The Hunt for Dark Infinity 1r-2

by James Dashner

  What if this time, he didn’t make it back to them?

  His attention came back to the hot desert and big tube when he heard the humming sound again, this time much quieter with no vibrations. The glass doorway melted open, and no one said a word. Together, the three of them jumped through the hole and into the tunnel.

  As they slid to the curved bottom of the huge cylinder, Tick heard the swishing sound of the door closing shut behind them.

  Chapter 17

  Streams of Fire

  Tick was surprised at how the glass felt on the inside-cool, but hard as steel. The light came from everywhere and nowhere at once, a muted glow that made Paul and Sofia’s skin look purple. Glimmering shapes skittered along the interior surface of the tunnel, like reflections from a swimming pool. As Tick stood, he thought he might slip on the shiny surface, but the material had plenty of friction-it was almost sticky.

  “What’s that smell?” Paul said, taking a big sniff with a wrinkled nose.

  Tick took a deep breath. “Ooh, that does stink.” The air smelled like the chemicals in a portable toilet.

  Tick walked as far as he could up the curved side of the tunnel, almost making it to the part where it was completely vertical. He saw a round bubble of glass, about three inches tall, bulging out from the wall. Scared to touch it, he leaned forward and took a closer look. A freaky distortion of his own image stared back at him, but nothing else.

  “You’re gonna break your neck,” Sofia said. “Come back down, and let’s figure out what we need to do.”

  Tick scooted down on his rear end, then stood back up. “Maybe we should just start walking.”

  “Which way?” Sofia asked.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Paul said. “It was a borderline eight on the dumb-guy scale to come in here in the first place. If we start trottin’ off away from this door, we’d be complete idiots. Did you forget about that really big train that goes really fast?”

  “Maybe we could stand to the side and jump onto it when it flies by,” Tick suggested.

  Paul and Sofia both looked at him with blank faces. Then Paul said, “Dude, you just hit number one on the Top Ten List of Dumbest Ideas Ever Spoken Aloud.”

  Tick shrugged. “Maybe. Got any better ideas?”

  “Yeah, let’s stand here and hope Santa Claus shows up to tell us what to do.”

  “Oh, would you two-” Sofia began.

  “Shhh!” Tick said. He thought he’d heard something.

  “What?”

  “Just be quiet for a sec.” He stilled his body, perked his ears. There it was. A very quiet beeping sound, like a car alarm honking from miles away. “Do you hear that?”

  “No,” Paul answered.

  “Yeah, I hear it,” Sofia said. “Sounds like it’s far away but I can’t tell from which direction.” She looked down one end of the tunnel, then turned to the other. “That way?”

  Tick shook his head, still straining his ears. “No, it sounds like it’s coming from outside the tunnel. Or below us, maybe.”

  “Do you people have Superman hearing or something?” Paul said, throwing his arms up in frustration. “I don’t hear a dang-hey, what’s that?” He pointed toward the ceiling.

  Tick followed the line of direction, at first not seeing what Paul was pointing toward. Then he spotted it-a blinking red light.

  “That looks like a button,” Sofia said.

  Tick squinted to get a better look and agreed. “It’s definitely a button. With some words next to it, on a sticker.” The ceiling was about twenty feet above them, just far enough that Tick couldn’t make out the words.

  “If you can read that, you are Superman,” Paul said.

  “I can’t. But I bet we’re supposed to push that button.”

  “You think?” Paul frowned. “Master George built this entire gigantic tube thing just to test us to see if we could push a button?”

  “I don’t know,” Tick muttered, feeling confused and discouraged.

  After a long pause, all of them staring up at the flashing button, Sofia spoke up. “Maybe if we stood on each other’s shoulders, we could reach it.”

  “On each other’s shoulders?” Paul asked. “What does that mean?”

  “Well… you’re probably the strongest, though that isn’t saying much.” She looked Tick up and down, weighing him with her eyes. “I’ll get on Tick’s shoulders, then you lift both of us up.”

