The Hunt for Dark Infinity (The 13th Reality #2) (32 page)

Sofia wasn’t as kind. “Are you
crying?
I thought you were a lot tougher than that.”

Tick felt a shudder of anger wash through him; he had a sudden urge to punch Sofia in the arm, but quelled it. “I’d cry too if my arm was broken and I was stuck in the middle of nowhere. Come on.” He started walking toward the small shack.

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.

~

The Antidote

T
ick 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.

“Paul’s right,” she said, trying her best to throw compassion into her voice. “The three of us will wink back to Master George and watch you like a hawk. First sign of trouble and we’ll come help you.”

Tick waited a few seconds, then finally took the cylinder from Sofia. It was cool to the touch and slippery in his sweaty hands. “I don’t think you should do that. Follow me
or
come after me, I mean.”

“Why?” Paul asked.

“Well, if Chu wants me alone—or . . . with Mistress Jane—then we better do things his way.”

“For awhile, maybe,” Sofia said. She looked as if she might say more, but then closed her mouth.

Tick looked at Sally and held up the silver rod. “What am I supposed to do with this anyway?”

Sally grunted and rummaged through his leather pack again. “Ain’t no way ol’ George be lettin’
me
tell ya.” He pulled out a wadded up piece of paper and handed it to Tick. “Read that, ain’t too hard no-how.”

Tick unfolded the paper with shaking hands then read it out loud:

Dear Master Atticus,

You hold in your hands the antidote to Reginald Chu’s nanoplague, which is causing people all through the Realities to go insane. We believe the plague can be destroyed by injecting this silver rod and its contents into the mechanism that controls the virus-like nanoparticles. You need simply to smash the antidote against Chu’s device—Dark Infinity—and let Rutger’s brilliant engineering do the rest of the work.

I need not tell you the incredible amount of danger you are about to undertake. I daresay, I almost feel tempted to abandon the whole thing. But alas, I think you’d agree that we have no choice. The fate of
all
the Realities may hang in the balance. Atticus, you must do this thing. You must do it, no matter the cost.

Once we see sign of your success, we will come and rescue you. This, my good man, I swear to you.

Your comrade in arms,

Master George

Tick held up the cylinder, studied it closely, ignoring his surge of panic. The odd object had no blemishes, no scratches, no smudges—it was perfectly smooth, perfectly shiny.

“Piece of cake,” he muttered with a pitiful attempt at a laugh. “Waltz into Chu’s house and smash this against something. Piece of cake.”

“Yeah, dude, piece of cake,” Paul said. Tick couldn’t help but wish he could trade places with Paul, broken arm and all.

“You heard him,” Sofia said. “You heard Master George. We’ll be watching your every move, and we’ll come save you as soon as . . .” She trailed off, and Tick wished desperately that no one would say another word.

“I’m going,” he said, pushing the fear away.
Now or never. Just move.
“I’m going right now. Sally, can I have that bag of yours?”

Sally nodded, then handed over the leather satchel. Tick put the cylinder and the message from Master George inside, zipped it up, then slung it over his shoulder. “I’m going right now,” he said again.

Without waiting for a response, Tick turned and walked up to the dilapidated wooden door. As he reached down and twisted the loose handle, the others spoke from behind him.

“We’ll be watching you, dude,” Paul said.

“You’ll be the only thing we care about until we’re back together,” Sofia blurted out.

“You be tough chickens, now, ya hear?” Sally shouted.

Tick pushed open the door and stepped inside. As he went through, a cold tingle shot down his back.

~

Beautiful Black Hair

T
he room was completely dark but strangely warm. Tick pulled the door closed behind him, fighting to calm his breath, standing still in the blackness. The floor beneath him was solid, smooth; the air smelled like . . . flowers. Like an old lady’s perfume. He sniffed, then scratched his nose.

“Hello?” he called out.
Isn’t that what they always say in the movies when they walk into a haunted house?
“Hello?” he repeated. His voice died as soon as it left his mouth, without even an echo.

The entire room abruptly flared with lights; Tick’s hand shot up to shield his eyes.

It came from everywhere at once: the walls, floor, and ceiling were made out of a rough material that glowed brightly. Tick turned around to see that the door had disappeared—and nothing looked anything like the inside of an old wooden shack.