The Hunt for Dark Infinity 1r-2

by James Dashner

  Jane paused again before answering. “As dangerous as you and that baboon George may think I am, Mr. Higginbottom, Reginald Chu is far, far worse. Far worse. And you and I are going to stop him. Forever.”

  Paul stared at the door for a full two minutes after it closed behind Tick, tempted to rip it back open and chase after his friend. But after all they’d been through-after all the things they’d seen Chu do to them-he knew the warning scrawled across the wood was for real.

  Finally, he looked away, turned his back to the building. A fresh burst of pain exploded up his arm and into his shoulders, making him cry out before he could stop himself. For the hundredth time that day, tears welled in his eyes.

  “Best be gettin’ on,” Sally grunted, glancing one last time at the door. “Better get that little sack of taters Rutger workin’ on dat nasty limb a’yorn.” His eyes fell to Paul’s swollen arm. “Dat don’t look so good.”

  The lumberjack started walking away, making a straight line toward an area that looked just like the miles of dull nothingness in every other direction. “Come on, rug rats!” he yelled over his shoulder.

  Sofia and Paul turned in unison to look at the door one last time.

  “Wonder what he’s doing now,” Paul said.

  Sofia touched Paul’s shoulder. “We’ll find him,” she whispered, barely audible. “Master George’ll help us find him.” She nodded, then ran off toward Sally.

  Paul followed; every step felt like a sledgehammer against his forearm. My only hope now is a tiny, fat dude named Rutger. Great.

  They probably walked half a mile before Sally stopped and turned to face the kids behind him. “Right chere seems ’bout right. Scoot yer buns on over here.”

  Paul cradled his arm tightly against his body and stepped as close to Sally as he could. Sofia pressed in from the right until they were all squished together in a small circle.

  “Great balls of turtle scat!” Sally bellowed. “You ain’t gotta get so close I can smell yer pits, now do ya!”

  Despite the pain, Paul snickered as he backed away a couple of steps. Sofia did the same, but her eyes kept flickering back to the wooden building.

  Sally reached into the pocket of his flannel shirt, digging for a few seconds before he pulled it back out again with nothing in his hand. “Ol’ George’ll be winkin’ us right directly.”

  “What did you just do?” Paul asked.

  Sally scrunched up his forehead like Paul had just asked him what the color green looked like. “Triggered the nanobobbamajig, boy, what else?”

  Before Paul could ask another question, he felt a quick chill flash across his shoulders and down his spine. The drab world around him vanished, replaced instantly by a room filled with leather couches and chairs, a warm fire crackling and spitting in a small brick fireplace. Master George stood in front of it, the Barrier Wand clasped in his hands and Muffintops the cat purring at his heels. Rutger perched on a floor pillow, leaning back against one of the sofas, his hands folded and resting on top of his huge belly.

  “Quickly,” Master George sputtered, throwing all greetings and formalities out the window. “Have a seat and tell us everything, and I mean everything!”

  “My arm,” Paul said, his voice breaking on the last word. “My arm,” he repeated. Now that help was so close, the pain seemed to intensify, flaring through his whole body as if more than one bone had been broken.

  Master George looked down and noticed the ballooned arm, the skin stretched taut, bruised and bulging. “My goodness, man! Your arm is hurt!”

  Paul said nothing, feebly attempting a smile.

  “Rutger,” Master George snapped. “Take Paul to the infirmary this instant. Then wink in Doctor Hillenstat from the Second and tell him to deaden the pain, set the bone, cast it-what have you. We’ll follow you and have our discussion there. Chop-chop!”

  Rutger rolled to his left, got stuck, then grunted as he tried rolling to his right. His body slipped off the pillow, his arms and legs flailing as he tried to find the leverage he needed to stand up. “Good grief, would someone give me a hand, please?”

  Mothball entered the room, wiping her hands on her shirt and chewing on something. “What’s this?” she asked. “There’s a ruddy bowling ball loose, there is! Someone snatch it up before it breaks a vase!”