  Paul flexed his arms, showing off his not-so-impressive biceps. “I might have some guns, Miss Italy, but that sounds ridiculous.”

  “Let’s just try it,” Tick urged. “Show us you’re a man.”

  Paul laughed. “You two are crazy. But whatever, I’m game.”

  Tick got down on his knees and let Sofia crawl onto his shoulders, wrapping her legs around his neck so that her feet dangled over his chest. As Paul helped him stand up, Tick thought the blood vessels in his brain might burst from the effort. He couldn’t help but groan out loud as he struggled to balance with Sofia on top of him. He opened his mouth to say something, but Paul held a finger to his lips.

  “Don’t say anything,” he said. “Nothing. No matter what you say, you’d be calling her fat. So just zip it.”

  “You’re not so dumb, after all,” Sofia said from above.

  Tick braced his feet and finally steadied himself. “How in the world are you going to lift both of us?”

  “I surf, man. My legs could lift an elephant.” He looked up at Sofia. “Not that I’m saying you weigh as much as an-”

  “Just get on with it,” Sofia said, kicking out at Paul.

  Paul smiled at Tick, then walked behind him. “All right, dude. Let’s do this thing.”

  Tick shuffled his feet apart and soon felt Paul grabbing him by the thighs and lifting with his shoulders. To his complete amazement, he rose slowly into the air.

  Paul screamed out words as he struggled to stand. “Good… gracious… mercy… mama… you people… are FAT! ”

  The three of them swayed slightly as Paul fought to keep his balance and strength. Tick’s stomach turned; he couldn’t believe what was happening. I’ve been zapped into a Saturday morning cartoon.

  “I can’t reach it!” Sofia yelled from above. “I’d have to stand on Tick’s shoulders!”

  “Then do it! ” Paul screamed from below. “Hurry!”

  Sofia lifted her right foot and wedged it between Tick’s neck and shoulder, grabbing his head with both hands and pulling his hair.

  “Ow!” he yelled.

  Sofia ignored him and tried pushing down and lifting her other leg up to his left shoulder. That’s when everything came apart and they fell on the ground in a chaotic heap of arms and legs.

  After they’d finally squirmed away from the pile and stood again, the three of them stared at each other, panting with red faces.

  “You’re right,” Tick said between breaths. “That was ridiculous.”

  “I don’t think my body will ever heal,” Paul said through a wince.

  Sofia stared up at the button with a grin. “Well, at least I got a closer look at the words on that sticker.”

  “Really?” Tick asked, his hope rising. “What did it say?”

  Sofia let out a discouraged sigh. “Two words: Push me. ”

  Sato lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He’d focused so long on a bear-shaped shadow caused by the pale moonlight seeping through his window that it seemed to be moving, growing smaller and larger as if breathing. He knew it was only a trick of his eyes, but it still gave him the creeps.

  He’d dreaded going to sleep lately because of an old dream that had come back to haunt him. He had no idea why it had returned in recent days, causing him to jerk awake every night, a sheen of sweat covering his whole body. Actually, it wasn’t a dream at all-it was a memory.

  The memory of his parents’ murder.

  What a day that had been, almost eight years ago. A terrible, frightening, horrible, horrible day. Master George had been there.
Mistress Jane had been there, too. Others as well, but for some reason he couldn’t remember their faces. But he’d never forget the way the old man had looked that day, or his closest ally-the woman dressed in yellow. He’d never forget. Sato would never, ever forget.

  He closed his eyes, knowing the dream would come but giving in to exhaustion, hoping the memory might strengthen his hopes for revenge. Revenge on Mistress Jane.

  Revenge…

  “Yama Kun, come meet our guests!” his mother called from downstairs. She’d always called him that. It meant Little Mountain.

  Six-year-old Sato stepped out of his room and slowly walked down the stairs, not wanting to meet a bunch of strangers. While preparing for the big dinner, his father had called them “Realitants” as if any person in the world should know what that meant.

