The True Meaning of Smekday (Page 49)

“Should be something here,” the Chief said, pointing to the housing for the Snark’s Adjustable Manifold. “That’s how come it won’t drive.”

I blinked. That was how come it didn’t drive, but how could he know that? Of course, there was sort of a gaping hole in the middle of the hood. It wouldn’t take a rocketpod scientist to see Slushious was missing something.

“Hey, you’re pretty good,” I said. “We had to get rid of that part after it started exploding too much. How’d you guess?”

“Could tell you,” said the Chief, “but then I’d have to start shouting again.”

I frowned.

“That’s a weird thing to say.”

“You’re telling me.”

I’d thought Lincoln was off somewhere with J.Lo, but suddenly he was at our sides, barking his head off. The Chief had his head buried under the hood, but he looked back over his shoulder.

“Lincoln—what’s wrong with you?” he said, and spat. “Doesn’t usually bark much.”

“Chief,” I said, my voice thin.

Gorg jetpackers buzzed over Roswell like flies at a picnic. And one of them had broken away from the rest to head right for the junkyard.

Chief Shouting Bear saw him too, and sped immediately toward the house.

“Gotta move the booth,” he said. “You hide under the car.”

“Chief!”

He skidded to a halt and looked back.

“They’re hunting cats,” I breathed.

A moment passed, and he rushed back. Pig didn’t want to leave the car with Lincoln near, so I had to pull her out with a floor mat still attached to her feet. The Chief scooped her up and ran off again.

“Under the car!” he ordered.

He didn’t have to tell me a third time. I dropped to my hands and knees and slid under Slushious, choking on dust.

It was very quiet. I only noticed the birds had been singing when they abruptly stopped.

I don’t know what I’d expected it to feel like, with Slushious floating over me. I don’t think I’d expected anything at all. But it was cold, like standing in front of a refrigerator.

Somewhere behind me I heard exactly the sound of a Gorg wearing a jetpack land in the yard.

I tried not to breathe. I tried not to think about the way my lungs felt scratchy with New Mexico dirt. Then it was suddenly bright. Slushious was shoved aside, and I squinted up at the ugliest face in the universe.

J.Lo disagrees with me about this. He says the title of Most Ugliest goes to the Goozmen of the Crab Nebula, which are apparently just blobs of carbon. But I could see how a blob of carbon might look nice with soft lighting. What stood over me was a Gorg, and he looked like a half ton of anger in bicycle shorts.

He was a dull olive green, with bloodred splotches around his head and shoulders. Here and there he had thick purplish plates growing out of his skin like giant fingernails. If creatures really evolve to suit their surroundings, then the Nimrogs surely were a race of backstabbers, the way their backsides were covered in armor and horns.

I didn’t know if I should stay down or get up, but then he helped me decide by nearly yanking my arm out at the shoulder. I found my feet but avoided looking him in the eyes.

“HUMAN!” Gorg barked. When he spoke, his frowning mouth gaped like a fish. “WHERE IS THE STOLEN BOOTH!”

Oh, I thought. My eyes began to water. The stink coming off him could perm your hair.

“Um…what now?”

“ARE YOU LOUD BEAR CHIEFTAIN?!” said Gorg, cracking his knuckles. They made a sound so low you could feel it in your bones.

“Who?”

“CHIEFTAIN LOUD BEAR MAN!”

Gorg paced around me, scanning the piles of junk and scrap. He seemed especially taken with Bathhenge. I didn’t know where the Chief was hiding Pig and the booth, but I didn’t think he’d had enough time.

“I, uh, I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I said. “You must have the wrong place.”

He trod forward on thick legs and bent over me. I did my best to look calm on the outside, but my insides were dancing and throwing off sparks like a fork in a microwave.

“IT IS NOT THE WRONG PLACE. YOU ARE THE WRONG PLACE!”

“Um.”

“I WAS TOLD TO FIND THE SHOUTING ANIMAL MAN IN HIS GARBAGE COOP!”

“I’m sorry, but—I’m sorry!” I yelped and skipped backward as Gorg advanced on me. “You were given bad information. Probably some human’s fault.”

“I AM PRINCIPAL ANGER COORDINATOR ASSOCIATE-OF-THE-MONTH GORG FOUR-GORG! HUMANS WILL GIVE ME BAD INFORMATION AT THEIR PERIL!”

He didn’t look like a principal. He looked like something Hercules ought to be wrestling on the side of a vase.

Gorg bent further and raised a fist over my head. He’s bluffing, I thought. It’s just to scare me into changing my story. To make me blurt something out. I straightened up as tall as I could and breathed through my mouth. I looked him right in the eye. And when I couldn’t bear that, I looked him right in the nose.

You have a ridiculous nose, I thought, tears running down my face. Look at it. It’s like an oak leaf made out of steak.

And suddenly it was as if I had mental powers. Gorg’s nose twitched. It twitched again. He scrunched his whole face, and his nose closed up like a Venus flytrap.

Then his torso snapped back and forward again, and he made the weirdest, wettest noise I ever heard. It must have been a sneeze, but it sounded like an elephant being forced through a drinking straw.

“WHERE IS IT?” Gorg howled, looking at my feet.

I looked too, confused. If he meant the booth, I sure wasn’t standing on it.

“Where is what?”

“ANSWER ME, BOY! THE GORG ARE NOT TO BE TRIFLED WITH!”

I scowled. “I’m a girl.”

He leaned in close, looking me over, breathing on my hair. Something like molasses ran from his bat face.

“YOU ALL LOOK THE SAME.”

“Ha! You’re one to talk.”

“YES, WE ARE!” he bellowed. “THE GORG ARE GREAT ONES FOR TALKING! TALKING AND POUNDING!”

“Hey!” came a shout from the house, and I exhaled. Later I’d wish the Chief had stayed hidden, but at the time all I felt was relief. If my thoughts could have formed words they’d have said, Please, treat me like a child. Come save me.

“Leave her be!” shouted Chief Shouting Bear, striding toward us. “Y’wanna deal with someone, you deal with—”