Chapter 33

“I think he’s afraid.”

Dawn broke over the landfill, matching the colorful red blaze of the fire from the gorge. Most of the Rebel army was still sleeping. Meredith was in the Auran kitchen, putting her lunch-lady skills to use in preparing a giant breakfast.

Spencer and his dad rendezvoused with Daisy and Bernard at the dumpsters. Dez was still out at the gorge, where he’d spent the night picking off Rubbish Pluggers that tried to break through the fire.

“Any sign of the Thingamajunk?” Alan asked.

“Not yet,” Bernard said. “Not sure where the Dark Aurans are, either. We were just waiting for you two.”

Daisy crossed to the edge of the concrete pad. Cupping both hands around her mouth, she yelled Bookworm’s name like a parent calling a child for dinnertime.

Mere seconds later, the Thingamajunk rose out of the nearest pile of scraps and scampered toward them. Spencer wondered how Bookworm had any energy left after scouring the landfill all night. Then he wondered if trash got tired at all.

Daisy reached up and rubbed Bookworm’s head. “Did you find them?” she asked. “Did you find the scissors?”

In response to her question, Bookworm reared up and beckoned with enthusiasm. He loped off into the landfill, leaving the four Rebels to follow.

They jogged a short distance, weaving through towers of cardboard and heaps of scrap. Spencer wrinkled his nose at the rotting smell of the landfill. Despite the early-morning hour, the heat was strong. Spencer knew it would be a scorching day.

Bookworm leapt onto the hood of a crumpled old vehicle, swung around a rotting broomstick, and landed in a cleared area, gesturing proudly to his findings.

As Spencer came into the clearing, his eyes grew wide. Bookworm hadn’t just found the Glopified scissors they were looking for, he’d found every pair of scissors in the landfill.

A pile of rusty scissors was heaped about five feet high. There must have been a thousand or more, discarded to the landfill over the course of hundreds of years. Some of the scissors were broken and bent, with only a handle or a single blade. Others were in fairly good condition, clearly much too modern to be the scissors that the Dark Aurans had Glopified so long ago.

Bernard stepped forward and picked up a pair of safety scissors of the type commonly used in preschools. He opened and closed the yellow plastic a few times before tossing it back onto the pile. “I don’t think the Thingamajunk understood us,” he said.

“He just didn’t want to miss anything,” Daisy defended her pet. “How would he know which scissors we were looking for? He just brought us everything.”

Bookworm nodded, a ripped page hanging out the corner of his textbook like the panting tongue of a dog.

“Well,” Alan said, “I suppose we should start sorting.” He picked up a set of kitchen shears and tossed them aside. “We’re looking for a pair from the 1800s. They’ll probably be wrought-iron blade and handle. Nothing fancy.”

“They’re not here.”

Spencer whirled around to find Sach sitting on the trunk of the car overlooking the clearing. He’d missed seeing him on the way in, but that didn’t surprise Spencer. The Dark Aurans had spent centuries mastering stealth.

“I was watching all night,” Sach said. “The Thingamajunk brought in a lot of scissors, but none of them matched the ones we Glopified.”

“You’re sure?” Spencer asked. “V told me they were here. It was the last thing she said.”

Sach slipped off the trunk and skidded down the trash pile to join them in the clearing. “I’m telling you,” he said, his expression sober, “the scissors aren’t here.”

Spencer knew what this was doing to him. After learning the truth about the Toxite brain nests, the Dark Aurans knew the scissors were their only hope. The other alternative for stopping the creatures meant death for the three ageless boys.

“They have to be here somewhere,” Spencer persisted. “Maybe Bookworm didn’t find them all.”

“Bookworm?” Daisy turned to her pet, who sat hunkered at the edge of the clearing. “Did you find all the scissors in the landfill?”

Bookworm nodded, slowly at first, and then overly fast.

“He’s lying!” Bernard said. “The Thingamajunk’s lying to us!”

“He wouldn’t,” said Daisy, shooting a questioning look at the garbage figure.

“Trust me,” Bernard continued. “I know how to read trash. Look at the corners of his textbook. See the way they’re drooped down?” Instantly, Bookworm perked up the edges of his mouth. “And the guilty look in his eye . . .”