  Realitants. A strange word, especially for a six-year-old. But after witnessing what Sato saw that night, the word burned a place in his mind, never to be lost. Realitants. In years to come, he’d end up thinking the word every day, sometimes repeating it aloud as he looked in the mirror. Realitants. The word came to mean evil and death to him, and he made a pact to one day rid the world of them.

  He’d known so little back then.

  He entered the front room, where several people sat on the leather couches and fancy armchairs, sipping ocha tea and speaking with each other as if discussing the weather or the latest sumo tournament. Most of them were unrecognizable, their faces a blur. The only ones he saw clearly were the slightly chubby man in the suit-Master George-and the beautiful but chilling bald woman, Mistress Jane. They sat together on the couch, mumbling something he couldn’t quite hear.

  It was the image of those two sitting side by side on the couch that stayed in his memory more than anything else. It was that image that many years later would make him distrust Master George with a passion. At least for a time.

  Without warning, the room grew silent, and everyone turned to look at Sato.

  “I’d like you all to meet my son,” his father said, gripping Sato’s shoulders from behind and squeezing. His mother joined them, pulling Sato’s hand into hers.

  The dream froze for a moment, as if paused on television. It always did at this exact point, and Sato knew why. Although he was nervous at meeting strangers, uncomfortable in his nice clothes, perhaps even hungry at the time, it would be the last time Sato ever felt the comforting touch of his parents. The last time he ever felt safe and protected.

  That moment with his parents would be the last time Sato ever felt happy.

  The dream continued playing out.

  Mistress Jane stood, then Master George and the rest. Each of them stepped forward around the great, round coffee table and shook Sato’s little hand. George knelt on the ground, a big smile creasing his face.

  “Goodness gracious me,” the old man said. “I can see it in the boy’s eyes. The passion, the hunger, the intelligence. A splendid Realitant he’ll make, Master Sato”-he looked up at Sato’s father-“a splendid Realitant, indeed. We’ll begin the testing shortly.”

  Mistress Jane was next, also kneeling before Yama Kun. Though her smile shone and her face was pretty, even then, Sato felt that something was wrong with her.

  “Yes,” she said. Sato almost expected her to cackle like an evil old witch. “A smart child by the looks of it.” She leaned forward to whisper in Sato’s ear, so quiet only he could hear her. “But whose side will you fight for? Everything is about to change, little boy.”

  Mistress Jane stood. “This is as good a time as any,” she announced, turning slowly as she spoke so everyone could see her face. “My team has discovered a new Reality-a stable one. It’s solid enough to officially call it a branch.”

  “Really?” George shouted. “That’s delightful, simply delightful!”

  Jane looked down at Sato, who returned her glare. She rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue, as if disgusted by George’s enthusiasm.

  “The Thirteenth Reality,” she continued, not taking her eyes off Sato, “has… unusual qualities. We’ve explored it extensively, realized its potential.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us before?” Sato’s father asked, his voice laced with anger. “If you’ve been exploring it this long-”

  “The Chi’karda there,” Jane said, ignoring the interruption, “is different. More powerful. More potent. It’s mutated into something quite extraordinary. We may finally have the secret to finding our Utopian Reality. If this place isn’t it, the power in the Thirteenth will help us make it ourselves.”

  No one spoke for a long time; a few people exchanged nervous glances.

  “Why all the sad faces?” Jane asked. “Haven’t you trusted me all these years? Don’t you still trust me?”

  “Not if you break the rules,” Sato’s mother said. “How can we trust you if you break the rules and hide things from us?”

  “This calls for an immediate Discretionary Council,” Sato’s father said. “George, you know it does. I demand you call in the Haunce, this instant.”

  George stood. “Now, Master Sato, let’s not be hasty-”

  That was the line. Those seven words would stick in young Sato’s mind, making it even harder for him to trust the man in the future, when his own recruiting call came. That was the line, because after George said it, not another word was spoken by him before Sato’s parents were dead.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Jane said. “I thought this might be the reaction, so I brought along something to show you all how important this discovery is. For all of us. For the Realities. For humanity.”

