The Hunt for Dark Infinity 1r-2

by James Dashner

  The cat hissed and clawed at Paul’s foot.

  “Holy lumps of stew,” Paul whispered. “You are one smart kitty. Fine, I’ll get up. Go scratch Sofia’s face for awhile.”

  They’d slept in a room similar to the one in the Bermuda Triangle complex-plain cots and blankets, no decorations. Mothball, Rutger, and Sally had slept there as well, but they were already out of bed and gone. While eating a scrumptious meal of pork chops and mashed potatoes the night before, Master George had told them he couldn’t wait to move the main operations back to the ocean, but they still needed more time to make repairs and rebuild after Mistress Jane’s attack back in May.

  Paul stretched and yawned, then laughed when he heard Sofia yelling at the cat. He quickly ran to get in the shower before Sofia claimed it.

  After breakfast, Master George summoned everyone to the meeting hall, where Paul was shocked to see dozens of people he’d never met before. He and Sofia took a seat while scanning the room, gaping at the strange visitors.

  Tall people and short people, skinny people and muscled people. The clothing varied-everything from a large dude with a fancy robe containing every color possible to a slender woman with pale skin and red hair dressed head to toe in black. There was a guy with a turban, a woman with a baseball cap, another woman with a hat the size of a sombrero but decorated with tiny stuffed animals. Quite a few of the strangers wore what Paul considered normal clothes-jeans, flannel shirts, golf shirts, casual blouses, T-shirts-but the ones who didn’t stood out like huge chunks of coal in a bowl of vanilla ice cream.

  A tall man with night-dark skin had eyes so blue they seemed to pulse and glow. He wore a one-piece suit with shreds of cloth hanging off like mummy wrappings. A woman sat three chairs down from him with bleached-blonde hair, her face painted in the fanciest makeup job Paul had ever seen-bright red lips, purple eye shadow, lines of blue streaking across her temple like colored wrinkles. She’d drawn a star on one cheek and a crescent moon on the other. Next to her was a man almost as short as Rutger but not nearly so fat, wearing a white shirt, white pants, and white socks and shoes.

  “Who are these people?” Sofia whispered to Paul.

  “Other Realitants, I guess,” he replied.

  Sofia tapped the cast that covered his forearm from just below his elbow to his wrist. “How’s that broken bone of yours?”

  “Feels great, actually.” He held up his arm and punched the air a couple of times. “Especially compared to how I felt yesterday. Can’t wait to whack Chu upside the head with this puppy.”

  “You think Master George will let you go?”

  Paul glared at her. “I’d like to see him stop me.”

  Sofia rolled her eyes. “Ooh, you’re such a tough guy.”

  “Tougher than you,” Paul muttered, but flinched backward when Sofia made a fist to punch him. “Calm it, girl! You’re the boss, you’re the boss.”

  Sofia folded her arms and pouted. “We shouldn’t be acting like idiots. Tick’s in all kinds of trouble, I know it.”

  Paul felt his heart sink to the floor. “Yeah,” was all he could get out. The room felt as if a dark cloud had formed on the ceiling, dimming everything to a dull gray.

  “Can I sit next to ya knuckleheads?”

  Paul looked up to see Sally. “Sure.”

  He and Sofia scooted over, letting him have the aisle seat.

  “Thank ya much,” Sally said with a grunt as he plopped down. “Gonna be one heckuva day, ain’t it?”

  “Guess so,” Paul said.

  “What’s the plan?” Sofia asked.

  Before Sally could reply, a door opened and Master George came marching through, Mothball and Rutger close behind. Both of them carried wooden boxes.

  Master George stepped up to the small podium while his two assistants set their boxes down. Mothball’s was the size of two coffins and looked like it weighed a thousand pounds. Rutger’s was as small as a shoebox, but sweat poured down his red face and he sucked in two dramatic breaths when he dropped his box on the floor with a loud clonk.

  Master George gave him a stern look, then turned toward the audience. “Good morning to you all, and thank you so much for being here. Coming on such extreme short notice mustn’t have been easy, I’m sure. But a dreadful time has come upon us, and we must act quickly. We will need everyone in this room, without exception.”