  “Oh, go on and make jokes, then,” Rutger said, lying on the floor as his body rolled back and forth. “Poor Master Paul only has a severely broken arm-no big deal.”

  Mothball’s face melted into a frown as her eyes fell upon Paul’s injury. “Oh, dear, terribly sorry. Quite nasty that, by the looks of it.”

  “Yeah,” was all Paul managed to say. The room had started to pitch and spin in his vision.

  “All right, then,” Mothball said as she reached down and yanked Rutger to his feet with a big roar. “Get the lad the help he needs.”

  “Come on, Paul,” Rutger said, swiping at the dust on his round bottom.

  Paul nodded and followed him as he heard Master George speaking to the others.

  “Sofia, Sally-I need to know everything.”

  Chapter 36

  The Tale of Mistress Jane

  Let’s have a seat,” Mistress Jane said. “I’m sure Reginald will be here shortly to rant and rave his frustration that we both made it here alive.”

  She grabbed Tick’s arm again, pulling him toward one of the impossibly clear benches lining the lighted walls. Once there, she let go and sat down, crossing her legs under the tight yellow material of her dress. She flicked her thick black hair across her shoulder then motioned for Tick to sit next to her.

  Tick wanted to run. No, he wanted to yell and scream at Jane for the terrible things she’d done, including killing one of Mothball’s closest friends, Annika. He wanted to rip her ridiculous glasses off, throw them on the ground, crush them with his shoe, then punch her right square between her flaming green eyes. He wanted to-

  “Sit down!” she shouted, her voice echoing through the room as though a chorus of Janes had called out the two words.

  Tick fell to the bench, his short burst of spirit crushed. He folded his hands in his lap, staring at the glowing floor below his feet.

  Jane took a deep breath. “I’m… I’m very sorry, Atticus. I should not have spoken to you like that. I apologize.”

  Tick closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them again. He realized suddenly that the woman sitting next to him was crazy. Crazy and dangerous.

  “Now,” Jane said. “There are a lot of things I need to tell you. I’m sure George has made you think I’m a monster, a cruel and heartless devil who cares nothing for the Realities or their people. Nothing could be further from the truth.”

  Tick looked up. “How can you say that? I saw Annika die-killed by those disgusting monsters you created! Then you tried to have them kill me!”

  Mistress Jane held up a finger to silence him. “I want you to be quiet. Do you understand this request?”

  “Why should I-”

  Jane flicked her finger. Something yanked Tick from the bench and threw him three feet into the air, spinning his body in the middle of the room. He screamed, thrashing his arms and legs. He spun faster, the unseen force gripping him like invisible claws as it wheeled him about, pinching and battering him.

  “Stop it!” he yelled. “Put me down!”

  The force vanished in an instant, and he crashed to the floor, one leg bent awkwardly beneath his body. He cried out as he squirmed to the side and pulled it straight. Gasping for breath, he pushed himself to his knees and stared at Jane, his eyes on fire.

  “Why would you-”

  “Silence!” she screamed, cutting him off again as she stood up, her face flashing red. “You will come over here. You will sit. And you will listen. Do you understand?”

  Tick felt as if his old nemesis, Billy “The Goat” Cooper, had just sucker punched him in the stomach three times. Fighting tears, he slowly got to his feet and walked back to the bench. Witho
ut looking at Mistress Jane, swearing to himself he would never look her in the eyes again, he sat down.

  After a few seconds of silence, Jane sat as well, crossing her legs again.

  “Atticus,” she said, almost in a whisper, as if she hadn’t spent the last minute torturing him. “This… these are the things about me I don’t like. My temper, my impatience, my quickness to anger. I’ve tried very hard in recent weeks to better myself. To improve myself and be kinder to others.”

  Tick snorted with all the disgust he could muster. “Yeah, obviously.”

  Mistress Jane paused. “Think what you will. But know this-if Reginald had challenged me to kill you two months ago, perhaps even one month ago, your body would even now be rotting beneath several feet of earth. I have changed my ways as best I can, but my goal remains the same as it has always been-to save the Realities. I will never waver from it.”

