61. It's Just Garbage
My eyes fluttered open just in time to see two figures looming over me.
When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell.
Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may.
After all...I can't fix stupid.
Previously: Regardless of Shamas' warnings, Dax and the Steel and Stone team accept a side fight at a demolition site. With such a public event and so many camera…what could go wrong?
Ask Wendell.
Chapter 61
We must all learn to endure unexpected hardships.
Keep this in mind the next time you feel you’ve hit bottom.
…because life owns a shovel.
I wasn’t awake yet.
Not really.
Everything felt floaty and detached, like I was underwater… except the water was warm and filled with nails. Something stung my shoulder. My ribs screamed. My left shin was throbbing like it was trying to detach itself and go on vacation.
There were voices. Two of them. Muffled.
“Take his legs, Mal.”
“There’s no time, Enid. The furnace is going to ignite soon!”
“All the better to get a move on—so grab his legs!”
I groaned.
Well, I tried to. It came out more as a croak. Even that hurt. My throat felt like someone had shoved a sock down it and set the sock on fire.
The air smelled of grease, old cheese, and burning rubber.
Trash.
I was lying in the trash.
Again.
Figures.
My eyes fluttered open just in time to see two figures looming over me. One looked like he’d lost a fight with a rusty rake, and the other had a leg that bent weird when he moved.
“Sorry, Mal,” the rakish-looking one muttered. “That was unkind of me.”
Mal—the other one—kneeled beside me. “It’s I who should apologize. Someone’s been cruel to this boy, for whatever reason. I’ll not add to his suffering.” He looked at the other guy and gave him a wink. “Besides, no one falls this far and lives. Has to be a good sign, right?”
Don’t start, I wanted to say.
Instead, I threw up a mouthful of goo and choked on it.
Mal reached out gently, brushing away something sharp from my face. I flinched. He didn’t pull back.
“Easy now. You’re safe. Just don’t move—looks like you bounced off every sharp object in the pile on the way down.”
I tried to sit up.
Bad idea.
My spine lit up like a Christmas tree. “Ughnn… where…?”
“The furnace bay,” Mal answered grimly. “And we’ve got maybe three minutes before this chamber turns into a big ol’ death oven.”
Wonderful.
My eyes fluttered.
“Ohhhhhh…”
Terrible idea, making sounds.
Makes sense though…every time I open my mouth, someone nearby wants to shut it for me.
Pain rolled through my body like someone flipped a switch labeled EVERYTHING SUCKS. My brain was swimming, trying to figure out where I was, or what had happened…but all it could come up with was static and misery.
Soft orange light filled the space. The ceiling above me looked like a patchwork of translucent paper taped together, almost as if someone had tried to wrap the sun in old envelopes.
Sweat trickled into my ear.
The air was thick—moist and hot. Not like summer hot, but oven hot. Rotting compost-bin-left-in-the-sun hot.
The moment the smell hit me, I gagged.
Oh, no. Oh no, what is that?! Am I lying in it??
I tried to turn my head—and immediately screamed.
“AHHRGH!”
Stars exploded behind my eyes. Fire danced along my spine. My muscles screamed in solidarity.
Okay. No moving.
Moving is really, really bad.
Tha-thump-thump.
Tha-thump-thump.
Tha-thump-thump.
Heavy fabric rustled above me. Then a voice, scratchy and too cheerful for the current situation, piped up. “Hey! Don’t go moving about, young man. We’ve only just made sure you had all your parts!”
A gnome appeared in my field of vision, walking around the side of the table I was apparently placed upon.
He smiled at me.
“You’re safe now,” he said. “With friends.”
Well, that was new.
The pain in my back and legs was jagged and stabbing. It was also a very new kind of pain. Yay for new experiences! Let as if I’d been dropped on a pile of steak knives. Which honestly didn’t feel that far off. I took a slow breath…aaaaaand there it was: ribs.
Definitely broken ribs.
Maybe a fractured back.
Eyes blinked. Adjusted.
The gnome smiled again. “Name’s Enid. And you?”
I swallowed. My tongue felt like old cotton. “Wendell,” I rasped, then immediately coughed—and oh wow I regretted that. My whole body clenched with the effort, and the pain cascaded through me like someone shook my skeleton.
Come on, Ithari. Little help?
Tha-thump-thump.
Tha-thump-thump.
Tha-thump-thump.
I didn’t know how the gem worked exactly, but considering the shape I was in, I had a sneaking suspicion I shouldn’t be breathing at all right now. Which meant she had kicked in already.