  He took a breath, then folded his hands together on top of the podium. “You were all briefed on the circumstances in our message to you, but I want to stress the most important issues of the day. The Dark Infinity plague is wreaking havoc among the Realities as we speak, but we’re very close to a solution. Realitant Second Class Atticus Higginbottom is armed with a powerful antidote that will shatter the source device and send out a cure through the quantum Chi’karda waves Chu has been using to control those he has infected. Thanks to Rutger’s tireless work, I have no doubt it will be a success.”

  Several people in the room clapped, and Rutger did his best to bow, though it looked like a beach ball trying to bend in the middle.

  “But unfortunately,” Master George continued, “we have an even bigger problem. Master Atticus has a power over Chi’karda that is extraordinary-far greater than we’d first thought and far more complex and difficult to grasp. It’s out of control, and the potential for disaster is extreme. It is vital that we find him, stop him, and bring him back here for a comprehensive study. I must say, as much as I admire the boy, he’s frightened the dickens out of me, and I don’t know what to think of it.”

  The man in the colorful robe raised his hand, and Master George pointed to him. “So what ye thinking on the plan? How do we make sure we flash out the plague and save the boy from killing us all?”

  Master George nodded. “Yes, Master Hallenhafer, how indeed? Though we haven’t had much time to prepare, we do have a plan. Rutger?”

  The short fat man cleared his throat. “Tick’s ear transponder confirms what we’ve guessed-he’s been taken to the heart of Reginald Chu’s business palace in the Fourth Reality. No doubt the Dark Infinity device is located there in his research and development chamber underground. We’ve had spies in the Chu complex for many years, saving them for the day we’d need them most. Today is that day.”

  “Sha people!” the dark-skinned man in the mummy suit shouted. “Sha to do such a linka?”

  Paul exchanged a look with Sofia, having no idea what the guy was talking about.

  “Yeah,” a brown-haired woman said, dressed in a T-shirt and blue jeans. “What good are a few spies against Chu and all his weapons?”

  Rutger held up his pudgy hands. “You’re right, you’re right. Our spies may only be good for opening a door here, smashing a window there, perhaps rearranging some schedules of workers if they can. No, we’re not saying we’re going to enter the heart of Chu’s lair because of a few spies. But they will help.”

  “Then what’s the plan?” Sofia yelled out, surprising Paul.

  Rutger looked at her, then scanned the full audience. “We’ll have to, I mean, all of you will have to fight your way in.”

  A small roar sounded from the crowd as everyone started talking at once. A couple of people stood up, shouting at Rutger.

  Master George slammed a hand against the podium, sending a sharp crack of thunder echoing across the room, silencing the Realitants.

  “Please, good people,” Master George said. “Don’t get in a tizzy before you’ve heard the entire plan. Many of us have spent our entire summer working on developing our weapons program, and we’ve come up with some dandies, I assure you.”

  Paul looked at Sofia. “Weapons? Sweet!”

  Rutger spoke next. “In these boxes are samples of our latest inventions, most of them based on items taken from the Fourth. We have enough to equip an army of thirty-two Realitants, and we think that will be enough to get us to Tick and the Dark Infinity device. And, if I may be so bold as to express my professional opinion, these things are going to kick s
ome serious… um… er…”

  “Booty!” Paul shouted.

  “Exactly!” Rutger pointed at Paul, grinning. “Now, shall we begin?” He plopped down onto his knees and opened the small shoebox. He reached in and pulled out a tiny, dark ball, about the size of a marble. He held it up between his thumb and forefinger. “This, my friends, is called a Static Rager, and it’s not something you’d want to use for playing catch with little nephew Tommy.”

  “Unless you be wantin’ little Tommy to be eaten by a forty-ton ball of dirt,” Mothball added. “Nasty buggers, those are. Could’ve used ’em on the Bugaboo soldiers.”

  Paul leaned over to Sofia. “Now this is what I’m talking about!”

  Mothball pulled a silver device from her bigger box. It was several inches thick, cylindrical, about two-and-a-half feet long, and had several tubes running down the sides, all coming together in a tapered point at the front; two straps of cloth hung from it.

