer. He tried entering a line of code here or there, but nothing seemed to work. The letters and numbers just got swept up into the chaos of the screen, to no effect that he could see. “Very weird.”

  “Do I even need to open mine up?” Bryson asked. “You two seem to be getting nowhere fast.”

  Sarah started to answer him but barely got out a word before she was interrupted by a drawn-out scream coming from around the corner of the closest building. Michael looked up, an icy shiver running down his spine, just in time to see a woman run out from behind the building, clutching at her throat as if someone were trying to strangle her. She lurched forward a few steps at a time, struggling against some unseen force. She staggered into the middle of the street, then collapsed.

  The fall revealed her back, and Michael sucked in a quick breath. Little rectangles of sparkling blue light covered the area between her shoulder blades, leading all the way up to her neck and the back of her head, swarming her hair as they fluttered. He remembered all too well where he had seen such a thing before: the Black and Blue Club. KillSims. They’d eaten Ronika’s digital soul, not only devouring her code, but also permanently damaging her brain in the Wake. The same thing appeared to be happening to the lady on the street. Like burning embers, the bright blue rectangles spread over the woman’s body.

  “They’re eating her,” Bryson whispered, and Michael realized it was the creepiest thing he’d ever said.

  Sarah moved forward as if to help, but Michael snagged her by the arm, pulling her back. She slammed into him and they both stumbled.

  “What’re you doing?” she asked, working to break free of his grip. “We have to …” But then she stopped in defeat, slowly turning to watch as the woman was consumed by the attack on her code. She shone from within, brilliant blue lights pulsing like a heartbeat.

  “There’s nothing we can do,” Michael said. “Who knows—it might spread to us if we touch her. And if there are KillSims around, then we need to get out of here, fast.” Like he even needed to say it.

  The ground beneath his feet bounced, throwing all three of them a full foot into the air. Michael caught his balance, holding on to Sarah, but Bryson fell to his knees.

  “What wa—” he started to say, but then the street jumped beneath them again. This time, Michael and Sarah fell, too.

  The ground trembled, small vibrations at first but then stronger, until Michael felt like he was on a boat being tossed about on an angry sea. The buildings around them shook, then swayed back and forth in a way that made no physical sense. They seemed almost ru
bbery, bending and warping, yet cracking in places. Streams of broken rock shot out from the stress. Noises filled the air, great booms and groans of metal. It reminded Michael of the visions he’d had during the Decay process of his Tangent programming, but it was obvious that his friends were being affected as well.

  He placed his hands on the rocking surface of the street and steadied himself, then slowly rose to his feet, balancing as if he stood on an AirSurfer. He reached for Sarah and helped her up, too—it almost felt like they were dancing.

  “I’m not in the mood for this!” she yelled sarcastically over the thunderous noise. But her face had paled with fear. Michael wondered if she’d momentarily forgotten that they were in the Sleep.

  “Guys, look!” Bryson shouted, pointing down the street in the direction they’d been heading.

  Michael had to take a step to his right to see around Bryson, and the movement almost made him fall down again. But he caught his balance and surveyed the scene, not sure what his friend had meant to point out. There was a lot to see.

  The woman who’d been digitally attacked was now nothing more than a roughly human-sized form of flashing blue planes of light, and some of them had started to drift away, caught in a wind that Michael didn’t feel. He had no clue what had happened to her—there was still no sign of KillSims.

  Beyond the woman, farther down the street, weird streaks of odd colors were falling from the sky like lightning. It looked as if the skyline were made of paper and claws were tearing it apart. Green and blue and yellow light flashed so brightly that spots danced in Michael’s eyes even when he turned his head. He timidly glanced back and saw that the tears in the skyline were growing, lengthening to touch the ground, spreading toward where he stood.

  He understood what was going on. At least on some level. Someone, somewhere, was literally erasing the place from existence, and Michael wasn’t so sure what would happen to them if they waited around to witness its destruction.

  “Get back to the Portal!” he yelled. “Now!” Visions of the three of them back in the VNS Coffins, brain-dead, haunted his mind. “Go!”

  He didn’t need to tell them. They were already running, stumbling back down the street in the direction they’d come. A distinct sound filled the air, overtaking everything else—a high-pitched, grating squeal. Michael looked over his shoulder and saw a huge gap in the road arrowing toward them, the pavement faded into a jagged line of fuzzy digital static. The world itself was coming apart, and his ears felt like they might start bleeding from the horrible noise of it all.

  The land jostled beneath their feet, gashes in the programming fell like lightning all around them, and the noise got impossibly louder. Michael saw the silver column of the Portal up ahead, and even it seemed less substantial than normal.

  Something warm and wet landed on his arm. He looked down to see one of those blue fragments of light fluttering across his skin. He swatted it away, watched it tumble to the ground and disappear into an abyss of crumbling code.

  “Faster!” he yelled, barely hearing himself over the din of wrenching squeals.

  Sarah was right next to him, sprinting hard, fists clenched and arms pumping. Bryson ran a few steps ahead, pounding the loose pavement. The expanding chaos was about to overtake them.

  Michael focused on the Portal. Only forty or fifty feet away. It was fading, a ghostly pillar from a dream. And then a chasm opened under it, a massive hole in the ground that faded into a crumble of pixels and a swirl of gibberish code. He watched in shock as the Portal fell into the abyss. Just like that. Gone.

  Michael stopped. He sucked in huge, gulping breaths as he turned in a circle, watched the world disintegrate around him. Sarah was there, and he pulled her into his arms. Bryson joined them, and they clasped each other in a group hug. Noise and destruction everywhere.