“Bookworm doesn’t have eyes,” Spencer pointed out.

“Fair,” said the garbologist. “But if he did have eyes, I bet they’d look guilty!”

“Bookworm!” Daisy turned sharply to her pet. “Are you lying to me?”

The Thingamajunk shrank down, bits of trash sloughing away as he made himself smaller and smaller.

“Are there other scissors in the landfill that you didn’t bring us?” Spencer asked.

Slowly, Bookworm nodded his head, pencil teeth chattering from his guilty nerves.

“Where are they?” Alan asked, but now the Thingamajunk drew back, shaking his head. He drummed his assortment of trash fingers on the ground.

“I think he’s afraid,” Bernard said.

Daisy stepped over to her pet, suddenly warm with compassion. She put an arm around his smelly shoulders and looked him in the face. “It’s okay,” she soothed. “Thanks for getting all those,” she gestured to the pile of collectibles in the center of the clearing. “But we need you to tell us where the other scissors are. Why didn’t you bring them?”

Bookworm seemed to swallow his nerves. Daisy’s calm voice had a restoring effect on the Thingamajunk, and he collected more trash from a nearby pile, growing back to his original large size.

“Do you know where the Glopified scissors are?” Spencer asked, doing his best to keep the friendly tone that Bookworm responded to most readily.

The Thingamajunk nodded his head.

“Is it far?” Alan asked.

This time Bookworm shook his head, holding up one finger. Then, thinking about it, Bookworm held up another.

“One hour,” Bernard said. “Maybe two.”

Bookworm fist-bumped the garbologist again, while Spencer considered that every conversation with Bookworm was like a game of charades.

“Then why didn’t you bring the scissors?” Daisy asked.

Bookworm made a sound that represented a savage growl. Then he worked something up from his garbage body and hacked it onto the ground.

Daisy picked up the metal road sign. One corner was bent over, but it was clearly a Do Not Enter sign, with a red circle in the middle.

“The scissors are somewhere you’re not allowed to go?” Spencer asked. Bookworm gave a thumbs-up.

“Aha!” Sach clapped his hands. “Is it down by the old staircase? Next to the washing machine?”

Bookworm clapped his hands, apparently relieved that someone else knew about the place he couldn’t go.

“What’s so bad about that place?” Daisy asked.

“There’s a strange Thingamajunk that lives in that region,” Sach said. “Most Thingamajunks are nomadic. They wander about the landfill, churning up new trash. Not this one. He’s mean as murder and really territorial. He doesn’t let anyone near his washing machine. Not even other Thingamajunks.”

“What’s so special about the washing machine?” Alan asked.

“He lives there.”

“Whoa,” Daisy said. “He must be really small.”

Sach and Bookworm shook their heads in unison.

“Or the washing machine is really big?” Daisy guessed.

“He’s a collector, of sorts,” said Sach. “We nicknamed him the Hoarder because he keeps anything that comes across his path.”

“Can’t we trash-talk this grouch?” Bernard suggested. “It seems to work with all the other Thingamajunks.”

“Or maybe Bookworm can do the talking,” Spencer said. “One Thingamajunk to another.”

Bookworm shook his head wildly, grunting a few times. He actually looked scared. Spencer didn’t blame him. If what Sach said about this bully Thingamajunk was true, then Bookworm was the very opposite. Daisy’s garbage pet had reacted to kindness, not trash-talk. He liked watching television and eating books. He was the only Thingamajunk who had ever willingly associated with humans.

“I think it’s time to pay a visit to this Hoarder,” Alan said. “Bookworm, can you show us the way to the washing machine?”

The Thingamajunk was trembling, but he gave a weak nod.

Spencer tightened his janitorial belt and checked to make sure that his coveralls were fully zipped. “Should we go get the others?” He asked. Penny and Marv had been working with Olin and Aryl to make sure the Rebel army would be equipped for battle. Rho and the other girls were likely manning the perimeter defenses with Dez.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Sach said. “If we want to face the Hoarder with any sort of diplomacy, we’ll be better off in a small group.”

“Diplomacy,” Bernard scoffed. “You really think we have a chance of trash-talking our way to the scissors?”

Bookworm gave the answer they were all fearing. He shook his head and stormed off in the direction of the Hoarder Thingamajunk.