Heroes of the Dustbin

by Tyler Whitesides

  “Behind the left knee!” Bernard shouted. Spencer squinted but he couldn’t see anything unusual. “There’s a half-gallon plastic milk jug. Looks like it’s keeping his whole leg structured.”

  Bookworm gave a quick thumbs-up to show that he understood. Then he took a heavy punch to the shoulder, breaking off his entire arm. The Hoarder reared back, whirling lawnmower blades seeming to laugh. The one-armed Bookworm rolled between his opponent’s legs and delivered a swift kick to the back of the Hoarder’s left knee.

  The small milk jug collapsed and the Hoarder’s leg buckled. Grunting in surprise, the vicious Thingamajunk dropped to one knee.

  This small victory won the loudest reaction from the spectator Thingamajunks. Several even leapt to their feet, hands slapping together in a spray of trash.

  “I think we know who the crowd is cheering for,” Spencer said.

  “Bookworm, of course,” agreed Daisy. “Nobody wants the mean guy to win.”

  The Hoarder turned its face to the crowd, truck bumper peeling up in an angry snarl. It was clearly a glare, and the spectator Thingamajunks reacted by falling instantly silent.

  Bookworm followed up with a roundhouse kick that would have made Penny proud. But just before his foot made contact, the Hoarder reached around and grabbed Bookworm’s leg in both hands. Squeezing, it broke the leg to pieces, and Bookworm went scattering across the arena.

  The Hoarder stood on its injured leg. Reaching down, it seized the crumpled milk jug and plucked it out. Scooping up a handful of loose trash, the Hoarder packed it into the hole, reinforcing the leg and eliminating the weak spot.

  Bookworm rose up once more, having two new arms, two new legs, and a fresh body of trash. The Hoarder leapt at him, but Bookworm turned, sprinting away across the arena.

  “He’s scared,” Daisy muttered.

  “Can you blame him?” Sach said. “If Bookworm loses, his head becomes an ornament.”

  The Hoarder matched Bookworm’s sprint, slowly gaining. It looked like a game of cat and mouse as Daisy’s Thingamajunk ran in zigzag patterns. But the Hoarder anticipated the moves, cutting the corners a little faster.

  Spencer wiped his sweaty palms on his coveralls. The only two advantages that Bookworm had were speed and wits. Now it seemed they could cross one off. The Hoarder was definitely faster than Bookworm.

  The Hoarder lunged, catching Bookworm’s heels and dragging him into a headlock. The enemy’s fist came down, slamming into Bookworm’s lunchbox.

  “Cover up!” shouted Bernard from the corner of the arena.

  Bookworm’s arms flew up to cover his head. The Hoarder continued punching, blow after blow, while Bookworm’s legs flailed as he tried to wriggle free.

  The repetitive pounding was shredding Bookworm’s arms. Once that defense was gone, Spencer wondered how many blows he could take to the head.

  Daisy leapt to her feet. “Come on!” she shouted like a soccer mom. “Get out of there!”

  Finally maneuvering himself into a better position, Bookworm intentionally broke apart. He re-formed in Bernard’s corner once more.

  “Okay,” the garbologist said. “We can’t rely on speed anymore.” Bernard reached up and gently grabbed the Thingamajunk’s head. The lunchbox was a bit more dented and slightly wobbly where it had been fused onto the textbook. Removing a wad of chewing gum from his mouth, Bernard tacked the lunchbox down so it didn’t wiggle.

  “Let’s go for wit,” the garbologist said. “Can you outthink this guy?”

  Bookworm shook his head in despair, still jittery from his recent pounding.

  “Yes you can!” Daisy shouted from the staircase. At hearing her voice, Bookworm straightened a bit. He gave her a forced smile and turned back to the arena where the Hoarder crouched, slamming both fists against the ground for intimidation.

  “Try coming up underneath him,” Bernard suggested. “If you knock him off balance, you can get him while he’s down.” He shoved Bookworm gently on the arm, encouraging him to get back out there.

  Bookworm took two loping bounds before dropping into the trash-littered arena. Spencer held his breath, waiting to see where the Thingamajunk would surface. The Hoarder didn’t seem concerned, and Spencer figured it would be easy to take the enemy by surprise.

