Dez nodded, his mouth tight. Then, finally, he squeaked out a few words. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
Mr. Clean straightened and took a deep breath. Dez relaxed a bit, the tension releasing from his shoulders. Then, without warning, Mr. Clean’s hand shot out, his sticky, Grimelike fingertips catching Dez by the chest and lifting his feet off the blacktop. “Then who’s on top of the Academy wall, boy?”
Spencer felt a pit open in his stomach.
“Chill, dude!” Dez said, his feet kicking the air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“I know when someone’s lying to me!” Mr. Clean said. “Every time I mentioned the Rebels, your eyes went straight to the Academy wall!”
Mr. Clean dropped Dez roughly to the ground. He turned to the nearest Sweeper, a half-Rubbish woman. “Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. The rest of you come with me!”
The remaining Sweepers moved away from the garbage truck as Mr. Clean turned his gaze to the brick wall. Through his enhanced Sweeper eyesight, Spencer could see five indiscreet bumps across the top of the wall, silhouettes of the hiding Rebels. Then the tall warlock dropped to his hands and scuttled like a Grime across the blacktop.
Chapter 11
“All aboard!”
Spencer finally severed his link, dropping Holga into his dad’s waiting hands.
“We’ve got to move!” he said.
“We didn’t need your vision to tell us that,” Penny said, pointing. Spencer saw the Sweepers moving toward them at terrible speeds.
“What do we do?” Spencer asked.
“While you were watching Mr. Clean, Walter was talking to Bernard,” Alan said. “I think our garbologist has one more trick up his sleeve.”
Spencer looked to Walter, who was lowering the walkie-talkie, his face ashen.
“He said to wait here,” Walter muttered. “Said he’s going to drive by and pick us up.”
“Um,” Spencer said, “does he know we’re on top of the wall?”
Headlights flashed as Bernard spun the garbage truck around and accelerated directly toward the brick wall. Mr. Clean and the Sweepers hesitated as the diesel engine roared toward them.
“Is he going to ram the wall?” Daisy asked, bracing her hands against the edge of the brick. Spencer didn’t know what the garbologist was planning. The Auran truck seemed durable, but hitting a brick wall at forty-five miles per hour didn’t sound like a good idea.
At the last moment, the truck veered hard, Bernard cranking the steering wheel frantically. But the cumbersome, top-heavy vehicle was moving too fast. Spencer watched in absolute horror as the garbage truck tipped, rolled once, and came to rest on its side, with the wheels slammed up against the brick wall.
“Oh, garbage,” Penny muttered. “There goes our escape.”
Leaning over the edge of the wall, Spencer saw the Sweepers jeer at Bernard’s failed attempt. But before the enemy could resume their pursuit, the garbage truck’s engine revved.
Spencer couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He turned to Daisy; her wide eyes confirmed that he wasn’t going crazy.
Bernard was driving the garbage truck up the brick wall!
It shouldn’t have been possible, but somehow the Glopified tires were gripping the vertical face and the truck was chugging steadily upward. In a moment, Bernard had reached the top. Turning the truck sideways, he pulled up just below the Rebels. The passenger window rolled down, which seemed a tedious task in the face of the quickly approaching Sweepers.
Staring straight down through the window, Spencer saw Bernard Weizmann, wearing his goofy leather aviator cap and a huge grin. He was sitting in the driver’s seat, looking as comfortable as though he were on flat ground.
“All aboard!” the garbologist shouted.
One by one, the Rebels slipped over the edge of the wall and dropped through the open side window. When Spencer’s feet passed into the cab, he was surprised to feel a sudden shift in gravity. He dropped comfortably into the truck seat, and although he was sitting parallel to the earth, he felt perfectly upright.
“Welcome back to Big Bertha,” Bernard said. He reached out and ruffled Spencer’s white hair. “You don’t look a day older than the last time I saw you.”
Only Bernard could get away with a joke like that. But it was true. Spencer’s Auran powers prevented him from aging.
“I can’t tell if I’m up or down in here,” Daisy said.
“Down is always down inside Big Bertha,” answered Bernard.
