Dirty Love

The floor glistened as the thin rays of light from the small windows reflected down on the freshly cleaned floor. The room was cold and lifeless, even though it was relatively warm outside. Everything was lined up just so – beds neatly made, boxes hidden under beds and only the odd photo on a bedside cabinet to hint at any human presence. At one end of the room, a mop went back and forth gracefully, followed by a pair of heavy black boots.
‘I don’t know how you can stand it,’ said a young man in an army uniform who sat on the side his small metal bed and watched as a taller, older man mopped the floor – his bald head sparkling as bright as the floor below. This man, who was well built and tough as nails, looked like he should’ve been holding a rifle, not a mop. The young recruit sat and watched him, slightly fascinated. ‘They’re going to be back soon and their boots will be covered in mud. This floor will be a mess again in minutes.’
‘All part of the job,’ said the cleaner with a hint of a smile, still happily mopping away. ‘If I don’t clean it, then the floor will just keep getting dirtier and dirtier until it stinks and everybody’s walking in filth. The lads like to come back to a nice clean room after spending all day trudging around in the mud.’
‘I suppose,’ said the new recruit as he carefully arranged his few belongings on the table next to his bed – a photo of an older woman, most likely his mother, and a bottle cap that probably had some deep significant meaning that was unrelated to the soft drinks brand whose logo it bore. ‘So, how did you end up being a cleaner in the army then?’
The cleaner stopped and propped himself against his mop, letting out a little sigh. It was not a sad sigh, but one filled with a lot of weight. The sort you might give when you put on a pair of shoes and are momentarily reminded of a lover that you’d almost forgotten about, with whom you’d had a brief fling one summer until she announced she was leaving for Bolivia the next day to follow her dream of being a shoemaker and handed you a pair of brogues.
‘It was three years ago,’ he began. ‘I was spending my nights working as a bouncer and trying to make it as a semi-professional boxer. But it wasn’t what I really wanted to do. I always wanted to join the army. So, after a string of lousy fights, I was dropped and finally took the opportunity to enlist. Went to the recruitment office and filled in the paperwork, all seemed okay. Then a few weeks later I got a letter saying I’d been employed as a cleaner. Turns out there’d been a mix up in the recruitment office and they’d filed my application along with the applications for a new cleaner. They promised me if I stayed on, they’d look into it and get me enlisted properly. But you know what they’re like, always more important things going on.’
‘So, you just stayed as a cleaner?’ asked the young recruit, now sitting cross-legged on his bed and listening intently.
‘Yes,’ Suds nodded. ‘The more I cleaned, the more I realised how peaceful it could be and how good it made me feel. By doing this small, simple role, I’m ensuring that all the soldiers are kept clean and safe from any infections. I’m giving them nice, clean halls to train in and barracks to sleep in, keeping their morale up. This is a surprisingly important job, and I’m just glad to be doing my bit for the forces.’
‘Wow,’ said the recruit. ‘That’s pretty inspiring. You don’t really think about it, do you, but I guess it is important.’
The pair were interrupted as the door opened and a man poked his head around the door. His attire was pristine, and his hair was irritatingly well combed. He was the sort of man you’d want to immediately punch without knowing why. The young recruit stood to attention.
‘Johnson, we’re ready for you,’ he said in an authoritative tone.
The recruit turned to the cleaner, ‘It was nice to meet you. Thank you for your good work.’
The cleaner nodded and the recruit left. Before he closed the door, the important-looking man looked down at the floor and back up at the cleaner with a slight smile, ‘Nice work, Sergeant Suds.’
The cleaner gave a slight chuckle, and the man left him to his cleaning. He’d just started mopping again when the door opened once more. He turned to see who it was, but he didn’t recognise the man who entered and closed the door behind him. Why should he? The man was altogether ordinary, not a single notable feature about him. He would absolutely ruin a game of Guess Who if he was on a card.
‘Excuse me, can I help you?’ the cleaner asked.
‘Oh, I think so,’ said the man as he strode forwards confidently. ‘Sergeant Suds?’ he said, gesturing back to the door where the smarmy looking man had said the name.
‘A nickname,’ the cleaner replied, standing up and gripping his mop a little tighter just in case he needed to use it for some other purpose. ‘My real name is Mick Goldman.’
‘I see. Well, Mr Goldman, I have an offer for you,’ said the strange man. ‘My name is Clifford Cane, and I am putting together a team. I think you could be a great asset, should you choose to join.’
‘What kind of team?’ asked the cleaner, undeniably a little intrigued.
‘A team of people to fight crime in Filtham,’ Clifford explained, adding in a quick, quiet mumble after, ‘Focusing on sanitation themed crimes.’
‘Sanitation themed crimes?’ the cleaner said with a disbelieving scoff. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’
‘Not at all,’ Clifford said, shaking his head. ‘It’s a surprisingly prominent issue in our city. The project is still in the early stages yet, I haven’t even thought of a name, or got a base of operations. Truth be told, the council haven’t actually signed off on the project. It’s more of a concept right now.’
‘Sounds pretty ridiculous to me,’ said the cleaner, shaking his head and returning to his mopping.
‘That may be,’ said Clifford, who was very persistent, following the cleaner around as he mopped, admiring the man’s skill with the mop. ‘But this is very serious. From what I’ve heard, you’re an excellent cleaner, but you’re also a man of action. Don’t you want to do more? Really help people, make a difference? Just think about it.’
As Clifford followed the cleaner, he picked up a broom that had been resting against a bed and lunged at the cleaner, swinging it down towards his head. The cleaner instantly flung his mop up, holding it with both hands to block the attack. The then twisted it quickly, knocking into Clifford and sending him stumbling across the room. The cleaner stared for a moment, panting slightly with the adrenaline, then returned to his mopping.
‘A good fighter too, clearly,’ said Clifford as he composed himself and paced around the room. ‘I need someone like you who-’
He cut himself off as he passed a small window and saw a group of men heading towards the barracks. His eyes widened and he quickly hurried back to the door. When he got there, however, he inched it open and realised he couldn’t leave without being seen. He ran back to the other end of the room and opened a larger window.
‘What are you doing?’ asked the cleaner. ‘Why are you climbing out the window?’
‘Well, I don’t exactly have clearance to be in here,’ said Clifford with nervous glance outside. ‘But please, think about my offer. You were meant for more than cleaning barracks; you could clean the whole city. Both figuratively and literally. If you’re interested, send me a message at the Filtham Community Centre. I’m helping out there while I get this up and running.’
He climbed out of the window and hopped down onto the ground outside. He looked around for any signs of life and started to sneak off, but before he got more than a few yards away, the cleaner appeared at the window.
‘Mr Cane!’ he called.
Clifford stopped and turned his head, ‘Yes?’
‘We should call it the sanitary squad,’ the cleaner said with a grin.
Clifford smiled and nodded, ‘I like it.’
And with that, the grime fighter ran off into the daytime.