  Tick clenched his hands together, still staring at the white floor. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  “Reginald needs us, Atticus. He needs someone very powerful to help him with his project. His Dark Infinity project. And the two of us were the only ones he deemed worthy enough for the test-you with your silly riddles and death-defying adventures, and me with the simple task of killing you. Only one winner. Only one apprentice for Chu.”

  Tick leaned back against the wall and looked at Jane, already breaking his vow. “How could he possibly think that killing me would be a challenge for you? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Jane smiled, her green eyes flickering with a dark flame. “Atticus. Boy. You have no idea what you’ve done these past days. What you’re capable of doing. Though I don’t yet understand it, I have no shame in admitting that you have more potential than even I do. And you’ve done it without the benefit of living in the Thirteenth and soaking in its quantum mutations.”

  Tick shook his head and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, resuming his study of the floor. “You don’t need to talk anymore-you’ve proven that you’re crazy ten times already.” From the corner of his eye, he noticed Jane’s hands quiver. She folded them together and paused a long time before speaking again.

  “I’m going to tell you a story, Atticus,” she said in a calm, quiet voice. “I want to tell you so you’ll understand me. I only ask that you listen without interrupting. Will you do that for me?”

  Tick didn’t say anything, but he couldn’t help feeling a surge of curiosity. He finally nodded.

  Mistress Jane began. “I’m a scientist, Atticus. I have been since my earliest memories, experimenting in the backyard and reading every book in the library on the laws of nature. I have lived it and breathed it, as they say. Twenty years ago

  I was recruited into the Realitants, in much the same way you were. It didn’t take long for me to master the wonders of quantum physics and excel in my assigned missions to study and document the Realities. By my third year, I was the most powerful of all the Realitants, and everyone knew it.”

  She paused, as if her pride wanted to ensure Tick realized what she’d said. That she was the best of the best.

  Tick didn’t move or say a word, and Jane finally continued.

  “But then something happened, Atticus. Something tragic that still wakes me in the night, haunting me with visions and memories. I fell in love.”

  Tick couldn’t help but look up at her. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but this surprised him.

  Jane nodded. “I won’t speak his name to you because your ears aren’t worthy to hear it. And please”-she held out a hand and lightly caressed his arm then pulled back-“I don’t mean that as an insult to you. It’s just that… his name is sacred to me, and I’ve sworn to never say it aloud. I hope you understand.”

  “I don’t care what his name was,” Tick mumbled under his breath.

  Jane’s hands shook again, and Tick winced. Shut up, Tick, he thought. Don’t say another word or she might twist your head off!

  “He loved the color yellow.” Jane laughed, a distant, surprisingly light-hearted chuckle that faded as quickly as it began. “It was strange how much he loved the color. Yellow shirts were his favorite; he painted the walls of his home yellow. And he always gave me daisies and daffodils. I asked him once why he loved it so much and he told me it was because yellow represented peace. And if anything described the life and purpose of that man, it was peace.”

  Tick rolled his eyes, quickly rubbing his face to hide it from Jane.

  “I loved him, Atticus. I loved him so much. It hurt me when I had to say good-bye to him and attend to my Realitant missions and assignments. It hurt me when he kissed me good night, whenever his hand let go of mine. That’s the only way I can truly describe how much he meant to me. I loved him so much, it hurt. I would have done anything to take away that pain, to be with him every second of every day. I loved him so much, I almost hated him.”

  A ball of sickness grew in Tick’s belly. He didn’t know why-and he certainly didn’t understand all this lovey-dovey stuff Jane was talking about-but something about it made him ill. Something about it was obsessive.

  “And then it happened,” Jane said. “The tragedy that would serve as the changing point of my life, the moment that defined my purpose from that day forward.”

  After a long pause, Tick asked, “What happened?” He couldn’t help it-he wanted to know.

  “He was murdered. ” She screeched the word, a raw squeal from the back of her throat. “Killed by inhuman slugs who’d only wanted money. Killed by slime and filth, left in his own blood, suffering as it leaked out drop by drop. Slaughtered like an animal by animals, and there was nothing I could do to save him. He was taken from me, Atticus. The only person I’d ever truly loved, and he was taken from me.”