Penny was the last Rebel to slip through the window. She let out a quick “whoa” as gravity rearranged itself. Then she rolled up the truck’s window and turned to the driver.
“Let’s roll, Bernie!”
Out of the dark night, a Rubbish Sweeper dove. He hit the reinforced windshield and clung there, the impact of his attack causing everyone in the cab to jump. Bernard stepped on the gas, and the huge truck lurched forward, the heavy tires passing over a Grime Sweeper clinging to the wall.
The Rubbish Sweeper was digging his talon fingernails against the glass, an angry sneer on his beaked face.
“The bugs here are terrible,” Bernard said. “I just can’t keep my windshield clean.” The garbologist pulled a lever, releasing a stream of windshield wiper fluid right into the Sweeper’s face. The hybrid man reeled back, and Bernard engaged the wipers. The wiper arms flicked across the glass, throwing the Sweeper aside.
“Much better,” Bernard said. “Now I can see where we’re going.”
But Spencer wasn’t sure if it was better. They were driving on the wall! It was incredibly disorienting.
“How do we get this thing back on the road?” Alan yelled.
Bernard shook his head. “I’m not really sure. This is my first experience with wall driving.”
“Wait a second,” Penny said. “You mean to say that you rolled this thing against the wall and you weren’t even sure it would work?”
“I had my suspicions,” Bernard answered, “but it wasn’t exactly written in the operator’s manual.”
“Never mind that!” Walter interrupted. “We’ve got to come off this wall and get out of here!”
“What happens if you stop the truck?” Alan asked.
“Besides letting the bad guys catch up?” Bernard said. “I don’t know.”
“I think you should try it,” Walter said.
Bernard spun the wheel, veering the truck downward until it was racing along the wall, just feet from the ground. Spencer again felt disoriented, and he had to remind himself that they were actually sideways.
“Everybody hang onto something,” Bernard said. Spencer grabbed the dashboard. Daisy grabbed his arm. Then Bernard slammed on the brakes, and the garbage truck came to a squealing halt on the wall.
The huge vehicle clung there for a moment. Then the wheels came off the wall and the truck dropped with a crunch to the ground. Instantly, gravity rushed through the cab, toppling everybody to one side, with Bernard at the bottom of the dog pile. He reached out and rubbed the steering wheel apologetically. “Sorry about that, Big Bertha.”
Spencer was still trying to sort up from down when Penny rolled down the passenger window and climbed out. She unclipped a toilet plunger from her belt and clamped the rubber suction cup onto the front of the garbage truck, lifting the vehicle effortlessly.
The Rebels were tossed around inside the cab before Big Bertha was upright again, this time with her wheels on the parking lot asphalt where they belonged. Bernard revved the engine.
“Is it broken?” Daisy asked.
“Of course not,” answered the garbologist. “Big Bertha’s magically enhanced. She can drive out of a head-on collision without a scratch.”
Penny leapt back into the cab just as the first Sweeper reached them. It was a Filth man, his teeth jagged and his back bristling with deadly quills. He hunched over, quivering for just a moment before blasting his arrowlike projectiles at the Rebels.
Most of the quills pinged
harmlessly off Big Bertha’s shell as Bernard peeled across the parking lot. But one of the quills shot through the open window and buried itself in the seat between Walter and Daisy.
“Let’s roll that up,” Penny said, quickly making sure the window was tight again.
“We’ve got to find Dez!” Spencer said, squinting through the windshield.
The big kid was sitting slouched in the middle of the parking lot with a Sweeper woman standing over him.
“What’s he doing?” Alan asked.
Spencer shook his head. It wasn’t like Dez to sit patiently as a prisoner. Unless . . .
“It’s that Rubbish Sweeper,” Spencer said. “Her breath is affecting him.”
Dez looked as apathetic as could be. As the headlights flashed across his face, Spencer saw an expression of utter boredom, as though he didn’t care that the Sweepers had captured him.
Bernard honked the truck horn, but even the obnoxious noise couldn’t rattle the kid from his deep laziness.
“Come on, Dez!” Penny shouted. Still no response.
