Something shot out of the box and into the air—Tick lost track of it before he could tell what it was. An odd thump filled the air, like the sound of a distant thunderclap. Tick reached up and rubbed his ears; they felt like someone had stuffed cotton balls in them. He heard a faint buzz, like static on the radio.
Sally stood up, folded his arms, then grinned with satisfaction.
“Finally! Dadgum thing actually worked,” he said. “George ain’t never failed before—I reckon one of these days I’ll quit doubtin’ the old feller. But I didn’t wanna whip that sucker out ’til you knew who I was. We can talk now.”
Tick didn’t say a word—neither did his friends. The last few minutes had been so strange, so . . . weird, what were they supposed to say?
Sally laughed, a deep rumble that Tick swore shook the building. “You three look as twitterpated as a coon done found itself fallen in the outhouse bucket. Right diddly-widdly, I ain’t never seen such a sight before. What ya’ll
a-feared of? I had to play dress-up so Chu wouldn’t get all suspicious-like. Spies and such about, ya know.”
Still, none of them responded. Tick blinked, then swallowed. Then he blinked again.
“Snap out of it!” Sally roared. “We ain’t got no time to sit here throwin’ peepeyes. I got to hurry and gets myself on outta here.”
Sofia was the first one to speak. “It’s just, well, we didn’t . . . we didn’t know you were a Realitant.”
“Not to mention the news you just dropped in our laps,” Paul added. “I think I’m gettin’ too old for this stuff.”
“Nonsense,” Sally said, sitting on the bed and crossing his legs. As soon as he did, he winced and put both feet back on the floor. “Never did get how dem fancy lads like George sit that way. Yipes.”
The static-laced buzzing sound still filled the air; Tick rubbed his ears again. “Why is it okay to talk now? What was in the box?”
Sally huffed. “Boy, you think I got da first nary a clue what dat dang thing was? Round dem Realitant parts, I’m known for my brawn and grits-cookin’, not much on da brains. Ol’ George said pop that sucker open—called it a dang ol’ airborne nano whatchamerbucket—and we can talk. I done did it, and here I sit, talkin’ my silly head off, and we ain’t got nowhere fast.”
Tick took a deep breath before he’d realized it—a sigh of relief. Maybe the world wasn’t over after all.
“Sounds like you have a lot to tell us,” Sofia said.
Sally nodded. “Reckon so. Good gravy on raw beef, I ain’t got a clue where to git to start yappin’ on.”
Tick felt like he understood about one-third of what came out of Sally’s mouth, but he liked him all the same. “Just start from the beginning. How’d you find us in that weird place with the metal spiders? And what’s going on with Reginald Chu?” Saying the name slammed a fist of reality back into Tick’s gut, and his temporary good mood soured.
“All right, den.” Sally shifted on the bed until his back was up against the wall. “Ya’ll git yerselves comfy, and I’ll
tell ya every last bit I got in dis here noggin. Ain’t much, mind ya, but listen up anyhow.”
Sally started talking.
Chapter
26
Needles
Sato didn’t know what else to do—he pounded on the huge metal door of the icy alcove with his fist. A deep, hollow boom echoed down the rocky mountainside. Sato shook his hand, needles of pain vibrating through his cold skin after the impact.
No one answered at first, though Sato hadn’t really expected them to. His theory that George might have made a mistake had taken root, entrenching itself deeper into his heart, sickening him. Freezing to death didn’t sound like the best way to go.
But it wasn’t long before something scraped on the other side of the door, followed by a loud clunk of metal against metal. Sato stepped back as the door slowly swung inward, the wind blowing wispy trails of snow into the dark interior of the mountain. He braced his feet, held his hands up in defense, not having any idea of what might lunge at him from the gloom.
“What’s that?” a raspy voice called out. A pale face appeared, ghoulish with sunken cheeks, like a ghost peeking from beyond the grave. “What’s that, I say?” The man’s whitish eyes darted about. Sato was surprised the light from outside wasn’t blinding him.
“I’m . . .” Then it hit Sato—he had absolutely no idea what to say. “I . . . my name is Sato, and I’m looking for someone.”
“What’s that?” the man repeated, stepping forward to reveal his whole body—rail-thin with tattered, filthy clothes hanging on by threads. His eyes still hadn’t settled on Sato. “Lookin’ for someone, are ya? What, you one of them Snarkies? Come to help, have you? No help for the Loons—too late for that, I can promise ya.”
The initial shock of seeing an insane asylum on top of a mountain having finally worn off, Sato’s hopes lifted. George had sent him to the perfect place to find people who’d gone crazy. Now, if he could just get inside, get a blood sample, and get out. But how would he know if his target patient was normal crazy or Reginald-Chu-plague-infected crazy?
Sato felt his courage building. “I’m looking for someone. I want to visit him. He’s one of the people who got sick recently—went insane from the new plague that’s been going around.”
“What’s that?” the man said, spittle flying from his mouth. “Plague? There’s a plague about?”
“Haven’t you had a lot of people brought in recently?” Sato asked, trying to fight off the shivers that racked his body.
“Don’t know ’bout brought in.” The man pointed to the treacherous stairs leading down the face of the mountain. “But an awful lot brought out, if ya catch my meanin’.”
Sato turned to look at the stone steps, thinking about the man’s words. The sign stated this door was for the execution of inmates—did that mean they threw them off the knife-edged cliff below? Sato felt his stomach twist.
He faced the man again. “May I please come in? I’m freezing to death out here.”
“Right, in ya go,” the poor excuse for a guard replied, stepping back and opening the door until it bumped against the stone wall inside. “Beats me how ya got here in the first place, but in ya go, nice and toasty. Lots of Loons in here—not much hope of findin’ your mate, I can tell ya that. Name’s Klink, by the way.”