Janitors

by Tyler Whitesides

  Spencer checked the cafeteria. Empty. He walked down to the middle hall. Empty. The library. Empty. The north hall and gym. Empty. Empty.

  Spencer was alone. Garth Hadley had taken the janitors. Why? Why did Hadley attack? Spencer felt his face go red. He had a deal with Garth! They were supposed to meet at the hideout in a half hour, at six o’clock. Spencer thought he had it all mapped out—he would go to the BEM hideout with Walter and Marv, take Hadley by surprise, and steal the hammer back.

  Everything was ruined now. Garth Hadley had Walter, the hammer, and the nail. There was only one thing left for Spencer to do.

  Find Daisy.

  Spencer wandered back to the janitors’ storage/office. It was about the only place he hadn’t looked. Spencer jogged down the steps, jumping the last three and landing in the dim office area. No sooner did his feet touch the floor than the sound of a revving vacuum hit him from the side.

  Spencer felt a handful of vac dust strike his face. The suction force dragged him to the ground. He writhed on his side, twisting to see his attacker. Why hadn’t he been more careful? Of course the janitors’ storage/office would be a trap!

  Daisy stepped out from behind a stack of boxes, a horrified look on her face. “Oops! Sorry, Spencer!” she cried, running to him. He heard her voice through the rushing sound of the vac dust. “I heard someone coming and panicked.” Daisy knelt down by his side. “Gee, I’m glad it’s you.”

  The two kids could do nothing but wait until the suction wore off. At last, Spencer stood up. His brown hair was tousled and he felt like he’d just been chucked out of a typhoon. He sighed wearily. There was no sense in getting mad at Daisy. She’d only been trying to protect herself.

  “They took the janitors,” Spencer said.

  “Walter?” she asked.

  “Yeah, they got them both.” Spencer dropped his head. “That means they have the bronze nail. Garth Hadley will be long gone by now.”

  “They didn’t get the nail,” Daisy said, reaching into her pocket. Triumphantly, she pinched the bronze nail between her thumb and finger, holding it out for Spencer to admire.

  “Wh–?” Spencer stammered. “How did you get that?”

  “Walter gave it to me. We were in the cafeteria, going for a Grime, when we heard someone coming down the hallway. Walter gave me the nail and his keys and told me to hide. He went out to face them. When the coast was clear, I ran down here.”

  Spencer felt like hugging Daisy. If Hadley didn’t have the nail, he wouldn’t leave town. That meant there was a chance to rescue the janitors! And Spencer knew right where Garth Hadley was hiding.

  Nearly tearing off his backpack’s zipper with excitement, Spencer dug through his pack until he found the paper he was looking for. Pulling it out, he thrust it at Daisy. She took the paper and read quickly, her eyebrows crinkled in concentration.

  To: ghadley@bem.gov

  From: SpenceZ@wahoo.com

  Subject: None

  Dear Mr. Hadley,

  I changed my mind. Daisy and I can get the nail from Walter Jamison tomorrow after school. People are suspicious of you at the school. Why don’t we meet at your local hideout to hand it over?

  Let me know where and when.

  Spencer

  To: SpenceZ@wahoo.com

  From: ghadley@bem.gov

  Subject: RE None

  Spencer,

  Good for you. I want you to know you’re making the right choice. I knew the BEM could count on you. If you get the nail tomorrow, I’ll be waiting for you at six o’clock. Bring the nail to 542 East Maple Street, Apt. 2, right across from Maple Park. If I’m not there, you’ll find a spare key under a clay pot on the front porch.

  Sincerely grateful,

  Garth Hadley BEM regional representative

  Daisy looked up from the printed e-mail, an expression of severe disapproval on her face. She handed the paper back to Spencer and folded her arms.

  “You weren’t supposed to e-mail him again,” she said. “Walter told you not to. So did your mom. Weren’t you grounded from e-mail?”

  “Who cares right now?” Spencer said. “All that matters is—we know where Hadley’s staying.”

  “What makes you think he’ll still be there?” Daisy asked.

