The Blade of Shattered Hope (The 13th Reality #3) (31 page)

He shook it off. He couldn’t do anything until he knew what they were dealing with, and it seemed too dangerous to send individual spies out to scout the area. He was sticking with his decision, and that was that. He had nothing but his instinct.

“Okay, then! Go, already!” He shooed them like dogs, and immediately made a mental note that he probably shouldn’t do that ever again.

But they didn’t seem to mind. Mothball, her parents, and the rest of their group sprinted toward the right, heading for the fence. Once they were right next to it, they took off running alongside it. The left group did the same thing but in the opposite direction. Those ordered to stay put gathered tighter around Sato.

Rutger stood right next to him and reached up to poke him on the upper arm. “I’m proud of you, Sato. Have to admit, I didn’t wake up this morning thinking I’d see General Sato by the end of the day, but here we are. Don’t worry—worst thing that can happen is we all die.”

Sato grumbled, not in the mood.

Rutger kept talking as if they were sitting down for a nice picnic. “I’m really happy about how it worked out. You need someone cranky to lead like this, and . . .”

Sato tuned him out, searching for signs of guards or visitors. He couldn’t see very well over the tall Fifths, so he stepped out of the crowd, scanning the area with his eyes. The day was fully bright now, not a cloud in the sky.

A quick movement in the woods caught the corner of his eye, like someone had poked their head out to look around, then pulled back again, hiding. But when Sato focused his attention on the spot, he saw nothing but trees.

Sato pointed at three Fifths, one by one. “You, you, and you,” he said, making another note to learn these peoples’ names. “Come with me.”

Rutger finally realized he wasn’t being listened to. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Just be quiet,” Sato replied. “Let’s go.”

He moved away from the rest of them with the three Fifths he’d chosen right on his heels. Keeping his eyes glued to the spot where he’d seen the movement, Sato ran for the forest. He’d made it about halfway to the tree when a figure darted out from behind it—an oddly shaped, wispy thing. It seemed to fly through the air like a ghost, quickly disappearing deeper into the dark woods.

Then other creatures did the same, darting out from behind at least a dozen other trees that lined the boundary between the field and the forest. They were all like living, flying shadows, gone before Sato got a better look.

He stopped and held up a hand. “Those had to be some kind of spies or guards. Now Jane or whoever’s in charge of this place definitely knows we’re here. I hope I didn’t—”

A commotion from behind cut him off. He turned to see Rutger excitedly pointing toward the far bend of the wooden fence to the right, where the group of Fifths that had gone in that direction was already coming back, marching along through the slippery mud.

“Something’s wrong,” Sato half-whispered. “They shouldn’t be back yet.”

He headed in that direction, running as fast as he could, determined to meet up with them and see what was happening. He’d only gone about a hundred feet when he noticed several of the Fifths working together to carry large wooden boxes. Also, two newcomers were with them, looking very out of place. Sato almost fell down, already knowing what this meant and feeling like they’d won their first victory.

It was Master George—his Barrier Wand in tow—and Sally from headquarters.

More importantly, Sato was sure the boxes they carried had weapons inside them.

~

Tick, man,” Paul whispered to him as they followed Jane down the seemingly endless tunnels. “What’s going on? Is she for real about that staff of hers? Is it some kind of Barrier Wand on steroids?”

Tick shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. But I can’t risk anything right now. We just need to stick with her and wait for the Haunce to come, I guess. Don’t do anything to tick her off!”

“Tick her off,” Sofia repeated through a halfhearted laugh. “That has meaning on so many levels, it’s ridiculous.”

Paul snickered. “I gare-on-tee you could take her, Superman. I’m not worried.”

Tick rolled his eyes even though the others probably couldn’t tell. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, much less hear the junk about his powers. Despite what had happened so far, he felt no more like a superhero than he would a bird if someone glued wings on his back.

Jane reached a large shiny, metal door, big silver bolts lining the edges. It seemed almost too modern for the cavernous feel of the tunnels through which they’d been walking forever.

As they approached the door, Tick felt an increase in magnitude of the womps—the rhythmic pulses vibrating his teeth and skull.

Jane turned around to face them. The firekelt stood slightly ahead of her and to the left, and the light from its flames illuminated her perfectly. She spoke in her desert-sand voice.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard about the Factory, but you’re about to witness it firsthand. I’ll admit that my pride has gotten the better part of me today. I desperately want to show this to the three of you—especially you, Atticus. Otherwise I wouldn’t bother with the extra protection of my Barrier Staff and would’ve killed you already. Your lingering presence in the Realities is beginning to disturb me. Greatly.”

“So you’re gonna show us your evil factory and then kill us?” Paul asked, his tone full of the usual sarcasm. “What is this, a bad James Bond movie?” Jane’s mask didn’t show any anger. Tick thought she probably didn’t want to give Paul the satisfaction. “Please, boy. What you’re about to see will be so above your mental capacity and intellect that even if you escaped, you’d barely be able describe it, much less share any of my secrets. Just consider this a whim of mine. Nothing more.”

“You said you’d hear me out,” Tick said. “We don’t have time for this!”

“Patience, Atticus. A short trip through my house of wonders, and then you can talk. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be the only one talking from this point on.”

“Could you maybe drink some cough syrup first?” Paul asked.

This time Jane’s mask did fill with rage as she pointed the upper tip of the Staff at Paul. An instant later, his entire body lifted up from the ground and slammed against the wall. He tried to scream, but nothing came out—only a slight gurgling in the bottom of his throat. His face turned purple with pain, and his hands squeezed into fists.

“Stop it, Jane!” Tick yelled, unable to stop the surge of Chi’karda that ignited inside him. “Leave him alone!”

