James Dashner - The Blade of Shattered Hope

She paused, and the eyes of her mask, dark and deep, never wavered from Tick. “Correction. I’m going to set most of you free to spread the word. Atticus stays with me.”

Tick stood up, not sure where the courage came from. “What? Why? You promised you’d let me and my family go if I didn’t try to stop you.”

Jane’s scarred hand shot out from beneath the folds of her robe, her palm outward. At the same instant, Tick flew backward, hit by an unseen force that thumped him in the chest. He fell into his chair and toppled over, banging his head against the dusty, hard ground. Shaking it off, he scrambled to his feet and picked up his chair. Glaring at Jane, he took a seat, hating himself for being such a wimp. Not an ounce of Chi’karda flickered inside him.

Jane’s mask was a sneer. “I never made any such promise of letting you free, Atticus. Only your family. Now stay silent, or I’ll get rid of one of your sisters.”

Tick gripped the sides of his chair to stop his hands from shaking. He had to do something. This wasn’t right, letting this woman treat them this way. He had to do something!

Jane continued with her speech as if nothing had happened. “What you’ll be witnessing today is the first fully functional use of the most mysterious substance in the universe. Most scientists throughout the Realities don’t even know what it is, much less how to use it.”

“What are you talking about?” Master George said.

Jane didn’t take her eyes off Tick, answering her former boss without so much as the courtesy of a glance. “George, as usual, you speak to me with your condescending, I-know-more-than-you-do arrogance. Now shut up.”

Tick looked over at Master George, shocked at how childishly rude Jane’s command had been. The old man glowered, his face redder than ever, his lips quivering despite being pressed together so hard they were almost white. But he didn’t say anything.

“The Blade Tree before you,” Jane continued, her expression still angry, “is made from the substance I was trying to tell you about before being so rudely interrupted. No tool of modern science could’ve accomplished such a thing as creating this object, I assure you. It took my ever-growing skills-fostered from my connection with the Thirteenth Reality-along with the additional powers granted to me by being unified with Chu’s Dark Infinity, and an understanding of physics only my innate brilliance combined with a lifetime of study could accomplish.”

She leaned closer to Tick. “Think on this, Atticus. As great as my gifts over Chi’karda have become, I could not have done this without the catalyst and boosting power of Chu’s failed mechanism. In many ways, you are my partner. Think on that as you see what’s about to happen.”

She knelt down before him, reached out her disgusting right hand, and placed it on Tick’s knee. Even through his jeans, he could feel the roughness of her palm, the tiny pricks of metal jutting out from her skin. Though every instinct told him to get up, scream, and run as far away as possible, he refused to cower away from her.

Jane’s mask melted and flowed into an evil grin.

“Yes, Atticus,” she said in a mockingly gentle voice. “Think on what you did to me as you watch billions of people in the Fifth Reality die.”

Tick had hoped deep down that she hadn’t meant it when she’d said her plan was to destroy an entire planet. But the demented tone of her next statement erased all doubt-and hope.

“Billions, Atticus. Billions.”

The constant, terrible, pulsing waves of sound increased in volume, rattling Sato’s skull as the earthquake’s intensity slowly escalated.

He crawled toward Windasill, unable to get back to his feet. The house shook like a ship at sea, thrown about by massive waves and wind. Things crashed all around them: lamps, dishes, picture frames, decorative trinkets of glass. Their remains littered the floor, sharp and vicious. Sato picked through the wreckage, ignoring the pricks of pain, the feel of moistness on his palms. He refused to look down, hoping it was sweat, not blood.

He’d seen Windasill fall but hadn’t heard a peep from her since. With no idea where Mothball, Rutger, and Tollaseat had gone off to, Sato could only think to try to help where he could. Windasill.

He rounded an overturned cabinet, the large wooden drawers spilling out. Windasill was on the floor, lying on her side, a trickle of blood running from her mouth. Her eyes were closed, but her chest rose and fell with deep breaths.

“Windasill!” he yelled. When she didn’t respond, he lurched forward. He felt like he was trying to move with three extra arms and legs. Thumping to the floor next to her, he smashed his nose against the ground. Somehow, despite the world shaking all around him, he got his arms around her and lifted her head into his lap as he sat up.

“Windasill!” he shouted again.

A moan escaped her, and her eyes flickered open. “What’s happening?” she whispered.

Sato wouldn’t have understood if he hadn’t been able to see her lips mouth the words. “I don’t know!” he shouted back. “I-”

“Sato!”

Mothball’s voice. He turned his head to see her and Rutger at the front door, the two of them clutching the doorframe as their bodies swayed back and forth, constantly bumping into each other. He could see past them to the trees whipping in the wind. The sky was dark, only a few stars barely bright enough to flicker.

How had he gotten here? He thought he’d been moving toward the kitchen, toward the back of the house. “Where’s your dad?” he yelled, completely disoriented.

“Out in the yard! Come on!” Mothball let go of the doorframe and stumbled toward him, her tall body losing the balance battle as she toppled to the floor, almost on top of her mom. She quickly got her hands and feet under her and began helping him with Windasill.

Like three drunken sailors, they got up, shuffled to the door, glass crunching under their feet with every heavy step. Rutger did what he could, reaching out and holding onto clothes, pulling, pushing. Soon they were all outside, where at least the danger of a house falling down on top of them was eliminated.

Sato drew in ragged breaths, his chest heaving as he released Windasill into Mothball’s care. He spread his feet in the grass of the front yard, putting his hands on his knees to keep his balance as best he could. The earthquake rumbled on, distant sounds of destruction wafting through the night: crunching wood and breaking glass, alarms blaring and people screaming.

Sato couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The trees seemed to be jumping up and down. The yard looked like a bed of thin grass growing on a lake, rippling in waves that made him queasy. The road and driveway did the same, cracking and crumpling.

Through it all, suffusing it all, was that sound, thrumming and humming and buzzing, like horns and bees and gongs amplified a thousand fold. Sato’s head felt split in two, pain lancing into his eyeballs. He’d lived in Japan most of his life and endured a dozen or so earthquakes. But nothing like this. Not even close.

All he could think was that the world was coming to an end.

“Dark Matter,” Jane said after letting her statement about killing billions of people sink in. She was acting as though she’d merely announced she was having layoffs at the fangen factory. Tick realized he was more scared of Jane’s insanity than he was of her powers over Chi’karda.

“What do you mean, dark matter? ” Master George asked. “You can’t possibly expect me to believe your fancy tree statue is made of dark matter. Impossible. Utterly impossible, and you’ve now proven yourself quite mad. As if we needed any further proof on the matter.”