  Sarah had leaned close to Michael’s ear, and he was sure she said something, though he didn’t hear it. Just as he felt her warm breath against his skin, the ground below them collapsed and they fell into the chasm of infected code.

  Light.

  Sound.

  Wind.

  Falling.

  Michael lost hold of his friends and was swept away.

  Michael didn’t know how or when it ended.

  There was no crash landing. His Aura didn’t find itself broken from falling onto some hard-packed land miles below the old dusty town. The noise was gone. There was no sound at all. Only a numb silence. A silence so complete it hurt his ears. Yet he lay on his back in a dark, still space.

  He gently rolled over onto his side, then sat up and assessed how he felt. He expected pain, or at least a few aches, but he was fine, if a little dizzy. The darkness around him was so heavy it almost felt like it was pressing down on him. Reaching his arms out, he got to his feet and shuffled around, hoping to find a wall, a chair, something. But there was nothing except the solid ground under his feet and that blaring silence.

  “Sarah?” he called. His voice sounded strange to his own ears, as if he had a cold and his head was stuffed up. “Bryson? You guys out there?”

  “Mi-chael.”

  He jumped back a few steps, swung around in a circle, desperate to see. That voice. It was unsettling … mechanical and haunting, like something you’d imagine hearing from another dimension.

  “Mi-chael.”

  He sucked in a quick breath, turned in a circle again. “Sarah? Bryson?” he whispered. Then he yelled. “Guys! Is that you?”

  “Mi-chael.” The voice was so odd and otherworldly he couldn’t tell if it was male or female.

  “Sarah!” he shouted. “Bryson!”

  No response.

  He remembered his NetScreen, hurriedly clicked his EarCuff to flash it up. The green glow almost blinded him but revealed nothing in the darkness. He shut it off, realized it would be better for his eyes to be sharp and adjusted—the screen would only blunt his night vision.

  Shuffling forward, arms before him, he headed toward where he thought the voice had come from. Only there was nothing. He walked and walked, sure he was going to smack into a wall at any second, but still nothing.

  “Mi-chael.”

  He stopped. This time the voice sounded like it had come from above him. Michael froze, calmed his breathing, and waited, head tilted back to look up, searching the darkness. Finally, after a few seconds, he thought he saw a faint light hovering a hundred feet or so above him in the black, starless sky.

  He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled as loudly as he could. “Sarah! Bryson!”

  Nothing.

  But that light was still there. It was faint, but it was there. He sat down on the ground and lowered his head. He had to think. Being cut off from the code was driving him nuts. Never in his life had he been forced to use a NetScreen to program within the Sleep, and he didn’t know if he’d be good at it. The code in the VirtNet was so different from back in the Wake. It was more visual and intuitive. But he had to try. He had to get up to that light. Somehow.

  He brought his screen blazing to life and got to work.

  It took an hour. Possibly the longest, most excruciating hour of his life. Sweating, concentrating, digging through endless lines of code, surrounded by that awful darkness and pressing silence. And what did he get for all that effort?

  A ladder.

  He ended up stealing it from a game he’d played long, long ago called Donkeys on Platforms. One of those games that was so outrageously silly that everyone fell in love with it. The player had to navigate an intricate maze of bridges and ramps and arches and landings, all of it complex and jumbled, barely rational, avoiding an endless array of traps and freaky creatures. All to find lost donkeys and bring them back home to a guy named Scooter.

  Eventually Michael had gotten bored and programmed gigantic, gravity-defying ladders to beat the system. Now, as Jackson Porter, it wasn’t that hard to duplicate it.

  One of those ladders now loomed above him, stretching into the darkness tow
ard the light far above.

  He started climbing.

  The light in the distance got brighter as he ascended, its boundaries more defined. It was a cold light, almost blue, and it shone through an opening that appeared to be a perfect circle. He had to stop several times to adjust the programming of his ladder, make sure it led him in the right direction. Far below, it scraped along the floor as it moved at his will. The wonders of the Sleep, he marveled.

  Up, up, up Michael went, always toward the light. He was sure someone wiser could come up with a really good philosophical parallel, but all he could think about was how sweaty his hands were and how much he missed his friends.

  After a good thirty minutes of climbing the impossible ladder, he reached the edge of the light source. He stopped a few feet below and looked up to the fake sky—gray clouds cutting across the blue. He paused, took a final deep breath, and went the rest of the way, like a worker climbing from the sewers through an open manhole to a busy city street, hoping that nothing came by to swipe off his head.

  Two rungs below the light, he stopped, so shocked by sound that at first he didn’t know what was happening. He’d become used to the silence, even in such a short time. What he heard now was distinct and familiar: the majestic, rolling swells of the ocean.

  The ocean?

  Intrigued, he bolted up the last few feet and carefully peered out the circular hole. His eyes had slowly adjusted to the glow of the light coming from above, but he still wasn’t prepared when he fully emerged. Blinded by the brilliance and deafened by the sound, he needed a few seconds to get his bearings. And when he did, his jaw dropped.

  He emerged at the top of an angular sheath of black rock, jutting out of the churning waters of a massive purple ocean. Waves crashed into the stone to create great crystalline plumes that looked like sparkling wine. The noise of it was a rushing boom, filling the air. A spray of the plum-colored water washed across his face. It was so cold he gasped. He wiped it out of his eyes, felt the slight sting of salt. It was exhilarating and made him feel more awake than he had in a long time.