Heroes of the Dustbin

  The abrasive chewing of the antenna must have knocked Bookworm’s lunchbox free of the spot where it had been stuck between the Grime’s front teeth. Spencer reached out for it, his grasp slipping on the handle of his toilet plunger.

  He caught the metal lunchbox and hugged it close to his chest as he tumbled into the Grime’s wide throat. The daylight that shone through jagged teeth had just disappeared when Spencer, not quite swallowed, felt the unmistakable magnetic pull of the lunchbox in his hands.

  He gripped with all his might as the polished lunchbox shot out of the throat and across the Grime’s mouth. Spencer braced for impact as the lunchbox hit the Grime’s front tooth with such force that the jagged incisor was ripped from the creature’s gums.

  Spencer sailed through the opening, the tooth falling to the deck below as he trailed behind the lunchbox like the tail of a comet. He crashed through a window of the wheelhouse and saw Daisy standing squarely, the Glopified magnet in her outstretched hand.

  Spencer collided with Daisy so hard that the two of them slammed against the back wall of the wheelhouse. Bookworm’s polished lunchbox connected with the Glopified magnet, and Dez caught the attached items as they flung from Daisy’s grasp.

  “No time for cuddling,” Dez said, as Spencer and Daisy untangled themselves.

  “Yuck!” Spencer staggered to his feet, still dripping Grime slime onto the wheelhouse floor. “I almost got swallowed!”

  “At least the Grime didn’t barf while you were still in there,” Dez said, pointing to the massive Toxite on the deck.

  Apparently angry over the loss of its tooth, the monster Grime was shuddering. Pale sacs of luminescent acid were filling just below its gullet.

  “Not good,” Spencer muttered as the Grime spewed its venom across the front half of the ship. The glowing acid ate through hull and deck as the monster Grime slipped back into the ocean.

  The barge creaked and groaned, pitching awkwardly in the water as it began to sink. Vapor plumed upward as the water and acid mingled, waves breaking over the deck.

  “We’ve got to get to safety,” Spencer said.

  “Not the island,” replied Dez. He was staring out the window, back toward the BEM’s private island. “More than a dozen Sweepers on the beach.”

  “General Clean must have called for backup,” Spencer said, leaning across the control panel and noticing movement on the beach.

  “What about the squeegee portal?” Daisy asked.

  “If the Sweepers are waiting for us on the beach,” Spencer said, “then it means the fight in the storage units is over.” He tried not to despair. “The squeegee portal must have closed. We have to find another way back to the landfill.”

  “What about Lina’s truck that we came in on?” Daisy asked. “It’s parked on the far side of the bridge.”

  “That’ll work,” Spencer said. “But we have to get to it.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Dez said. Reaching out, he unclipped a plunger from Daisy’s belt and leapt out of the wheelhouse. Spencer and Daisy carefully made their way down to the deck, but Dez had gone overboard. A second later, the sinking barge was rising out of the water.

  Spencer crawled over to the edge of the deck and peered down as the ship flew higher. Dez’s plunger was clamped firmly on the hull, his wings easily bearing the weightless barge into the sky.

  “The BEM might be able to stop you two,” Dez shouted. “But I’m betting they won’t be able to stop a barge!”

  From the water below, the monster Grime suddenly surfaced. Its long tongue shot out, but Dez had carried them straight up to a startling height. The Grime’s tongue fell short, and it dove back into the water, only to resurface again with another out-of-range attack.

  “Spencer!” Daisy cried.

  His attention returned to the deck just as Professor Dustin DeFleur bowled into him. Spencer skidded dangerously close to the edge of the airborne barge. The Sweeper man had regrown all his quills, and when he snarled, the hair rose on the back of his neck.

  “You’re still alive?” Spencer shouted. He’d assumed the professor had been swept off the deck by the Grime’s tail. The old man had a knack for coming back.

  “I was in the engine room,” said DeFleur. “Waiting till we were out of the Grime’s reach.” He swiped for Spencer with his sharp claws, driving the boy to the very edge of the ruined deck. “You know what they say,” the professor continued. “The captain goes down with the ship.”

