Billy eyed Zozo. “I’m sorry, Mr. Zozo,” he said with calm defiance. “But you’re right, I can’t favorite your Nina. I already have a favorite, and his name is Ollie.”
The sound of the bell had transfixed Zozo. “My Nina. My Nina,” he said almost tenderly. Then his face made the closest thing to a smile the Creeps had ever seen Zozo make.
Billy knew this was his chance. Ever so slowly, so no one would notice, he reached down to knee level and pressed one hand over the Super Creep’s mouth. Then he started sawing his wrist bindings against the sharp edge of the Creep’s tin-can head. He was nearly finished when there came a funny sort of shout, not of a person, not of a child or even an animal. It was the unmistakable cry of a toy. A very brave and valiant toy. His toy.
“CHARGE!!” bellowed Ollie.
Then every piece of Junk and every ancient toy joined him in a great magnificent roar, “CHAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGE!!”
And they charged.
The Creeps were too stunned to react. Before they could put up their guard, the Junks and toys were overrunning them, swatting the first wave of villains down like flies.
Billy jerked around, an openmouthed grin of surprise on his face. He spotted Ollie rushing forward, taking the lead, sword slashing left and right so fast that no Creep in his path stood a chance. They were actually running AWAY from him.
“Look at him go,” Billy murmured in happy, bewildered awe.
It took Billy an instant or two to absorb the fact that Ollie was leading a charge.
In those few seconds, the Creeps had regained their senses and started to fight back with their usual skill and cunning. But not before a protective blockade of junkyard warriors and determined toys surrounded Billy. “President Billy!” cheered the Junks.
“Stay in formation until I can get him free!!!” Ollie shouted, leaping up to Billy’s knees and stepping on the Super Creep’s gum-smeared head.
“Yikes!” said Ollie.
“Back atcha,” replied the Super Creep.
“ ‘President Billy’?”
“It’s been a weird night,” said Ollie. Then he slashed at the last threads of Billy’s wrist bindings with his sword and cut right through them.
“Wow,” said Billy. “You’re a good battler, Ollie!”
“Thanks, Billy,” said Ollie, feeling kind of proud and glad and super relieved, all at the same time. And Billy felt the same way.
“I thought I was gonna rescue YOU!”
“Well, I learned how to from YOU,” Ollie answered as he yanked away the last of Billy’s bindings. There was no time for hugs or slobbers or any of that stuff. There was a battle going on.
“Now, let’s get out of here!” Ollie ordered.
“Ditto,” Billy agreed, hopping up, shaking the bonds from his legs. But first, there was something he needed to do. Because he was mad now, mad at Zozo for all the illegal and means he’d done. He wanted to find that clown toy. But Zozo was nowhere to be found.
Billy saw Ollie looking at the dancer doll on Zozo’s worktable.
“It’s almost exactly like Mom’s,” Billy said.
Ollie nodded.
“I bet Mom misses her. The way I’d miss you. I’m gonna bring her home to Mom!”
Then Ollie knew what he had to do.
For the first time, Ollie didn’t agree. In every game, or huge A-venture, or just goofing around, Billy had always been the leader. But things had to be different this time.
“No, Billy,” Ollie said—not in a mean way or in a fun way, but in a sort of older-sounding way.
“Huh?”
“We can’t take her,” said Ollie. “She belongs to Zozo.”
“But she looks just like Mom’s Nina. . . .”
“But she’s not your mom’s Nina. Your mom loved her Nina to pieces in long, long olden days ago. It wouldn’t be the same,” said Ollie.
Billy thought about that. He knew there could only ever be one Ollie. But before he could agree, a sudden, alarming jerk and sway rippled through the room, followed by a sharp rhythmic crackle of breaking concrete, as if a giant hammer was pounding upon the tunnel floor. The lamps began to swing in different directions. Then the back wall of the chamber crumbled down, filling the room with rubble and dust.
Junks and Creeps alike scattered as concrete and bricks tumbled toward them.
Billy scooped Ollie up.
Out of the clearing haze crept a terrifying, crab-like multi-legged machine, taller than a man, with the legs made of mismatched girders and pieces of old carnival rides. At its center was an old bumper car, painted with a smiling face—the kind of cheerfully hideous face you only find at carnivals. And there, behind its steering wheel, sat Zozo, the clown king, his face gruesomely lit by the dingy flashing carney bulbs that pocked the machine. A single scorpion-like tail, attached to the back, coiled and struck through the air.