[Janitors 04] Strike of the Sweepers (12 page)

Bernard dropped to his knees and unclipped the Sweeper’s radio. Lifting it to his mouth, the garbologist pressed the button and spoke. “Hello. Yes! Edwards here. We are all right now. We are A-OK. Fine and dandy.” He paused, then added, “Thank you for asking.”

It was silent on the walkie-talkie for a moment. Then the voice said, “Our sensors showed a shock wave at your location. Looks like something hit the force field.”

Bernard swallowed hard and continued. “Umm. Yes. Something
did
hit the force field, now that you mention it.”

“Well?” the voice on the other end was growing impatient. “What was it?”

Bernard’s eyes flicked around the surrounding area, and Spencer could see he was scrambling for any kind of help that could get them out of this. Then the garbologist smiled and gave an answer.

“It was a toasted marshmallow.”

Penny smacked Bernard softly on the back of the head. He looked at her with an innocent expression. Taking his finger away from the button, he whispered to her. “Maybe I’m hungry, okay?”

“A toasted marshmallow?” asked the voice.

“Yes indeed,” Bernard answered into the radio. “And I’ve got graham crackers and Hershey’s chocolate to go with it.”

“The boss would clean you up if he knew you were messing around with the force field again,” said the voice. “He’ll be back any minute, and I’ve got half a mind to tell him that you’ve been making s’mores!”

“Sorry,” Bernard said. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Better not,” said the voice. Then, “Over and out.” The walkie-talkie went silent, and Bernard clipped it back onto the Sweeper’s belt.

“S’mores?” Penny yelled. “What the heck was that?”

Bernard bent down, lifting a brown paper from the dirt. It was an empty Hershey’s wrapper, and, by the look of it, someone had tried to grind it into the dirt with the heel of a shoe.

“Hershey’s bar,” Bernard said. “A classic American chocolate.”

He dropped the wrapper and carefully plucked something small out of the dirt beside it. Spencer squinted to see it clearly. It looked like the broken corner of a cookie.

“Graham crackers and milk make a wonderful snack,” Bernard said. “But the presence of the chocolate could mean only one thing: s’mores.”

“What about the marshmallows?” Daisy asked.

Bernard grinned, picking up a thin stick with a bit of sticky white residue on the tip. To Spencer’s horror, he licked the gooey marshmallow remnants. “Jet Puffed, if I had to guess. This is recent, and I don’t smell a campfire. The only other heat source is that Glopified fence.” Bernard shrugged and dropped the stick. “It seemed logical that the Sweeper had tried it before. Guard duty can be mighty boring, and sometimes you need a midnight snack.”

“Wow,” Daisy said, clearly amazed by the garbologist’s ability to read what others took for trash. Penny just rolled her eyes.

“We should get moving,” said Alan. “How long before the Sweepers wake up?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Walter said. “Twenty at the most.”

“That doesn’t give us much time to maneuver through the construction site and get inside that Port-a-Potty,” Alan remarked. “Agnes said the place is probably riddled with mines. One false step could send a load of Agitated Toxites at us.”

“We can’t afford a fight in there,” Walter said. “If even a single mop string hits that force field, it’ll blow up in our hands.”

Penny tightened her janitorial belt. “We’ll just have to watch our step.”

“What about a flashlight?” Spencer asked. “We could use a Glopified flashlight to scan for traps.”

Spencer was pleased that his idea was met with nods of agreement. Alan dug a small flashlight from his belt pouch. But when he flicked the switch, nothing happened. The light was designed to be dim unless illuminating another magical object. But even when Alan pointed it directly at the Glopified fence, which they knew was charged, they couldn’t see the beam clearly.

“Is it on?” Daisy asked.

Bernard leaned around and peered directly into the flashlight. He drew back squinting. “Definitely on and working,” said the garbologist.

“Then why can’t we see the beam?” Alan asked.

Bernard glanced around the perimeter of the construction site. “It must be the floodlights. They’re so bright they’re masking the flashlight.”

“I’ll fly up there and punch my fist through the big lights,” Dez said, flexing his talons.

“Why are you so destructive?” Daisy asked. “Why can’t you just turn them off like a regular person?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Dez said.