Thanks for that. You know, minus the pain.
“What’d you do to make your buddies so mad?” Enid asked casually, like this was the start of a bar joke.
I gritted my teeth and tried to force my body to relax. “Excuse me?”
Enid walked around the table, unwrapping a bandage on my arm. I flinched. “People don’t usually get thrown in the incinerator,” he said. “Well, not for no reason, anyway. That would just be plain mean. So what’d you do to get tossed down a garbage chute?”
Wait. What?
My eyebrows tried to leap off my forehead. “Garbage chute? As in…”
“Takin’ out the garbage,” Enid finished with a grin. “Skins, cans, boxes, and thank goodness—the leftover scraps from the tables of our great nation.” He gave me a wide-eyed look. “Or we’d all starve down here!”
Right.
This guy was nuts.
“Where…are we?” I asked, every word scraping up from the pit of my soul. Forcing my head to turn was like shoving rebar through my neck.
But I did it.
Barely.
The table I was lying on was propped up on a mound of junk. And I don’t mean “junk” like a messy room—I mean actual trash. We’re talking piles of cans, furniture parts, wrappers, old clothes… even broken toys. I spotted a baby doll’s head jammed on a pipe, dangling from a string like some kind of garbage totem.
Enid kept working on my arm. “You…are in the underbelly of Clockworks City. Some call it paradise. Wellll, until someone throws a heavy object at their head.” He snickered at his own joke. “Others call it the pit. Some even call it hell… but I prefer to call it the crapper.”
Lovely.
“This is where all the unwanted things of the city are thrown away and forgotten.”
I let out a slow, painful sigh.
Including me, apparently.
I drifted in and out, caught between consciousness and whatever hellish dream smelled like burning socks and rotting meat.
Now and then, my brain surfaced just long enough to ask the important questions. Like… where was I? Why did it feel like someone had used me to mop a steel factory floor? And, more importantly—did anyone even know I was gone?
Alhannah had to know. Right?
Dax had probably flipped a table over by now. Maybe two.
Booker.
That smug, preening, gold-toothed poser. I could almost hear his laugh.
Was he behind this? Did anyone see what happened to me?
No cameras. No witnesses. Just poof—Wendell the Wonder Dummy goes bye-bye in the middle of a mech brawl.
Great. Just great.
My ribs screamed as I shifted slightly, and my vision pulsed with bright sparks. Wherever I was, whatever pit I’d landed in... it wasn’t just a trash heap.
This was off the map.
I had to hold on.
Someone had to be looking for me…
“Slowly,” Enid warned. “I don’t know how you’re doing it, young man—but I don’t think I’ll have to worry about your infections after all.”
The old gnome scratched his long, greasy hair. “Never seen anyone heal so fast.”
I smirked, even as my ribs protested. “It’s a gift.”
Enid laughed, though something about it felt… nervous. He kept eyeing my legs like they might jump up and sprint off without me. “You tell me if they’re handing out more of those gifts,” he grinned, “and I’ll be first in line!”
He pointed a grimy finger at me. “Now, don’t try to stand yet—your legs were broken badly. Just let them dangle. I’ll try to find something edible.”
Grabbing a rusted metal rod like a cane, he nodded to himself. “Might take a while. Scraps’ve been thin lately. Still, your legs’ve got a way to go. Mal and I set ‘em, bound ‘em up tight—but you need rest. Lots of it.”
I gave him a tired salute. “Rest. Got it. And…thank you, Enid. For saving me.”
The smile was genuine and kind. "We all have our stories, but we have one truth shared between us. We still matter. Regardless of what others may say, you do matter. That means while we are trapped down here, we help each other survive." He nodded to himself. "Something will change. Until then, we survive."
Seemingly satisfied, Enid turned to leave…
TWEEEEET!
A shrill whistle pierced the humming furnaces.
Enid snapped his head up, all traces of humor wiped clean from his face.
TWEEEEET!
Another whistle…this one more distant.
“No, no, no!” he hissed. In a flash, he kicked out the support stakes propping up the makeshift shelter. Boxes and stained cloth came tumbling down. He crouched and scooted up beside me.
“Sorry, kid,” he whispered, “but you gotta lie back. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.” He gently lifted my legs onto the bed, and I had to bite down to keep from screaming. Fire shot through my hips and down my thighs.
Patting my arm, he whispered again. “Not a peep.”
Before I could even respond, he collapsed the rest of the shelter and vanished.
