“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