  “I don’t know,” answered Spencer. “Maybe he’ll already be gone, but I can’t think of a better plan right now. Can you?”

  Daisy remained silent for a few moments, racking her brain for a better idea. Finally, she shook her head.

  “Hadley’s not going anywhere without that nail,” Spencer reasoned. “He might relocate since he knows we’re working with the janitors and I found out where his hideout is. But if we hurry, we might be able to catch him unaware.”

  Spencer pushed aside the secret tower of boxes. “You said you have Walter’s keys?” In response, Daisy withdrew the massive ring laden with jingling keys. “Then let’s get this open and grab some equipment.”

  “You really think this is a good idea?” Daisy asked, reluctantly handing Spencer the keys.

  “All I know,” Spencer said, opening the Rebel Closet, “is that Marv got taken so I could get away. If we had been captured, don’t you think Walter would come after us?”

  “That’s different. They’re adults.”

  “We can’t trust any other adults. Who do you want to tell? Principal Poach? He’s the one who let the BEM in!” Spencer was rambling, anger controlling him. Garth Hadley had tricked him and now the janitors were gone.

  Daisy sighed. “You’re right, of course. We have to save them. Or try, at least.”

  “Good,” Spencer said. “I couldn’t do it without you.” He dumped out his backpack on the floor. “Let’s gear up and go.”

  “What should we take?” Daisy asked, studying the room. “There’s a lot of stuff in here.” She picked up a squirt bottle with blue cleaning solution inside. “What about this?” Daisy set it back on the shelf and lifted a toilet plunger. “Or this?”

  “I don’t think this is the time to experiment with new equipment. Let’s just stick to what we know.” Spencer filled his backpack full of vac dust and grabbed a 7T broom and a 14T mop from the rack on the wall. He picked up the discarded latex glove from the table.

  “Where’s your backpack?” Spencer asked.

  Daisy ducked out of the closet and reappeared a few moments later. To Daisy’s protests, Spencer dumped everything from her backpack onto the floor. Hastily, he began stuffing it full of vac dust while Daisy picked out a broom and a mop for herself. The backpack was half full when Spencer spotted the overcharged Vortex vacuum bag on the shelf. He quickly placed it in the partially loaded backpack.

  “But that’s the overcharged bag!” Daisy said. “Walter said that was dangerous.”

  “I know,” answered Spencer. “That’s why we’re taking it.”

  Chapter 32

  “He’s just going inside.”

  Daisy, having lived all of her eleven years in Welcher, knew exactly where Maple Park was located. She often picnicked there with her parents. It was a long walk from the elementary school, and the urgency of their mission made it seem even longer.

  They were an odd sight—two kids half jogging down the street with bulging backpacks, each carrying a mop and a broom.

  After Spencer had loaded the volatile Vortex vacuum bag into Daisy’s backpack, she refused to carry it. Unwilling to give it up, Spencer shouldered her backpack and gave his to Daisy. That was fine for Daisy but unfortunate for Spencer, since Daisy still used the pink princess backpack she had gotten in third grade.

  Dez would have had a thing or two to say if he could have seen them. But then again, had Dez seen them, the bully probably would have ended up pinned to the sidewalk with a mouthful of vac dust.

  At last,
Spencer and Daisy jogged into Maple Park, careful not to let the bristles of their brooms brush the ground.

  “Those are the apartments,” Daisy said, pointing across the street. Her forehead was sweaty and she wiped it with her forearm. They moved slowly across the park, passing a young couple who were having a picnic, getting laughs from other kids on the playground equipment. But Spencer and Daisy went forward with determination.

  Soon they were close enough to see the numbers on the apartment doors. Number 2 was on the ground level, a small concrete pad making up the front porch.

  “Okay,” Spencer said, pulling on the latex glove. In addition to the princess backpack, Spencer had pockets full of vac dust. “If it gets bad, you run for it. If I call for help, come fast.”

  They had solidified their plan during the long walk from the school to the park. Daisy would keep the bronze nail and stay in the park. Spencer would enter through the apartment’s front door and rescue the captive janitors . . . if anyone was still there.

