Free Wheels by Lorijo Metz Page A

into McKenzie’s hand.
    “EEEEEE, tsoot, tsoot, tsoot!”
    “Open it!” he ordered.
    The handle was made from the pale-blue wood, while the umbrella-like top was shiny burgundy, like the leaves. Pietas and Hayes were each holding one.
    “EEEEEE, tsoot, tsoot, tsoot!” A second later, a mottled glob—McKenzie shuddered to think of what—dropped from above and landed in front of her. Several more globs hit the ground and disappeared, either absorbed, or eaten by the forest floor.
    “ Tsootbas spit,” said Hayes.
    “What?”
    “Tsootbas spit. They spit when they see movement.”
    Images of long slimy tongues raining down wads of spit brewed in McKenzie’s imagination. She pulled her umbrella closer. “How do you know that?”
     “That was not a tsootbas,” said Pietas, “Though by the sound of it, they’re close. A tsootbas would not have missed. That was a sobolis dropping.” She frowned. “There seem to be ever more of them in the forest since Wells arrived. Regardless, be aware that it is one of the hazards of traveling beneath someone else’s home. Keep your noofotos close.”
    “Umbrella,” whispered Hayes, pointing to McKenzie’s noofoto.
    “Wow, Hayes, you’re like a walking alien dictionary.”
    “YE-UK!” Hayes jumped left and snatched up the bowling ball puppy as two globs of something sizzled briefly and disappeared under the moss—inches from where he’d been standing.
    “S-S-Sobolis droppings,” he stuttered as the plop, plop, plop of sobolis droppings began striking the moss all around them.
    “Holy cow pies,” McKenzie stammered, not knowing whether to go forwards or backwards.
    “Come along,” yelled Pietas, “a herd of Soboli have arrived. Time to go.”
    McKenzie stuck her noofoto into her wheelchair grip and took off.
    “Never coddle a poonchi ,” called Pietas, glancing over her shoulder at Hayes, “they’re easily spoiled. Put him down; he will follow.”
    And so, McKenzie found herself trailing behind Pietas and Hayes, rolling through a forest of endless blue trees. Above them, the canopy creaked and groaned; a continual cacophony of sound, sprinkled with hoots and howls, and sounds so alien they’d begun to take on a particularly nasty appearance in McKenzie’s imagination. Then again, wasn’t her high school principal an alien? How had she missed that?
    They traveled for so long, across mustard colored moss, through row upon row of identical pale-blue trunks, McKenzie began to wonder if Pietas was lost. Finally…
    “A tad farther and we shall be close enough for me to weave us over to the Lapis Gathering .”
    After almost losing sight of them several times, McKenzie was now right behind Pietas. “Pietas, what do you call yourselves? If we’re humans, what are you?”
    “More importantly, what’s the poonchi’s name?” Hayes was now the one falling behind, and McKenzie suspected, carrying the poonchi again.
    “You do have a flog of questions,” said Pietas, not bothering to slow down as she spoke, “and I’m sure I would be most pleased to answer them, but not now. We must keep moving. Tsendi could appear at any moment.”
    “Are you Tsendi?” asked Hayes.
    “Tsendi?” Pietas sounded horrified. “Did I not make it clear? I am a Circanthian. Imagine mistaking me for one of those horrible, greedy little creatures with two scrawny appendages instead of a proper sphere.”
    “So, the Tsendi are not from this planet either,” said McKenzie.
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Pietas, as though McKenzie should have known better. “What’s more, there are likely several Tsendi spies running above us as we speak.”
    They continued on like this for what seemed an hour or more, following a path that defied all logic. Everywhere McKenzie looked there was nothing but pale-blue trees. Suddenly, Pietas stopped. Leaning forward, she wrapped her thick arms around the trunk of a tree and murmured, “Ah hah,” tilting her head back as if to get an ant’s