  Jane took a deep breath, then spoke rapidly as she stared into space, as if in a trance. “I couldn’t accept it, I just couldn’t. I knew too much about the possibilities, the endless possibilities of life and the universe. I went to each known Reality, sought out his Alterants. I took them, captured them, tried to love them, tried to train them to love me. But they weren’t him, they were different; they were disgusting and filthy and unworthy to bear his countenance. It taught me how disgusting and filthy and unworthy the Realities are-how wretched and wrong they are. It’s not built right, Atticus, it’s not made right. It’s wrong, it’s all wrong! We have to destroy it, fix it, rebuild it!”

  Tick scooted away from her. She didn’t seem to notice, barely pausing to breathe as she continued blurting out words.

  “I devoted my life to him, to his memory, to making things right in the universe. He’s out there, floating in the goop of quantum mechanics, waiting for me to find him and bring him back. But first I must remake the Realities, create the Utopia we all believe in. First I must make it right, make it right, make it right, make it right! ”

  She stopped, her chest heaving as she sucked in air. “I’m sorry

  … I’m sorry.”

  Tick’s eyes were wide, his breath held somewhere inside his chest. He knew for certain he’d never seen someone completely wig out like Jane had just done. Not that he’d doubted it before, but she was now a certified nutso.

  Jane pulled at her black hair. “It’s why I cut it off, Atticus. I was ashamed of it. It’s black, and I know that he always wished it had been blonde, to match his beloved color. Yellow. Dear, dear yellow

  …” She rubbed the dark strands between her fingers. “But not anymore. I’ve changed. I will change more. The goal is the same, but I’ve changed how-”

  “What is this nonsense!”

  Tick jumped so hard at the sudden, booming voice that he fell off the bench, his rear end slamming onto the floor. Even Jane sucked in a quick breath as Tick scrambled to his feet, his eyes darting directly to the source of the shout.

  An Asian man with black hair stood in the middle of the room, dressed in a dark suit. A man Tick had always considered one of his best
friends in the world, teacher or not. But even as he thought it, Tick knew this wasn’t his Mr. Chu. This wasn’t the kind, funny, humble science instructor of Jackson Middle School in Deer Park, Washington.

  No, it was Reginald Chu. The evil Reginald Chu.

  Chapter 37

  Tick’s Dark Secret

  Tick backed against the wall, feeling the edge of the bench cut into the backs of his knees. Though Mistress Jane had obviously been as surprised by Chu’s appearance as Tick, she’d recovered, sitting calmly and expressionless as she stared at their visitor.

  Chu walked forward, his forehead wrinkled and eyes narrowed in anger, his pace brisk. He stopped ten feet in front of them, his eyes never leaving Jane.

  “What is this?” he asked, scrunching up his face like he’d just spotted a rotting body. “I’m trying to find the one person in the Realities worthy enough to help me in the greatest scientific achievement of all time-and you two sit here chitchatting like old friends. All that’s missing are the cups of tea.”

  “What did you expect us to do?” Jane asked, her voice calm. “There’s not much here to keep us entertained. I guess we could’ve wrestled or played freeze tag.” She nudged Tick with an elbow.

  Chu folded his hands behind his back, smoothing the anger out of his face. “ Mistress Jane, I don’t care what powers you may think you have, but you’ll be dead in an instant if I so wish it. Do you understand?”

  Tick expected her to get defensive, but she merely nodded.

  “I’m very disappointed to see both of you sitting here,” Chu continued. “I’d expected at least one of you to have the vicious instinct of survival within you, the willingness to win my contest no matter the cost. Only one can win. Only one will win. One, or none-I can always scratch the two of you and start all over.”

  Tick couldn’t take his eyes off Chu. It was unsettling how he looked exactly like his teacher back in Deer Park. And to see this mean, nasty personality stuffed inside the image of one of his favorite people in the world was very disturbing.