The Blade of Shattered Hope (The 13th Reality #3)
James Dashner
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank the following people for being really awesome: My wife, Lynette.
My agent, Michael Bourret.
My editor, Lisa Mangum.
Chris Schoebinger and everyone else at Shadow Mountain.
Emily Lawrence and all the good people at Simon & Schuster for believing in this series enough to publish the paperbacks.
My incredibly supportive author friends: J. Scott Savage, Julie Wright, Sara Zarr, Anne Bowen, Emily Wing Smith, Bree Despain, Brandon Sanderson, Aprilynne Pike, and everyone in the Rockcanyon and Storymaker groups.
Angie Wager, for believing in my potential from the very beginning.
The people behind Lost. Best. Show. Ever.
The geniuses who invented cheddar cheese, potato chips, iPods, movies, books, and really soft couches. Oh, and lamps. I really love lamps.
But most of all, I want to thank you—the reader. Thank you for being here.
Prologue
~
The Lake
Bryan Cannon looked at the catfish—its bone-like whiskers, its slimy skin, its dark, unblinking eyes—and he saw death. For the creature, of course, not himself. Dinner would be fine and tasty tonight.
The day was beautiful. A slight coolness crisped the air, balanced perfectly by the brilliant sun shining down on Bryan’s boat, sparkling off the waters that surrounded him, dancing like fairies of light. Too bad this fish wasn’t enjoying things as much as he was.
Bryan had caught the fish in the little body of water in which he floated—called, quite pretentiously, Lake Norman. But if that tiny spit of rain-washed sludge was classified as a lake, then Bryan’s toilet at home constituted a big pond. He chuckled to himself, as he often did at his own jokes, and spiked another squirmy worm onto his hook. Bryan shifted to get comfortable then he cast the line.
His small canoe rocked at the movement, sending gentle waves rippling across the lake’s surface. He watched the
outermost wrinkle, enjoying how it traveled along like it didn’t have a care in the world. Bryan always loved it when he could keep his eyes trained on the tiny wave until it actually hit the shore. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded, and his eyes watered with the effort.
There it goes, he thought, getting smaller and smaller, smaller and smaller . . . there! It hit right over by that sandy—
Splash!
A disturbance in the water, right where the lake met the shore. Then another splash, a huge one, that sprayed droplets all over the small beach. Bryan had been staring right at the spot, so he knew no one had jumped in.
Yet another splash. Then another. It looked like some kid thrashing about with his arms, trying to douse all of his friends in the face. Bryan used to love doing that when he’d been a kid.
There was only one problem. There wasn’t a kid anywhere in sight. Or an adult, for that matter. Nobody.
The disturbance continued. Curious, Bryan laid his fishing pole along the length of the canoe and reached for his paddle. Never taking his eyes off the white-water display, he lowered the tip down into the lake and began paddling his way over to check things out. He figured only one of three things was possible.
One, they had themselves a ghost right here in Lake Norman.
Two, some vicious sea monster had found itself a way to the lake from the ocean.
Or three, Bryan Cannon had finally flipped his lid and gone bonkers.
The closer he approached, the worse the splashing. Great cascades of water shot up everywhere—five, ten feet in the air. A curtain of spray unfurled next to him as he rowed along, the water soaking him and sluicing down the sides of the boat. For the first time, terror crept through Bryan’s innards, and he realized it might not have been the smartest thing in the world to come so close to whatever thing was under the water.
He stopped paddling, slowing to a drift. As he did so, the splashing abruptly ceased. In a matter of seconds, the surface of the lake grew relatively calm, the small waves lapping against his canoe the only evidence anything had happened at all. If anything, the sudden stillness only scared Bryan more. He stared at the spot.
Something started rising out of the water.