“Dude, where are you going?” he said through a yawn. “I’m barely awake—what’s the rush?”
“There has to be something we’re missing,” Tick replied. “I think we need to get off this stupid road and climb up one of these structures. Try to get inside one of them.”
“Tick’s right,” Sofia said, getting to her feet as well. “This road isn’t leading us anywhere except in a big circle—everything looks familiar.”
“It all looks the same to me.” Paul stretched, then stood up. “Fine, whatever. It’s not like I wanna retire and live on this road someday. Maybe we could try to climb—”
A loud, crashing sound to their right cut him off. All three of them froze, waiting, listening.
A metallic clang rang out from behind a jutting rectangle of metal, followed by a scrape, then the grunt of a man. Tick heard the shuffling of feet, then a cough. Although he knew someone was approaching the road, about to appear at any second, he couldn’t move. After almost three days of complete boredom, hearing the presence of another human being was like finding an alien in his backyard.
A man of medium height and enormous build stepped around the corner of the metal obstacle, limping slightly. He had tangled, red hair and a scruffy beard; he wore a plaid red flannel shirt, dirty denim overalls, and heavy work boots. Tick was half-surprised the guy didn’t have a huge axe slung over his shoulder.
When the man noticed Tick and the others, he stopped and stared at them with wide eyes. After a long, awkward pause, he spoke, his voice as scratchy as his beard.
“Well, butter my grits,” he said with a heavy Southern accent. “What you chirrun doin’ up in here?”
Tick didn’t say anything, not sure why he felt so odd. Maybe it was the absurdity of seeing a lumberjack in a world made of metal. Sofia saved the situation.
“We’re, uh, kind of lost,” she said.
“Lost?” the man repeated, leaning back and putting his large hands in the pockets of his overalls. “How you reckon on gettin’ lost up here on da roofens?”
Tick blinked, unsure if the guy was still speaking English.
“Um, pardon me?” Paul said, clearing his throat. “Didn’t quite catch what you just said.”
The man squinted, looking at each of them in turn, as if doing some deep thinking and analysis. Finally he said, “Ya’ll look as twittered as a hound dawg at a tea party. Whatcha lookin’ fer?”
Tick felt it was his turn. “Sir, we’re, uh, like my friend said—we’re lost. We’re not familiar with this . . . place. Where are we? Where are all the houses and buildings and people?”
The man folded his arms, a smile spreading across his face; he had a huge gap between his two front teeth. “Boy, you must be dumber ‘an roadkill in math class. You hear what I’m sayin’?”
Tick shook his head, trying to look as confused as possible—which wasn’t hard.
The man stepped forward. “Boy, you is standin’ on the Roofens.” He pointed down to the ground with exaggerated enthusiasm. “All the people is down there.”
Chapter
11
~
Below the Roofens
Tick looked at his feet, almost expecting to see little fairies running around to avoid being squished. But of course all he saw were his shoes and a thin crack on the stone road.
“Down there?” he asked.
The man made a noise somewhere deep in this throat, a cross between a cough and the clearing of phlegm. “I reckon that’s what I said, ain’t it? Who in the guppy-guts are you people?”
Tick fumbled for words, glad Sofia spoke up first. “We’re just up here exploring, that’s all. Of course we know what the Roofens are and that we’re standing on them.” She gave Tick an annoyed look. “That we’re on top of the buildings.”
“Ain’t usin’ dem brains a’yorn too much up here, wanderin’ ’round like three hillbillies lookin’ for moonshine. No, ma’am, ain’t too smart.” The man leaned over and spat something dark and disgusting on the road.
“My name’s Sofia, and this is my friend, Tick.” She gestured with her thumb. “And this is Paul. To tell you the truth, we are really lost, and kind of hungry and cold.”
“Mmm-hmm,” the man said with a grunt, eyeing Sofia up and down as if checking for ticks. “Come along, then. Ol’ Sally’ll take right good care of ya.”
Paul spoke for the first time since the appearance of the strange man. “Is Sally your wife?”
The man laughed, a guffaw that hit the mist with a dull thump. “My wife? Boy, I ain’t got me no wife. You’re lookin’ at him.”
Tick was confused. “What do you mean?”
“Boy, what you mean, what I mean?”
“He means, what do you mean?” Sofia said, her voice returning to its normal arrogance.
The lumberjack threw his arms up in the air. “Feel like I’m talkin’ to kai-yotes who done got their ears chopped off. I’m tellin’ ya that yer lookin’ at Sally, and you best not say a word about it.”