  “This ’ere’s a Sonic Hurricaner,” she said, hefting it up for everyone to get a good look. “Call ’em Shurrics for short. Makes the old Sound Slicer look like a BB gun, it does. Come on, ’ave a look.”

  “Yes, yes,” Master George said. “Come up, gather round. We have much more to show you and not enough time. Demonstrations will take place at the canyon bottom shortly. Departure for the Fourth is in three hours. Chop-chop!” He waved his arm toward Mothball and Rutger’s boxes.

  Paul was the first one to get there.

  Chapter 40

  A Thin Sheet of Plastic

  Tick’s eyes snapped open.

  He shot into a sitting position, wondering what had awakened him. Had it been a noise? Did something touch him? He scanned the small room but saw nothing out of place-except for the lamp shining brightly on the dresser. That was it. Someone had turned the light on.

  Man, he thought. My brain must still be asleep.

  A tiny closet offered the only hiding place, and it was barely large enough to fit a little kid. He kicked off his blankets and walked over to the closet, then ripped the door open. Nothing but a pile of his old clothes and a few fresh shirts and pants.

  Sighing, he stumbled backward and flopped onto the bed. Chu created something that controls people’s minds in other Realities, he thought. Making a lamp turn on to wake me up is nothing.

  After another minute, he stood, rubbed his eyes and stretched, then started undressing to put on some of the fresh clothes in the closet. As he slipped into a long-sleeved gray shirt and black pants that were as comfortable as sweats, he felt an icy chill in his chest. He had absolutely no idea what to expect or what to do.

  He put on his own tennis shoes, slung the leather satchel over his shoulder, and stepped up to the door. There was no handle, just a dull slab of smooth beige material. He reached out, but before his hand made contact, the door clicked and moved, swinging out into the narrow hall. Pale lights in the hall revealed that Mistress Jane’s door was also open; her room was dark.

  Tick wanted to say something, ask for help, run. He expected someone to come for him, to summon him to Chu. But as far as he could tell, the whole place was deserted.

  He stepped out of his room, then peeked around the door. The main door leading into the long hallway was open. It was dark out there, too-darker than it had been last night. He walked into the hall and glanced in both directions. Small emergency lights cast pale semicircles of red that didn’t even reach the floor-anything could be hiding in the shadows.

  What’s going on? he thought.

  He started walking to the right, sliding the tips of his fingers along the wall. He heard a faint buzzing from the lights; the air smelled like plastic and computer machinery. He’d only made it a hundred steps or so when a shadow formed ahead of him, the figure of a person leaning against the wall.

  “Who’s there?” Tick asked.

  “It’s me,” a female voice whispered. Mistress Jane.

  Surprisingly, Tick felt a wave of relief splash over him. “What are you doing? What are we supposed to do?”

  Jane pushed herself away from the wall and walked toward Tick, stopping beneath one of the emergency lights. It cast an eerie red glow on her black hair and down her face, creased with angled shadows under her eyes and nose and mouth. Tick pushed away the thought that she looked like she was covered in blood.

  “What are we supposed to do? ” she repeated. “We’re supposed to kill each other.”

  Tick felt a chill at the simplicity of the statement, but he knew she was right. “That’s it? He’s just going to wait around until we follow his orders and fight to the death?”

  “Looks like it,” Jane said. She held out a piece of paper. “This was taped to the front of both of our doors-looks like you missed yours.”

  Tick took the note from her; the paper had an odd roughness to it. Jane tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear, staring at the floor. Tick’s gaze lingered on her for a second-and he thought for the first time that she was one of the prettiest women he’d ever seen. He snapped his eyes away, focusing on the note in his hands.

  She’s evil, Tick, he told himself. Evil people aren’t supposed to be pretty.

  He could barely see the paper so he held it up closer to the light. To his surprise, he saw it wasn’t paper at all, but rather an extremely thin piece of plastic. Electronic, glowing green letters scrawled across its face one by one, just like someone typing a message on a computer screen:

  There are no instructions. No rules. Nothing is forbidden. When only one of you remains, please walk to the end of the hallway outside your dormitory. Go to the right. You have until noon, or you both die.

