Chapter 21

“Keep your head down!”

Daisy, Bernard, and Dez moved into position on the light posts with surprising ease. One by one, the floodlights around the construction site went dark. After the hot brightness, everything seemed extra dark. Spencer blinked hard, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

He saw a dim glow from the gate. That would be his dad’s Glopified flashlight. As Alan brought it around, the little beam flared, darting to illuminate the Sweepers’ bodies and the force-field fence.

Alan and Walter stepped through the gate, and Spencer watched the flashlight beam change directions. The two men moved at a rather slow pace. At least, it seemed that way to Spencer, whose arm quickly grew stiff from his leaning out to reach the fuse box and hold the little switch.

From time to time, one of the floodlights would flare as someone’s grip slipped on the switch. Spencer did it twice, and Daisy more times than Spencer could count. Dez was the only one not to falter. When his arm grew tired, Spencer saw him unfurl his wings and flap in the air beside his light pole.

The call finally came from Alan. Spencer could barely make out the Port-a-Potty in the dark center of the construction site. He couldn’t see his dad or Walter standing beside it, but the flashlight was turned off, and Alan’s words carried well enough.

“All right!” he shouted. “Come on!”

Grateful that the tedious task was over, Spencer released the switch, and his set of floodlights poured brightness into the construction area. One at a time, the big lights turned on as the Rebels abandoned their posts and met up at the gate.

Penny nudged the Grime Sweeper with her foot. “Can’t have more than about five minutes left,” she muttered.

“Can’t you give him another shot?” Daisy asked.

Penny shook her head. “Once he’s out, he’s out. A second spray doesn’t make it last any longer.”

Bernard was down on one knee, just inside the fence.

“Looks like Hansel and Gretel left us a trail of bread crumbs,” said the garbologist.

Daisy peered over his shoulder. “I don’t know. It looks like duct tape to me.” In the brightness of the floodlights, Spencer could clearly see little strips of tape stuck to the ground, each a footfall apart.

Bernard rose and extended his right foot. He set it down right on top of the strip of tape and shifted his weight. “We’ll have to go single file,” he said. “Don’t step anywhere except on the tape.”

Dez made a face. “This is a waste of my time. I can just fly over there.”

Penny pointed up. “Be my guest. But don’t blame me when your wings hit that force field and you blow up.”

“Fine.” Dez folded his arms. “But I’m going first.”

“Too late, kid,” said Bernard, who was hopping to the third piece of tape. “I’m already on the trail. Get in line.”

Dez cut in front of Spencer and Daisy, while Penny seemed satisfied to take the rear. They moved at a steady pace, trusting the markings on the trail with every step. The footfalls were mostly regular, although every so often a leap was required. Spencer didn’t see a single sign of any mines. He believed they were there. From what he’d seen up on the pole, his dad’s flashlight had been dancing between Glopified objects all the way across the site.

The duct-tape markings didn’t follow a straight line, but wove gradually toward the Port-a-Potty. Dez’s wings kept flicking out, and Spencer was afraid that he might take flight at any moment.

“This reminds me of a place we went camping last summer,” Daisy said. Spencer didn’t know why she wanted to make conversation at such a crucial time. “We had to hop from rock to rock to get across a little stream. And if you slipped off, you got wet.”

“Good idea,” Spencer said. “Think of it like that.” Anything to put her at ease.

“Except this is different,” Dez said. “Slip off now and you’re dead.”

Daisy was silent for a moment, hopping from tape to tape. “Yeah,” she said. “This isn’t as fun.”

Spencer tried to center each step over the strip of duct tape, but it became tricky as the trail led them over a mound of broken concrete. He leapt from chunk to chunk, sometimes sliding a bit on the sloped surface.

“Keep your head down!” Bernard shouted as they neared the top of the pile. Spencer instinctively ducked, having not even realized that he was dangerously close to the top of the force field. It was an added challenge to follow the markings while hunched over, and Spencer could hear the soft, magical hum of the invisible net overhead.

They were still some distance from the Port-a-Potty when Penny made the announcement that everyone was dreading.

