Chapter 25
“My great-grandpa had a glass eye.”
It was late afternoon and incredibly hot when Spencer found himself staring across the long bridge to the BEM’s private island. After the Rebels had hopped through Lina’s dumpster, Marv had driven the garbage truck off the southern tip of Florida and through a series of toll bridges and islands. Using the information they’d gathered from the soapsuds, Marv, Spencer, Daisy, and Dez had finally arrived at the BEM’s private bridge.
Daisy checked the zipper of her coveralls and glanced impatiently out over the water. “He’s been gone a long time. Do you think he’s in trouble?”
“It’s Dez,” Spencer pointed out. “He’s always in some sort of trouble.” He didn’t like how the plan started with Dez. But there was really no one else who could do the job as quickly.
Marv stomped his feet, as though testing out the new rubber boots he was wearing. “Let’s get in position,” he muttered, sauntering off the road and down the beach toward the water’s edge. Spencer and Daisy followed him, their own boots leaving marks in the sand.
They stopped just at the point where the bridge began to rise over their heads. Squinting ahead, Spencer could see the monstrous Grime clinging to the shadows like a troll beneath the bridge. It still appeared to be sleeping, and he didn’t want to go any closer for fear of awakening it.
Rho’s voice sounded through the walkie-talkie clipped onto Spencer’s janitorial belt. “You’re still out of sight,” she said. “Are you under the bridge?”
“We’re here,” Spencer said. He adjusted the volume, turning Rho’s voice down to a mere whisper. They would need to communicate, but he didn’t want the Sweepers hearing them.
“All right,” she said. “I’m guessing one more step and you’ll come into view of the first soapsud. Looks like it’s positioned on the underside of the bridge.”
Spencer, Daisy, and Marv turned their eyes up toward the bottom of the bridge, scanning the shadows for a surveillance soapsud. It had to be somewhere damp, since the bubble needed constant moisture to stay formed.
“There,” Marv said, peering around the first pillar that supported the bridge. He pointed a thick finger, and when Spencer leaned forward, he saw the small soapsud clinging to a spot where the high tide left the concrete slick with mildew.
Marv reached to his belt and drew a bottle of Windex. Taking careful aim, he shot a narrow stream directly at the soapsud. The magic window cleaner shimmered blue on contact. In a second, the little soapsud had turned to glass.
Spencer stepped out in plain view of the bubble. “Anything?” he asked into the walkie-talkie.
“Nothing,” Rho answered. “It won’t fool anyone if they study the image. The waves aren’t even moving. But it should be good enough if the Witches are just glancing over.”
“My great-grandpa had a glass eye,” Daisy said, tapping the glass soapsud with her fingernail. “He couldn’t see a thing out of it.”
Spencer turned his gaze over the water again. Now that he was sure they could fool the suds with Windex, he was anxious to get over to the island. The effect would only trick the surveillance for about fifteen minutes.
Just as Spencer was muttering his name, Dez landed heavily in the sand behind them. His black wings folded in and he strode toward them.
“Everything set?” Spencer asked.
Dez nodded. “The speedboat should be coming in fast. Any second now.”
“Put these on.” Marv tossed a pair of rubber boots to the Sweeper boy.
“They’re not really my size,” he protested. “Besides, I don’t like to wear stuff that Spencer had to spit on.”
They were all wearing boots that were the product of Spencer’s spit sponge. It had taken him the rest of the night and well into morning to Glopify all the new gear they would need to break the Rebels out of the storage-unit prison.
Dez had just finished pulling his boots on when the sound of a motor drew Spencer’s eyes across the water. Skipping over waves at high velocity, a speedboat cut across the line of buoys, heading straight for the island.
The monster Grime beneath the bridge responded immediately. Its huge eyes rolled around and it sprang into the water, extension cord trailing as it dove out of sight.
“That’s our cue,” Spencer said. He ran to the spot where the bridge was so low overhead that he had to duck to go under. Then, leaping into the air, he stuck his feet to the underside of the bridge. The Glopified boots responded instantly, holding him fast to the concrete. He dangled upside down, the magic of the boots making him feel as comfortable as though he were strolling down the road.
Spencer didn’t wait for the others, though he heard their boots clinging to the bottom of the bridge behind him. The group sprinted forward, counting on the distraction of the speedboat to hold the Grime’s interest.
“I should be flying,” Dez grumbled at Spencer’s side. They had considered that idea, but the huge Grime was accustomed to watching the water and the skies. The belly of the bridge was where the Grime lived. And who would be crazy enough to run straight through the Grime’s personal space?
Spencer’s eyes flicked out across the water. It was confusing, being upside down. The ocean and sky had switched places, two shades of blue that disoriented him. Every footfall gave Spencer confidence. Just as they’d predicted, the bottom of the bridge didn’t register their unauthorized crossing. If it had, the bridge would have collapsed by now.
The invading Rebels were halfway across the causeway when the humongous Grime came out of the water. It took the speedboat in a perfect interception, catching the fast vessel in one sticky hand.
The Grime tossed the boat into the air, its whole slimy body propelling up after it. Out of the water, the motor screamed. But it silenced instantly as the Grime’s wide mouth closed around the boat. The jaws snapped together, jagged teeth shattering wood and metal. Bits of speedboat showered down as the Grime completed its aerial arc and dove back into the depths.
Daisy gasped at the sight. “Those poor fishermen!”
“Relax,” Dez said. “There was nobody aboard. I duct-taped the controls down and pointed the boat at the island.”
Spencer said nothing. If the Grime returned to its undercling perch before they reached the island, their rescue mission would come to a sudden end. He pushed harder, leading the group in a life-or-death race.
The moment he saw sand below him, Spencer jumped. His Glopified boots came away from the bridge, connecting once more with earth’s natural gravity. It took him a second to orient, then Spencer scrambled up the beach and away from the water.
Dez and Daisy were right side up once more. Marv leapt from the bridge just as the water erupted behind them. The monster Grime twisted in the air, its sticky fingers adhering to the causeway.
It was facing them, its huge tongue flicking out to lick the edge of the bridge. The four Rebels stood frozen on the beach, barely daring to breathe. Then the Grime’s big eyeballs rolled back and it made itself comfortable.
“What happened?” Spencer gasped. “Why didn’t it see us?”
“Blind spot,” Marv whispered, pointing directly down the nose of the Grime. Spencer had forgotten that the Grimes couldn’t see directly in front of them. For little Grimes, the blind spot was a mere inch or two. But this thing was huge, and its blind spot must have been several feet across.
“Hey!” Daisy said. “Is that a seashell?” She began to move forward, but Spencer grabbed her arm. “Let go!” she demanded. “I’m on a tropical island! I have to find seashells!”
Spencer pulled a white dust mask from his belt and quickly fit it over Daisy’s face. She came to an immediate halt, her eyes wide as she realized how distracted she’d been. Spencer put another mask over his face. There would be Filth Sweepers ahead, and he couldn’t risk getting sleepy.
“Well, we made it to the island,” Dez said.
“Now for the hard part,” Marv said.