  “We have three hours,” Jane said when Tick looked up from the note.

  “Someone’s done lumped you over the ’ead with a teapot, they ’ave,” Mothball said, glaring down at Paul with her thin arms folded. “You’ve got a ruddy broken arm.”

  “I don’t care,” Paul said. He flexed his fingers while moving his arm up and down. “It’s set. It feels fine. I’m going.”

  They stood with Rutger and Sofia next to the armory door; the other Realitants going to the Fourth had already received all they needed.

  “Now’s not a time for false bravery,” Rutger said. “This makes your trip to steal the Barrier Wand from Mistress Jane look like a nice stroll down a country lane. This is serious business, and it’s highly doubtful everyone will return alive-if anyone does.”

  Paul opened his mouth then closed it, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. He looked over at Sofia. “You’re going, right?”

  “Of course I am,” she replied, looking awfully bored considering what was about to happen.

  Paul turned back to Mothball and Rutger. “Then I’m going too.”

  Mothball surprised him with her booming laugh. “So be it, then. Won’t be me goin’ to tell yer mum you’ve been sliced to bits by one of Chu’s nasties. Come on.”

  She stooped to enter the room; Rutger waved Paul and Sofia through before he followed.

  The armory was large but cramped with several aisles of metal-grid shelves rising from floor to ceiling, packed with an odd assortment of menacing objects. Some looked like guns, but most resembled trinkets and gadgets from a futuristic toy store: metal shafts with glass spheres attached to one end; awkward chunks of machinery with no rhyme or reason, like 3-D puzzles; cool watches with all kinds of dials and switches, but no timepiece; countless small devices that gave no clue as to their purpose.

  “Where was all this stuff when we went to the Thirteenth?” Sofia asked.

  “Most of it’s junk,” Mothball replied. “Experiments and such that couldn’t hurt a fly on a toad paddie. Sound Slicers were our best bet then.”

  “Over here,” Rutger called from a couple of aisles down.

  Paul almost stumbled over Sofia as they both hurried toward Rutger. The short man pointed up to a shelf holding the same large cylindrical objects Mothball had shown them earlier, with several tubes that tapered to a poin
t on the end, straps hanging off both sides.

  “Those are the Shurrics,” Rutger said. “Sonic Hurricaners. Grab two of them, Paul.”

  Paul reached out-the shelf was at his eye level-and pulled two of the weapons down. They were much lighter than he’d expected, and he handed one to Sofia before examining his own.

  “The two straps go around your shoulders and across your back,” Rutger explained. “It keeps the wide end flat against your chest while you activate the trigger mechanism in your hand.” He pointed to a small plastic rod jutting from the bottom of the Shurric with a red button in the middle, just like a joystick. “It’ll leave your other hand free to throw nasty horrible things at the enemy. This way.”

  He walked farther down the same aisle then turned left, where several large black boxes lined the bottom shelf. “Those little marbles are the Static Ragers. We just call them Ragers for short since Stragers is hard to say and sounds really stupid.”

  “What do they do?” Paul asked.

  “You won’t believe it until you see it,” Rutger said with a huge smile of pride on his fat face. “They have static electricity compacted inside them under extreme pressure. After you squeeze the suckers with your fist, you have five seconds to throw them. Once unleashed, the Rager uses the lightning-strong static inside to gather hundreds of pounds of materials to it-dirt and rocks and plants, whatever-like the world’s worst snowball as it rolls, growing larger and larger until it smashes into something.”

  “Nasty little things,” Mothball muttered. She pointed at Rutger. “This little ball of lard just about smushed me into a hotcake, he did, testin’ the buggers. Not much can stop ’em once they get movin’ and such.”

  “How many times do I have to apologize!” Rutger said with a frown. “It wasn’t my fault you decided to relieve yourself in the weeds, now was it?”

  Mothball’s face reddened, something Paul was sure he’d never seen before.

  “What else do you have?” Sofia asked.

  Rutger shook his head. “That’s it, I’m afraid, at least for you two. Some of the others have more… specialized weapons, prototypes and such.”