Heroes of the Dustbin

by Tyler Whitesides

  At Spencer’s cry of alarm, Sach looked back. General Clean’s long Grime tongue lashed out with unbelievable speed, sticking to the scissors in Sach’s hand and pulling them free. The Dark Auran yelled, swiping a razorblade a moment too late. Then his broom’s unalterable course bore him through the opening and out into the arena.

  Spencer and Clean slammed into the metal door of the washing machine, the broom skittering away on its own. The Sweeper General held Spencer with the stump of his arm as he drew a plunger from the boy’s belt and clamped it to the door. Kicking off, he leapt back into the Hoarder’s spacious washer, hurling Spencer before him like a rag doll and towing the heavy lid behind him.

  The metal lid slammed shut with a jarring clang. Spencer scrambled to his feet, checking to make sure his coverall’s zipper hadn’t slipped during his tumble.

  With the sunlight blocked, Spencer strained to make his eyes adjust to the dull light of the burning propane tank. When he could finally see clearly, he found General Clean standing high up on the ledgelike rim of the closed washer. Spencer saw the stump of the man’s left wrist. It was no longer oozing, and Spencer suspected that Clean’s Grime half had accelerated healing.

  Clean held the black scissors aloft, a malevolent grin spreading across his face. From the shadows, Alan Zumbro leapt, swiping the scissors and using his broom to propel himself downward toward Spencer.

  The one-handed Sweeper yelled in rage, his tongue speeding out to snare the bristles of Alan’s broom. But Spencer’s dad simply released his grip on the wooden handle, trusting in his coveralls to break the fall.

  Alan landed on his back on the floor of the washing machine, gripping the scissors as he rose defiantly.

  “How did you find us?” Alan shouted to the figure above.

  “I have your son to thank for that,” answered General Clean.

  “Leave Spencer out of this!”

  “But I can’t,” said the Sweeper. “I’ve been at his side since yesterday.”

  “What?” Spencer muttered.

  “Your belt pouch,” answered Clean. “Larger than it looks. Once I managed to squeeze inside, all I had to do was stay quiet. I guess I should thank you for the ride. I never would have been able to get past the landfill gorge without you.”

  Spencer instinctively touched the pouch on the back of his belt. He remembered how Clean had been holding Spencer hostage at the storage units, standing right behind him, when the Sweeper seemed to vanish. And his reappearance seemed even more sudden, with him popping out of Spencer’s belt pouch midflight and taking everyone by surprise.

  “The only other thing in that pouch was a roll of duct tape,” Clean said. “But I’ve already made good use of that.” He gestured to the edge of the washing machine, where a single strip of Glopified tape already secured the lid closed.

  “You’ll never get out of here alive,” Alan said.

  “I don’t have to,” answered Clean. “I only have to destroy the scissors. Then the Witches’ victory will be assured.”

  “Don’t do this, Rod,” Alan said softly, his voice echoing up to the ledge where Clean stood. “This isn’t you.”

  “Everything I had,” Clean’s voice was a low growl, “was taken from me.”

  “That was ten years ago,” Alan said. “It was an accident.”

  “It could have been yesterday. The driver of that vehicle walked away.” Clean’s voice was trembling with emotion. “But my wife, and my kids . . .” he trailed off. When he spoke again, the tremor was gone, replaced by a frightening calm. “There is nothing good left in this world. Only the Witches can cleanse it. They can build up a new world, where those who do wrong will be punished without question.”

  Alan shook his head. “I don’t know who you are.”

  “You never did,” answered Clean, his sticky hand reaching into his lab coat and withdrawing a damp rag. “I believe we have some unfinished business, Alan Zumbro.”

  Spencer’s dad stood steady, Glopified scissors clutched in one hand while his other drew a razorblade.

  Clean leapt from the high ledge, dropping soundlessly and landing only feet from Alan Zumbro. His Glopified rag shot out, but Alan pulled back, dodging the attack. Spencer unclipped a pushbroom from his belt, unwilling to stand by as Clean forced a duel upon his dad.

