“We don’t have time,” Sofia said.

Paul let out a bitter laugh, but didn’t say anything.

“What do you mean?” Tick said. “We have to find him a doctor.”

Sofia pointed to her watch. “It’s already four-thirty. We only have thirty minutes left.”

“But—”

“Tick,” Paul cut in.

Tick looked at him. Paul’s body was covered in sweat, his eyes so bloodshot they looked as if they’d been dipped in red paint. The scowl of pain on his face had created deep lines in his forehead, large cracks that seemed permanent. But somehow, despite everything, Paul smiled—a miserable grimace, but a smile all the same.

“She’s right,” he said. “Broken arm, broken leg, broken head—doesn’t matter. Hungry, thirsty, ugly—doesn’t matter. We’ve only got thirty minutes.”

Tick paused, exchanging long glances with both of them. Finally, he nodded.

“Let’s go,” he said.

They took off, running along the wide arc of the border street.

Chapter

33

~

Five O’Clock

It took fifteen minutes to find the intersection representing five o’clock. Luckily, their hotel, The Stroke of Midnight Inn, had been two streets down from where they’d exited the forest. Once there, Tick and the others ran with renewed strength, counting the times off as they sprinted toward their destination.

One o’clock. Two o’clock. Three, four, five.

Gasping each breath, Tick doubled over to rest, hands on his knees, while he scanned the area for any sign of what they were supposed to do to wink away. They had only ten minutes until the real five o’clock.

The thick forest hugged the outside curve of the main street, the line of massive trees looming like ancient wooden towers. Thankfully, there was no sign of any mutant radioactive demon monkey-bears. The road that led from the town square of Circle City to the woods was bordered with various buildings and shops, people bustling about with smiles on their faces but blank looks in their eyes, as if kindness had worn thin and they only wanted to get their next task done. The eerie opera-lady music blared from unseen speakers.

The “T” formed by the two-street intersection was mostly empty, the clean pavement unblemished from potholes or cracks. Tick couldn’t see so much as a sewer grate, and wondered why everything about this Reality seemed simple but . . . off somehow.

I hope I never find out, he thought. I want out of here.