The roof dropped slowly… suffocatingly… like a wet, moldy quilt falling across my face.
My ribs flared white-hot with each breath. The tent’s fabric reeked of vomit and mildew, pressing into my cheeks, my mouth. I gagged, but swallowed it down.
What is happening out there?
Then came shouting…a barked order. Too far away to understand, but the tone was harsh. Angry. Then more voices.
Screams.
Screams I understood.
Panic. Pain. Terror.
I winced.
There are children in this place?
THA-THUMP-THUMP!
No. Please, no.
Footsteps.
Getting closer.
Light, quick… but hesitating.
Another pause.
My spine twitched in protest. I was helpless.
Trapped.
More screams.
Then—
Panting.
A child's.
“In here,” I whispered.
The footsteps froze.
“I’m under here.”
The fabric shifted as a little body squeezed in beside me.
His face was a mosaic of filth—oil, dirt, something green I wasn’t ready to identify. He couldn’t have been more than five years old. Big brown eyes. Rags were wrapped around thin limbs.
“Hey there, buddy,” I whispered, trying not to wince.
He reached out and touched the knots in my bandages.
“Is someone chasing you?” I asked.
He nodded. Lips tight. Trembling.
The screams outside grew louder.
Closer.
“Forget the kid!” growled a voice nearby. Heavy steps stomped through the trash.
The child flung himself against my side, sending needles of pain up my ribs.
“I’m not letting these muddles get away!” another shouted.
The boy clutched my arm and curled into a ball. I couldn’t tell if he was crying or suffocating.
The footsteps were almost on top of us.
Think, Wendell. THINK!
I couldn’t run.
Couldn’t fight.
THA-THUMP-THUMP!
A surge of warmth spread through me, dulling the pain.
…just enough to give me hope.
The boy’s wide eyes stared up at me.
I smiled. Raised my finger to my lips.
He nodded.
Okay. Time to try something stupid.
Gritting my teeth, I lifted my arms and pressed against the fabric. My bones groaned. Muscles screamed.
“Arrrrghhh!” I choked out under my breath.
Focus, Wendell. Focus on your intent.
Closed my eyes. Blocked the pain.
“Silmä inakmään,” I whispered.
A shimmer rolled over the tent, like waves on hot pavement. The fabric flickered, then settled.
Immediately, I felt it…a backlash. My body convulsed. My skull cracked with blinding pain.
My arms fell limp.
“Did you hear something?” one voice asked.
“Just my stomach, growling.”
“I’m done chasing kids. We’ve got enough for the shipment. You’re not gonna find anything in this garbage.”
“Grrr… fine. I’ll be glad when these greasy muddles are wiped out.”
“Are you kidding? Let ‘em breed down here all they want. So long as they stay out of sight.”
My gut twisted.
Who were these gnomes? What shipment? And why were they so casual about wiping out those who lived down here?
The spell held. The voices faded.
The boy beside me didn’t move. Still curled up, still shaking.
Eventually, the screaming stopped.
I reached up, touched the fabric again.
“Silmä inakmään,” I whispered.
The glow faded.
A small forehead pressed against my wrist.
“Hey,” I said softly, “it’s okay. You’re safe now.”
For the moment, anyway.
“Do you know who Enid is, buddy?”
“Simon.” The child’s voice was barely a whisper. “My name is Simon.”
“Nice to meet you, Simon. I’m Wendell.”
He nodded.
I smiled. “Can you help me? I… can’t really move. Do you know Enid?”
“Yeah.”
I opened my mouth to ask for help—but Simon bolted.
“Hey—wait…!”
Tiny footsteps scurried through the junk, swallowed by the rumble of machinery.
Once again…I was alone.
There was no way of telling what time it was anymore. No sun, no ticking clocks, not even a digital readout. Just this never-ending humid darkness, and a sense that time had gone feral.
My whole body ached. Muscles cramping. Joints locked. The fabric Enid had dropped over me felt like it had gained twenty pounds overnight, pinning my head sideways so I could barely sip at the stale, hot air drifting up from the side of the cot.
Everything was wet. Everything smelled wet.
Mildew. Acid. Despair.
And no matter how hard I tried to move, it just made everything hurt more. Broken bones are still setting. Bruises blooming like flower arrangements of pain.
I don’t want to die like this.
Not buried under a garbage tent, in a puddle of my own sweat, smelling like foot rot stew. But deep inside, I could still feel it—that steady pulse of warmth.
The Ithari.
Still working.