Jane pointed the Staff at Tick; Paul dropped in a heap of arms and legs onto the floor. “Don’t even think about it, Atticus. Pull your Chi’karda back, right now!”

Tick closed his eyes for a second, calming his heart. The spits of lava flaring in his chest puttered out, cooled. He still breathed heavily, though, as he looked at Jane once again. “You didn’t have to do that to him.”

Paul groaned and shifted his body. At least he seemed okay.

Jane’s mask still held onto its anger. “I don’t like him. He’s a smart aleck. Tell him to keep his mouth shut.” Her face melted back into the void as she turned toward the silver door once again.

Sofia immediately moved to help Paul to his feet, being more gentle than Tick had ever seen her before. Paul hunched over slightly, his face maybe forever locked into a grimace of pain, but, surprisingly, he said nothing.

Sofia looked at Tick and mouthed the words, “We’re dead.”

Tick shook his head adamantly but didn’t say anything. Movement from Jane grabbed his attention.

She placed her right hand on the center of the silver door. Shocked, Tick watched as the metal seemed to liquefy at her touch. Jane’s hand sank into the gray goop up to the wrist. A second later she pulled her hand back out again. Tick expected the metal surface to ripple like a pond, but it didn’t, solidifying instantly instead.

Then, with a great rumbling sound, the entire door slid to the right, disappearing into the rock and revealing a very modern-looking hallway ahead of them, with white tile floors, fluorescent lights on the ceiling, and glass windows on the walls.

“All the doors in the Factory have a Reality Echo,” Jane explained. “That means it’s actually a combination of matter taken from more than one Reality, visible in each place but absolutely impossible to open no matter what you do. Explosives, tanks, the strongest battering ram ever made—none of it would work. Only the pre-approved cellular structure of those previously recorded by my people can do it.”

She looked at them over her shoulder, her mask alive with arrogance. “Even I wouldn’t be able to use my powers to dissolve the material without an extraordinary amount of effort. The door is literally in different Realities simultaneously—therefore, nothing existing solely in this one could make it move. Reality Echo. Impressed?”

Tick nodded before he could stop himself. He was impressed.

Paul let out a low whistle, a small but telling sign to Tick that Jane hadn’t killed his spirit completely, not yet—Tick hoped not ever.

“The door is nothing compared to what you’re about to see,” Jane said, a hint of giddiness in her voice. “Follow me.”

She entered the brightly lit hallway, her shoes—hidden beneath the folds of her long robe—tapping on the tile floor. Tick hesitated a second before following, terrified of what horrors they might be about to see, not to mention the worry eating at him about the Haunce and what they were supposed to accomplish. His chest tight with every breath, he stepped through the doorway along with Paul and Sofia.

The first section consisted of offices—normal human people dressed in normal human clothes tapping away at computer keyboards with monitors, printers, and servers everywhere. Several odd-looking machines were also scattered about the desks, similar to the machines they’d seen back in the desert. But nothing too out of the ordinary. If Tick didn’t know better, he would have thought it was an accounting business.

“This is where data is analyzed,” Jane explained without turning around. She kept walking. “It’s also where oversight of the melding processes takes place—a tricky operation that needs tight supervision.”

Melding processes? Tick thought. She acted like she’d said
cereal production
or
car manufacturing.
How could she be so callous?

They came to another massive metal door exactly like the first one. Jane shoved her hand into the silver goop, and soon this one opened up as well. A rancid smell of decay surged through the door like an infested wind. Tick and his friends coughed and sputtered, covering their noses. Tick tried to breathe only through his mouth, but then he tasted the air, which was even worse.

“What is that?” Sofia managed to choke out.

“It’s the smell of progress,” Jane said as she entered the barely lit hallway on the other side.

Tick, despite the putrid smell, despite his queasiness, couldn’t help but feel extremely curious. The surging, throbbing pulses of invisible power emanating from the open door pounded his senses.

He followed Jane into the stinky darkness.

~

Sato kept trying to dampen his emotions, stay levelheaded, but a new surge of confidence swelled inside him. For the first time, he felt like they were a real army with a real chance.

Now they had weapons.

The reunion with Master George and Sally had been thrilling but brief, exchanging barely a dozen words before they turned their full attention to the large wooden boxes. The Fifths looked like their eyes might pop, they were so excited and intrigued by what Mothball and Sally started pulling out of the crates, George explaining their uses in his very sophisticated voice, Rutger butting in now and then to say how cool this or that was.

The usual: boxes of Ragers—those little balls of compacted static electricity that exploded on impact in a display of destructive lightning. Some Shurrics—large guns of sonic power that devastated with sound waves.

A couple of new things as well: Squeezers, which were grenades full of tiny but extremely strong wires. When it exploded, the wires shot out and latched onto whatever was closest, then immediately retracted and curled up, no matter what the material. Very nasty results.

Finally, there was the Halter. A thin but sturdy plastic tube that ended in a cone, with a simple trigger on one end of the tube and a small cartridge on the other. Each cartridge equaled one shot: a spray of tiny darts spread out and injected its victims—potentially dozens if it hit a group—with a serum that immediately paralyzed them for hours. It was a variation of what Master George had created for Sofia to stop Tick’s madness at Chu’s headquarters. Very effective.

Ragers, Shurrics, Squeezers, Halters. Plenty to go around.

This could be fun.

The other group that had gone exploring returned about a half-hour after Master George’s arrival, saying they found nothing but a very long, encircling wooden fence, with only one exception—a gate of iron bars. The only thing they could see through it was a small grove of trees and nothing they did would open up the gate or make someone appear. So they’d come back, relieved to see why they hadn’t met up with the others on the far side.

Once the weapons had been passed out and the wooden boxes thrown into the forest to hide them—though they were probably being spied on anyway—the entire Fifth Army gathered around Sato. Time for business.