  “You got one thing right,” Daisy said. Professor DeFleur turned in surprise at her voice. Daisy thrust her pushbroom, the bristles catching the Sweeper in the chest and sending him sailing off the edge of the flying ship. “The captain goes down.”

  Spencer watched over the side, seeing the old man plummet the terrifying distance to the ocean. But Professor DeFleur never hit the water. Just before his fall ended, the monster Grime leapt from the sea. It caught Dustin DeFleur in its mouth, huge jaws snapping shut. Then the overgrown Toxite settled into the water, satisfied that its defensible waters were finally safe as the high-flying barge sailed over the island.

  Dez was flying fast, requiring Spencer and Daisy to hold onto the deck to avoid being thrown off. In such a position, Spencer couldn’t see if the Rubbish Sweepers from the island were making any attempt to stop them.

  “Get ready!” Dez yelled, though Spencer had no idea what he was supposed to prepare for. He suddenly felt his stomach in his throat as the barge went into a spiraling free fall. Daisy screamed and Spencer shut his eyes. When he felt Dez’s taloned hands plucking him from the deck, Spencer opened them again. The barge plummeted the final distance, smashing into the Glopified bridge and obliterating the only vehicular route to the BEM’s private island.

  Dez gave a chuckle and landed on the road next to Lina’s garbage truck. Daisy clutched Bookworm’s lunchbox as she leaned against the smelly vehicle.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Spencer said, climbing the ladder to the rear of the truck. When he reached the top, he unclipped his walkie-talkie and put the device to his mouth. “Rho?” he said, hoping she was there to respond.

  “Spencer? Thank goodness,” came the relieved reply.

  “Open Lina’s dumpster,” Spencer answered. “We’re coming back.”

  Chapter 32

  “This isn’t your fault.”

  It was evening when the Dark Aurans finally returned from their expedition into the landfill. They crept up on Spencer in their usual cryptic manner, rousing the boy from a deep sleep that had overcome him the minute he’d returned to the landfill. Well, the minute after he had showered off the Grime slime.

  Startled, Spencer leapt to his feet, almost knocking over the cot he’d been sleeping on. He was in a room in the Auran building. His family had been with him when he dozed off, but they weren’t around now.

  “Light sleeper?” Olin asked.

  “Not really,” Spencer answered, his heart rate slowing when he saw who it was. “I didn’t even hear you guys come in.”

  Aryl handed him a papery vacuum bag. It looked almost identical to the Vortex that Marv had been sucked into. “Took us a while,” he said. “But we found it.” This final Vortex would be necessary for their plan to destroy the Toxite brain nests. Using the Vortex would be the only gateway into the Dustbin.

  “Looks like you’ve been busy.” Sach gestured to the window. Spencer crossed the room and looked out. Penny and Marv had organized the rescued Rebels into battalions. They were deep into training, Penny demonstrating some sort of tactical move with a pushbroom. Beyond the rows of soldiers, Spencer saw a fiery glow on the horizon where the gorge continued to burn, holding back the gang of Pluggers trying to get through.

  “A few things have happened,” Spencer said. He didn’t know if he should start with the bad news of V’s death or the good news that they’d finally learned the location of the long-lost scissors. And then there was the really bad news—that the Witches were the Instigators, and that they had used t
he Dark Aurans to spawn the Toxites, imbuing the creatures with negative characteristics that were the opposites of the boys’ traits.

  Spencer decided to tell it all in the order it had happened, seating himself on the cot for his lengthy narrative. The Dark Aurans took all the news with little expression, and Spencer realized that living for hundreds of years had hardened them. They were angry, he could tell. But they’d lived long enough to learn how to bottle their emotions. Spencer had no doubt that the rage would resurface, but the boys were probably waiting until they stood face-to-face with the lying Witches.

  Aryl leaned against the wall, his arms folded tightly across his chest when Spencer finished. “All this time . . .” he muttered, “and all we had to do was die.”

  “No,” Spencer said. “This isn’t your fault.”

  “But that’s the easy answer,” Sach said. “If we die now, the Toxites die with us. No one else gets hurt.”

