“ADDY!”
There it was again.
Wylder didn’t know anyone who spoke that low or that loud—whose voice was so powerful that it came from all points of the compass in the same breath.
And yet the voice was strangely familiar.
“ADDY, WHERE ARE YOU?”
“Who is that?” he said. “He knows your name!”
“Could it be …?” Addy looked around in confusion. Cinny was still surfing, but the waves were swollen, and his balance seemed precarious. On the shore, the kids stared at each other in confusion, the beach ball abandoned.
Addy pointed. “Look,” she whispered.
The comic changed as they watched. The black page lightened, first to gray and then to white. The panels were blank, as if waiting for someone to draw the story.
You read in books about someone’s heart sinking, and it sounds so unlikely. And then it happens to you. Wylder’s heart went straight down like an express elevator, from his chest to his stomach.
He couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if they’d been in the comic world when it went blank.
He didn’t like this feeling of helplessness. This was worse than being trapped in the car wash last spring with his dad. Worse than watching a skateboarder collide with a lamppost.
He discovered that he and Addy were holding hands. He wasn’t the only one who needed a friend.
“Wait!” Wylder had hardly blinked and the panels were filled in again. How had that happened?
“It was just some cosmic hiccup,” said Addy. “See? The pictures are the way they were before.”
Flynn doing Lickpenny’s bidding. Nevins dangling, the lammergeyer hauling gold, McGurk and his new peg leg.
The blackout was a passing phenomenon, an eclipse. The story was back to the way it had been.
Or was it?
“Uh-oh,” said Wylder. “Is that who I think it is?”
“ADDY! WYLDER WALLACE! ARE YOU THERE?”
“Sludge deluxe,” said Addy. “He’s here!”
“I don’t get it,” whispered Wylder.
“He must have found the portal. Uncle Vim is inside the comic.”
Talk about massive muddy mess-ups! Addy’s brain skipped around in one-word hops: What? Why? No!
“This is bad,” said Wylder.
A dense gray fog rolled in over the ocean, devouring Cinna-Monkey and his gliding surfboard. The smiley beach kids began to whimper. Maybe they’d never seen bad weather before.
Addy nudged Catnip inside her vest and buttoned up. She tapped the comic in Wylder’s hand. “You agree?”
He nodded, firm and certain. “Prepare for takeoff,” he said. “Tell me when you’re ready.”
Addy closed her eyes, anticipating the yucky, spinny motion. Truth was, she’d nearly been convinced that Wylder was right, that they should just go home. In maybe ten more seconds, she would have let him flip to the back page, where the flashy ad for the Gold Rush Express at ComicFest would have transported them to Toronto.
But now!
Uncle Vim had come looking for her. Addy tingled with certainty. What Wylder had said was true, and here was proof. Uncle Vim loved her more than he loved his own comic, and he was risking everything to find her when he thought she was lost. She was trying to save the comic, and Uncle Vim was trying to save her. But really, they were doing the same thing. Telling each other how much they cared.
“Are you ready or not?” Wylder nudged her.
She blinked sneaky tears out of the way. Deep breath.
“Yes,” she said. “Go.”
He slid his thumb between the cover and the first page. Addy watched so closely that she could practically feel the grainy texture of the paper. He lifted the corner.
THWIP!
Fog from the beach whooshed around them, adding to the blurry jumble of motion. Addy dropped with a thudding bounce on a very hard floor and bumped up against Wylder’s leg. Catnip chirped like an excited bird.
“ADDY?”
Where was Uncle Vim? His voice reverberated in the room like a foghorn inside a jar. Not a room, though. A train car. And not just any train car … Addy stared in wonder.
Stacks and stacks of golden bricks reached up to the ceiling like a million pounds of butter. She had expected to arrive in the scene with the Red Riders and the gold at the station. But she and Wylder had landed inside the armored car!
“Wow!” said Wylder. “It’s beautiful. No wonder everyone wants to steal it.”