  Bookworm’s head suddenly appeared, rising out of the trash directly below the Hoarder. But to Spencer’s astonishment, the bigger Thingamajunk seemed ready for him. The Hoarder caught Bookworm’s head in one hand, holding it down to prevent him from forming.

  Desperate, Bookworm quickly sank back into the arena and tried to come up behind the big Thingamajunk. The Hoarder anticipated again, swiveling quickly and seizing Bookworm’s head once more.

  Daisy was biting her nails and muttering nervously. Sach looked down, even his determined nature dwindling as the fight wore on.

  The Hoarder plucked Bookworm out of the ground like it was picking a tulip. It tossed its challenger into the air, spun around once, and slugged Bookworm in the jaw as he fell.

  The stubby pencils that served as Bookworm’s teeth sprayed outward, the cover of his textbook jaw wrinkling. Bookworm sailed through the air and landed in an unmoving heap several yards away from the Hoarder.

  Daisy stood up abruptly. She took a deep breath, and then started descending the stairs toward the arena.

  “What are you doing, Daisy?” Spencer cried. The Hoarder was treading slowly toward its downed opponent, ready to finish Bookworm with a fatal strike.

  “We were counting on Bookworm to be faster and smarter,” Daisy answered. She unbuckled her janitorial belt and dropped it on the bottom stair. “The Hoarder is too fast, and Bookworm can’t seem to outwit him.”

  Spencer didn’t know where Daisy was going with this. When she reached the edge of the arena, Spencer got up to stop her.

  “But Bookworm has another advantage,” she said. “He has something that the Hoarder will never understand.” Daisy balled her hands into courageous fists. “Bookworm cares about me!”

  Then, completely unarmed, Daisy Gates sprinted out into the arena.

  Chapter 36

  “Keep them closed.”

  Spencer jumped down from the bottom stair and reached the edge of the arena. He unclipped a pushbroom and was about to head after Daisy when Bernard gripped his shoulder.

  “You’ve got to let her go, kid,” the garbologist muttered as Daisy sprinted toward the Hoarder.

  Spencer shook his head. She didn’t even have a pinch of vac dust to defend herself. “What’s she doing?”

  “She’s giving Bookworm something to fight for,” answered Bernard.

  Daisy bent down and picked up a tin can from the field of loose trash. “Hey!” she screamed, hurling the can at the back of the Hoarder’s head. It fell short, clattering against a rusty barbecue that made up part of its shoulder.

  The Hoarder froze, slowly turning away from where Bookworm had collapsed. The lawnmower blades that formed its face sped up and the bumper curled back hungrily.

  Daisy suddenly seemed to doubt her courage. She took a hasty step backward, tripping in the trash and landing on her backside in the middle of the arena.

  The Hoarder shrieked, its hand darting out to snatch Daisy out of the garbage. Suddenly, the trash around her erupted and Daisy Gates was scooped into the protective arms of her pet Thingamajunk.

  Bookworm, revitalized by seeing Daisy in danger, leapt across the arena and rolled her out into the trash at the edge of the field.

  The Hoarder didn’t seem to like being humiliated by a tiny human girl in front of so many spectators. Its lawnmower face was fixed on Daisy and it dashed forward to finish her off.

  But standing between the Hoarder and the girl was Bookworm. The bigger Thingamajunk didn’t seem to consider Bookworm much of an obstacle. They’d been fighting for several minutes, and Bookworm had spent most of the time trying to get away.

  But things were different now. Daisy was in danger.

  With a runn
ing start, Bookworm jumped straight into the air. He twisted above the Hoarder’s head, grabbing onto the lawnmower handle with both hands. The Hoarder’s head snapped back and the big Thingamajunk fell to the arena. Bookworm swung around, kicking one of the stout wooden table legs that protruded from the Hoarder’s chest. It broke free with a splintery crack!

  The Hoarder swiped for Bookworm, but the smaller Thingamajunk evaded the blow. Snatching the broken table leg, Bookworm jumped over the Hoarder’s chest and thrust it into his opponent’s face.

  The whirling lawnmower blades jammed on the wood, grinding to a halt. Even from a distance, Spencer could hear the lawnmower’s motor groaning in protest.

  With a horrible grunt, the Hoarder rose to its feet once more. Black smoke was venting from the sides of the Hoarder’s head like steam blowing out the ears of an angry cartoon character.