  “No! That’s not how we do things!” Spencer said. “The Witches used you because you were the smartest boys. Olin is sharp and alert. Aryl is always planning and proactive. And you,” he turned to Sach, “you’re always focused and determined.”

  It was silent for a moment as all three Dark Aurans stared bitterly at the floor.

  “Don’t you see?” Spencer said. “The Witches had to use you to make Toxites. They couldn’t do it themselves because you’re better than them. Smarter than them. The Witches called you the heroes of the Dustbin, and they were right. Without even knowing it, you’ve outthought them again. The scissors will work,” he said. “We just need to find them.”

  There was a soft knock on the door. Aryl stepped over and quietly opened it.

  “Oh, hey, guys!” Daisy said, surprised to find the Dark Aurans in Spencer’s room. “Welcome back.” She strode into the room and smiled at Spencer. “Bernard said the glue has set. It’s Bookworm time.”

  Spencer rose and followed her out of the room, leaving the Dark Aurans to brood over their recent discovery.

  “Have you seen my family?” Spencer asked as they moved into the hallway.

  “Your dad went with Dez to check on the defenses at the gorge,” Daisy answered. “Your mom and siblings are with my parents.”

  “Where?”

  “Fast asleep inside,” Daisy said. “They’re not used to this kind of action.”

  They met Bernard Weizmann on the concrete dumping pad just outside the Auran building. The garbologist stood in his usual strange attire: tweed coat, duct-tape tie, and leather aviator cap. In his arms, he cradled Bookworm’s recently reassembled head.

  “What kind of glue did you use?” Spencer asked, examining the seam where the textbook had been reattached to the lunchbox.

  “Superglue!” Bernard answered. “And just a little bit of chewing gum.” He held it out for inspection.

  It looked exactly how Spencer remembered Bookworm’s head. But even though the pieces were all there, the lifeless expression made it seem different. There was no playful glint in the lunchbox, no grinning curve of the textbook.

  “So, when does he actually come alive?” Spencer asked.

  “Patience,” Bernard said. “He’s been dead for a couple of days. It’s going to take a major trashfusion to get his garbage pumping again.”

  Spencer remembered when Bookworm had been too sick to stand. Giving him fresh trash had immediately revived him. Bernard seemed to think that the same trick would work here.

  The garbologist crossed the concrete pad and stepped out into the trash-littered landfill. He gave Bookworm a quick peck on the lunchbox, and then hurled the Thingamajunk’s lifeless head out into the garbage piles.

  “And . . . three,” Bernard counted. “two . . . one!” When nothing happened, Bernard went on, counting timidly. “Zero . . . negative one . . . negative two . . .”

  The Thingamajunk appeared, ripping through the landfill and running straight toward them. His textbook jaw sagged open in a sideways grin, pink retainer rattling between stubby pencil teeth.

  “Bookworm!” Daisy cried, holding both arms out for a big hug.

  Bookworm raced past them, sprinting wildly across the concrete pad and slamming into the wall of the Auran building. He fell onto his backside, rubbing his head in confusion.

  “What happened to him?” Daisy asked, running to her pet Thingamajunk.

  “He’s probably a little disoriented,” Bernard said. “You would be too, if someone cut your head off and then glued it back on.”

  Daisy crouched next to Bookworm and patted his lunchbox head.

  “Last thing he remembers was defending your house,” Bernard said. “I disassembled him just before the Sweepers attacked.”

  “You’re safe now, buddy,” Daisy whispered to her Thingamajunk. “We’re back at the landfill.”

  Bookworm grunted, a noise that sounded vaguely like Daisy’s name. He rested his head on her shoulder and threw one garbage arm around her.

  “We need your help,” Spencer said.

  Bookworm perked up at the opportunity to be of service. He rose to his feet and stretched, his bodily debris cracking and popping. He reached up with both hands, grabbing his lunchbox as if to make sure that his head was actually in place. Then he dropped onto the knuckles of his hands, stooping like a gorilla to hear Spencer’s proposition.

  “We’re looking for a very important pair of scissors,” Spencer said. “Do you know what scissors are?”

  Bookworm nodded vigorously.

