Chapter 17

chapter seventeen "Jack, we've got to stand up!" Quint says. "Together!" "Right!" I say. "On the count of—" But Quint doesn't wait for any count, and I'm suddenly hoisted off my feet. My back is flat against Quint as he takes off running. At that same moment, the Sentinel's heavy foot hits the ground—and lands on a puddle of Drooler's Ultra-Slime. The Sentinel's foot slides, and the towering monster lurches sideways. "It's going down!" June shouts. I turn my head just as the Sentinel topples to the ground with a thundering crash— Why am I the backpack? I want to be the legs. Trust me, friend. I would prefer not to be the legs.

The impact feels like a magnitude 7 earthquake. The force launches some guards off their feet and buckles the knees of others. "Think it's your turn to be the legs, Jack!" Quint shouts as he stumbles over a discarded hairwad, falling sideways, and then it's my feet hitting the ground, my legs running. I do my best to leap over a pair of toppled guards— but I'm not exactly Super Mario with Quint on my back, and we're about to fall when— "Hey, guys, I gotcha!" June says, grabbing my arm, steadying me. A screeching buzz builds around us. Then hundreds of footsteps—guards rising and running while more rush from the stalls and structures. Suddenly, Dirk is running alongside us, cradling Drooler under his arm like a football. "This place is getting real crowded, real quick!" "We need a way out," June says.

laundry truck. I'm telling you-every prison brake movie has a laundry-truck scene. Trust me, I can't believe we're talking about laundry trucks again. They're not laundry trucks. What else would those cars be carrying? Literally anything? "Although... There's really only one way to find out," June says, pointing down an alleyway as she skids to a sudden halt. "It went that way." I stop short—too short. Quint flips over my back, feet hitting the ground while flipping me up, and now I'm the one being carried. I would very much like to get out of this death trap diaper. We peel off down the alley, losing the guards for a moment. Running past an other-dimensional corndog stand—I jab my shoulder into the door, causing it to schloop open, as we continue past.

"Now they'll think we went in there!" I announce proudly. As Quint turns the next corner, I spot pursuing guards pointing to the open door. "Told ya!" "Laundry cart! Up ahead!" Dirk calls. I spot the Lugswine dragging a Dumpster-sized cart toward the gate. We beat feet, and in moments, Dirk and June are climbing onto the cart. They grab Quint's hands, pulling us up, too. The hammock harness finally snaps —and Quint and I flop into the cart. And guess what?

This is not a laundry cart. No, Dirk, No, it's not. "Who had 'hiding in a cart full of guts' on their bingo card?" June asks. Happy to see she's keeping things light, even with a discarded pancreas on her head. The Lugswine continues its lumbering path toward the gate, oblivious to the stowaways inside its cart. "Quint," June says. "Please tell me that was all worth it."

Quint grins and flips open the Maparatus. It lights up the cart. "It certainly was! We now have—" "SEARCH ALL EXITING MEAT CARTS!" a guard barks. We all freeze. The Lugswine snorts and begins to slow. We hear the chittering of approaching guards. Peeking through two slabs of monster meat, I see the prison fence's jagged gate looming over us. So close. "Yep. This happens in every prison-escape movie, too," Dirk says. "Guards always check the laundry carts." "Dirk..." June growls. "If Drooler wasn't here right now, so help me, I would—" A guard's snarl silences her. It's close. We all freeze, locking eyes. Footsteps crunch. A hiss whistles. And then— SHINK! The guard's jabby stick-arm suddenly bursts into the cart!