  Bookworm didn’t need Bernard’s coaching anymore. He grabbed the Hoarder’s right arm and jerked it around, dislocating the Thingamajunk’s shoulder. The rusty barbecue popped out of place, and the entire arm turned to useless rubble, falling to scraps on the arena floor.

  The spectating Thingamajunks were going wild. They were leaping up and down, their weight causing Spencer to worry that the staircase might collapse.

  Bookworm was winning!

  The Hoarder was scraping at its lawnmower face, blindly trying to remove the table leg that jammed its deadly blades. Bookworm delivered a sharp kick to the Thingamajunk’s back, using the momentum to launch himself up and grab the bumper that served as the Hoarder’s jaw.

  Planting his feet squarely between the Hoarder’s shoulders, Bookworm leaned back, grunting mightily as he bent the bumper around the lawnmower. From his seat in the bleachers, Spencer saw sparks shooting from the lawnmower’s motor.

  Bookworm kicked away, leaping gracefully to land beside Daisy on the arena floor. The Hoarder reared back, shrieking one last time. Then its head exploded in a cloud of black smoke and debris.

  Spencer shouted and clapped his hands together. He was suddenly thrown off balance by a stampede of Thingamajunks exiting the staircase to rush the field. They were grunting and jumping as they surrounded Bookworm, bearing him up on their shoulders and toting him around the arena.

  Spencer ran onto the field, grabbing Daisy’s discarded janitorial belt as he passed the bottom stair. Daisy had a proud grin on her face, watching her pet enjoy the praise of victory from his fellow Thingamajunks. Spencer was grinning too. He was just glad Daisy hadn’t been eaten by the Hoarder.

  “That was a brave thing you did, kiddo,” Bernard said, reaching out to ruffle Daisy’s hair.

  “I knew Bookworm would protect me,” she said.

  “He’s quite the hero now.” Sach pointed to where the other Thingamajunks still swarmed him.

  “He’s always been a hero,” Daisy said. “The others just didn’t know it until today.” She tapped her chin in thought. “I wonder if Couchpotato is here,” Daisy muttered. “Maybe now he’ll give my necklace back.”

  “Bookworm’s victory won us access to the Hoarder’s dwelling,” Alan said. “We should find the scissors and make our way back.”

  Spencer handed Daisy her belt. She buckled it on, and the humans made their way toward the oversized washing machine, leaving the Thingamajunks to their celebration.

  They arrived at the dark entrance to the Hoarder’s dwelling. Spencer tried to ignore the Thingamajunk heads staked on the sharp pencils, feeling sorry that there was no way to help the Hoarder’s previous competitors, who had not been as fortunate as Bookworm.

  The rim of the washer was much too high to step inside. Spencer followed his dad’s lead, drawing a broom and drifting up past the door, which stood about ten feet ajar.

  When they’d all landed, Spencer had to squint to see into the dark washing machine. The chamber ahead was vast and cylindrical. Once shiny metal, now every surface was dirtied with rotten garbage residue. The smell was awful, and Spencer automatically covered his nose.

  The Hoarder had earned his name for a reason. It looked like the cruel Thingamajunk had been collecting oddities for decades.

  There was a stack of microwaves that rose all the way to the roof of the dwelling. Old maxed-out cleaning supplies had been sorted into piles. There were towers of dingy books and magazines, dozens of old televisions, and stacks of discarded human clothing.

  “This is great!” Bernard rubbed his hands together in excitement. “A treasure trove of trash!”

  Great was not the word Spencer would have used to describe the Hoarder’s cluttered dwelling. He looked up, noticing stalactites of garbage dangling from the washer’s ceiling. “It’s going to take us forever to find the scissors in here,” he muttered.

  Sach found a propane tank in one corner. The Dark Auran inspected it for a moment. The first time Spencer had met Olin, the boy had dragged him into a field of propane tanks. The landfill Glop had tainted them, and they spewed fire from an unending source of gas.

  Carefully, Sach twisted the valve. The Hoarder’s propane tank must have been similar to the ones in Olin’s field, because immediately a geyser of bright flame shot into the air.

  “There we are,” Sach said, dusting his hands together. “A little more light should help.”

  And it did. Spencer could see the Hoarder’s dwelling more clearly now, though the messy place wasn’t something he necessarily wanted to view in great detail.

