Chapter 56

“Retreat!”

Spencer’s mind was numb. It was as though all his senses had turned off. He stared blindly at the spot where Walter had stood.

This couldn’t be real. Not Walter.

Then Belzora turned her wrinkled face toward him, and Walter’s final word echoed in Spencer’s mind.

“Run.”

Spencer leapt forward, extending his razorblade and slashing through the nearest Sweeper. The Filth man fell, his Glopified half melting away and leaving him unconscious. Several others tried to lay their hands on him, but the latex glove worked its magic, helping him slide easily through their grasp.

Spencer’s feet thundered through the hallway. His senses seemed heightened now, and he was painfully aware of the pursuing Sweepers right behind. He’d never be able to outrun them. They would capture him, and Walter’s death would be for nothing.

Tears streamed down Spencer’s cheeks, and his heart raced as he fought the urge to throw up. He stumbled and went down, striking his knee on the hard floor.

He lay there, waiting for death. Waiting for the evil Witches to overtake him.

A Rubbish Sweeper dove from above. But before her talon hands could rend him, Marv leapt around the corner, delivering a powerful blow with a pushbroom.

The big janitor seized Spencer with one hand and pulled him around the corner. Penny, Dez, and Bookworm rushed past them, meeting the incoming Sweepers head-on. Dez opened his mouth, using a stored-up belch to fill the hallway with black dust.

“What happened?” Daisy asked.

Spencer was shaking. He couldn’t speak.

“Where’s the boss?” Marv asked. “Where’s Walter?”

“He’s . . .” Spencer squinted his eyes shut. “Dead.” The last word was barely audible. Daisy gasped, her big eyes instantly filling with tears. Spencer took a sobbing gasp of air and tried to explain the horror of their situation. “The Witches . . . they killed him.”

Spencer sensed the fear unravel in his companions. Spencer opened his eyes again. Closing them only made him relive Walter’s final moment. Belzora had opened the warlock’s hand, but the bronze nails weren’t there.

Then Spencer remembered something—a soft pat on the back as Walter had whispered in his ear.

Spencer reached around, putting his hand into the spillproof pouch on the back of his janitorial belt. Even with his latex glove on, Spencer could clearly feel the three sharp bronze nails that Walter had slipped into his pouch.

Spencer held the nails out for the others to see. “We can’t let the Witches get these,” he said. “Walter died for that.”

Marv was slumped against the wall, the strength seeming to have leaked out of him. His eyes were full of tears, but he blinked them away, jaw tightening in rage.

“Marv,” Alan tried to say, but the janitor leapt to his feet, a terrible force to be reckoned with. Drawing a razorblade and a dustpan shield, he let out a roar of grief and jumped around the corner, fighting with the strength of ten men.

“We have to go,” Spencer said, rising on shaky legs. “We have to get away from them.”

Alan nodded, pulling Daisy and Spencer into a tight hug. “Bernard is on his way,” said Alan. “He went to get the truck.”

Just then, Big Bertha’s headlights glinted through the glass doors at the end of the hallway.

“Retreat!” Alan yelled, pulling the kids toward the exit. Spencer went without hesitation, the bronze nails now clenched firmly in his own fist.

Still unaware of Walter’s death, Dez, Penny, and the Thingamajunk fell into a quick retreat. But Marv refused to fall back, determined to avenge his old boss.

“Bookworm,” Daisy said, when she saw what was happening. “Go get Marv!”

The Thingamajunk bounded back into the fray, seizing the hefty janitor with one trash arm and dragging him down the hallway.

Bernard flung open the school doors, and the Rebels began piling into the cab of the garbage truck. The trashcannons were armed and ready, and as soon as the Rebels were clear, Bernard slammed his fist on the red button, firing a high-speed slug of garbage at the Sweepers in the hallway.

Big Bertha peeled away from Welcher Elementary School, leaving behind the source of all Glop and the Founding Witches who were supposed to be their allies.

Everything had gone wrong. Walter was dead. The Witches were bad.

Spencer took a deep breath and forced the tears to stop. He stared at the three little bronze nails in his gloved palm.

An old memory came back to Spencer. At the very beginning of all this, Walter Jamison had told Spencer that he feared a war was brewing. It seemed the warlock was right. The war was upon them now. And Spencer was determined to win.

He closed his fist around the nails. He would win it for Walter.