Chapter 23

“Who’s it going to be?”

An empty hallway opened before them, with a row of lights built into panels along the wall. Penny was the first to spring into the hallway, drawing her twin mops from her janitorial belt. Then, one by one, the inhabitants of the Port-a-Potty spilled out, like clowns from a circus car. Dez was the last one to leave. He stood up and stretched his legs, moaning as though he’d been forced to sit for hours.

Leaving the door to the Port-a-Potty open, the team moved slowly down the hallway. Spencer drew his dustpan shield and kept a razorblade closed in his other hand.

They stepped out of the hallway and into a large, sterile room. Stainless-steel tables were set at perfect right angles, with beakers and test tubes carefully arranged across their surfaces. There was an acrid smell in the air, with a familiar sulphuric undertone of Glop. A Bunsen burner flamed in the corner, as though an experiment had been abandoned halfway through.

And the awful silence seemed to weigh as much as all the ocean water above them.

“Where is everybody?” Daisy finally whispered.

“Not very hospitable,” said Bernard. “I expected a welcome party.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Walter said. Spencer could tell that the old warlock was equally disturbed by the empty lab but didn’t want to show it. “We’re looking for the bronze nail,” said Walter. “We’ll be waiting for Mr. Clean. Once he arrives, we take Belzora, extract the nail, and squeegee back to Earl.”

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t notice he’d been holding. If only their plans were ever that simple! If only their plans ever played out the way they were supposed to! Spencer had a feeling in his gut that nothing about this was right.

They took a moment scouring the large room for the bronze nail. Spencer knew it wouldn’t be there, so near the entrance to the lab and out in the open. He knew his companions sensed it too, and their searching seemed halfhearted.

Soon the Rebels were gathered at the far side of the room near a set of elevator doors. No one said anything as Alan pressed the button and the elevator opened. They moved silently in. After the cramped confines of the Port-a-Potty, the elevator seemed almost spacious for the seven Rebels.

There appeared to be six floors to the lab. But this building was different from city skyscrapers. The Rebels had entered on the top floor, and the other five levels seemed to descend deeper into the ocean floor.

Walter pushed the button for the bottommost level. “We’ll start there and work our way up,” he said softly. The doors to the elevator closed, and Spencer felt a little hiccup in his stomach as the elevator moved downward.

For a moment, Spencer felt as though he were in a fancy hotel. He wished they were somewhere ordinary. The depths of the lab made him feel claustrophobic. He watched the numbers change as they passed each floor.

3 . . .

4 . . .

5 . . .

The elevator jolted to a halt. Alan pressed the button to open the doors, but nothing happened. Quickly growing desperate, he pressed a few more buttons at random.

“We must be stuck between floors,” he said. “We’ll have to—”

But Alan was cut off by a voice. It spoke slowly through the speaker in the side of the elevator.

“Welcome to the experimental laboratory of the Bureau of Educational Maintenance.”

Spencer recognized the voice immediately, so slimy and rich, even through the intercom. But how was it possible? Mr. Clean was supposed to be behind them. How could he have beaten them to the lab when the Rebels had been occupying the Port-a-Potty?

“It is indeed a rare visit,” Mr. Clean said, “to have Rebels come so deep. You are the first. And you will also be the last.”

Walter had drawn a plunger from his belt and clamped it onto the elevator door. He pulled, hoping to wrench open their escape, no matter where it led. The Glopified plunger made good suction, but the door held fast.

“There has to be another way out,” Alan whispered to his Rebel companions.

“The elevator is quite secure,” said Mr. Clean over the intercom. “The time for daring escapes is past.”

Penny reached up toward the top of the elevator. Spencer saw what she was reaching for; it looked like a small hatch. Once, Spencer and Daisy had squeezed into the air vents at Welcher Elementary School to escape Garth Hadley. But here, the opening above looked too small even for them.

“The hatch is locked,” said Mr. Clean. “I would advise you to leave it alone.”

Penny lowered her arms. Spencer could tell that she wasn’t giving up. She just needed to think it through and weigh Mr. Clean’s subtle threat.

“Don’t listen to him,” said Dez. “He’s the bad guy, remember? I can handle this.” He leapt up, wings fanning to give him an extra boost as he knocked the other Rebels back. His taloned fingers punctured into the hatch covering, and he tore it away.

Something dropped when Dez pulled the hatch open. The small object fell past the bully and struck the floor in the center of the elevator.

It was a chalkboard eraser. And it was already venting paralytic dust by the time anyone realized what had just happened.

“Look what you did!” Spencer yelled as Dez touched back down.

“Oh, man,” Dez said. “I hate this stuff!” He bent down, trying to use his large wing to cover the chalk bomb, but the white cloud billowed out too quickly.

“Tisk, tisk,” Mr. Clean said. “You should not have opened the hatch. Luckily, we have security measures in place in case an emergency like this should arise.”

The Rebels were all covering their faces, breathing shallowly, trying to postpone the inevitable paralyzing effects of the chalk dust.

“There is a small cubby below the elevator buttons,” Mr. Clean continued. “You will find something inside that will provide pure air in any situation. It will protect you from the chalk cloud.”

Spencer’s eyes darted to the spot that Mr. Clean had mentioned. Sure enough, there was a small slide-away door just below the buttons. He wondered why no one was moving to open it. His dad and Walter shared a glance full of distrust at Mr. Clean’s suggestion. Spencer saw the stubbornness in his dad’s eyes, and he knew that Alan would rather fall paralyzed than play into Mr. Clean’s game.

It was Walter who caved, after seeing Daisy gasp and choke. The old warlock reached out and slid the small door away. Through the haziness of the elevator, Spencer saw Walter retrieve a construction worker’s dust mask. It was of simple design, made to cover the nose and mouth with a single elastic to hold it on behind the head. But there was a major problem.

“Oh,” Mr. Clean said. “Something I failed to mention . . . there is only one dust mask.”

Walter held it out, his face reddening from anger and lack of pure air. He ran his other hand through the cubby, but this time, Mr. Clean had not lied.

“Who’s it going to be?” asked the BEM warlock.

Walter held it out, too noble to take it for himself. “One of the kids,” he gasped.

Spencer, Daisy, and Dez looked at each other.

“I’m taking it!” Dez said. He lunged for the mask that dangled from Walter’s hand.

“I don’t think so!” Spencer said, reaching into his janitorial belt. If one of them was walking out of this, it wasn’t going to be Dez. Spencer tossed a Funnel Throw of vacuum dust, catching Dez in the small of the back and suctioning him to the floor.

Spencer crawled over to Walter and pulled the mask from his hand. But he didn’t put it on. If one of them deserved to escape, it should be Daisy. She was here because of him, and Spencer wasn’t going to let her suffer for it.

“Here,” he managed, holding the mask out to Daisy. She was curled on the floor and didn’t look up. White chalk dust had gathered on her head, and, for the moment, her thick hair was as white as Spencer’s.

“Take it, Daisy!” He nudged her, but she still didn’t stir. He felt the panic begin inside him. He was too late. Daisy had already faded.

He sat beside her, his back pressed to the cold metal wall of the elevator. There was nothing he could do about it. Hating himself for being the one, Spencer lifted the mask until it covered his nose and mouth. He pulled the elastic band around the back of his head and took deep breaths of pure, refreshing air.

Spencer’s eyes welled as his friends collapsed around him. They drifted off, one by one, growing helpless and paralyzed, until only he remained.