  Spencer thrust for the Sweeper, but General Clean moved with tremendous speed, sidestepping the bristles and flicking his rag toward Alan again. The frayed tip of the rag narrowly missed Alan’s hand, instead flicking directly against the scissors and sending them spiraling out of Alan’s grasp.

  Spencer watched the black scissors soar and heard them clatter against the metal floor of the washing machine. Clean’s deadly rag could vaporize flesh, but the scissors were metal, so Spencer hoped they’d still be intact.

  Instantly, Spencer moved for the spot where the scissors had fallen. General Clean went for them at the same time, but Alan Zumbro leapt forward to stop the Sweeper, his razorblade thrusting. Clean parried the sword with a swish of his rag, but Alan followed with a knee to the man’s stomach.

  Crawling on hands and knees, Spencer reached the Glopified scissors. They had clattered across the ground, finally resting atop a pile of moth-eaten sweaters. Spencer reached out for them, but paused.

  In flight, the scissors had sprung open! Sach had stressed the importance of keeping them closed. Now they lay there like a loaded gun, and Spencer had no idea what would happen if he pulled the handles together again.

  Clean’s rag was now crackling with colorful energy. He whipped it forward, the fabric lengthening to reach its target. Alan ducked barely in time, the tip of the rag snapping against a beat-up dresser. Under the force of the blow, the dresser instantly cracked in half.

  General Clean’s rag was charging up again, but Alan raced forward. The Sweeper’s tail lashed out, toppling Alan into a stack of old videocassettes. The Glopified rag cracked again, this time biting nothing but air above Alan Zumbro.

  As the deadly rag retracted, Alan leapt up, razorblade thrusting into the damp fabric and twisting around. General Clean tugged, but Alan held fast, both hands clutching the sword that had entangled the tip of the Sweeper’s rag.

  Grunting in frustration, Clean tightened his grip, charging the rag with sizzling power once more. The two men faced off, the drawn-out rag gathering more strength with every passing second.

  Spencer held the open scissors, unable to breathe for fear of seeing his dad meet the same fate as Walter. If Alan didn’t let go of the razorblade, Clean’s rag would surely overpower him. Alan Zumbro gritted his teeth in determination. Spencer saw the stubborn look on his father’s face that his mom so frequently commented on.

  “I wonder if it’s painful,” Clean said. Spencer could see the magic sparking and hissing along the rag. “No one has survived to tell me.”

  Spencer raced forward, sliding on his knees across the metal floor between his dad and General Clean. Heedless of any risk, he thrust the open scissors upward, catching Clean’s rag between the two blades. Then he pulled the iron handles together, snipping General Clean’s rag in two.

  But the powerful scissors did so much more than cut the fabric.

  The Glopified rag all but exploded, throwing General Clean one direction and Alan Zumbro the other. Everything in line with the scissors was destroyed. It was as though the two blades continued outward, slicing through the washing machine as the scissors closed.

  Spencer saw daylight overhead where the metal washer had ripped down the middle. Any of the Hoarder’s collections that were unfortunate enough to be in line with the scissors were sliced asunder.

  Gasping, Spencer fell back, pinching the scissors securely closed.

  General Clean recovered first. Using his Grime agility, he slithered up the curved wall of the washing machine and leapt across the dwelling, coming down with teeth bared to finish the stunned Alan Zumbro.

  “Dad!” Spencer shouted.

  In the final second, Alan
Zumbro rolled over, his razorblade fully extended. General Clean’s momentum carried him straight onto the blade. Spencer winced and turned away as the weapon protruded out of Clean’s back.

  “You killed . . .” General Clean rasped, Grime goo oozing from his mouth. “You killed a friend.”

  “No,” Alan said, shoving the big man aside. He rose to his feet, extracting his razorblade from the Sweeper’s chest. “I killed a monster.”

  Spencer and his dad watched as the Sweeper half of General Clean died. The man’s dark skin lost its filmy texture. His tail melted to a puddle on the floor, and his remaining hand lost its sticky fingertips. Clean’s Grime eyes closed, returning to the size they were meant to be, though never to see again.

  Alan closed his blade and dropped to a knee, placing a hand on the unconscious man’s shoulder. “Now that the monster is dead,” Alan whispered, “I’ll spare my friend.”

  Chapter 38

  “What are we up against?”