Spencer glanced in the rearview mirror. Mr. Clean was circling around behind them, rallying the other Sweepers into a deadly charge. There wasn’t enough time to get out and shake Dez to his senses.
“Remember that joystick in my old truck?” Bernard asked. “The one that controlled the mechanical arm to pick up trash cans on the roadside?”
Spencer nodded as Bernard pushed a button on the dashboard. A panel slid aside and a silver joystick rose out of the console. “Well, this one is about seven hundred times better.”
The garbologist wrapped his hand around the joystick and pressed a red trigger button. Instantly, a mechanical arm stretched out from the side of the Auran garbage truck. The metal arm telescoped out, reaching much farther across the parking lot than Spencer thought possible.
The Rubbish Sweeper who was guarding Dez moved to intercept, but Bernard yanked on the joystick and the arm pummeled into the winged woman, tossing her aside. Bernard pressed another button and the claw grippers opened. Then, double-checking the distance in his side mirrors, Bernard dropped the mechanical arm over Dez.
“Ugh!” Dez grunted, still under the effects of the Rubbish breath. The grippers closed around his middle and scooped him into the air. “This is so boring! Why won’t somebody do something fun?”
“This ought to be fun enough,” Bernard said, directing the joystick. The mechanical arm retracted, lifting Dez over the open back of the garbage truck. Then Bernard let go of a button, the grippers released, and Dez plummeted into the trash.
“Right where he belongs,” Spencer muttered.
Big Bertha roared across the parking lot, New Forest Academy fading in the rearview mirror as they drove down the mountain road.
Chapter 12
“What’s next?”
No one spoke until Big Bertha ambled out of the canyon and into some residential back roads. Then Daisy raised her hand.
“Um,” she said. “Shouldn’t someone check on Dez?”
“Nah,” Bernard said. “I’m sure he’s fine back there. Probably lounging in the trash like a pig in a mud hole.”
Penny rolled her eyes. “I think you’re the only one who enjoys lounging in trash.”
“That’s a shame,” he said. “It’s quite cleansing.”
“Where are we even going?” Spencer asked, watching darkened houses whisk by.
“Back to Welcher,” Walter answered. “If everything had gone according to plan, we would have stepped right back into my janitorial closet after stealing Holga. This puts us behind schedule.”
“Why?” Penny said. “What’s next?”
Alan and Walter glanced at each other. Without the translation of the Manualis Custodem, Spencer wondered if they knew what to do. But Walter delivered the answer without hesitation.
“We have to steal Belzora.”
“Bel-who-za?” Bernard asked.
“The final warlock hammer,” Walter said. “The one that belongs to Mr. Clean.”
“I thought we just got away from Mr. Clean,” Daisy said. “Now we have to go back and fight him?”
Alan shook his head. “Not at New Forest Academy. In order for this to work, we have to take Belzora and the bronze nail. That means going straight to the heart of the BEM.”
Spencer thought back to a handful of visions he’d had in Mr. Clean’s office. “The BEM headquarters are in Washington, D.C.,” he said.
“Right,” answered Alan. “But that’s not where Mr. Clean is hiding his nail. He has a secret BEM laboratory. We know that’s where he experiments with Glop, so the nail has to be there.”
“And where is Dr. Frankenstein’s secret lab?” Bernard asked.
“What?” Daisy cried. “Frankenstein’s working for the BEM?”
“Massachusetts,” answered Walter. “Outside of Salem. We’ll give you more details when we get back to Welcher.”
“Why are we going all the way back to Welcher?” Penny asked. “That’s at least an eight-hour drive from here. Won’t it be easier to invade the BEM labs if Mr. Clean isn’t there? If we strike now, we can get in, find the nail, and be waiting for him when he gets back from the Academy.”
“That’s a decent plan,” said Walter. “But we need a base of operations. Somewhere we can work from.”
“Aren’t there a couple of Monitor schools nearby?” Daisy asked Spencer. “Maybe they can help us out.”
The Organization of Janitor Monitors was a network of students spread across the nation. They spied on their janitors and emailed Spencer the reports. The president of the Monitors was a genius thirteen-year-old named Min Lee.