“Um, hello? They’re about to think that we’re the ones stealing it.” Addy pointed to the far end of the car, where two officers guarded an open door. Two more were wheeling in a cart loaded to the brim with gold bricks.
“ADDY!”
The Rider guards lifted their guns, aiming at the sky.
Addy scrambled to her feet. Wylder clutched the rolled-up comic book against his chest.
“Where are you?” she called.
At the sound of her voice, the officers at the door swung their weapons around to point them straight at Addy.
“DON’T TOUCH MY NIECE!”
The guards dropped their aim, but they advanced into the car, looking ready to pounce.
“Hands up,” the younger one said. “You have some explaining to do.” His hat was too big for him and sat low over his eyes.
The older Rider, with a mustache, clicked his heels together and strode toward them, motioning to the other fellow to keep his gun at the ready.
“I think we just blew the story-fixing plan,” said Wylder. He lifted his arms above his head, still gripping the comic book.
“Uncle Vim?” Addy raised her hands too. She scanned the spaces not filled with gold. Her eyes went up to a window near the roof—a window so small it was more of an air vent.
“Uncle Vim!”
Peering through the tiny window was a bespectacled and beloved face.
“Fancy meeting me here,” Wylder murmured.
Catnip, on his hind legs, looked almost as if he were waving at Viminy Crowe.
“What did you say?” The mustachioed Rider poked Wylder with his blunderbuss.
“Er, nothing.” Wylder looked the way Addy felt—horrified at having a real weapon pointed at him.
“Next time,” said the Rider, tugging at the end of his mustache, “say what you mean, loud and clear, Cowboy.”
Wylder stared at the officer. Sparkling eyes, cheeky smile, extraordinary facial hair.
“Holy cannoli,” said Addy. “I forgot about him.”
“Y-y-you’re Flynn!” Wylder’s eyes were wide open, like a cartoon face of surprise.
“Sssh!” said Flynn. “Officer McNot. Special duty sergeant.”
“Special gold duty, you mean!” said Wylder.
“We’re supposed to be fixing the plot,” said Addy. “Not giving it away!”
“THAT’S MY GIRL!” said Uncle Vim.
“And you!” cried Addy. “What are you doing here?”
“I FREAKED WHEN I GOT YOUR NOTE, WYLDER WALLACE. I HAD TO COME FOR YOU.”
“But how did you—”
“I TRIED THE LADIES’ ROOM BUT THAT DIDN’T WORK. SO I FOUND THE DISPLAY AND HERE I AM. SLUDGE! I WISH THIS BOOMING VOICE-OF-GOD THING WOULD GO AWAY. BUT I’M SO HAPPY TO SEE YOU BOTH, I COULD DANCE THE SAMBA.”
“Please don’t,” said Addy.
“HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.”
Uncle Vim’s laughter shook the entire carriage. The Rider with the too-big hat lifted his gun again. The one with the mustache wasn’t there anymore.
“Where’d he go?” said Wylder. “The guy called McNot?”
The other guard looked around in befuddlement.
“Um, Officer?” said Addy. “We’re in here by mistake. Just let us go, and I promise you’ll never see us again.”
“I am under orders to apprehend all suspicious persons,” said the Rider.
“Then I guess we’re going to wreck your day.” Addy scooped Catnip into her bag. “Right, Wylder?”
“Right.”
Next page. In the train corridor, just as Isadora and Nelly boarded, followed by a Porter ServiDude with four arms carrying suitcases and boxes, and one more holding open the stateroom door. Nelly was talking a mile a minute.
“I like this train, Auntie! Did you see those Red Riders? They’re guarding something big, I’ll wager. I’m going exploring to find out what. Can I? Can I go exploring?”
Isadora smiled. “Not ‘can I,’ dear. ‘May I.’ ‘May I go exploring?’ ”
“May I, then? And I want new boots. Can I get new ones in Toronto?”
The stateroom door closed behind them.
Wylder poked Addy. “Nelly is based on you, right?”
“Nelly might look like me,” said Addy, “but actually it’s Isadora who more resembles—”
“Nice try,” said Wylder.