  “Wow,” Daisy whispered. “I don’t even know where to start looking.”

  “We should spread out and search,” Alan said. “The scissors could be anywhere.”

  “I think I can narrow it down,” Bernard said. “Every collector I’ve ever met has a method. There’s no sense in collecting things if you stow them away and can’t ever find them again. It may look like chaos to the untrained eye, but a garbologist can spot a pattern.”

  “What’s the Hoarder’s pattern?” Spencer asked.

  Bernard held up a finger, as if he didn’t want to be bothered while thinking. His eyes darted around the washing machine, the garbologist’s gaze dissecting the mess.

  “Color variations,” Bernard said. “Brighter colors in the front, darker colors in the back.” Now that he mentioned it, Spencer could see the pattern. It gave a sort of ominous feeling to the dwelling. The light from the entrance was brightest at the front, reflecting on the more vibrant colors. An enhanced sense of deepening and darkening resulted from the placing of darker hues in the back.

  “The scissors are black,” Sach said.

  “So they’d be near the back,” answered Bernard. He strode deeper into the washing machine, but it was clear that he wasn’t finished cracking the Hoarder’s collection pattern.

  “The Hoarder had a knack for symmetry,” said the garbologist. “Bulkier items on both sides.” He pointed to the stacks of microwaves on the right, balanced by old television sets on the left. “The items get smaller as they come toward the center.”

  “The scissors aren’t very big,” Sach said. “At the most, maybe eight or ten inches long.”

  “Then we can expect to find them in the middle,” replied Bernard, lining himself up in the center of the cylindrical washer. The others followed him, anticipation growing as they neared the rear of the dwelling.

  “And last,” said the garbologist, “the Hoarder left dull objects on the floor, but he kept sharp objects in boxes.”

  Bernard bent down, reached into a cardboard box, and withdrew a pair of antique-looking wrought-iron scissors.

  “Unbelievable!” Sach exclaimed. He stepped forward and carefully took the scissors from Bernard’s hand. “After all these years searching . . .” He trailed off, cradling the long-lost scissors in his grasp.

  “That was amazing!” Daisy said to the garbologist. “When are we going to learn that in my lessons?”

  “Next month,” answered Bernard. “I have a three-week unit on trash collecting.”

  Spencer leaned closer to inspect the
old scissors in Sach’s hand. The design was very simple, with a single pin holding the two sides together. The blades didn’t look very sharp, but Spencer had learned a long time ago not to underestimate a Glopified tool.

  “You’re sure these are the right scissors?” Alan asked.

  Sach nodded. “Exactly how I remember them,” he said. “We have to keep them closed. A single snip can cause a lot of damage.”

  “Hold them tightly,” Alan said.

  “Oh, I don’t intend to lose these again,” Sach said. “Olin and Aryl would never let me hear the end of it.” Sach curled his fingers, gripping the dull blades in a closed fist.

  The Rebels made their way back to the dwelling’s exit. Spencer stayed close behind Sach, intrigued by the powerful item the boy was carrying. Creating the scissors had nearly killed the Dark Aurans. Spencer could almost feel their life force emanating from the simple tool.

  Spencer thought again of the bright beacon of energy he’d seen when exiting the Dustbin. That powerful brain stem was keeping the brain nests alive, fueling the Toxites to destroy the minds of students. Spencer wondered if the scissors in Sach’s hand would really be strong enough to sever that connection.

  Exiting the giant washing machine required the aid of Glopified brooms, since the rim was well over Spencer’s head. Bernard and Daisy tapped their bristles, the magic flying them in a steep arc out to the arena where Spencer could hear the Thingamajunks still celebrating Bookworm’s victory.

  Spencer touched his broom to the floor of the Hoarder’s washing machine and drifted up beside Sach, his dad just behind them. At the pinnacle of their flight, just as they crested the rim of the washer, Spencer cried out. A figure appeared seemingly out of nowhere, clutching to the front of Spencer’s coveralls and dragging his broom off course.

  The face, only inches from Spencer’s, was unmistakable.

  General Clean.

  Chapter 37

  “I don’t know who you are.”

  It didn’t make sense! Spencer couldn’t comprehend how the Sweeper had appeared so suddenly, sticky fingers holding fast to Spencer and his broom.