“Can I borrow a phone?” Spencer asked.
Penny slipped hers from the pocket of her Glopified coveralls and handed it to Spencer. He punched in the memorized number and waited for an answer.
“He’s probably sleeping,” Daisy said. “My dad says we shouldn’t call people after nine o’clock.”
Spencer glanced at the clock on the dash. It was well after midnight. He was just about to give up when Min answered, his diction perfect despite the grogginess in his voice.
“Hey, Min.”
“Greetings.”
“We need your help again,” Spencer said. “We’re looking for a Monitor school in the Denver area.”
“One moment,” answered Min. Spencer could hear him typing rapidly on a computer keyboard. “I’ve pulled up the spreadsheet. There are two Monitor schools relatively close, both reported to have Rebel janitors. The Monitors are Anna Ferguson and Jeremy Hatch.”
Daisy was listening in, her ear pressed close to the phone in Spencer’s hand.
“Ooh, pick Anna’s school,” Daisy said. “I remember her. She had cute shoes.”
“Uh, how about Anna?” Spencer said. He couldn’t believe that he had just picked a Rebel location based upon a girl’s shoes!
“The school is Viewmont Elementary,” Min said. “The janitor’s name is Earl Dodge.”
“I need you to get ahold of Earl,” Spencer said. “Tell him to meet us at Viewmont as soon as possible. Can you do it?”
“Of course I can,” Min said.
“Thanks,” Spencer replied, but the phone was already dead in his hand. He passed it back to Penny, who instantly started navigating to Viewmont Elementary School.
“I’m not sure how I feel about rushing in like this,” Walter muttered. “There are things back at Welcher that we need.”
“It’s fine,” Alan quietly assured. “We’ll swipe Belzora and then get back to Welcher to double-check the instructions.”
Spencer was sure they were talking about the Manualis Custodem, but no one dared mention it in front of Penny and Bernard. Luckily, those two were arguing loudly about which way was right and which way was left.
“Are you worried about its security?” Alan whispered.
The warlock shook his bald head. “I duct-taped the translated binder to the table in the closet. Only my finger
prints can peel it up. The pages would be destroyed if anyone else tried to get them.”
“What’s the problem, then?” Alan asked.
“I didn’t dare secure the actual Manualis,” Walter said. “It’s a very old book. I didn’t want to damage it. The best I could do was hide it in a drawer in my janitorial office. It isn’t safe. Anyone could get their hands on it.”
“Even if someone got to it,” Alan said, “the book is latched and locked. It would take a warlock nail to open it. We have Holga and the nail with us here. Your nail is set in the walls of Welcher Elementary, but as long as you have Ninfa, no one can pull it out. That leaves Mr. Clean. So it makes even more sense to move on him as fast as we can.”
Walter nodded. “What if Clean doesn’t go back to the BEM laboratory? That would leave us sitting in the enemy base.”
“I can check,” Spencer chimed in. “I can spy on Mr. Clean and try to figure out his plans.”
“Excellent,” Walter said.
Spencer held out his hand, and his dad slid the cool, hard handle of Holga into his palm.
Chapter 13
“What more can you lose?”
The visions didn’t bother Spencer at all anymore. When his eyesight returned, Spencer got an immediate fix on Mr. Clean’s location. The tall warlock had just entered the Arts Building at New Forest Academy. He moved with silent, serpentine grace as his half-human Sweepers scuttled down the dark hallway behind him.
Clean’s slime-covered hand pushed open the band room door. In a flash, he was staring into the face of Director Carlos Garcia. The Latino man was pressing a red hand against the bloody gash on the side of his head. His face was pale and his fingers trembling.
Despite all the evil that Garcia had done, Spencer hated seeing him so helpless and terrified. Spencer instantly shifted his perspective, his vision fading to white for just a moment before returning through the eyes of Garcia. It was more frightening from this angle, looking up at Mr. Clean’s Sweeper face. But at least Spencer didn’t have to see the panic in Garcia’s eyes. Now he was seeing through them.
“You have failed me again,” Mr. Clean said.
“But I thought . . .” Garcia began.
Strike of the Sweepers Page 6