  “Be careful,” Daisy urged, a nervous whine in her voice.

  Wordlessly, Spencer jogged across Maple Street and approached apartment 2. He crouched, hoping no one could see him through the apartment windows. Holding his mop and broom like weapons, Spencer felt like an army man running from trench to trench.

  Spencer dropped to his knees on the concrete porch and lifted the clay pot. He felt a rush of relief when he saw the spare key. With his gloved hand, Spencer picked it up. Holding mop and broom in one hand, Spencer stayed on his knees and slowly, silently, inserted the key into the lock.

  There were voices inside.

  • • •

  Across the street, Daisy bit her lower lip and tensed her muscles nervously. When someone spoke at her side, she nearly whacked the stranger with her broom.

  “What’s your friend doing there?” the man asked suspiciously. He had nicely combed hair and a yellow polo shirt. Daisy had seen him pushing a child on the swings.

  “What?” asked Daisy tensely.

  The stranger pointed. “What’s he doing?”

  “He’s just going inside.”

  “But why’s he being so sneaky about it?” The stranger looked annoyed. “And what’s with the brooms and stuff?”

  • • •

  Spencer turned the doorknob. He took a deep breath, his hand sweating profusely under the latex glove. With one swift motion, he shoved the door open and sprang into the living room.

  A suede couch and recliner sat on his left. On the right he saw a dining table and a small kitchen area. A dark hallway angled past the kitchen.

  Spencer whirled around, his gloved hand full of vac dust and his left hand wielding the mop and broom. He surveyed the whole area in a moment and determined that it was empty. The voices he’d heard from the porch turned out to be the Three Stooges yelling at each other in black-and-white on an old TV channel.

  There was one place left to look. Spencer strode down the little hallway, past an empty bathroom on one side. Tacked onto a closed door at the end of the hall was a torn sheet of paper. Silently, Spencer read the handwritten note.

  Spencer,

  This will probably be our last personal communication. I knew you were working with the janitors and I didn’t appreciate you lying to me about getting the nail. Since you were waiting until six o’clock, I decided to strike early—when you were least expecting it.

  Walter didn’t have the nail, so I won’t be leaving town yet. Feel free to take what you want from this apartment. This was only our secondary hideout. Did you really think I’d tell you where I’ve been staying? Anyway, your friends from Welcher Elementary are just beyond this door.

  Sincerely,

  Garth Hadley

  Spencer could barely finish reading. Walter and Marv! Just beyond the door! Anxiously, Spencer grabbed the knob and threw it open.

  Spencer suddenly yawned, his mind cloudy with fatigue. He was looking for a comfortable place to lie down when he saw them.

  Toxites.

  Everywhere.

  The nasty little creatures were crawling all over the apartment bedroom. Whatever had prevented them from leaving the room lost effect when Spencer opened the door. The Toxites all turned, baring tooth and claw. Only one thing stood between them and the school to which they desperately wanted to return.

  And that one thing was just a boy.

  Any hint of fatigue left Spencer immediately as the Toxites rushed forward. He staggered backward, scrambling to get out of the hallway. Behind him, two dozen Toxites were swarming the walls, floor, and ceiling.

  When Spencer reached the living room, he spun around, swiping his broom through the air. The bristles struck a flying Rubbish with bone-shattering force. The vulture-bat exploded in a flash of light and Spencer felt a fresh surge of power flow up the broom’s handle.

  Spencer flicked the mop forward, sending the strings like a net down the hallway. At the same time, he struck the broom on the floor, lifting off the ground as half a dozen Filths scuttled beneath him, dusty quills raised aggressively.

  Spencer hit the ceiling as the mop retracted, dragging a Grime and a Filth to their death. Entangled in the mop strings, the Grime popped with a splat of slime and the Filth vanished in a puff of dust.

  Spencer was helplessly pinned next to the ceiling fan, watching three Rubbishes wing a jagged pattern toward him. He felt pain sear through his leg as one sharp beak nipped a bit of flesh from above his knee. The other Rubbish was swarming for his face.

