Chapter 36

“Keep them closed.”

Spencer jumped down from the bottom stair and reached the edge of the arena. He unclipped a pushbroom and was about to head after Daisy when Bernard gripped his shoulder.

“You’ve got to let her go, kid,” the garbologist muttered as Daisy sprinted toward the Hoarder.

Spencer shook his head. She didn’t even have a pinch of vac dust to defend herself. “What’s she doing?”

“She’s giving Bookworm something to fight for,” answered Bernard.

Daisy bent down and picked up a tin can from the field of loose trash. “Hey!” she screamed, hurling the can at the back of the Hoarder’s head. It fell short, clattering against a rusty barbecue that made up part of its shoulder.

The Hoarder froze, slowly turning away from where Bookworm had collapsed. The lawnmower blades that formed its face sped up and the bumper curled back hungrily.

Daisy suddenly seemed to doubt her courage. She took a hasty step backward, tripping in the trash and landing on her backside in the middle of the arena.

The Hoarder shrieked, its hand darting out to snatch Daisy out of the garbage. Suddenly, the trash around her erupted and Daisy Gates was scooped into the protective arms of her pet Thingamajunk.

Bookworm, revitalized by seeing Daisy in danger, leapt across the arena and rolled her out into the trash at the edge of the field.

The Hoarder didn’t seem to like being humiliated by a tiny human girl in front of so many spectators. Its lawnmower face was fixed on Daisy and it dashed forward to finish her off.

But standing between the Hoarder and the girl was Bookworm. The bigger Thingamajunk didn’t seem to consider Bookworm much of an obstacle. They’d been fighting for several minutes, and Bookworm had spent most of the time trying to get away.

But things were different now. Daisy was in danger.

With a running start, Bookworm jumped straight into the air. He twisted above the Hoarder’s head, grabbing onto the lawnmower handle with both hands. The Hoarder’s head snapped back and the big Thingamajunk fell to the arena. Bookworm swung around, kicking one of the stout wooden table legs that protruded from the Hoarder’s chest. It broke free with a splintery crack!

The Hoarder swiped for Bookworm, but the smaller Thingamajunk evaded the blow. Snatching the broken table leg, Bookworm jumped over the Hoarder’s chest and thrust it into his opponent’s face.

The whirling lawnmower blades jammed on the wood, grinding to a halt. Even from a distance, Spencer could hear the lawnmower’s motor groaning in protest.

With a horrible grunt, the Hoarder rose to its feet once more. Black smoke was venting from the sides of the Hoarder’s head like steam blowing out the ears of an angry cartoon character.

Bookworm didn’t need Bernard’s coaching anymore. He grabbed the Hoarder’s right arm and jerked it around, dislocating the Thingamajunk’s shoulder. The rusty barbecue popped out of place, and the entire arm turned to useless rubble, falling to scraps on the arena floor.

The spectating Thingamajunks were going wild. They were leaping up and down, their weight causing Spencer to worry that the staircase might collapse.

Bookworm was winning!

The Hoarder was scraping at its lawnmower face, blindly trying to remove the table leg that jammed its deadly blades. Bookworm delivered a sharp kick to the Thingamajunk’s back, using the momentum to launch himself up and grab the bumper that served as the Hoarder’s jaw.

Planting his feet squarely between the Hoarder’s shoulders, Bookworm leaned back, grunting mightily as he bent the bumper around the lawnmower. From his seat in the bleachers, Spencer saw sparks shooting from the lawnmower’s motor.

Bookworm kicked away, leaping gracefully to land beside Daisy on the arena floor. The Hoarder reared back, shrieking one last time. Then its head exploded in a cloud of black smoke and debris.

Spencer shouted and clapped his hands together. He was suddenly thrown off balance by a stampede of Thingamajunks exiting the staircase to rush the field. They were grunting and jumping as they surrounded Bookworm, bearing him up on their shoulders and toting him around the arena.

Spencer ran onto the field, grabbing Daisy’s discarded janitorial belt as he passed the bottom stair. Daisy had a proud grin on her face, watching her pet enjoy the praise of victory from his fellow Thingamajunks. Spencer was grinning too. He was just glad Daisy hadn’t been eaten by the Hoarder.

“That was a brave thing you did, kiddo,” Bernard said, reaching out to ruffle Daisy’s hair.

“I knew Bookworm would protect me,” she said.

“He’s quite the hero now.” Sach pointed to where the other Thingamajunks still swarmed him.

“He’s always been a hero,” Daisy said. “The others just didn’t know it until today.” She tapped her chin in thought. “I wonder if Couchpotato is here,” Daisy muttered. “Maybe now he’ll give my necklace back.”

“Bookworm’s victory won us access to the Hoarder’s dwelling,” Alan said. “We should find the scissors and make our way back.”

Spencer handed Daisy her belt. She buckled it on, and the humans made their way toward the oversized washing machine, leaving the Thingamajunks to their celebration.

They arrived at the dark entrance to the Hoarder’s dwelling. Spencer tried to ignore the Thingamajunk heads staked on the sharp pencils, feeling sorry that there was no way to help the Hoarder’s previous competitors, who had not been as fortunate as Bookworm.

The rim of the washer was much too high to step inside. Spencer followed his dad’s lead, drawing a broom and drifting up past the door, which stood about ten feet ajar.