  There weren’t enough chairs around the conference table. Spencer and Daisy were lucky to be seated, having been among the first to arrive at the meeting.

  They had returned with the Glopified scissors just after noon. Alan had taken General Clean back with them, securely confined in a rake cage and carried over Bookworm’s shoulder. The man didn’t speak a word after regaining consciousness, but sat with his back to the bars, knees against his chest. The sleeve of his filthy lab coat concealed the stump of an arm. And now the ex-Sweeper was completely blind, a side effect of losing his Grime half.

  Spencer glanced around the conference room at those who had been trusted to attend the meeting. Beside him were Daisy, Marv, Penny, Bernard, and Alan, representing the Rebels. Spencer considered all he’d been through with them over the last year. He would put his neck on the line for any one of them, and knew they’d do the same for him.

  Bookworm hunkered in the corner, and Spencer wondered if the Thingamajunk could do anything more crucial than what he’d already done in defeating the Hoarder and helping them find the scissors.

  Dez was there, of course. Although he didn’t care for meetings, the Sweeper kid refused to be left out of anything. He was perched above the table on a high-up truss near the vaulted ceiling.

  Rho and the other Auran girls were also there, some seated and some preferring to stand. They had sent Rebel reinforcements to defend the gorge, though they reported that the attacking Pluggers had mostly dwindled off.

  They only waited for the Dark Aurans. In their typical mysterious fashion, Olin and Aryl had not been seen since the expedition had returned from the Hoarder’s dwelling over an hour ago. Sach had set out to find them.

  Spencer glanced at the clock on the wall. If the three boys didn’t show up soon, the meeting would have to start without them, though it would be hard for it to do so since they had such a critical part to play.

  “I don’t like the idea of holding General Clean in our building,” said Gia, her white dreadlocks tied loosely back.

  “I don’t like the idea of holding him anywhere,” muttered Penny. “The man doesn’t deserve to be alive.” She had been furious at Alan for bring Clean back to the Auran building. Spencer couldn’t blame her, knowing how painful it must be for her to see the man who had killed her uncle.

  Marv grunted in agreement with Penny. “I say toss him into the burning gorge, cage and all.”

  Alan held up his hand. “We have two strong Rebel guards watching Clean’s cage. He’s powerless and trapped.”

  “What if he turns back into a Sweeper?” Daisy asked.

  “He doesn’t have another Glop potion,” Alan answered. “We searched him while he was unconscious. The only thing in his lab coat was an old pen.”

  “Not very threatening,” Bernard commented. “Unless he plans to write his way out of that rake cage.”

  “One shifty move, and I finish him,” Marv threatened.

  “We all have to stand ready to finish him,” Alan admitted. “I killed him once. And I’ll do it again if I have to. But I have to believe that he might change. He was a good man once.”

  Spencer knew that many of the Rebels disapproved of his dad’s mercy toward Rod Grush. Spencer himself didn’t know how to feel about it. Clean deserved a punishment, and Alan insisted that he would get it . . . just not today.

  Today, there were plans to make and nations to save. If only the Dark Aurans would show up!

  Finally, the door opened and Olin, Sach, and Aryl entered, faces glistening from the heat of the afternoon.

  “Sorry about the holdup,” Olin said, seating himself in the single remaining chair. The other two stood behind him, Aryl leaning against the high wooden back of the seat. Spencer noticed that he had the third and final Vortex vacuum bag tucked under one arm.

  “That’s how you’re getting back to the Dustbin?” Marv asked, gesturing to the bag.

  “First things first,” Sach said. “We can’t worry about the Dustbin and the nests until the Glop source is closed.”

  Penny nodded. “Sounds like it’s time for a trip to Welcher Elementary School.”

  “That was the holdup,” said Olin. “We were just there.”

  “You closed the source?” Alan asked.

  Olin shook his head. “We couldn’t get within spitting distance of the source,” he continued. “Welcher Elementary has been . . . how shall I say this?” He tapped his chin. “Remodeled.”

  “It was pretty old,” Bernard said. “Definitely didn’t meet fire code.”

  “Did they put in a swimming pool?” Daisy asked. “I hope they put in a swimming pool.”