“Let’s find Uncle Vim.”
The corridor was nearly empty. The train whistled loudly as it pulled out of the Vancouver station.
CLICKETY-CLACK, CLICKETY-CLACK.
“Can you hear me, Uncle Vim?” said Addy. “Can you see me?”
“I CAN SEE EVERYTHING!”
The voice was loud, deep, scary.
“Where are—Oh, yes.” She pointed out the window. Sure enough, a shadowy outline of Uncle Vim’s head floated alongside the moving train. Wylder waved and Uncle Vim nodded.
“YOU WERE RIGHT, WYLDER WALLACE. IT’S REAL AS REAL! INCREDIBALLOO!”
“Shhh!” said Addy. “Where are you?”
Wylder scanned the page. “His head is in every panel,” he muttered. “But I don’t see his body anywhere.”
“Are you in the train, Uncle Vim?” Addy asked. “Or outside?”
“I AM WATCHING A TRAIN CREW MOVE A TREE OFF
THE TRACKS.”
“Can you try whispering?” said Addy.
“WHY IS THERE A TREE ON THE TRAIN TRACKS?” Uncle Vim spoke at the same echoing volume.
“Yeah, why is that?” said Wylder.
“The tree was uprooted in the flood. Remember how our clothes were all soaked?”
Jeez, he thought. I fell in the pool and the entire world got drenched.
“We have to meet up,” said Addy.
“Do you have your copy of the comic book, Uncle Vim?”
A whoosh of air came rushing down the carriage. Outside the window, Wylder saw a tree bend over sideways before straightening back up. A flurry of alarmed cries went through the passengers. A ServiDude zipped past them on well-oiled wheels, arms flapping. It rolled right through the first-class car and banged into the door at the end.
“ASTOUNDISHING! I TURNED THE PAGE AND ZWOOSH!”
“Pretty, pretty please,” said Addy. “Will you just whisper?”
Wylder was trying to wrap his brain around the tricky situation. “Where are you, Uncle Vim?” Two comic books, open at two different places. A scary balancing act. Like riding a bike on a high wire, the only way off was down.
“I SEE MISS PRISM, MY FOURTH-GRADE TEACHER. SHE GAVE ME A DETENTION FOR RUNNING IN THE HALLS, SO I DREW HER WITH A CANE. HI THERE, MISS PRISM! DOING MUCH RUNNING THESE DAYS?”
Addy bugged her eyes at Wylder, like “How embarrassing could a shouting uncle be?”
Another whoosh of air rushed down the corridor. The ServiDude rolled back past them and through the open door at the other end of the carriage.
“PEOPLE ARE STARING AT ME AS IF I’M SOME KIND OF MONSTER. REMINDS ME OF A HIGH SCHOOL DANCE. HOW DO I GET TO YOU, ADDY?”
She peered at the comic in Wylder’s hand. “Turn to page 3, Uncle Vim!” she said. “That’s where we are! Third panel.”
WHOOSH! Vim turned a page. And another. And another. WHOOSH! WHOOSH! Mighty gusts of wind blew new people into the carriage. Some stayed on their feet. Others hovered just above the ground. Where had they come from? A girl floated by. Her face looked just like Nelly’s—and Addy’s—but she had blonde hair and glasses. Was it Nelly in disguise? No, because there was Nelly, creeping toward the door. And there was Isadora—but no, not actually. This woman was taller than Isadora and led a tiger on a leash. A tiger! The beast yawned as it padded along. Wylder squeezed to the side of the aisle, out of its way.
“OKAY, ADDY! I’M IN A QUIET PLACE. I’LL WAIT FOR YOU HERE.”
Addy pushed through the crowd to get closer to Uncle Vim’s strange floating head, which was still hovering outside the window. His glasses flashed when the sun caught them.
“Tell us exactly where you are,” said Addy. “We’ll come to you.”
“Here he is.” Wylder pointed to the comic.
Uncle Vim’s answer left no doubt.
“I AM STANDING NEXT TO A TOILET.”