“Looks like there are five banks of floodlights positioned around the outside of the fence,” Walter said. “If you can shut them down, that should do the trick.”

But Spencer didn’t like this. He didn’t want Dez to feel any more powerful than he already did. Spencer judged the distance up to the first floodlight. It was easily within broom range.

While Dez went on boasting about how fast he would be able to shut off the lights, Spencer unclipped a broom, sprinted two steps, and rocketed up to the first floodlight.

After his experience on the crane, the height didn’t seem nearly as frightening. He reached out and grabbed the light post, reigning himself in. He felt the intense heat from the row of lights and was grateful to be perched on the post behind them.

Now that he was up there, Spencer wasn’t sure how to shut them off. As his broom regained gravity and he settled uncomfortably in his perch, Dez’s idea of smashing the lights suddenly seemed half-decent.

Then he saw a little fuse box mounted behind the right side of the light. There was a small metal cover on it, but Spencer knew immediately what it was. His siblings had tripped the breakers at Aunt Avril’s house enough times that Spencer was well acquainted with the fuse box there.

He had to lean an uncomfortable distance to reach the little door. From this angle, he could see that there was a slot in the metal covering just large enough to reach a finger through and trip the switch. It was stiff, but he managed to flip it off with an audible
click.

Immediately, the lights on his pole went dark. Pleased with his success, Spencer pulled his hand away from the fuse box. The moment he released the switch, it clicked back and the floodlight kicked on again, startling Spencer so much that he nearly fell from his perch.

“What’s going on up there?” Bernard called.

“There’s a switch,” Spencer answered. “But it won’t stay off!”

“Can you tape it down?” asked Walter.

It was a good idea, but the slot in the metal covering was barely big enough for his finger. He’d never be able to get a strip of duct tape in place. “There’s a covering.”

“See?” Dez shouted. “You need me to smash it!”

“What about Windex?” his dad said. “If you turn the cover to glass and break it, could you get some tape in there?”

Spencer looked down. Leaning as he was, the force-field fence was directly below him. A single shard of glass could cause another explosion, and Spencer didn’t think the Sweepers in the lab would believe another s’more story from Bernard.

“It’s not going to work,” he said. “The only way this light is staying off is if I hang out up here and hold the switch.”

Penny had moved off during the conversation, drawing a broom from her belt and floating up to the next light pole. As she reached out, her set of floodlights darkened momentarily. But it didn’t last.

“Same problem over here!” she called.

Spencer saw his dad and Walter exchange brief words. Then Alan called out. “Stay up there, Spence. We’re sending Dez, Bernard, and Daisy up the other light poles. Once they’re in position, you’ll have to keep the lights off while Walter and I use the Glopified flashlight to mark a path through the construction site.”

Spencer didn’t like the idea of splitting up, but there wasn’t much he could say about it from his spot on the light pole.

“We’ll mark every footstep with a piece of duct tape,” Walter explained. “Once we reach the Port-a-Potty, you can let the lights turn back on and make your way across.”

Spencer glanced at the unconscious Sweepers by the gate. This was a pretty elaborate plan to be executing under such a tight deadline.

Chapter 21

“Keep your head down!”

Daisy, Bernard, and Dez moved into position on the light posts with surprising ease. One by one, the floodlights around the construction site went dark. After the hot brightness, everything seemed extra dark. Spencer blinked hard, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

He saw a dim glow from the gate. That would be his dad’s Glopified flashlight. As Alan brought it around, the little beam flared, darting to illuminate the Sweepers’ bodies and the force-field fence.

Alan and Walter stepped through the gate, and Spencer watched the flashlight beam change directions. The two men moved at a rather slow pace. At least, it seemed that way to Spencer, whose arm quickly grew stiff from his leaning out to reach the fuse box and hold the little switch.

From time to time, one of the floodlights would flare as someone’s grip slipped on the switch. Spencer did it twice, and Daisy more times than Spencer could count. Dez was the only one not to falter. When his arm grew tired, Spencer saw him unfurl his wings and flap in the air beside his light pole.

The call finally came from Alan. Spencer could barely make out the Port-a-Potty in the dark center of the construction site. He couldn’t see his dad or Walter standing beside it, but the flashlight was turned off, and Alan’s words carried well enough.

