James Dashner - The Hunt for Dark Infinity

He didn’t look back to see their response, but he heard them following. Paul’s feet scraped the ground with every step, sounding like he dragged a dead body behind him.

As they approached the building, Tick noticed it was at least three times as big as he’d originally thought, and farther away. There’s something about a vast land of nothingness that messes up your senses, he thought.

The building had only one story, its entire structure made from warped, sun-faded wooden boards with thousands of splinters poking out. The two-sided roof peaked in the middle, slanting steeply downward until it overhung the walls in eaves that almost touched the ground. To handle all the snow in the winter, Tick thought. The place had no windows, and its door was a simple slab of wood, the only thing on the shack that had ever been painted. Only a few streaks of dull red had survived the weather. A rusted doorknob hung loosely from the warped door.

“Looks just like Grandma’s house,” Paul said. His voice was so tight Tick couldn’t tell if he was joking.

“I bet whoever lives here has never heard of Pacini spaghetti,” Sofia said.

Tick was about to respond but stumbled on his first word. They were close enough for him to notice something creepy about the door. The red paint he’d seen wasn’t the remnants of an age-old decorating scheme after all.

They were words, scrawled across the entire face of the wooden door from top to bottom.

“Look!” he shouted, already sprinting ahead to see what it said.

“What?” Sofia yelled from behind him. Tick ignored them, and soon they ran to catch up.

Tick stopped just a few feet in front of the door. At first, he couldn’t make out the words of the message, the writing hasty and messy, some of the paint having run down like blood into the other letters. But there was no mistaking Tick’s name, and soon everything else became clear.

He tried to speak, but his mouth had dried up and his tongue wouldn’t move. He felt like someone had rammed a glob of cotton down his throat with a wooden spoon.

Sofia read the words out loud.

Only two people may enter this door.

Atticus Higginbottom and Mistress Jane.

All others will die a horrible death.

Do not test me on this.

Tick could only stare at the message, the world around him shrinking away. He felt like an entire hour had passed, but he knew it had only been a minute or two since Sofia had read the words aloud.

He could only stare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Paul said, though his voice sounded to Tick like it came down a long tunnel.

“What do you think, Einstein?” Sofia replied, her tone full of anger. “Chu wants Tick to go in there, but not us!”

“I know, but what does that mean? ”

“Looks like ya’ll hain’t got nuttin’ but trouble comin’ down dem gullets a’yorn.”

The gruff voice from behind shook Tick out of his stupor. He whirled to see Sally standing there, arms folded, looking like he’d just lost that morning’s grits and eggs. Face pale, beard scraggly, eyes bloodshot, the man didn’t seem too happy to see them. He was dressed in his usual lumberjack garb-thick green-flannel shirt, dusty overalls, big brown work boots. A leather satchel hung loosely over his shoulder.

Paul let out a little yelp at Sally’s surprise appearance.

“Sa-Sally? Where’d you come from?”

“Where you think, boy?” He made an unpleasant sucking sound in his throat then spat on the ground. “Ol’ George sent me after you rug rats.”

“How’d you get here?” Sofia asked. “You can’t tell me there’s a cemetery nearby.”

Sally turned and pointed at nothing in particular. “There’s a might nice spat of his fancy kyoopy gobbledygook back yonder ways. You three too busy starin’ at that big pile of sticks to notice me comin’ up on ya.”

Tick shook his head, finally feeling like the world had solidified again around him. That message on the door, he thought. That message! “Why’d Master George send you back to us? I thought we were on our own.”

Sally shrugged his bulky shoulders. “Still are, I ’spect. Just come to pass on a little somethin’, that’s all.” He slid the satchel off his shoulder and down his arm, then opened it up. After a few seconds of rummaging around, he pulled out a shiny silver cylinder, two inches in diameter and six inches long.

“This here whatchamacallit is for you whipsnaps,” he said, holding the small rod out toward Sofia, who stood closest to him.

She shook her head. “If that’s what I think it is, you better give it to Tick. We can’t go with him anymore.”

Sally’s arm dropped to his side, the cylinder gripped in his hand; his eyes squinted in confusion. “What in the name of Mama’s chitlins stew you talkin’ ’bout? You ain’t done forgot the plan, did ya?”

Tick wanted to say something, but the words stuck in his throat again.

“No, we didn’t forget the plan, ” Sofia said with a sneer, then pointed toward the door with the creepy red letters scrawled across it. “But that stupid door says that only Tick can go through it. If Master George wants him to get close to Chu, looks like he’s on his own.”

“You don’t know that,” Tick said, forcing the words out through a cough that rubbed the back of his mouth raw. “Maybe I just need to go in, do something, and come right back out.”

“Doubt it,” Paul muttered.

“Why?” Tick asked.

“I just have a feeling it’s done for us, dude. I think Chu wanted you from the beginning because of your freak show back in the Thirteenth-winking us with a broken Barrier Wand and all. We’re done-I know it.”

Tick looked at Sofia, pleading with his eyes.

“I think he’s right,” she said, frowning.

Sally walked forward until he was close enough to read the message on the door. “Whoever wrote that nonsense ain’t got a bit of learnin’ in him, I can tell ya that. I can barely read dem chicken scratches.”

Sofia raised her eyebrows at Tick as if to say, When did Sally get so smart?

“Messy or not,” Paul said, “it doesn’t beat around the bush. Only Tick can go in there. If we try, we’ll die a, uh, horrible death.”

“That’s only half the problem I’m worried about,” Tick said. “What does Mistress Jane have to do with it? Why just me and her?”

“Reckon you and that no-good tweety-bird’s all Chu cares about,” Sally said with a grumble. He spit again.

Tick squeezed his fists at his side, then rubbed them against his temples. “I can’t do this,” he whispered. “I can’t go in there by myself.” His insides churned with panic, as if internal wires had been crossed, messing up his whole organ system. He felt like a sissy, but the truth of it weighed on him like the chilly air had finally frozen solid around him. I can’t do it, he thought. I can’t go in there without Paul and Sofia!

“Ah, now,” Sally said. “Ain’t no time for that. You ain’t got nuttin’ but brave inside you, boy. Suck it on up, hear?” He held the shiny chrome cylinder out to Tick.

Tick stared at it, not moving a muscle.

Paul walked over and put his one good arm around Tick’s shoulders, wincing with the effort. He leaned over and spoke close in Tick’s ear. “You listen to me, bro. No way we’re gonna let anything happen to you. You’re the one with that transponder thingy in your ear-we’ll go back with Sally and keep an eye on every move you make. We won’t sleep, won’t eat, until we can wink back to get you.”

Tick nodded, then looked at Sofia. She stepped forward and grabbed the silver rod from Sally, then lightly shoved it against Tick’s stomach.