  “Not that kind of remodel, I’m afraid,” said Aryl. “The Witches know our hand. They assume we’re narrowing in on the scissors. Maybe they know we already have them.”

  “They’re beefing up security at Welcher,” Olin said. “There’s nothing stopping them now that they have their wands.”

  “What are we up against?” Penny asked.

  “Reinforced walls, made to repel Glopified attacks,” Aryl explained. “Alarms, traps, barricades . . . they’ve even added on new hallways to make it harder to reach the Glop fountain.”

  “How did they manage it?” Alan asked. “Welcher’s a public school—in a neighborhood!”

  “The BEM went in just after school let out,” Sach explained. “They evacuated the building, claiming there was some sort of dangerous gas leak.”

  “The Bureau even blocked off the nearest roads and evacuated the closest houses,” Olin said. “The neighbors weren’t happy, but the BEM told them there was potential for the whole block to ignite.”

  “Once the area was cleared out,” said Aryl, “the structural changes happened quite quickly. With their wands, the Witches could form additions to the school in the blink of an eye.”

  “Now they’ve moved an army inside,” Olin said. “The place is crawling with BEM fighters, Sweepers, and Pluggers.”

  “I hope they’re gone by tomorrow,” Daisy said.

  “What’s so special about tomorrow?” Dez asked from his perch.

  “It’s the last day of school,” she reminded him.

  “The BEM doesn’t look like it’s packing up,” Sach said. “Quite the opposite, actually. Looks like the Witches moved their surveillance sink into one of the classrooms. They’ve got soapsuds watching every inch of that school.”

  “So,” Penny cut in. “Assuming we can even get to the Glop source, how exactly are we supposed to close it?”

  Sach pointed at Rho to take over.

  “The Glop source will close if we mix the right formula,” Rho said. “We’ve already gathered the ingredients. We just have to get close enough to throw everything in.”

  “Lots of stuff?” Bernard asked.

  Rho recited the ingredients from the list the Dark Aurans had given her. “Eye of Grime, tooth of Filth, beak of Rubbish, bristles of a broom, a drop of Auran blood, and the hair of a Witch.”

  “We’ve got the last ingredient,�
�� Daisy said. She produced the pink hairbrush that they’d stolen from the Witches’ apartment. “Plenty of hairs stuck in here,” she said, placing it on the table.

  “Okay,” said Alan. “What happens after we close the source?”

  “Then it’s time to destroy the Toxites,” Olin said with a smirk. Accomplishing that task would be especially meaningful to the Dark Aurans now that they knew they had unintentionally helped create the creatures.

  “This is a Vortex,” Aryl said, holding out the vacuum bag he’d been carrying. “The smallest rip in the bag will cause everything nearby to get sucked into the Dustbin.”

  “Yeah,” Marv muttered. “Figured that one out.”

  “This time,” Olin said, “that’s exactly what we want to happen. Sach, Aryl, and myself will get pulled into the Dustbin with the scissors. Once we’ve landed, we’ll make our way to the heart of the Instigators’ fortress and cut the brain stem, destroying the nests.”

  “What kind of opposition do you expect?” Penny asked.

  “Lots of TPs,” Marv answered. “Garth Hadley made several attempts to infiltrate the Instigators’ fortress. TPs stopped him every time.”

  “But we have an advantage,” Sach said. “The Instigators aren’t there anymore. Since the Witches are in this world now, they’ll have a much harder time maintaining active elements in the Dustbin.”

  “So the fortress might not even be there?” Daisy asked.

  “Creations in the Dustbin will exist as long as the mind holding them together is alive,” Olin said. Spencer remembered Garth Hadley’s fortress dissolving when the man died. Without his mind, the creations just couldn’t hold together.

  “Fortress is a stable element,” Marv said. “Easier to maintain. Moving parts are tricky.”

  “So as long as the Witches don’t end up back in the Dustbin,” Spencer said, “the TPs shouldn’t be much of a problem?”

  “Right,” said Aryl. “They’ll be slow as tar, if they’re there at all.”

  “It’s been a long time since the Dark Aurans were in the Dustbin,” Rho pointed out. “You sure you’ll know the way?”