The Hunt for Dark Infinity

by James Dashner

  Sofia groaned.

  “That works for me,” Tick said. “If this door opens every half-hour or whatever, we don’t need to rush it. Next time, let’s just lean in real quick and take a look around. Hopefully there’ll be a walkway with a railing. If not, we’ll decide what to do from there.”

  “Deal,” Paul said.

  “Who’s going to poke their head in?” Sofia asked.

  “All of us—it looks big enough,” Tick said. “Sofia, you look left. Paul, you look straight ahead. I’ll look to the right—and make sure you look down, too. Get in line and let’s get ready. Who knows when it’ll open next.”

  They lined up in the order Tick had indicated and stood just inches from the invisible door in the shiny curved glass. The seconds dragged into minutes as Tick stared at his distorted reflection, trying to stay focused so he could lean forward the instant things changed. The sun had moved further west, but it still shone down with ruthless heat.

  “What if the door closes before we pull out?” Paul said after what seemed like an hour of waiting.

  Tick rolled his shoulders, surprised at how stiff his muscles were, tensed as he kept himself prepared to move. His injuries from the metaspides still stung as well. “Just count to three inside your head then pull back. It stayed open at least—”

  The humming sound cut him off.

  Tick tried not to blink as he stared at the unbelievable sight of the doorway opening. Like liquid silver, the glass melted and disappeared into itself, dropping in a straight line until a perfect rectangle once again revealed the inside of the tube.

  “Now!” Tick said, but the other two were already leaning forward with him.

  Everything felt different—the vrrmmmmm sound wasn’t as loud and nothing shook. Even as Tick’s head passed through the opening, he could see that no train or anything else was close by. Mentally counting to three, he stared across the tube and took it all in, hoping his friends were doing the same.

  He saw no sign of rails or anything else to indicate train tracks. There wasn’t even a sunken floor running along the bottom. The inside of the structure looked much like the outside, a long tunnel of smooth glass almost completely unblemished by objects. It was much darker inside, the sunlight filtering into dark shades of blue and purple as it passed through. Here and there, small, odd-shaped formations of glass jutted into the tunnel. Tick had no idea what they were for.

  Tick felt someone tugging on his shirt. He snapped back to his senses and jerked himself out of the tube. A second later, the humming sound returned as the glass magically formed upward, a gravity-defying sheet of molten crystal, and sealed off the doorway.

  “Dang, Tick!” Paul said. “Weren’t you the one who said count to three?”

  “Sorry—I just . . . I guess I lost track of time.”

  “How do you lose track of three seconds?” Sofia said.

  “Yeah, man—one more second and you’d have been running around here without a head.”

  Tick ignored them, still fascinated by the inside of the tunnel. “So what did you guys see?”

  “Glass,” Paul said. “A bunch of glass.”

  “Me, too,” Sofia agreed.

  Tick frowned, having hoped they would have seen something different. “No sign of a walkway or anything?”

  Paul shook his head. “Just smooth glass with little things sticking out here and there—no idea what those were.”

  Sofia nodded. “Below us the glass just curved toward the bottom in the middle then started back up again. It’s just a big glass tunnel. That’s it.”

  Tick folded his arms and leaned back against the tube—a few feet away from the doorway, just in case. “What was that thing we saw zing past last time?” He wondered if maybe they’d gone to a Reality with extremely advanced technology, some form of travel they couldn’t even comprehend.

  Sofia seemed to be on the same wavelength. “Maybe it’s some kind of futuristic invention—a train that slides through the tube at lightning speeds. Maybe this is a special kind of glass mixed with a metal we don’t know about and super-magnetized. Maybe.”

  “Man, that sounded smart,” Paul said as he joined Tick, leaning against the tube.

  Sofia put her hands on her hips and stared at them, as if picking out a criminal from a police lineup. “Okay, so what do we do?”

  A long pause answered her. Tick finally broke the silence. “We go in.”

  “Now, wait a minute—” Paul began.

  “He’s right, Paul,” Sofia said. “What else can we do? We go in and let the door close behind us. Someone is testing our bravery. If we’re willing to just stand out here and roast to death, what good are we as Realitants?”

  “What good are we if we get smashed by a big old train?” Paul retorted.

  “Courage,” Sofia said. “Master George expects us to be brave.”

  “He also expects us to be smart.”

  “How about this?” Tick interjected. He stepped away from the tube. “We’ll wait until the door opens and we don’t feel the big vibration of the train-thing. The door opens every half-hour, but maybe the train only comes by at certain intervals. We’ve been here for at least three hours and we’ve only felt the vibration of the train twice.”

  “I’m in,” Sofia said quickly.

  They both looked at Paul, who took a long moment to think. “Fine—but only if there’s no doubt the train isn’t coming.”

  “Sweet,” Tick said. “Line up again.”

  They did, and time seemed to move slower than ever. When the door opened next, it was accompanied by the violent vibration of the traveling machine. Tick caught a blurry glimpse of the dark shape as it zipped past.

  “See,” Sofia said. “It’s totally obvious when the train is coming. We can probably go in next time. If we don’t see or find anything in thirty minutes, we’ll just come back out.”

  Again, the waiting game. Tick felt like the heat and the boredom were slowly driving his mind crazy; his stomach ached for food. He thought of his family, picturing each one in turn. Kayla, finally reading and loving every minute of it. Lisa, getting better at the piano and yapping on the phone constantly. His mom, the best cook he’d ever known—though old Aunt Mabel in Alaska was a close second. Finally, he pictured his dad: big belly, funny hair, gigantic smashed nose and all. Thinking of them made him feel a little better, but his heart panged with sadness as well.

  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.”
<
br />   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.”