“Miss Italy, you’re probably right, but do you have to be so annoying?”
They walked for another couple of hours, but nothing changed. The path only led to more of the same—mounds of dark metal and looming, odd shapes. Tick finally couldn’t take it anymore; his feet hurt and his stomach rumbled with hunger.
“We need to eat,” he said. “And sleep.”
“Amen,” Paul agreed.
Sofia didn’t say anything, but she almost collapsed to the ground, sighing as she leaned back against a black wall and pulled out a granola bar and a bottle of water from her backpack. Tick sat across the road from her, diving into his own food.
“How can I possibly sleep here?” Paul asked as he bit into an energy bar. “I don’t have my feather pillow.”
Tick half-laughed, but he already felt his eyes drooping, despite sitting up. Feeling like he’d been drugged, he leaned over and lay on his side, pulling his backpack under his head for a pillow. He fell asleep instantly.
Two days passed, though the only way Tick knew for sure was by looking at his watch and noticing the subtle changes in the darkness of the sky. Tick’s anxiety and panic faded into a dull indifference as they trudged along the endless path, finding nothing. For all he knew, they were walking in circles because everything looked so similar.
They grew quiet as they walked, discouragement acting as a gag in their throats.
On the morning of their third day in the miserable place, Tick finished off his measly breakfast of a candy bar, half a bottle of water, and a stale piece of bread—he was almost out of food. As he stood and put on his backpack, Paul gave him an ugly look.
“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.”
“Your name is Sally?” Tick asked.
“Sally T. Jones, at yer service.” He bowed, sweeping his arms wide, then righting himself. His face had reddened from the blood rushing to his head; it matched his beard. “Named after my grandpappy, who was named after his grandpappy. See, Sally’s short for Sallivent, a name older than expired dirt, ya hear?”
“We hear,” Sofia said. “You have a woman’s name.”
Tick elbowed his friend. “Be nice,” he whispered.
“I like it,” Paul said. “Beats the heck out of being named Princess or Barbie, right?”
Sally gave Paul a confused look. “I’ll eat my own dandruff if you ain’t the strangest group of chirrun I ever done seen.”
“What’s a chirrun?” Tick asked.
Sally squinted in disbelief. “Chirrun. Ya know—you’s a kid, a child. More than one of ya—chirrun.”
“I think he means children,” Sofia said.
Sally took a step to the side, then motioned around the back of the metal block. “You kids wanna come back with me? Get ya sumthin’ to fill dem tummies?”
“Where’d you come from?” Paul asked, leaning to get a look around the metal wall. “Is there seriously a whole city under us? Under these roofs?”
“Like I said, boy, we standin’ on the Roofens. Probably done shaved purtin’ near six months off your life stayin’ out chere for so long. Dis dirty air’ll eat yer innards quicker than a beaver on balsa wood.”
“What’s wrong with the air?” Tick asked.
Sally did his funny squint again. “I reckon you folks ain’t lyin’ when you says yer lost. These parts ’bout as polluted as my granny’s toenails. Why do you think they built dem cities under all this here metal?”
“Why’d you come up here, then?” Sofia asked.
Sally paused, his eyes darting back and forth. “I, uh, well, ya see, the thing is . . .” He scratched his beard. “See, I done heard yer little twitter feet up on my ceilin’ there, so I come up to do some investigatin’. Yep, that’s what I reckon, far as I recall.”
Tick exchanged a baffled look with Sofia and Paul. It didn’t take a genius to realize they’d already caught Sally in his first lie.
“Well,” Tick said, “we need a minute to talk about what we’re gonna do.”
“Go on, then,” Sally said. “I ain’t got a mind to bother dem there bid’ness and matter, such as it were.”
“Huh?” Paul asked.
Tick quickly grabbed his friend by the shoulders and turned him away from Sally, pulling him into a huddle with Sofia.
“So what do we do?” Tick whispered.
“That guy’s something else, ain’t he?” Paul asked. “I can barely understand a word he says.”
“I’m already getting used to it,” Sofia said. “If you ignore every third word or so, it makes perfect sense.”
“But what do we do?” Tick insisted.
“What else?” Paul said. “Go with this dude and get something to eat.”
“How do we know he’s safe?” Tick asked.
“Dude, get off the sissy train. There are three of us and one of him.”
“He seems perfectly harmless,” Sofia said. “I vote we go with him. We can’t walk around up here for the rest of our lives.”
“Plus,” Paul said, “he said this air’s really polluted. I’m not real cool on the whole lung-cancer thing. Let’s do it.”
Sofia nodded. “I’m dying to see what’s down there.”
Tick thought for a second. He felt uneasy, but he knew it was because their lives had gone flat-out crazy the last couple of days. Sally was definitely holding something back, and that made Tick nervous, but Paul was right—they had him outnumbered.
“All right,” he whispered, then turned to Sally. “Sir, we really appreciate the offer to go to your house. We’re really hungry, and, uh, lost.”
Sally smiled and rubbed his belly. “I ain’t said nothing about goin’ to my house. But I know a restaurant’s got some good eatin’. Come on, den.” He waved his arm in a beckoning gesture as he turned and walked back the way he’d come.