James Dashner: The Hunt for Dark Infinity

“No!” Sofia and Tick shouted together.

Thankfully, the low rumble of the garage door opening saved the day. Tick’s family was home.

“Well, if it’s not my three favorite heroes in the world,” Tick’s dad said as he stumbled through the door, both arms full of packages and bags-new school clothes, by the looks of it. “How’d the spaghetti experiment go? Smells great.” Tick knew what his dad was really thinking: Give me some. Now! The guy loved to eat, and his big belly showed it.

“The way these boys ate,” Sofia said, “I’d say it went pretty well.”

Paul moaned with pleasure, rubbing his belly. “Yes, sir, Mr. Higginbottom. The chef is a tyrant, but she can cook like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Best I’ve ever had,” Tick agreed, just as his mom entered from the garage. “Oh, sorry, Mom. Yours is good too.”

“It’s okay, Atticus,” Mom said as she set a couple of bags down on the counter. “I’d hope a young woman from a family well-known for their spaghetti would be able to beat mine any day.”

Dad shook his head. “I don’t know. You sure do know how to add spices to that Ragu sauce.”

“Very funny,” Mom replied.

Newly driving Lisa and newly turned five-year-old Kayla came through next, both holding bags of their own.

“Whoa, Mom,” Tick said. “How much stuff did you buy?”

“Enough to keep three kids clothed for a year.” She pointed a finger at Tick. “No growing until next summer. That’s an order.”

“Did you kill anyone driving to the mall, sis?” Tick asked.

Lisa gave him a mock evil stare. “Just one old lady-and I hit her on purpose.”

“Wow,” Paul said. “Sounds like-”

A sudden crack from upstairs interrupted him; a booming sound of splitting, shattering wood shook the entire house. A plate fell from the counter and broke on the floor. Kayla shrieked and ran to her mom.

“What the-?” Dad said, already on the move out of the kitchen and down the hall, everyone following behind him. As his dad bounded up the stairs as quickly as he could move his big body, Tick anxiously looked around him to see what had caused the commotion.

Through a swirling cloud of dust and debris, Tick could see a large, silvery metal tube with a sharp, tapered end jutting from the wall outside Tick’s room, splinters of ripped wood holding it in place. It looked as if it had been shot from a cannon, a dud bomb lodged in the drywall.

“What on earth? ” Mom said in a shaky voice, putting a hand on her husband’s arm.

Dad had no answer; Tick hurried past him to his bedroom door and opened it, expecting to see a disaster area-broken windows, a gaping hole in the side of the house, something. But his breath caught in his throat when he saw no damage at all-not a crack or tear in the ceiling, the windows, or the walls. His room was in perfect shape. The only thing out of place was the other end of the metal tube which stuck out of the wall to his left. It also had a tapered end.

Tick poked his head back into the hallway, examined the ceiling. No damage there, either. Everyone looked as perplexed as he felt.

Dad leaned forward and studied the strange object. “Where’d that thing come from? And how in the world did it get stuck in our wall?”

Tick stepped forward; everyone else seemed frozen to the floor in amazement by the sudden and violent appearance of the strange metal tube. Dad stood there and shook his head, muttering under his breath.

Tick reached up, his hand slowing as he approached the sharp end of the cylinder sticking out into the hall.

His mom yelped. “Careful! Maybe we shouldn’t touch it.”

“It’s fine, Mom,” Tick replied. “There’s gotta be some reason it was sent here.”

“Yeah,” Paul said, “like, maybe to kill the state of Washington once you trigger its thermonuclear reactor inside.”

Ignoring Paul, Tick tested the side of the object with a quick tap to see if the metal was hot. Feeling only hard coolness, he wrapped his hand around the tube and yanked as hard as he could. With a high-pitched groaning squeal, it gave way and slipped out of the splintered hole. Finding it to be quite light, Tick bounced the three-foot-long cylinder in both hands as he turned to show it to everyone else.

“But what is it?” Sofia asked.

“Here, son,” Dad said, sticking his chest out as if to show he was the brave one who should examine the cylinder. “Let me check it out in case it explodes or something.”

“You’re so brave, sweetie,” Mom said, rubbing her husband’s shoulder with affection.

“Yeah,” he mumbled back. “A regular Iron Man.”

Tick handed the tube to his dad, who took it, turning it this way and that in front of his face, examining it with squinted eyes. He peered down its length as if he were aiming a sniper’s rifle.

“Having inspected this object fully,” Dad finally said, “I hereby declare it to be nothing but a solid metal rod.”

Tick cleared his throat, having just noticed something as his dad tilted the tube just right. “Well, um, there is a seam circling the middle.”

“Huh?” Dad lifted the thing until it was an inch from his eyeballs, then squinted again. “Oh. Yeah. You’re right.” With both hands, he gripped the ends of the rod, right before they tapered to sharp points, and pulled in opposite directions.

With a metallic scrape, the object split into two pieces. As soon as it did, a smaller tube fell to the floor, a flash of white that bounced once, rolled, then came to a stop by Sofia’s feet.

Sofia snapped it up and quickly unrolled the piece of paper. Her eyes quickly scanned the contents, then she looked up with a wide grin on her face.

“It’s a message. From Master George.”

They went back downstairs, the group huddled around Sofia as she sat in a chair at the kitchen table. Tick wiggled his way to be closest to her, looking down at the typed message as Sofia read it aloud.

Dear Fellow Realitants,

I hope this day finds you all warm and happy. If so, enjoy it. Dark times are upon us, and I fear we must gather as soon as possible.

Something odd is happening within the Realities. Something unnatural, indeed. Sinister forces are about, and I have my suspicions as to the source. And no, it is not Mistress Jane. I shan’t write about it any further; you will be briefed during our meeting.

On the twenty-second of August, please report to the nearest cemetery at your earliest convenience, whereupon I will wink you to headquarters straightaway, based upon your nanolocator reading.

Now I really must be going, as poor Rutger appears to have hung his malodorous socks in front of the cooler vent, creating quite a smell, I assure you. Wish me luck in finding a can of powerful air freshener.

Most sincerely,

Master George

P.S. Muffintops sends her warmest regards.

P.P.S. Please attach the Spinner to a blank wall and observe carefully to learn about entropy and fragmentation.

“Spinner?” Paul asked. “What’s he talking about?”

“The twenty-second? That’s only two days away,” Tick’s mom whispered, her voice not hiding the sudden dismay at the possibility of her son running off again.

Tick’s initial excitement at hearing from Master George quickly faded into a sickly pang in his gut. He had dreaded this moment in many ways, knowing he’d be summoned again, leaving his poor mom to worry about him. Even though she’d been convinced of the truth about the Realities, Tick knew that when the day actually came for him to leave again, she’d throw a fit.

Like any good mother.

“Mom…” Tick said, but no other words filled his mouth.