He kept running.
He turned a corner and saw the elevator up ahead, its steel cage open and ready for him. He could see the lever mechanism inside the sliding mesh door. He was almost safe.
The hollow echoes of his pursuers bounced through the tunnel like thunder crackling along open plains. Sato heard noises of feet stomping on stone, kicked rocks, heavy breathing, grunts. He heard Renee shout something; he couldn’t make out the words, but the intensity of the screams jumped a notch.
Sato looked over his shoulder and saw the pack of crazies only thirty feet behind him and gaining ground. Renee led them, her eyes focused, her hoard of followers on her tail, waving their arms, shaking their fists. It was like the villagers chasing Frankenstein’s monster—the only things missing were pitchforks and torches.
Sato faced forward again; so close, the elevator was only a few feet away. He reached up, slipped the backpack off his left shoulder, then his right, still running, still holding tight to the blood sample.
He windmilled his left arm and threw the backpack forward. It landed with a thud in the back corner of the elevator just as he crossed the threshold of the cage. He reached out with his free hand and slid the door shut with a squeal and a clank as it landed home. The latch to close it was small and weak—Sato knew it wouldn’t last long. He closed it anyway then knelt on the floor and pushed up on the lever with his shoulder, screaming with the effort until the thing finally snapped into position.
With a lurch, the elevator started moving upward just as Renee and dozens of the screaming mob slammed into the cage, clawing at the steel, screaming and spitting. Hundreds of scabby fingers squirmed through the small openings, some of the crazies climbing onto the elevator, others violently pulling and pushing on the door. Sato scrambled to the far corner, staring at the sickening sight.
The elevator had only gone up a few feet when dozens more of his pursuers crawled beneath it and gripped the floor through the checkered holes, hanging on, pulling toward the ground. The cage slowed to a stop, the weight of the people too great. Sato knew if he could make it to the narrow shaft cut into the stone above, then the psychos clinging to the side would have no choice but to let go or be crushed to death. He jumped to his feet, kicking at the fingers below him, stomping repeatedly in a ridiculous dance, watching in triumph as those he smashed let go and fell to the floor.
The elevator stuttered and paused, screams coming from above as the topmost section entered the main elevator shaft and crushed several of the inmates who still clung to the side. The cage slowed again, and Sato closed his eyes before he could see the gruesome results. He heard the thumps of bodies on the stone below, and the elevator lurched upward again, regaining its normal speed.
Please, he thought. Please be over, please let me go home.
A wrenching click of steel made his eyes pop open just as the door to the cage slid open with a screech. Renee had somehow broken the latch, squeezing her body against the elevator until she could get it open. She and Sato were alone, having left everyone else below, their wails and cries already dying out with the distance.
“Almost made it, didn’t you?” Renee said, her chest heaving with her deep breaths.
Sato reached down and pulled the plastic cover off the blood-filled syringe, then held it out like a knife. “Stay back,” he said, bending his knees in a crouch. “There’s no way you can win a fight with me.”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” she replied. They circled, each staying as far apart from the other as possible in the small cage. “He’s in my head. I’ll do whatever he asks.”
“Why are you doing this?” Sato asked.
“I told you, he’s in my—”
“Not you!” Sato screamed. “Reginald Chu! Why are you doing this!”
“If you have to ask, then you’ll never understand why.”
Renee lunged forward, surprising Sato despite his stance. She crashed into him, slamming his back against the side of the cage. On instinct, Sato stuck the needle into her back. She cried out in pain then lashed out at his face, scraping her nails across his right cheek. Sato pulled out the needle and bent his knees, letting his body fall to the floor, Renee landing on top of him.
They rolled and wrestled, Renee punching and clawing like a panicked bear. Sato had the syringe under her, pointed it at her face, trying to threaten her because he didn’t know what else to do. She grabbed his hand, thrusting the needle away, twisting his wrist so the syringe was heading toward his own skin. He couldn’t believe her strength. He groaned with effort, but she kept winning, pushing the needle closer and closer to the soft skin of his lower neck.
He pushed her away with a final burst of exertion; she surprised him by pulling back instead of fighting it. Caught off guard, his grip on the syringe slipped and Renee yanked it free. She twisted backward and pressed the point of the needle against his leg.
“You . . . had . . . your . . . chance,” she spit out, her face red with exertion and anger as she drove the needle into Sato’s skin. He felt the prick, the achy slide of the sharp sliver of metal. Then Renee slammed downward on the plunger of the syringe.
Pain exploded through Sato’s body as the needle dug in deeper, as the blood sample rushed into him. He cried out as the syringe emptied, its infected contents now swimming inside his tissue and veins. It felt like millions of tiny bugs squirmed underneath his skin.
“No!” he screamed, a surge of adrenaline giving him the strength to throw Renee off his body completely. “NO!”
He scrambled to his feet, unable to stop the tears from flowing as pain racked his body. “What . . . what . . . have you done to me?”
“You’ll be one of us now,” Renee said, crouched in the corner with a smile on her face.
“No, I won’t. Never.”
The elevator slammed to a stop.
