“It smells like an ambush in there.”

The rest of the journey across the landfill passed slowly for Spencer. The weather grew muggy and the air seemed thick. Spencer saw storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

Spencer had all his trust staked on Rho now. If she revealed his identity as an Auran, the other girls would likely rally against him. According to Aryl, they would take him to the Broomstaff and give him a Pan of his own. But if Rho kept it quiet, everything would play out smoothly.

As the sun began to set, V and Rho led the Rebels over a wide mound of trash, and they found themselves at the edge of a forest. But this was unlike any forest Spencer had ever seen.

Instead of deep green trees, there were huge forks and spoons rising from the littered soil. Most were plastic, with a scattering of bent metal utensils. They stood stock straight by the thousands, some right side up, with the tines in the air, others downturned, digging into the ground as if it were a humongous piece of cake.

“We’re almost to the Glop source,” V said. “We should eat something before we head in.” The storm clouds were overhead now, resulting in a sudden drop in temperature.

“What about staying ahead of the storm?” Alan asked.

V shrugged. “A little rain never hurt anybody.”

“I don’t have a great feeling about this place,” Bernard said, peering into the forest. “It smells like an ambush in there.”

Daisy sniffed the air. “What does an ambush smell like?”

“Have you ever smelled a dirty sock?” the garbologist asked. “I mean, really smelled it, with your nose right in there?”

“Yes.” Daisy nodded. “Is that what an ambush smells like?”

“Not at all.” Bernard cracked a smile. “But why on earth would you smell a dirty sock?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Rho interrupted. “If there was danger ahead, Gia and the others would have doubled back to warn us.”

“No offense,” said Penny, “but I don’t really have a lot of confidence in your scout team. We’ve already been through a couple of tight squeezes without a word from them.”

“That’s the nature of the landfill,” V said. “Things are changing all the time. We stay on our toes and we’ll be fine.”

Something dark swept out of the utensil forest with a rush of leathery wings. Penny dove aside a split second before armored talons closed. The giant Rubbish shrieked, blowing a huge plume of black dust from deep within its throat.

A BEM rider leaned over the edge of his Extension Rubbish and shouted.

“Attack!”

From the depths of the utensil forest sprang a dozen Pluggers. And riding at the front, on a slobbering, vicious Filth, was Leslie Sharmelle.