“They’re waking up!” Her voice was an urgent whisper, and Spencer didn’t need to check over his shoulder to know that she was right. They had taken too long.

Spencer remembered the disorienting feeling of reviving from green spray. That might buy them another few seconds, but then the Sweepers would surely spot them and raise the alarm.

“Run!” Penny hissed.

Bernard took off, his clumsy rubber boots touching down only for a brief second on each piece of tape. Dez was moving fast too, and Spencer was determined to keep up.

It was awkward to run when the marked footfalls had been set by a person walking. Spencer thought he must have looked ridiculous, like someone hopping over hot coals. He was barely looking where to put his feet down, following so closely behind Dez.

Had Spencer been thinking more clearly, he wouldn’t have trusted his path to the Sweeper kid in front of him. He’d learned not to trust Dez with anything, and in the next second, Spencer remembered why.

Dez was leaping along, only yards from the Port-a-Potty, and skipping every other marking. Dez jumped, his legs tucking up under him as his black wings stretched out. The boy had misjudged the trail’s direction and veered too far to the left. And Spencer, following too closely, went right after him.

As Dez’s Rubbish wings glided him safely back to the pathway, Spencer’s foot came down hard on an unmarked spot of ground.

He froze, fully expecting a burst of little Toxites to erupt from the ground at his feet. When nothing happened, he exhaled slowly and looked down.

“Don’t move,” Penny said. Bernard and Dez had reached the Port-a-Potty, and Daisy was almost there.

“What am I stepping on?” Spencer asked. He could see a line running under the sole of his right shoe.

Penny, still safely on the marked trail, stooped to examine it. “Looks like a rubber band,” she said. “It’s long. Stretched tight. The ends are buried in the dirt.”

Spencer felt a trickle of sweat drip down his side. His eyes flicked back to the gate where the Grime Sweeper was hunched over the Filth guy. The guards were still coming around. At least the Rebels hadn’t been spotted . . . yet.

“What’s the holdup?” Alan called.

“I think I’m standing on a trigger,” Spencer answered.

Daisy’s eyes went wide. “You’re standing on Tigger?”

Penny reached out a hand and touched Spencer’s shoulder. “You’re just going to have to make a run for it.” Then she turned back to the group of Rebels at the Port-a-Potty. “Let’s open that door and get inside.”

Walter grabbed the handle, and the door of the Port-a-Potty swung open without a fuss. The floodlights shone inside, and Spencer could see that it looked no different from every portable toilet he’d spent his life avoiding.

Seven people. It was going to be a very tight fit.

The Rebels were still squeezing in when Penny turned to Spencer. She released a preemptive spray of vanilla air freshener around the boy. “You ready?”

He nodded. Spencer tensed his body, mentally preparing for whatever might happen when he took his foot off that Glopified rubber band.

“Go!” Penny said, and Spencer darted forward at full speed.

Spencer heard the twang of the stretched rubber band as the two buried ends ripped from the ground. Attached to each end was an Agitation Bucket brimming with little angry Toxites.

The contracting rubber band pulled the two buckets out of the dirt and into the air with tremendous force. Spencer barely ducked as the buckets collided above his head. Plastic cracked and the Toxites came spewing out like water from a broken pipe.

There was no time to fight. In a hailstorm of monsters, Penny had Spencer’s arm, pulling him along, heedless of the duct-tape trail markers. Spencer knew his foot triggered at least one more Toxite mine, and he felt the sting of sharp quills on the back of his legs.

His hand dropped to his janitorial belt, unclipping a dustpan and twisting the handle. The metal pieces fanned into an impressive shield, and he held it over his head as he sprinted. Dive-bombing Rubbishes pelted off his defenses, and Penny used a razorblade sword to swipe blindly at the Toxites over her shoulder.

When Spencer reached the Port-a-Potty, the other Rebels were packed inside. He threw himself through the small doorway, slamming up against his dad. Penny was right behind him. She seized the flimsy plastic door, hurled a chalkboard eraser back at the oncoming Toxites, and pulled the door closed.