James Dashner - The Journal of Curious Letters

“Frazier!” Jane snapped.

“Y-y-yes, Mistress?” he stammered.

“Start talking.”

Frazier told her about Annika.

It truly did happen in the blink of an eye, a quick tingle shooting down Tick’s spine.

The instant Master George pushed the button on top of the Barrier Wand, the room of the Realitant headquarters vanished, replaced by thousands of massive trees covered in moss. Tick and the other recruits, along with Mothball, stood in a dark forest, hazy sunlight barely breaking through the thick canopy of branches to make small patches of gold on the earthy floor. The haunted sounds of exotic birds and insects filled the creepy woods, smells of roots and rotting leaves wafting through the air. Tick had the uneasy feeling that the forest wanted to eat him alive.

“Where are we?” Paul asked, though he must’ve known the answer.

“In the Thirteenth, we are. Deep in the Forest of Plague,” Mothball whispered.

“Forest of Plague?” Sofia asked with a snort. “Lovely.”

“A great battle was fought ’ere,” Mothball said, slowly turning as she scanned the ancient trees, most of which were thick enough to make an entire house. Gnarled, twisted branches reached out as if trying to escape their masters. “Many moons ago, it was. Thousands died, their rottin’ bodies creating a plague that was downright nasty. So I’ve ’eard, anyway. Must be true, seeing as there’s quite a bit of Chi’karda here. Come on, follow me.”

“Wait,” Sato said, trying to sound stern but coming across as a grumpy jerk. “Tell us the plan before we take a step.”

Tick rolled his eyes, but quickly so Sato couldn’t see him do it. Things are scary enough, he thought. Why does this guy have to make it worse?

“The plan’s quite simple, really,” Mothball said, not acting bothered at all. “Right over yonder”-she pointed toward an ivy-covered copse of pine trees-“there’s some right dandy Windbikes that we can take to meet Master George’s spy, Annika. She’s been settin’ things up for months to get close to the Barrier Wand. We meet Annika, we get the Wand, we come back ’ere in thirty hours, and home we go.”

“Sounds too easy,” Sato said with a comical sneer.

“Sure it is, old chap, sure it is.” Mothball turned and walked toward the pine trees. “Got a better idea, let me know. But best be right quick about it.”

As Tick and the others followed their eight-foot-tall guide, Sato said from behind, “How do we know we can trust this spy? Maybe she works for Mistress Jane.”

“Find out soon enough, we will,” Mothball replied, not slowing at all.

“Quit your whining and come on,” Sofia snapped.

Tick cringed, wishing his friend would ease up on the poor kid. Tick didn’t like him either, but Sofia seemed way too harsh-who knew what Sato might do to retaliate.

Begrudgingly, Sato finally started walking. The sounds of footfalls crunching the thick undergrowth of the forest suddenly filled the air, echoing off the canopy of interwoven tree limbs.

Tick moved to catch up with Mothball, practically running to keep up with her pace. “I have a question.”

“Go on and ask it, then.” Mothball pushed an enormous branch out of the way that everyone else simply walked under.

“The alternate versions of ourselves in other worlds-does that mean there is one of me in every Reality?”

“That’s usually the case, it is. We call ’em Alterants. Strange how all that works-even though the Realities can grow in vastly different ways from each other, there seems to be a definite pattern when it comes to the people. ”

“What do you mean?” Tick asked, stooping to avoid a huge chunk of moss that drooped over a thick limb like a giant beard.

“Even though a Reality may have different governments and cultures and climates and all that from another Reality, the general pedigree of people remains quite similar-downright spooky, it is.” A huge bird cawed from overhead, followed by the squeal of a small animal.

“So in your Reality-the…”

“The Fifth, it is.”

“Yeah, the Fifth. There’s a really tall version of me there? My Alterant? And he’s alive right now, with parents named Edgar and Lorena?”

“Chances are ya be right. Course, I’ve never met ’em, and never tried. Dangerous stuff, messin’ with Alterants.”

Sofia and Paul had been following closely and listening to every word while Sato hung back, only a couple of steps behind them. Though he acted indifferent to the conversation, Tick had a feeling Sato was intently paying attention.

“Why is it dangerous to mess with Alterants?” Sofia asked.

“Since I had dealings with Tick in Reality Prime,” Mothball said, pausing a second to reassess her bearings. She changed directions slightly and headed down a shallow ravine scattered with boulders among the trees. “I didn’t want to meet his Alterant in any of the other Realities. Not only could it make me go mad, it could lead to the little sir meetin’ his taller self in my Reality. Disaster, that.”

“Why?” Paul asked.

“If two Alterants meet and truly recognize each other for what and who they are, well, then only one of the poor blokes can survive. Still trying to figure out the why and how, we are, but one of them ceases to exist. Sometimes that causes a nasty chain reaction that can rattle the Realities to their bones. Bet yer best buttons some of the worst earthquakes and such you’ve had were because of Alterants seein’ each other. Master George and the Realitants have worked their buns off to avoid such meetings, but Mistress Jane likes to bring Alterants together. She thinks it’s funny. Mad, she is. Crazy as a brain-dead Bugaboo soldier.”

That was the second time Tick had heard Mothball refer to Bugaboo soldiers, but he was too busy thinking about Alterants to ask any more questions.

“Whoa, man,” Paul said. “This is some downright freaky stuff. You’re telling me there’s all these Pauls running around the universe? I better be a big-time surfer in one of them. And a world-class pianist in another.”

“Face it,” Sofia said with a smirk. “You’re a no-talent bum in all of them, just like you are here. Or, there. Or, whatever.”

Paul stuck out his tongue. “Sis, you’re hilarious.”

“Call me ‘sis’ again,” Sofia challenged, raising her fist.

“Sis.”

Sofia pulled back and punched Paul solidly on his upper arm with a loud thump.

“Ow!” he yelled, rubbing the spot. “That’s no fair. I can’t punch a girl back.”

Tick laughed, and Mothball surprised everyone when she did, too.

“Glad my pain can give everyone a nice chuckle,” Paul said, still wincing. “Tick, a word of advice. Don’t mess with Italians.”

“I learned that just from her e-mails. Whatever you do, don’t rip on her spaghetti.”

“Tick,” Sofia said. “I like you. You’re smart… for an American.”

Sato completely ignored all of them, never breaking his stoic expression.

Before anyone could throw out another sarcastic remark, Mothball stopped next to a big pile of fallen branches and twigs. She turned toward the messy heap and took a deep breath. “’Ere we are.” She bent over and yanked on a large branch, pulling it off the stack. “A little ’elp would be nice.”

Tick grabbed a branch and everyone joined in, even Sato, who was mumbling something Tick couldn’t understand.

Tick saw a glimmer of metal when he pulled off a prickly branch, his curiosity increasing his pace. Soon, they’d cleared the entire pile, and all of them stared at what they’d uncovered.

Three sleek and shiny motorcycles were lined up in a row, silver with sparkly metallic red paint. They were the coolest things Tick had ever seen, but there was one thing about them that seemed a little odd.