“I wish I would have known who you really were,” Spencer finally said. He didn’t care that the others were listening. He needed to get it off his chest. “At the Academy. I could have used your help. Instead, you just . . . pretended.”
He was thinking about the heart picture she’d drawn in art class. He was thinking about the attention she’d given him, and the conversations they’d had at lunch. He was thinking about the note.
“I had to pretend,” Rho admitted. “I was there for a very specific reason, and I couldn’t let you know about it. I couldn’t be honest about anything.”
“What about chicken tenders?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“You said you liked chicken tenders dipped in ranch,” Spencer said. “Was that true?” It was a dumb question, and now he felt embarrassed to be speaking in front of his dad and friends. But Spencer needed something from their time together at New Forest Academy to be real.
She smiled then, a Jenna smile. It made Spencer feel ridiculous. Of course Rho didn’t feel anything special for him. He was twelve. She was three hundred. He’d spent months hoping to get another letter from her. Now he knew why she never wrote.
“The truth is,” Rho said, “you didn’t need my help at the Academy. I needed yours. I was there to spy on Garcia, but things were a lot worse than we expected. I’d probably still be trapped at the Academy, with giant Toxites rotting my brain, if you and Daisy hadn’t saved me.”
Spencer felt his face go red at the praise. He was about to say something more when Penny slipped quietly to her feet, holding out a hand that demanded silence. She was tensely poised, her head tilted attentively to one side.
Rho and the Rebels rose next to her, their eyes following Penny’s gaze past the fire into the deep blackness of the valley. Their alertness had gained the attention of the Aurans now. The girls approached slowly and silently, their ears to the wind and their hearts racing.
Something was drawing nearer, moving swiftly toward them through the Valley of Tires. The firelight glinted and flickered, hinting at a frightening number of advancing figures. The wind howled through the tires, rising in dissonant harmonies. But floating among the eerie wind tones was the distinctive grunting and growling of a host of wild Thingamajunks.
S
pencer saw them approaching in the moonlight, a stampede of Thingamajunks entering the valley. Their garbage arms flailed and their legs milled old trash as they came forward in a rush of noise.
Daisy staggered backward, tripping into Rho and Spencer. The Rebels and Aurans came together, everyone holding a deep breath of anticipation.
“What’s going on?” Spencer finally asked. The stampede was obvious. But the reason for the Thingamajunk charge was less so.
“Should we trash-talk them?” Penny asked.
V glanced over her shoulder toward the deep darkness of the gorge at the end of the Valley of Tires. “They’re moving too fast. We wouldn’t get a word out before they trampled us,” she said. “Get to the tires! Stay out of their way and they’ll run themselves right off the edge of the cliff.”
“Really?” Bernard shouted. “That’s the plan? Hide on the sides and hope the Thingamajunks run over the edge?”
“They’re dimwitted on the best of days,” V said. “Something’s really gotten them into a frenzy. They can’t think straight. Not that they ever can.”
“What scared them?” Spencer couldn’t help but ask. Was there something in the landfill that struck fear into Thingamajunks? “What are they running from?”
V froze, her face paling. “Oh, no,” she muttered. “They’re not running away from something. They’re running
toward
it.”
Right then, something came hurtling through the air. It was a bundle of some sort, a large tarp. It came slinging over the wall of tires as though it had been launched from a catapult.
“RUN!” V shouted, but it was too late. The bundle hit the ground only a few feet from where the group stood. The tarp exploded like a water balloon on impact. And it was indeed full of liquid, though definitely not water.
The tarp was full of something black and gooey. It splattered everywhere, splashing onto the Rebels and the Aurans, causing them to gag and choke at the smell.
Spencer fell to his knees, trying to hold his breath while the contents of his stomach almost came up.
“What . . .” He gagged. “What was that?”
“Stink bomb,” Rho said, her voice hoarse. “Old scraps of food, wrapped up tight and left in the sun until the whole thing turns to smelly mush.”
“That’s disgusting!” Spencer was on the verge of panic. As if the stampeding Thingamajunks weren’t bad enough, now he was covered in shrapnel from an organic stink bomb.
“Why do Thingamajunks throw stink bombs?” Daisy asked.
“They don’t,” Rho said. “Thingamajunks are attracted to this kind of garbage. The smellier, the better. And now we smell like dinner.”
