James Dashner - The Hunt for Dark Infinity

“One minute to departure,” the nice electronic lady said.

Tick squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his back against the soft padding. Thirty-minute trip, he told himself. It’s only thirty minutes.

The warning for thirty seconds sounded, then ten, then the five-second countdown. When the room started spinning, Tick opened his eyes to look at Paul and Sofia, both of whom were trying to look very calm but failing miserably. This made Tick feel better, and he closed his eyes again.

The portal spun faster and faster, twisting like a tornado, throwing all of his senses into chaos as the invisible force once again pushed him into the padding, pressing against his body. He held his breath, anticipating the explosion of speed-reminding him of how he felt that split-second before the free-fall ride at the Seattle amusement park dropped fifteen stories to the ground far below. But this was far worse.

The horn sounded.

Tick tried to scream as the train exploded into instant acceleration, shocking his mind as it bulleted away from Fourth City. He didn’t know if any noise escaped his throat. Nothing seemed to be working inside his brain, all of his nerves dead to the world, confused and compressed.

He felt himself sliding away again, moving toward the bliss of unconsciousness. Do it, he thought. Pass out. Anything is better than this. He faded in and out, feeling like every second lasted an hour. He had no idea how much time had passed when everything suddenly went wrong.

The train jerked, a quick and loud jolt as if they’d hit a cow on the tracks like the steamers in the old days. Then the room shook, rattling up and down, creaks and groans ripping through the air, as if the whole vehicle were about to fall apart. Tick would’ve thought it impossible, but everything had just gotten much, much worse. His stomach twisted into a knot of panicked nausea.

His eyes snapped open, but they didn’t seem to work. Everything was a blur of color, images and streaks, flashing and tilting- vibrating. He couldn’t even make out Paul or Sofia; everything was messed up.

What’s happening? he thought. Maybe it’s okay. I passed out last time-maybe this is totally normal.

But the train shook again, twisted, bounced and rattled. Pain seared through Tick’s head like someone had driven a crowbar into the top of his skull and worked it open, wedging the long piece of steel against his brain.

A booming crash sounded through the room, a horrible crunch of metal. The train jolted, and the pressure forcing Tick against the wall abruptly vanished. He fell forward and crashed into Paul. They both fell to the floor, landing on top of a crumpled Sofia.

The next few seconds were complete insanity. The vehicle bounced and twisted and shook, throwing Tick and the others in every direction, slamming them against the curved walls, the floor, into each other. Tick tried to ball up, squeezing his knees against his chest and covering his head with his arms, but it proved impossible. Like a giant gorilla shaking a can of peanuts, the three of them were tossed and jostled about until Tick thought for sure their lives were over.

And then, with one final crash that slammed them all into one padded side of the curved structure, it ended.

Everything stopped, grew still, silent.

The only sounds were the moans coming from the battered humans inside.

“My arm!” Paul screamed out. “I think I broke my stinking arm!”

“What happened?” Sofia asked, her voice strained and tight.

Portal Number Seven lay on its side. Tick and the others were in a crumpled heap on top of each other, resting on one of the curved, padded sections that used to be vertical. With more groans and moans, they crawled away from each other. A hissing sound came from outside, followed by something that sounded like electric sparks.

Tick sat up, every inch of his body in pain. He looked over at Paul, who cradled his left arm with his right.

“You okay?” Tick said.

Paul looked up, a tear streaking out of his right eye. “Dude, it hurts, it really, really hurts.”

“You think you broke it?” Sofia asked, rubbing one of her ankles.

“Yeah,” Paul said, his face squeezed into a grimace of pain. “Ah, man, it kills!” Another tear slid down his cheek. Tick looked away, worried Paul would be embarrassed at being seen crying.

Sofia stood up, wobbling a second before she caught her balance. “We must have crashed or something. We’ve gotta get out of here, get Paul to a hospital.”

Tick joined her and together they walked across the curved wall to the door, which was about four feet in the air, sideways. It was twisted slightly, and it took both of them ramming it with their shoulders before it finally popped open and slammed against the crumpled white wall of the portal.

Tick and Sofia made surprised grunts at the same time when they saw where they were.

“What’s… out there?” Paul asked through clenched teeth.

Tick couldn’t answer, his eyes glued to the wall of thick, enormous trees beyond the doorway.

“We’re in a forest,” Sofia said.

As if the pain had finally sent him over the edge, Paul started laughing.

Master George felt his heart breaking in two as he stared at Sato.

The poor lad thrashed in his bindings, twisting his arms and legs, arching his back as he strained against the ropes tied to his ankles and wrists. He lay on a bed in the holding cell, the sheets a jumbled mess from his spasms and fits of lunacy. Deep bruises marked where the ropes touched his skin, yet he didn’t stop his fruitless efforts to escape.

He had the illness, the disease.

Sato had gone quite insane.

Master George gripped his hands together, wishing so badly he could have just a few seconds of conversation with the real Sato, who was locked somewhere inside the mind infected by Chu’s mysterious plague. The bravery shown by the boy in entering that mountain insane asylum made Master George so proud it hurt. He also felt again the pains of losing Sato’s parents all those years ago, a dreadful death that still made him feel hot, as if the heat from the flying fires of that fateful day had never quite left his skin.

“We’re going to make everything right,” Master George said aloud, even though he doubted Sato could hear, let alone understand, his words. “Rutger and I are working on the antidote every second of the day. And we’re getting close, very close. Hang in there, lad, hang in there. Your suffering may be the very key that saves us all.”

Sato stilled, then, letting out an enormous sigh as his body came to rest on the sweaty, crumpled sheets of the bed. Master George leaned forward, terrified he’d made a huge mistake in saying anything.

“He’s back in my head,” Sato whispered in a chant-like voice that sent chills up Master George’s arms. “He wants to speak to you.”

“Sato, are you there?” Master George asked. “Even with him in your head, are you there, listening to me?”

“He wants to speak to you,” Sato repeated.

“I don’t care about him, Sato. I want you to know that we’re doing everything we can to save you, and that your mission was an enormous success. We are going to take care of you.”

Sato slowly turned his head until his eyes-glazed over as if drugged-met with Master George’s. “That’s very sweet of you, George. Your softness has always been your greatest weakness.”

Master George sat back in his chair as if slapped, but he quickly regained his composure. “Am I speaking with you, Reginald? Come to show me how low you’ve finally sunk, have you?”

“I know what you’re doing,” Chu said through Sato’s mouth. Perhaps it was the eyes, or perhaps it was the unusual tone of his voice, but somehow it seemed like it really was Chu lying there, speaking.