An eerie blast of the train whistle seemed to congratulate Addy on her escape. She crouched on all fours, trying to keep her balance on the shaking rooftop, with Catnip perched on her shoulders as if he were the rider in a game of horsey. The afternoon sun cast a glow of pink and gold on the leaves and bark of the silver birch trees that flanked the rail line.

The whistle blew again, drowning out Lickpenny’s barrage of bad words. Since the controller didn’t seem to be working the way it was meant to, he was using it as a hammer, bashing away at the talon that held his leg.

The train lurched to an unexpected stop in a series of shuddering hiccups, metal wheels screeching against the iron rails. Addy slipped across the roof like butter on a pancake, just catching hold of the guardrail before the final jolt. Krackle slid toward her, metallic feathers clattering like crazy, dragging the squawking professor behind.

Addy didn’t waste a second. She knew she’d better get to the ground right now, before the train began to move again.

“Now or never, Catnip.” She crawled to the ladder that dropped over the side. The rat was snuggled against the back of her neck, heavier than ever with all that talon supper inside him.

“Don’t sneak away!”

Addy had her feet on the rungs.

“Don’t leave me trapped, girl,” wheedled Professor Lickpenny from his snare on the roof. “I can pay you handsomely. A gold brick for the loan of that … creature of yours.”

“Fix your controller,” called Addy. “Since you’re such a genius.”

She scurried down the ladder, ducking as he flung curses like clots of mud. Finally on firm ground, she looked toward the other half of the train. No sight of anyone headed this way. No Red Riders coming to the rescue, and no Wylder either. Where was he?

And why had the train squealed to a stop out here in the middle of a forest? What if it was because of some dire new catastrophe? Instead of starting the long hike back to the stalled cars, Addy crept forward—past the armored car with its cargo of gold, past Isadora’s hot-air balloon under its striped tarpaulin, past the coal car and along the side of the engine—to peek at whatever awaited in front.

Holy cannoli! A humongous pine tree lay across the railroad tracks, its spiky branches poking in all directions.

“Blast my buttons!” An exasperated voice startled Addy from above. The train engineer was climbing down from her seat to inspect the damage. “It’ll take hours to haul that out of the way.”

Her co-driver scratched his head. “Yes, ma’am, it will. And the ServiDudes are useless outdoors because of their rollers.” He kicked at the uneven ground. “I wonder, was it that same flash flood that caught us a while back?”

The tree had been uprooted by a flood? Holy cannoli! Dropping the comic book into a pool in Florida had toppled a tree in Ontario! It was one of those “Where does something really begin?” examples that Addy’s social studies teacher was always making them think about.

Addy retreated quietly. She did not want to get stuck helping to move a giant Christmas tree.

Way down the tracks in the other direction stood the waiting carriages. Catnip’s tail coiled around her neck, and his nose sniffed her ear. Addy’s feet scrabbled over the pebbles by the rails as she hurried along in the shadow of the train cars.

“You impertinent snippet! I shall have your skin yet!”

Addy looked up to see Professor Lickpenny shaking his controller over the guardrail above. Why had she given him a thing about skin? She shuddered and began to leap, rail tie to rail tie, Catnip riding her shoulder.

Where the stinking sludge was Wylder? Why hadn’t he come looking for her? He had the comic book, so he knew where she was, right? He must have realized by now that he’d grabbed the wrong girl. So where was he?

A boulder freckled with orange lichen shone in the sun, a jewel amid a patch of waving sweetgrass. Silver birch trees swayed slightly in the breeze, like a cluster of giraffes. Addy paused on the track. When would she next sit with Uncle Vim while his colored pencils deftly turned a green scribble into a lakeside woodland?

And what about her mother? What if Addy was stuck here and never went home again? What if—Her eyes blurred for a second before she rubbed them really hard. No crying.

What if Wylder hadn’t come to find her because he wasn’t here anymore? Because he’d found a way home? Would he have left her alone and just gone back to the real world? Addy stubbed her toe on a stone and pin-wheeled her arms to keep her balance, heart banging in her chest.

Would she go home without Wylder if she had the chance? She didn’t think so … but how could a person know what she’d do in a crisis until a crisis came along?