“What the devil’s goin’ on here?”
Sato looked over to see Klink, his eyes moving back and forth between Sato and Renee, surprise and concern on his face.
Sato didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his backpack, ran from the lift cage, down the tunnel, and toward the steel door that led outside. He ran.
“Go, then!” Renee called out from behind him. “It won’t matter—you’ll be mine anyway. Run and take me to Master George. It’ll be fun to have a spy—”
Sato didn’t hear the rest. He was through the door, squinting his eyes against the blinding snow, scrambling down the stone stairway, slipping and falling and not caring.
Down the mountain he went.
~
“I’ve got him!” Rutger yelled.
He pushed the golden button on top of the Barrier Wand, and Sato appeared in front of them. The boy collapsed to the ground, a terrible mess of blood and dirt and torn clothing, sweat-ice crusted all over him.
“Goodness gracious me!” Master George yelled as he and Mothball reached forward to help Sato. They grabbed him by the arms and pulled him over to a leather chair, plopping his exhausted body onto the cushions.
“What happened?” Mothball asked.
Sato answered, his voice shaky and barely audible. “Lock . . . me . . . up. Chain me. Then . . . I’ll explain.”
“Lock you—” Rutger began.
“Just do it!” Sato snapped, his hand pressed to a wound on his leg. “Just do it before Chu can control me!”
“What happened?” Master George asked, leaning over to look at the boy. “Did you get the sample?”
“Yes,” Sato said through a moan of pain. His eyes narrowed, like a wolf on the hunt. “It’s . . . inside me.”
“Oh, lad. Oh, you poor, poor lad.” Master George paused. Then he straightened, his shoulders square. “Ready the holding cell, Rutger. And get me some rope.”
Part
3
~
The Circle Of Time
Chapter
29
~
Tickets to Fourth City
I’m really getting sick of this p
lace,” Paul said.
Tick couldn’t have agreed more as he scanned the walls and ceiling of the small restaurant where they had stopped to eat something that was a cross between pizza and toast. Five days had passed since Sally winked back to Master George, and they’d spent every waking hour investigating the town for signs of where they were supposed to be at five o’clock the next afternoon. Though they didn’t know what they were looking for, they looked nonetheless.
And, just like this place—one of the last buildings they’d yet to explore—they’d found nothing. No signs, no clues, no Barrier Wands, no magic portals, no further riddles. A big fat zero.
And time was running out. Reginald Chu’s riddle had been clear—5:00 pm, tomorrow. Maybe they’d finally been stumped.
“Maybe it’s a good thing if we don’t figure it out,” Paul said. “Beats going off to have more adventures with a psycho mad genius of the universe.”
“He said, ‘win or die,’” Sofia said. “Dying sounds worse to me.”
Tick picked up his last piece of dinner, but then put it back down, his appetite gone. “Sally said we need to be the ones to win it—so we can put a stop to whatever Chu’s doing.”
“Yeah, and I’m sure that’ll be a piece of cake,” Paul muttered. “Hey, Chu dude! We won, but please stop that knuckleheaded horseplay you’re up to. Thanks kindly.”
“You want to give up?” Sofia asked. “Then quit. I’m sure Master George will wink you away if you cry enough.”
“No, Miss Italy, I don’t want to quit. Someone has to protect you.” Paul leaned back and rubbed his belly. “Man, that was pretty good.”
“Come on,” Sofia said as she got up from her chair. “It’s our last night—we’d better get searching.”
~
They searched until well past dark. They looked on every corner, behind every bush, under every sidewalk bench. They walked the underground pathways of the train stations again. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Even the trains seemed to avoid them; they’d yet to actually see one despite several trips to the stations.
Tick thought about quitting more than once that night, but the urgency of the dwindling time spurred him on, despite his exhaustion. Finally, a roving policeman told them they needed to get off the streets, that curfew was far past. Sofia complained, but the officer made it clear they’d get one warning and one warning only.
And so they went back to the hotel, back to their beds.
Tick set his watch alarm for 6:00, but he had no idea what he’d do when he woke up. Imagining the glowing monkeys prowling the woods outside his window, he fell asleep.
~
His alarm had just sounded when he heard someone knock at the door. It was Sofia, dragging a sleepy-eyed Paul behind her.
“We need to get out there,” she said. “We only have eleven hours left.”
“But what are we going to do?” Paul asked. “We’ve looked everywhere. There’s no point in looking anymore. We’re just as well off staying here.”
“Well, we have to do something!” Sofia insisted.
Tick groaned as he flopped back on his bed. “I’m with Paul on this one. All we’ve figured out is that something is supposed to happen at five o’clock. At this point, running around the town makes no more sense than sitting here, holding hands and chanting to the time gods.”
“Chanting to the time gods?” Paul asked. “Tick, you’re losing it.”
Sofia huffed as she took a seat. “Then think. What are we missing?”
No one answered, and they all remained silent for several minutes.
Paul snapped his fingers. “The last line of the riddle says, ‘Make sure your feet find the air,’ right? Well, maybe we’re supposed to catch a train and go somewhere else by five o’clock. Someplace called ‘air’ or something like that.”