When they’d all landed, Spencer had to squint to see into the dark washing machine. The chamber ahead was vast and cylindrical. Once shiny metal, now every surface was dirtied with rotten garbage residue. The smell was awful, and Spencer automatically covered his nose.

The Hoarder had earned his name for a reason. It looked like the cruel Thingamajunk had been collecting oddities for decades.

There was a stack of microwaves that rose all the way to the roof of the dwelling. Old maxed-out cleaning supplies had been sorted into piles. There were towers of dingy books and magazines, dozens of old televisions, and stacks of discarded human clothing.

“This is great!” Bernard rubbed his hands together in excitement. “A treasure trove of trash!”

Great was not the word Spencer would have used to describe the Hoarder’s cluttered dwelling. He looked up, noticing stalactites of garbage dangling from the washer’s ceiling. “It’s going to take us forever to find the scissors in here,” he muttered.

Sach found a propane tank in one corner. The Dark Auran inspected it for a moment. The first time Spencer had met Olin, the boy had dragged him into a field of propane tanks. The landfill Glop had tainted them, and they spewed fire from an unending source of gas.

Carefully, Sach twisted the valve. The Hoarder’s propane tank must have been similar to the ones in Olin’s field, because immediately a geyser of bright flame shot into the air.

“There we are,” Sach said, dusting his hands together. “A little more light should help.”

And it did. Spencer could see the Hoarder’s dwelling more clearly now, though the messy place wasn’t something he necessarily wanted to view in great detail.

“Wow,” Daisy whispered. “I don’t even know where to start looking.”

“We should spread out and search,” Alan said. “The scissors could be anywhere.”

“I think I can narrow it down,” Bernard said. “Every collector I’ve ever met has a method. There’s no sense in collecting things if you stow them away and can’t ever find them again. It may look like chaos to the untrained eye, but a garbologist can spot a pattern.”

“What’s the Hoarder’s pattern?” Spencer asked.

Bernard held up a finger, as if he didn’t want to be bothered while thinking. His eyes darted around the washing machine, the garbologist’s gaze dissecting the mess.

“Color variations,” Bernard said. “Brighter colors in the front, darker colors in the back.” Now that he mentioned it, Spencer could see the pattern. It gave a sort of ominous feeling to the dwelling. The light from the entrance was brightest at the front, reflecting on the more vibrant colors. An enhanced sense of deepening and darkening resulted from the placing of darker hues in the back.

“The scissors are black,” Sach said.

“So they’d be near the back,” answered Bernard. He strode deeper into the washing machine, but it was clear that he wasn’t finished cracking the Hoarder’s collection pattern.

“The Hoarder had a knack for symmetry,” said the garbologist. “Bulkier items on both sides.” He pointed to the stacks of microwaves on the right, balanced by old television sets on the left. “The items get smaller as they come toward the center.”

“The scissors aren’t very big,” Sach said. “At the most, maybe eight or ten inches long.”

“Then we can expect to find them in the middle,” replied Bernard, lining himself up in the center of the cylindrical washer. The others followed him, anticipation growing as they neared the rear of the dwelling.

“And last,” said the garbologist, “the Hoarder left dull objects on the floor, but he kept sharp objects in boxes.”

Bernard bent down, reached into a cardboard box, and withdrew a pair of antique-looking wrought-iron scissors.

“Unbelievable!” Sach exclaimed. He stepped forward and carefully took the scissors from Bernard’s hand. “After all these years searching . . .” He trailed off, cradling the long-lost scissors in his grasp.

“That was amazing!” Daisy said to the garbologist. “When are we going to learn that in my lessons?”

“Next month,” answered Bernard. “I have a three-week unit on trash collecting.”

Spencer leaned closer to inspect the old scissors in Sach’s hand. The design was very simple, with a single pin holding the two sides together. The blades didn’t look very sharp, but Spencer had learned a long time ago not to underestimate a Glopified tool.

“You’re sure these are the right scissors?” Alan asked.

Sach nodded. “Exactly how I remember them,” he said. “We have to keep them closed. A single snip can cause a lot of damage.”

“Hold them tightly,” Alan said.

“Oh, I don’t intend to lose these again,” Sach said. “Olin and Aryl would never let me hear the end of it.” Sach curled his fingers, gripping the dull blades in a closed fist.

The Rebels made their way back to the dwelling’s exit. Spencer stayed close behind Sach, intrigued by the powerful item the boy was carrying. Creating the scissors had nearly killed the Dark Aurans. Spencer could almost feel their life force emanating from the simple tool.

Spencer thought again of the bright beacon of energy he’d seen when exiting the Dustbin. That powerful brain stem was keeping the brain nests alive, fueling the Toxites to destroy the minds of students. Spencer wondered if the scissors in Sach’s hand would really be strong enough to sever that connection.

Exiting the giant washing machine required the aid of Glopified brooms, since the rim was well over Spencer’s head. Bernard and Daisy tapped their bristles, the magic flying them in a steep arc out to the arena where Spencer could hear the Thingamajunks still celebrating Bookworm’s victory.

Spencer touched his broom to the floor of the Hoarder’s washing machine and drifted up beside Sach, his dad just behind them. At the pinnacle of their flight, just as they crested the rim of the washer, Spencer cried out. A figure appeared seemingly out of nowhere, clutching to the front of Spencer’s coveralls and dragging his broom off course.

The face, only inches from Spencer’s, was unmistakable.

General Clean.