Maybe somewhere in the chaos of the train ahead, Wylder was in trouble too. Maybe he was waiting for her to rescue him, right at this very same moment!

Her trot speeded up to a gallop.

Hang on a second! She nearly skidded to a halt.

There was that stone again, crowned with orange lichen. And the grove of birch trees. Addy turned to look at where she’d come from. Boulder, low bushes, tamaracks—Uncle Vim had reused the same background for several panels, like an endless wallpaper as the train zipped through the landscape. Somehow it altered the size of the world, so that what had looked like a long walk to the stalled half of the train was reduced to only a few more steps. Straight ahead, a minute away, was the beautiful, marvelous, wonderful string of cars, stretched out and waiting.

And—holy cannoli!—the carriage that had been stalled by Snap’s huge body was moving! Toward her! Addy scrambled off the tracks out of its path. What was making it go without a locomotive? The cars slowly click-clacked past her. Something must be pushing from behind. She caught sight of a child waving from a window and waved cheerily back. But what if it had been a wave for help? Last thing she knew, the passengers on the Gold Rush Express were in grave peril from Lickpenny’s rampaging robot. Were people hurt inside the train? Was Wylder somewhere with them?

“Hold it here!”

A cry came from the roof of the shiny red caboose. Addy looked up to see Isadora signaling to someone behind the final car of the train. The whole parade groaned to a stop.

“Nelly!” called Isadora.

Before Addy could say a word, Flynn Goster stepped around the corner of the caboose, looking tall and strong and perfectly fit.

How was he even conscious, let alone pushing a train? What else had changed in the story? His bright eyes danced beneath a lock of dark hair that fell over his forehead. He was impossibly handsome, even Addy could see that. He’d unbuttoned his jacket and his pleated white shirt was disheveled, the neck open to show a gleam of sweat on his chest.

“Good to see you too,” Flynn went on. “The little lady up top will be more than delighted to have you back under her watch.”

“What about you?” said Addy. “Wasn’t so long ago you were in a dead faint, without your—” She stopped herself. It was pretty rude to discuss missing body parts, even with a fictional character. “I mean, I’ve only been gone for … um, what is that?”

The end of Flynn’s right arm was not a stump. Instead, he flexed the fingers of a remarkable—and large—robotic hand.

“Fair Isadora performed a miracle, did she not?”

“Isadora?” Well, why not? She could do pretty much anything. “Oh sure, Uncle Vim. No unicycle? No harp?” “Aiming for perfection,” Uncle Vim had said.

“I am becoming acquainted with my new appendage,” said Flynn. “Watch this!” He held his thumb to the side of the train car and burned a hole straight through it.

That would be the blowtorch, thought Addy.

“Very useful,” she said.

But then the hand began to tremble, and Flynn’s eyes widened in surprise as the jiggling fist reached up and shattered a train window with a single punch. Flynn quickly calmed the quiver with his regular hand, looking mortified.

“Still learning,” he said.

Just then, Isadora, carrying Flynn’s sword, leapt from the top of the train and landed beside Addy on the trackside scruff, as neatly as if she were a cat. She laid down the weapon to hold Addy’s face in her hands and look tenderly into her eyes.

“My poor dear child. Filthy! And bedraggled. Very nearly as woebegone as the day I first met you.”

She thinks I’m Nelly, thought Addy. She’s being kind to someone else.

Addy’s tears welled up and spilled over, trickling down her cheeks. Isadora pushed tangled strands of hair from Addy’s forehead and began to daub at her face with the corner of a handkerchief. Having her face gently cleaned of smoke grime with a lace-edged square of silk was enough to make Addy long for her mother.

“Is this blood?” said Isadora.

“Yes,” said Addy. “But not mine. Lickpenny spattered me with his.”

Flynn had recovered his cool after breaking the glass. Using the diamond-edged saw in his pointer finger, he efficiently zipped away jagged shards from the window frame.

“Is the wicked villain dead?” he said.

“Uh, no.” Addy turned to show them where the professor was pinned to the distant roof.

And nearly gagged.

A dark shape, like an enormous vampire bat, was approaching across the sky with a faint whirr. Sitting astride its shoulders was a stout and cheering pilot. Krackle and its master were on the move, and speeding right toward them!