“Sofia!” Tick shouted, a boom in the silence that echoed off the tree branches.
“I’m fine,” she whispered back harshly. “Sheesh. I’m just feeling my way toward you.” Another couple of steps, more twigs breaking. “I heard glass break—how did you smash your flashlight?”
Tick could see the shadow of her figure right in front of him now. He reached out and found her shoulder. “Okay. So, I was standing there, and then I saw something to the right. Something like a trail of fog. But it was kind of shaped like a . . . like a stretched-out human with really long arms and fingers. Then it felt like a hundred needles stabbed my arm, and something popped, and the light went out. It’s broken.”
“Wait a second,” Paul said as he also took a couple of tentative steps toward Tick and Sofia. “What did you see again?”
“I guess it must’ve been a Sleek. Kind of smoky and long, looked human-like. What do you think, Master George?”
Silence answered him. Chills swept over Tick. He looked in the direction where he’d last heard George’s voice. His eyes were already adjusting to the darkness, but he saw nothing except the tall, dark shadows of trees and more trees.
“Master George!” he called out, wincing at the loudness of his voice. Again, no answer.
“Those creepy things took him,” Paul said in a fierce whisper. “And we’re next!”
Sofia shushed him then spoke in a quiet voice. “That’s we want to happen, remember? We just have to—”
A twig snapped to Tick’s right, silencing Sofia. A few leaves rustled in the same spot. The swell of chilling panic crept up Tick’s chest as he looked in that direction, straining his eyes to see.
Something stood there, a dozen or so feet away, its shadow splitting the space between two huge, towering trees. Thin but man-shaped, the thing had to be as tall as a basketball standard. The edges of the shadowy figure wavered like a reflection on water, ripples of darkness running up and down. The slightest glint of silver shone where its eyes would be, and something about the light—maybe the hue, maybe the angle—made the creature look very angry.
“Who—” Tick’s voice caught in his throat. “Who are you? Are you a Sleek?”
The thing’s silver eyes flared brighter for just a moment, but it was long enough to reveal more of its features. Streamers of dark smoke were packed tight and swirling through and across each other, compressed together to form the tall body that stood before them. Tick thought they looked almost like worms being held back by some invisible force until they could be unleashed to seek out food.
But the face was different. It didn’t seem to be made of the smoky substance. It looked . . . human. Real skin, though misshapen and scarred. Every cell in Tick’s brain screamed at him to run.
The light of the creature’s eyes dulled again, throwing the tall figure back into shadow.
“Ask it again,” Paul whispered.
Tick didn’t know if he could bring himself to speak. Sofia saved him.
“What are you waiting for?” she yelled. “We know you’re a Sleek, so get it over with! Quit standing there all spooky, you haunted-house wannabe!”
Tick looked over at her, wishing he could see her face. Sometimes her bravery completely stunned him.
A noise from the creature pulled Tick’s attention away from Sofia. A whispery, raspy sound. Harsh and guttural. It continued on for several seconds, but if the thing was trying to communicate, Tick didn’t understand a word of it. The metallic glow of those silver eyes seemed pinpointed on him.
The Sleek quit talking, leaving them all in an eerie stillness. The sounds of the forest remained silent, as if every living creature had long since run away. Then everything changed in an instant.
A wind swept through the woods, sudden and violent. A torrent ripped at the trees, sending leaves shooting through the air like flaky bullets. Tick threw his arms up to protect his face, catching a glimpse of the Sleek’s silver eyes flaring again before they disappeared altogether. Darkness took over, leaving the world black and consumed by the rushing sound of wind.
Sofia screamed, the screech of it barely begun before it whisked away into the distance, fading and gone. Something had taken her. Paul yelled several terror-filled words, but Tick only caught his name. Then a scream even higher-pitched than Sofia’s rang out, followed by a thump and the crack of a broken tree branch. The sounds of a body being dragged quickly across the forest floor were soon swallowed by the overpowering wind.
Sofia—gone. Paul—gone. Master George—gone.
Leaves and small twigs pelted Tick’s body. The howling wind ripped at his clothes and hair. He risked a peek, lowering the arm he held tightly across his upper face, but he saw only darkness in front of him. Flecks of debris hit him in the eyes, making him squeeze them shut. He rubbed at them with his other hand, then opened up again.
He let out a cry of terror when he saw two silver lights right in front of him, looking out of a hideous, mangled face. With a swirl of black smoke, the Sleek grabbed him by both ankles and squeezed them like a metal rope cinched tight enough to break skin and crush bones. His feet flew out from under him as the Sleek pulled. Tick’s back crashed to the ground. Then his whole body jerked forward, dragged across the rough forest floor.
Master George knew what was happening the instant the tingle first sprinkled across the back of his neck. Someone at headquarters had finally locked onto his nanolocator and was winking him back to the Bermuda Triangle station. Sally, probably, having likely broken a hundred things in the process before finally figuring out how do it.
And Master George knew what he had to do.
As soon as the dark forest vanished, replaced by the inner workings of his cramped Control Room with its bright monitors and blinking instruments and metal piping, he threw his hands up and started shouting.
“Don’t wink the others! Don’t wink the others! Don’t wink back Atticus or the rest of them!”
Big Sally—dressed in his usual plaid shirt and overalls—stood at the main computer, a Barrier Wand clasped in his huge hands. The look on his perplexed face was almost comical, and somewhat pitiful as well.
“I’s waitin’ on that brain a’yorn to figger it out anyhoo,” the burly man said. “’Bout chicken-fried my noggin gettin’ you here as it was!”
Master George finally felt a bit of calm. “Excellent work, Sally, excellent work! We mustn’t wink the others back quite yet—they have a very important task to accomplish first. But we need to get to work straight away.” He walked past Sally and headed toward the door.