“All right!” he shouted. “Come on!”

Grateful that the tedious task was over, Spencer released the switch, and his set of floodlights poured brightness into the construction area. One at a time, the big lights turned on as the Rebels abandoned their posts and met up at the gate.

Penny nudged the Grime Sweeper with her foot. “Can’t have more than about five minutes left,” she muttered.

“Can’t you give him another shot?” Daisy asked.

Penny shook her head. “Once he’s out, he’s out. A second spray doesn’t make it last any longer.”

Bernard was down on one knee, just inside the fence.

“Looks like Hansel and Gretel left us a trail of bread crumbs,” said the garbologist.

Daisy peered over his shoulder. “I don’t know. It looks like duct tape to me.” In the brightness of the floodlights, Spencer could clearly see little strips of tape stuck to the ground, each a footfall apart.

Bernard rose and extended his right foot. He set it down right on top of the strip of tape and shifted his weight. “We’ll have to go single file,” he said. “Don’t step anywhere except on the tape.”

Dez made a face. “This is a waste of my time. I can just fly over there.”

Penny pointed up. “Be my guest. But don’t blame me when your wings hit that force field and you blow up.”

“Fine.” Dez folded his arms. “But I’m going first.”

“Too late, kid,” said Bernard, who was hopping to the third piece of tape. “I’m already on the trail. Get in line.”

Dez cut in front of Spencer and Daisy, while Penny seemed satisfied to take the rear. They moved at a steady pace, trusting the markings on the trail with every step. The footfalls were mostly regular, although every so often a leap was required. Spencer didn’t see a single sign of any mines. He believed they were there. From what he’d seen up on the pole, his dad’s flashlight had been dancing between Glopified objects all the way across the site.

The duct-tape markings didn’t follow a straight line, but wove gradually toward the Port-a-Potty. Dez’s wings kept flicking out, and Spencer was afraid that he might take flight at any moment.

“This reminds me of a place we went camping last summer,” Daisy said. Spencer didn’t know why she wanted to make conversation at such a crucial time. “We had to hop from rock to rock to get across a little stream. And if you slipped off, you got wet.”

“Good idea,” Spencer said. “Think of it like that.” Anything to put her at ease.

“Except this is different,” Dez said. “Slip off now and you’re dead.”

Daisy was silent for a moment, hopping from tape to tape. “Yeah,” she said. “This isn’t as fun.”

Spencer tried to center each step over the strip of duct tape, but it became tricky as the trail led them over a mound of broken concrete. He leapt from chunk to chunk, sometimes sliding a bit on the sloped surface.

“Keep your head down!” Bernard shouted as they neared the top of the pile. Spencer instinctively ducked, having not even realized that he was dangerously close to the top of the force field. It was an added challenge to follow the markings while hunched over, and Spencer could hear the soft, magical hum of the invisible net overhead.

They were still some distance from the Port-a-Potty when Penny made the announcement that everyone was dreading.

“They’re waking up!” Her voice was an urgent whisper, and Spencer didn’t need to check over his shoulder to know that she was right. They had taken too long.

Spencer remembered the disorienting feeling of reviving from green spray. That might buy them another few seconds, but then the Sweepers would surely spot them and raise the alarm.

“Run!” Penny hissed.

Bernard took off, his clumsy rubber boots touching down only for a brief second on each piece of tape. Dez was moving fast too, and Spencer was determined to keep up.

It was awkward to run when the marked footfalls had been set by a person walking. Spencer thought he must have looked ridiculous, like someone hopping over hot coals. He was barely looking where to put his feet down, following so closely behind Dez.

Had Spencer been thinking more clearly, he wouldn’t have trusted his path to the Sweeper kid in front of him. He’d learned not to trust Dez with anything, and in the next second, Spencer remembered why.

Dez was leaping along, only yards from the Port-a-Potty, and skipping every other marking. Dez jumped, his legs tucking up under him as his black wings stretched out. The boy had misjudged the trail’s direction and veered too far to the left. And Spencer, following too closely, went right after him.

As Dez’s Rubbish wings glided him safely back to the pathway, Spencer’s foot came down hard on an unmarked spot of ground.