“If the Thingamajunks didn’t throw the stink bomb,” Spencer said, “then who did?”
V was shouting again. “Prepare for battle!”
Like well-trained soldiers, the Aurans fell into a defensive formation. Glopified pushbrooms and mops bristled, ready for action. The Rebels moved in next to them, but as Spencer drew a razorblade from his belt, his dad pushed him back, forcing him to the middle of the defensive ring.
“Dad!” Spencer protested. “I can fight!”
But Alan wouldn’t hear it. He grabbed Daisy and directed her over to Spencer. “The two of you keep your heads down and stay out of the way.”
Crouching next to the dying fire, Spencer clenched his teeth in frustration.
“He’s only trying to protect you,” Daisy whispered.
Spencer knew she was right, but it still felt like an insult. Hadn’t he proven to his dad that he could take care of himself? Spencer extended the razorblade from its little handle and waited for the stampede of Thingamajunks to strike.
V was barking out a game plan to the other girls, brandishing a fancy, double-sided mop with heads at both ends of the handle. “We mop tie the first wave of Thingamajunks. Once they are down, we stand our ground as long as possible. If the formation breaks, then we retreat to the tires!”
The Aurans pulled back their arms, Glopified mops ready to extend. They acted with such confidence and unity that the Rebels followed their example.
V held up her hand, waiting for the precise moment when the stampeding Thingamajunks would come into range. They could probably take down almost a dozen with the first strike, but Spencer wondered if that would be enough.
“Now!” V screamed, her face flushed in the flickering light of the dying fire. Like a volley of arrows, the Glopified mop strings stretched out, streaming toward the wild Thingamajunks like an impenetrable network of ropes.
Suddenly, there was a sound like a giant guitar string being plucked. A line stretched tight across the ground, throwing a puff of dirt into the air. It was a strand of barbed wire, carefully buried so no one had noticed it in the dim light.
The barbed wire snapped up, catching the Glopified mop strings in midair and tying them into useless knots. Then the line went slack again, dropping to the ground and pulling the tangled mops out of the defenders’ hands.
“No,” V cursed softly. “He thought of everything . . .” Spencer didn’t have time to ask who was the architect of this attack. The Thingamajunks weren’t intelligent enough to do this alone. Clearly, someone was calling the shots from a safe distance away. And, like a true mastermind, the mysterious person was about to defeat the Aurans without ever being seen.
There was a terrible, breathless moment before the impact, and then suddenly, the stampede of wild Thingamajunks was tearing into the defensive line of Rebels and Aurans, driven mad by the smell of the stink bomb that clung to their clothing.
Weapons flashed in the moonlight. The closest Thingamajunk went careening away, struck by Sylva’s pushbroom.
A long arm, comprised mostly of old tin cans, thrust through the ring of Aurans. Spencer rolled aside just as the hand snatched at the air where he’d been. Penny’s backup mop tangled around the extended arm. She jerked upward, bending the tin cans until they ripped apart under the pressure.
The action quickly proved too much for Dela. She let out a scream, slammed her broom against the ground, and rocketed upward and away from the fight.
Lina shifted sideways, desperately trying to fill the hole that the deserter Auran had created. But the Thingamajunks were too swift. One of the garbage figures sprang into the gap, a broken cafeteria tray forming a shovel-like hand.
“Look out!” Daisy pushed into Spencer, knocking him aside as the broken tray cut a gouge in the dry earth. Spencer leapt back, swinging his razorblade and severing the Thingamajunk’s hand.
The disruption from within the circle broke the defensive formation. In a matter of seconds, they were scattered across the valley floor, each Rebel and Auran fighting alone.
Spencer reeled, trying to find an ally. Daisy had been right beside him a moment ago. Now she was nowhere to be seen. He glimpsed Walter Jamison, but the warlock was too far away. Then, out of nowhere, Rho grabbed Spencer’s arm, leading him toward the shelter of the tires, dodging Thingamajunks as they ran.
“Who launched that stink bomb?” Spencer called. “Who’s behind this?”
“I have a guess,” Rho answered. “And if I’m right, we’ll never even see him.”
One of the Thingamajunks rolled forward, its legs comprised of old bike wheels. Atop the wheels was a huge, tattered suitcase snapping open and shut like jaws. Unseen eyes sensed Spencer and Rho making a desperate retreat, and the Thingamajunk moved to intercept. Rho’s foot caught in a loose tire and she went down. Immediately, the Thingamajunk closed on her, suitcase maw opening wide.