Still healing me.
Or… keeping me alive against my will.
“Wendell!” squeaked a familiar voice. “Over here—I found him!”
It was Simon!
I nearly cried.
“Get this off me!” I croaked.
“Good gracious!” came Enid’s voice. Cold air brushed over my face, and it felt like a miracle. There was a yank, then a tug.
“Help me get him out of there, you old sap!” Enid snapped. “Before it smothers him!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” came a different voice, “only got one good leg, ya know!”
Something sharp jabbed through the cloth.
“WHOA! That’s my face! I like my face!”
“Bah,” the voice grunted. “Looks are overrated. Women go for intelligence. Personality.”
“And a cute butt,” Enid added with a wheezy chuckle. “They deny it, but I’ve seen ‘em lookin’.”
A sigh. “I was cutting near his face, not his backside.”
A gnome’s face popped into view. Weathered, oily, with eyebrows like grubs. “Sorry ‘bout that. Too much moisture. There’s suction. We’ll have to peel it off instead.”
As they worked, cooler air poured in—and for the first time, the thick funk of the pit didn’t smell entirely like death. More like…well-aged compost.
When I finally opened my eyes, I saw all three of them—Enid, Simon, and the newcomer.
“Name’s Mal,” the limping gnome said, reaching out to grab my hand. His grip was surprisingly strong. “Dragged your sorry butt outta the burner.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “Almost got singed doin’ it, too.” His eyes went wide. “Then neither of us would have butts to look at, eh?”
Yup. Insane.
Enid shoved a small can near my face. “Found you some food!”
The smell slapped my sinuses. Moldy sour cabbage doing battle with vinegar demons. The lumps inside were green, but not in a vegetable sort of way.
“It’ll be fine,” Enid assured me. “Washed it myself. Proper water. Fermentation’s good for you—cleans out the gut.”
I took a cautious sniff and winced. Smelled like a dangerous mockery of sauerkraut.
"Stop it," Doubt whispered. "Be grateful, Wendell."
You're right.
I placed the cup on my chest and produced a smile. “Thank you,” I said.
Enid nodded, pleased.
“Could one of you please explain what’s going on down here? Where am I exactly? What was all that shouting? Simon had to hide with me…and I heard voices. Talking about rounding people up… and something about ‘muddles’?”
The two old gnomes exchanged a long look.
Finally, Mal squatted next to me and stared straight into my face.
“Answer our question first,” he said. “Why would someone wanna throw you down a garbage chute?”
I just blinked at him.
He pulled a broken bucket out of a pile and sat down with a sigh. “Most of us end up here by accident. A wrong tunnel. A flooded route. Bad luck. But you?” He jabbed a finger into my shoulder…hard. “You fell from the ceiling, boy. And it ain’t a short drop.”
“Over a hundred stories,” he added, tugging on his greasy mustache. “So either you’re the luckiest snot-nosed turd to land on your feet, or someone wanted you dead…and made sure it looked like trash.”
He pointed to Enid. “But you survived. Both ways. So whoever did this ain’t gonna be happy with TGII.”
Enid rolled his eyes. “Don’t start talkin’ religion.”
“I’m not preachin’, ya gassy squirrel,” Mal growled. “Ain’t nothing wrong with acknowledgin’ the Universe when it saves yer butt.” He jabbed me again. “Right?”
I flinched.
The gnome glared at me, then cocked his head to the side. "What's wrong with your shirt?"
"What?" I said.
He pointed at me. "That right there. A smiley face that looks back at me. Its eyes move when I shift. Why's it doing that?"
I smirked. "It's a trick shirt." I said quickly. "Part of my SLAG brand. Not sure how it works."
"Well, it's creeping me out," Mal grunted.
“…I'm sorry, sir.” I said quickly.
Mal grinned. “You hear that? The turd that came down the crapper just called me sir.”
“Lucky!?” Enid snapped. “Tell that to Peach. And Rusty. And Ivet. Or any of the folks who’ve been snatched by Centurions!”
Mal rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Yeah… No. No.”
“Then save your holy babble.”
I cleared my throat. “I’m a Trench pilot,” I said. “We’ve been winning matches, and we were warned someone might try to… sabotage us.”
I let my head rest on something lumpy. “Didn’t think they’d try this hard.”
Enid squinted at me. “As in those bang-bang-fighter-types?”
“Big metal robots? That’s us.”
Mal chuckled. “Well, I’ll be, Enid—TGII just sent a celebrity to hell.”