  “Okay,” Spencer continued. “The scissors you need to find are very old. They’re one of the most powerful Glopified items ever created, and they’re going to help us destroy Toxites.”

  “The scissors are lost in the landfill,” Daisy explained. “How long do you think it will take you to sort through all the trash?”

  Bookworm seemed to think about it for a moment. Then he hacked something up, coughing it onto the concrete. Bernard picked it up and smoothed the crumpled scrap. It was a postcard that showed a beautiful sunrise over the ocean.

  “Think you can do it by morning?” Bernard clarified. Bookworm’s form of communication took some interpreting.

  The Thingamajunk nodded and held out his hand to fist-bump the garbologist for guessing it right on his first try.

  “Great,” Spencer said. “Thanks for doing this.” Bookworm glowed at the praise.

  “One more thing,” Daisy said, as her Thingamajunk turned to the darkened landscape. “If you see Couchpotato out there, tell him to give my necklace back.”

  Chapter 33

  “I think he’s afraid.”

  Dawn broke over the landfill, matching the colorful red blaze of the fire from the gorge. Most of the Rebel army was still sleeping. Meredith was in the Auran kitchen, putting her lunch-lady skills to use in preparing a giant breakfast.

  Spencer and his dad rendezvoused with Daisy and Bernard at the dumpsters. Dez was still out at the gorge, where he’d spent the night picking off Rubbish Pluggers that tried to break through the fire.

  “Any sign of the Thingamajunk?” Alan asked.

  “Not yet,” Bernard said. “Not sure where the Dark Aurans are, either. We were just waiting for you two.”

  Daisy crossed to the edge of the concrete pad. Cupping both hands around her mouth, she yelled Bookworm’s name like a parent calling a child for dinnertime.

  Mere seconds later, the Thingamajunk rose out of the nearest pile of scraps and scampered toward them. Spencer wondered how Bookworm had any energy left after scouring the landfill all night. Then he wondered if trash got tired at all.

  Daisy reached up and rubbed Bookworm’s head. “Did you find them?” she asked. “Did you find the scissors?”

  In response to her question, Bookworm reared up and beckoned with enthusiasm. He loped off into the landfill, leaving the four Rebels to follow.

  They jogged a short distance, weaving through towers of cardboard and heaps of scrap. Spencer wrinkled his nose at the rotting smell of the landfill. Des
pite the early-morning hour, the heat was strong. Spencer knew it would be a scorching day.

  Bookworm leapt onto the hood of a crumpled old vehicle, swung around a rotting broomstick, and landed in a cleared area, gesturing proudly to his findings.

  As Spencer came into the clearing, his eyes grew wide. Bookworm hadn’t just found the Glopified scissors they were looking for, he’d found every pair of scissors in the landfill.

  A pile of rusty scissors was heaped about five feet high. There must have been a thousand or more, discarded to the landfill over the course of hundreds of years. Some of the scissors were broken and bent, with only a handle or a single blade. Others were in fairly good condition, clearly much too modern to be the scissors that the Dark Aurans had Glopified so long ago.

  Bernard stepped forward and picked up a pair of safety scissors of the type commonly used in preschools. He opened and closed the yellow plastic a few times before tossing it back onto the pile. “I don’t think the Thingamajunk understood us,” he said.

  “He just didn’t want to miss anything,” Daisy defended her pet. “How would he know which scissors we were looking for? He just brought us everything.”

  Bookworm nodded, a ripped page hanging out the corner of his textbook like the panting tongue of a dog.

  “Well,” Alan said, “I suppose we should start sorting.” He picked up a set of kitchen shears and tossed them aside. “We’re looking for a pair from the 1800s. They’ll probably be wrought-iron blade and handle. Nothing fancy.”

  “They’re not here.”

  Spencer whirled around to find Sach sitting on the trunk of the car overlooking the clearing. He’d missed seeing him on the way in, but that didn’t surprise Spencer. The Dark Aurans had spent centuries mastering stealth.

  “I was watching all night,” Sach said. “The Thingamajunk brought in a lot of scissors, but none of them matched the ones we Glopified.”