“Spencer!”
He whirled around and saw the danger. In desperation, he dropped his open razorblade to the dirt and drew a mop from his belt. With one swift motion, the mop strings went swirling outward, snaring the Thingamajunk by the wheel axle. Spencer pulled on the mop, jerking the garbage figure away from Rho just as the suitcase snapped shut.
Rho was safe, but trying to pull a Thingamajunk on wheels was not the best idea. It rolled backward far faster than Spencer could anticipate. In an instant, it swiveled, ripping the mop from Spencer’s hands. Then the suitcase opened, assaulting him with the strong smell of mothballs. The Thingamajunk stooped forward, and by the time Spencer yelled for help, he’d already been swallowed.
S
pencer bumped painfully along. The inside of the Thingamajunk suitcase smelled like his grandma’s closet, but the stench of his own clothes, splattered with the contents of the stink bomb, overpowered anything else. Spencer grasped at the lid of his prison, trying desperately to wedge the suitcase open. The Thingamajunk seemed to be running around with a mouthful of Spencer, but at least he wasn’t being digested.
Abruptly, the bouncing stopped. Spencer pounded against the lid of the suitcase, and, to his surprise, it popped open. Before he could even gasp a breath of fresh air, someone had seized him around the middle and yanked him out of the Thingamajunk’s mouth.
Surrounded by darkness, he saw a flash of stars overhead. Then he was plunging headfirst into cold water. Somehow he held his breath as his head went under. He thrashed, feeling the brush of human hands as they shoved his head down.
What was happening? Was someone trying to drown him? Then Spencer was hauled upward, lifted over the edge of a great tub of water, and dropped onto the hard ground.
He gasped once and ran a hand across his dripping face. Sounds from the wild Thingamajunks echoed upward from where the creatures were still locked in combat with the Aurans and Rebels. Spencer knew he was still in the Valley of Tires, but he seemed a safe distance away from the action, snug against one of the tire walls.
Spencer shivered against the water in his clothes. Then he finally looked up to see his captor. It was a boy, short and stocky, though looking to be about Spencer’s age. Details were impossible to make out in the darkness, and on top of that, the boy was shrouded, wearing some kind of black cloak, deep hood shadowing his face.
“Sorry about that, mate,” the boy whispered. He extended a hand, wearing a glove with the fingers cut out. He had a strange accent, and Spencer couldn’t tell if it was real.
“Had to dunk you,” the boy said, helping Spencer to his feet. “Had to get the stink off you or the Thingamajunks would smell you out and get hungry.”
“Who are you?” Spencer asked.
“Oh, right,” the boy said. “Forgetting my manners. Name’s Aryl.” The boy gestured up to the towering wall of tires beside them. “Now start climbing.”
Spencer staggered to his feet. He looked up at the wall, but in the darkness, he couldn’t even glimpse the top. “Climb?” Spencer repeated. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly serious,” Aryl said. “Got to get somewhere private so we can talk a bit.”
“But . . .” Spencer stammered. “What about the others? Shouldn’t we help them?”
“Help them?” Aryl snorted. “I just set this up so I could get you away from them!”
Spencer shivered again, but it wasn’t from the chill of his clothes this time. “It was you, then?” Spencer stared at the shadowy figure. “The stink bomb and the barbed wire?”
Aryl grinned, his broad jaw tightening. “The Aurans are so predictable,” he said. “Boring, really. Stopping in the Valley of Tires? Please! V’s losing her touch.”
“So you led the Thingamajunks on that stampede, knowing we were down there?”
“All it took was a well-placed stink bomb to start them running. A second bomb splattered the Aurans, making them the target. A little hidden barbed wire to take out the mops. Then I trash-talked one of the Thingamajunks into swallowing you and bringing you to me. I painted myself the perfect opportunity to get you alone.” He shrugged as though this elaborately premeditated plan was just an ordinary day’s work.
“Now I’m your prisoner?” Spencer said.
Aryl raised his eyebrows. “Bit gloomy, but if you want to think like that, then sure. You’re my prisoner for the next half hour. Just let me tell you about your Auran powers and then you’re free to go.”