  With no other option, Spencer let go of the broom. His weight returned instantly and he plummeted onto the suede couch, hoping that the landing wouldn’t puncture the unstable Vortex bag in his backpack.

  A Filth jumped onto the couch and snarled. Spencer rolled away, waving his mop clumsily. On the television, the Three Stooges were in the act of bonking each other on the head with a two-by-four when Spencer’s mop handle went into the screen. The TV shattered, glass flying across the living room.

  Spencer dove forward, emptying a pocketful of vac dust on the way. Two Grimes and a Filth were immobilized. Spencer’s broom slowly descended from the ceiling.

  A slimy Grime sprang from the back of the recliner and landed on Spencer’s right forearm, its suction-cup finger pads latching onto the skin. Spencer screamed and jerked with the pain. He tried to wrench the thing free, but it held with a tarlike grip, slurping and burning. The mop fell to the floor and the Toxites began picking it apart.

  Spencer tried to crush the Grime against the wall. Nothing was strong enough to kill the monster. Only a Glopified object would have the strength to destroy it.

  Quickly, Spencer stripped the latex glove from his right hand and stuffed it onto his left. His left hand closed tightly around the Grime. He felt the strength of the Glopified glove . . . and the Grime felt it too. Squeezing for all he was worth, Spencer ripped the monster off his arm and felt the Grime explode in his hand, its energy flowing into the glove.

  There was no time for Spencer to be grossed out by the yellowish gunk dripping down his arm. The Grime had left painful purple welts where it had held him.

  Spencer went for the mop, tripped, and landed painfully on a bristling Filth. The dusty quills stuck into his side as if he’d fallen on a cactus. Grunting from the pain, Spencer tossed his second pocketful of vac dust, suctioning two more Toxites to the floor. He grabbed the mop and swung it like a club, entangling three more as a Rubbish swooped down and raked a claw along his cheek.

  There were too many! He had to get out of the apartment—out of the angry, relocated Toxites’ way! Spencer cleared a path across the room with his mop. He needed to reach the broom before the Toxites tore it apart.

  Lunging, he caught the handle of the broom in one hand. Two Rubbishes were diving from above, and a Filth bared its sharp, rodent teet
h. Kicking off the couch, Spencer slammed the broom against the floor. The door was too far away. But the window . . .

  • • •

  Across the street, Daisy was doing all she could to keep the stranger from calling the police.

  “It’s a game we like to play,” she lied. “Ya put your right broom in, ya put your right broom out, ya put your right broom in and you shake it all about,” Daisy trailed off, wagging her broom in the man’s face. “It’s kind of weird, I know. But it’s actually fun if you give it a chance.”

  “Seems a little rowdy in there,” the stranger said, not willing to put his cell phone away just yet.

  “Yeah,” Daisy said. “Sometimes it gets a little out of hand. You know, when somebody wants to put the mop in . . .”

  Suddenly, there was a shower of glass and Spencer burst through the front window, gripping his broom tightly. He shot across the apartment yard, barely missed a tree, and continued flying across the street.

  Daisy and the stranger were both speechless: the stranger, because a boy appeared to be flying across the street, and Daisy, because a dozen Toxites were flooding out of the broken window behind Spencer.

  Spencer’s feet touched down just yards from Daisy. The boy hit the ground running to keep pace with his descending broom. “Come on!” he shouted at Daisy without missing a beat.

  “Now, wait a minute,” the man with the polo shirt demanded. He whipped up his phone, apparently deciding to involve the police. But before he could dial the number, a puff of dark dust struck his phone and sent it clattering to the sidewalk, vibrating with the force of suction.

  It was a good shot and the stranger stood dumbfounded. Daisy blew on her sweaty fingers, causing a few dusty particles to billow like smoke from a gun.

  Chapter 33

  “You’re a genius.”

  Spencer drifted over Aunt Avril’s dead lawn toward his second-story bedroom window. It was risky to use the broom where anyone might be watching, but it might be far worse trying to explain to his mother why he and his friend had come home with mops, brooms, and backpacks full of vacuum dust.