  “Stop,” Sato’s father said. “Stop this instant. I demand it.”

  “You… demand it?” she replied, her lip curled ever so slightly. “You demand it?”

  “Yes,” Sato’s mother answered for her husband. “You’re scaring us. This doesn’t feel right.”

  Mistress Jane smiled then, an image Sato would never forget. The smile held no humor, no joy, no kindness. It was an evil smile.

  The next moment, the windows erupted, blowing inward with a shower of tinkling glass shards. Shouts of pain surrounded him as streams of fire poured in from outside, streaking spurts of lava that whisked around the room like flying eels of flame.

  The dream always grew dim at that moment, the memory fading into horror. He remembered his father’s comforting grip on his shoulders disappearing, his mother’s hand letting go of his own. He remembered intense heat. He remembered people running around, their clothes on fire. He remembered Jane vanishing into thin air. He remembered crying, turning to find his parents, wanting to run away.

  But then, like always, he saw one last thing in the dream before it ended. One last image that would haunt him forever. His mother and father, lying on the ground, side by side.

  Screaming. Burning.

  Dying.

  Sato woke up.

  Chapter 18

  A Very Scary Proposition

  O kay, it’s my turn,” Sofia said as she took off her right tennis shoe. “You guys couldn’t poke yourselves in your own eyeball.”

  Tick wanted to argue, but didn’t have much evidence to the contrary. He and Paul had been trying to hit the button with a shoe for at least ten minutes, their only reward being smacked in the head a couple of times as the shoes fell back down.

  “‘Poke yourselves in your own eyeball?’” Paul said. “Never heard that one before.”

  Sofia ignored him, planting her feet and staring up at the button with intense concentration, swinging the shoe up and down with both hands as she readied herself. Finally, she swung hard upward and let the shoe fly. It missed by three feet.

  Paul snickered. “Ooh, so close. Hate to break it to you, but you throw like a girl.”

  Uh-oh, Tick thought.

  Sofia bent down to pick up her shoe, then bounced it up and down in her right hand like a baseball. “What did you say?”

  Paul folded his arms. “I said, you throw like a girl.”


  “Huh,” Sofia grunted, staring down at her shoe. Then she reared back and threw it straight for Paul’s face, smacking him square on the nose.

  He grabbed his face with both hands, jumping up and down. “That hurt, man!” he shouted. But a second later, he started laughing. “Ah, Tick, it was worth it to see Miss Italy mad. Her face looks like her daddy’s spaghetti sauce.”

  This time Sofia punched Paul in the arm with a loud thump. “You want some more?” she asked.

  Paul rubbed the spot. “Dang, woman, I give up. How’d you get so mean, anyway?”

  Tick was loving every minute of the exchange, but he knew they had to push that button. He felt something-a pressure in his chest-that told him they’d better get serious quick.

  “You lovebirds cut it out,” he said. “Start throwing.”

  They tried for another five minutes, dodging each other’s shoes and scrambling around to pick up their own. Sofia finally hit the bull’s-eye.

  When her shoe connected, a quiet click echoed off the round glass of the tunnel and the blinking light stopped, turning off completely. All three of them stared, waiting for something amazing to happen. Nothing did. Tick rubbed his sunburned neck, sore from craning it upward for so long.

  “Great,” he said. “Just great.”

  Sofia huffed and looked down; Tick noticed her body tense, her eyes widen. She stared at the floor, transfixed, as if hypnotized. Tick quickly followed her gaze. He couldn’t stop the gasp before it escaped his mouth.

  On the very bottom of the tunnel, at their feet, a perfect red square had formed on the glass, about five feet on each side, as if a neon light were glowing right beneath them. In the middle of that square, several lines of words appeared like text on a computer screen, black on white.