“Hmm,” Sofia said. “That’s possible. The whole underground railroad system is kind of weird. There must be something about this place, a reason he sent us here—maybe it is the train!”
“I’ll admit it’s better than chanting to the time gods,” Tick said. “Let’s go.”
~
The streets were surprisingly busy for so early in the morning; most of the people out and about were heading down the stairs that led to the underground railroad.
“These people must all work in another city,” Tick said. “No wonder they have to leave when the sun comes up.”
“Good thing we’re not the only ones awake,” Paul said. “I didn’t want that cop barking at us again.”
They followed the crowd to the ticket counters, old-fashioned brick windows where old men took money and gave out printed slips of paper. Holding some of the local currency given to them by Phillip, they waited their turn.
“Next!” a white-haired man called out, a scowl scrunching up his face like he was having a kidney removed.
Sofia stepped up first. “We’d like three tickets for . . . a train.”
Somehow, the man’s face screwed up even tighter. “Well, that’s real nice to know you have that figured out, missy. How about telling me where you want to go?”
“Oh.” Sofia looked back at Tick, who shrugged.
“How many trains are leaving soon?” Paul asked.
“What kind of a fool question is that?” the old man grunted. “As many as you’d like. As few as you want. Now are you going buy a ticket or not?”
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any weirder, Tick thought.
“What are our options?” Sofia asked. “We’re tourists, and just want to do some exploring.”
“Oh, well isn’t that just peachy?” the man replied, rolling his eyes under his bushy white brows. “Good thing you got me, kids. One of the grumpy ticket masters would’ve sent you walking already.”
Tick could sense that something smart was about to fly out of Sofia’s mouth, so he kicked her gently on the calf.
“Please just give us our options,” she said instead.
“From this station, you can go to Martyrtown, Cook Reef, Falcon Bay, or Fourth City. Now choose and be done with it.”
“Okay, please give me just one second, sir,” Sofia said, so gushy polite that Tick was sure the man would kick them out for being smart alecks.
“Did you hear that?” Paul whispered. “He said Fourth City.”
“That’s the number of Chu’s Reality!” Tick said.
“Bingo,” Paul said.
“You really think that’s it?” Sofia asked, staring at the floor as if deep in thought. She finally nodded to herself and turned toward the old man. “Three tickets to Fourth City, please.”
“Well, congratulations on making a decision. I hope you have a swell time. That’ll be thirty-four yecterns.”
“Oh,” Paul said to the man as Sofia handed over the money. “Make sure we’ll be there by five o’clock.”
The ticket master printed out three tickets from a rickety metallic machine and handed them over the counter. “Boy, say one more snide remark and I’ll have the police boot you out of here. Now go.”
“Sir,” Paul replied, sounding more sincere than Tick had ever heard him before. “I promise I’m not trying to be difficult—we just don’t understand how the trains work here. And we need to be there by five o’clock.”
The man frowned deeper than ever, then looked at each of them in turn. “You three are just about the strangest kids I’ve ever seen. You go over to the portal that matches the number on your ticket”—he pointed at a series of large white cubicles—“step inside, and it’ll take you from there.”
“But—” Paul started.
“Go!” The ticket master’s face reddened as he pointed toward the booths.
Like three startled mice, they scuttled away. Tick hoped he never had to talk to the man again.
When they were sufficiently far enough away from the old buzzard, Sofia handed out the tickets.
Tick took his ticket. Printed in faded black letters as if the ink were running out in the old guy’
s machine were the words, “Portal Number Seven. Fourth City. Round Trip.”
“Well, let’s go,” Paul said. “Hopefully we’ll get there in time to search around.”
The portals—tall, rectangular cubicles, white and shiny—were lined up in order along the sunken line of what Tick had thought were train tracks. He peeked into the ten-foot-deep trench and saw a series of long, metal rods stretching into a dark tunnel at the end of the station.
“Come on,” Paul said, holding open the door. It was made out of the same material as the rest of the small building and fitted to match its shape.
Sofia went in first, then Tick, then Paul, who closed the door behind him.
The inside was a perfect cylinder, completely covered in thick, rubbery padding that was a burnt-orange color. Along the bottom, a bench protruded from the walls—also covered in soft padding—making a circle for the passengers to sit and stare at each other.
“This is a train?” Tick asked no one in particular. An uneasy feeling crept into his bones.
“What do we—” Paul began, but was cut off by an electronic woman’s voice coming from unseen speakers.
“Please present your tickets,” it said, a soft monotonous tone that made Tick feel sleepy. He clasped his ticket between his thumb and forefinger, holding it up into the air; the others did the same.
“Cleared. State your desired time of departure.”
“As soon as possible,” Sofia said in a loud voice.
“It’s not deaf,” Paul whispered, getting an elbow in the gut from Sofia in return.
“Checking departures. One moment, please.” A pause, then: “Six Forty-Four is acceptable. Please stand on the foot rest, backs against the wall.”
“Huh?” Paul asked.
“Just do it,” Sofia said, climbing on to the bench.
“Three minutes to departure.”