I hope I never find out, he thought. I want out of here.
Paul zigzagged back and forth as he scanned the street for any sign or clue of a place in which they might need to stand at the appointed time. He clutched his arm and limped as if the pain had traveled through the rest of his body. Sofia searched as well, and Tick joined in. No one said a word, but worry and discouragement hung in the air like wilting clouds. Time was running out. Though confident they were in the right place, Tick didn’t know if that was good enough.
It does not matter; I do not care.
Just make sure your feet find air.
“The word air has to be carved somewhere,” Paul said.
“Yeah,” Tick mumbled as he walked awkwardly along, bent over, searching the pavement.
Sofia had stopped, her arms folded. “I think we’re thinking too much. Or maybe not enough.”
Tick looked at his watch. Six minutes. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I think all we need to do is jump,” she replied. “Jump up at five o’clock, and our feet will be in the air.”
Tick stood straight, stretched his back. “Hmm. Possible,” he said. But something tickled the back of his brain. Something didn’t seem right. “But what if that’s not it?”
“Got any better ideas?”
Tick looked at Paul, who was still searching, still wincing with every step. His arm looked like a giant purple slug.
“What do you think?” Tick asked.
Paul answered without stopping his hunt. “I thought of that, but . . . I don’t know, I guess there’s nothing else to do. Just keep looking, and if we don’t find anything by the one-minute mark, we’ll stand in the middle of the road and jump at five o’clock.”
“Sounds good,” Tick said, resuming his search.
One minute passed. Two. No sign of anything, anywhere. Two minutes left. Nothing.
“Time’s almost up,” Sofia said, running toward the exact middle of the intersection. “Come on, hurry!”
Paul and Tick joined her. One minute to go. Then, like someone had dropped a water balloon on his head, a thought slammed into his mind. Make sure your feet find air. Make sure your feet find air!
“Your socks and shoes!” he screamed, reaching down before they could respond and ripping off his right shoe, not bothering to untie it. “Take off your shoes!” He pulled off his sock and then moved to his left foot.
Neither of them responded or argued—they did as they were told. Paul used his feet to kick off his shoes, then his one good arm to remove his socks. Anyone watching might have thought they’d gone nuts, or had ants crawling along their skin. But in a matter of twenty seconds, the three of them stood barefoot, the pavement warm on their feet, their shoes and socks gripped in their hands.
“Fifteen seconds,” Sofia whispered through a big breath.
“You’re a genius, Tick,” Paul said, his shoes wedged under his armpit.
“Ten seconds,” Sofia said.
“Maybe we should jump just in case,” Paul blurted out.
“Do it,” Tick agreed.
Sofia nodded as she counted the last five seconds. “Five, four, three, two, one—now!”
Tick had already bent his legs, and jumped into the air on her call.
When he came back down, the world around them had vanished, and his feet landed on something very cold.
“This is weird,” Rutger said as he stared at the command center screen, his eyes glued to the tracking marks of Tick’s Earwig Transponder. Master George, Sally, and Mothball stood behind him. They’d all come running when the chime had rung through the building, indicating Tick had winked to another location.
“Weird, indeed,” Master George whispered.
“Whatcha two hanks goin’ on ’bout?” Sally bellowed. “I ain’t got nary a clue what that thing a’yorn’s tellin’ me.” He pointed at the screen.
Rutger answered. “They just winked to a large plain in Reality Prime—but in the middle of nowhere. The far northern reaches of Canada, it looks like. Nothing for dozens of miles around them.”
“Goodness gracious me,” Master George whispered. “Chu’s tests are getting way out of hand. The poor chaps and Sofia will freeze up there!”
“Mayhaps we need be rescuin’ them,” Mothball said.
Master George shook his head adamantly. “Absolutely not. The antidote is as complete as it’ll ever get, and we have to get it where it needs to be. Let’s just all pray it works. Sally.”
The large man jumped, as if he’d been caught daydreaming. “Yessir?”
“This may be our best chance—our last chance. I want you to wink there right away and give them the antidote.”
Sally’s eyes grew wide. “But . . . I’m a-feared of the cold somethin’ awful.”
“No matter,” Master George said over his shoulder as he walked briskly away, heading for the testing lab. “Come on, chop-chop!”
Rutger couldn’t help but feel sorry for the big lug of a man. He reached up and tapped Sally on the elbow. “You’ll be fine. Just wink in, wink out. No problem.”
Sally laughed, his booming chortle echoing off the walls of the room. “You ain’t got no thermal undies I could borry, do ya?”
“Hilarious,” Rutger said, hopping down from his chair to follow Master George.
“Ah, dude, it’s freezing here!” Paul said. He sat down on the hard ground and started struggling back into his shoes using only one arm. Sofia knelt down and helped him.
Although the bottoms of Tick’s feet felt like they stood on ice, he turned in a slow circle, gawking at the new place they’d been winked to. It was a barren, miserable land, flat and gray in every direction, all the way to the horizon. Not a plant or tree or animal in sight. The sun poked through a brief break in a cloud-heavy sky, but it added no color to the bleakness, no warmth. There was no snow, but everything about the area looked cold and dreary.
Then he saw something that stopped him. A small building—a tiny, leaning wooden hut just a few hundred feet away.
“Just be glad it’s not winter,” Sofia said, tying her shoelaces. “Or we’d have already been frozen.”
Tick snapped out of his daze and sat down, pulling on his first sock. “I wonder what that little shack is over there.” He pointed.
Paul and Sofia glanced in that direction.
“Looks abandoned,” Paul said. He grimaced as he lay back on his one good elbow, his injured arm resting on his ribs.
Tick finished tying his shoes. “I wonder where we are.” He stood up, the ground too cold and hard.
Sofia joined him. “Who knows? Let’s go check out that building.”
Paul groaned. “Couldn’t that jerk have sent us somewhere that has a hospital? I’d settle for a place that sells aspirin. But no—he had to send us to Pluto.”
“Come on,” Tick said, offering his hand to help him stand.
Paul shook his head. “It hurts too much. Got my own way of moving now.” He pushed off with his elbow, then rolled to his knees. After taking a couple of deep breaths, he stumbled to his feet, a little off balance. Tears rimmed the bottom edges of his eyes; one escaped and trickled down his cheek.
Tick quickly looked away, pretending he hadn’t noticed. Oh, man, he thought. He’s gonna die on us.
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.
Chapter
34
The Antidote
Tick 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?”