**

The little plastic sunflower bobbed joyfully on the dashboard as it watched Lily Monroe driving to work. Today marked Lily’s 5-year anniversary of working for the Filtham City Library. Not that anybody there cared, but she did. She’d worked hard all her life and was one of the few people working there that genuinely loved her job. She enjoyed being surrounded by great literary works, getting to talk to people who came into the library, and most of all, keeping things organised. She’d always been a stickler for making sure things were kept neat and tidy – earning her the unfortunate nickname of ‘anal girl’ in school – so devoting her life to the Dewey Decimal System was a dream come true.
She looked down at a small potted plant with a pretty red flower that sat on the passenger seat. She’d strapped the seatbelt around it to keep it safe and enjoyed the idea that it was like a little friend accompanying her to work. Since today was a special day, she’d decided to bring in a plant to mark the occasion and brighten up her reception desk a little. They had plenty around the house, as her husband occasionally brought them home from his work as a botanist in a laboratory. She’d particularly liked the bright red petals on this one, as it reminded her of the garish red shirt that her now-husband had worn on their first date – the one which made her laugh a little too much and he ended up removing at the end of the night and throwing in the fountain – and so it was picked to be her office plant.
She pulled up in her parking spot in the library car park and left her car, juggling the plant and her bag as she made her way to the door. As she fumbled around trying to free up a hand to open the door, it suddenly opened on her and a man walked out, bumping into her and causing her to drop her bag. Luckily, she still managed to hold onto the plant. The man didn’t acknowledge her and just walked on, but Lily still felt the need to apologise to the man, despite it being his fault. She was just that kind of person, too kind for her own good. She headed into the library and sat down at her desk, placing the plant next to her computer with a smile.
Lily was a young woman, dressed smartly with glasses that made her look as intelligent as she was, and blonde hair that she wore in a bun. Her boss, Madge Bottomly, on the other hand, was a grouchy old woman with large, thick glasses that always had smudge marks on them, and wiry grey hair that would’ve called a brush a stranger.
‘You’re late,’ said Madge, who had suddenly appeared from nowhere at the end of the desk. She wasn’t a nice woman at the best of times, but today she looked particularly grumpy. Her piercing green eyes matched the bit of spinach between her teeth.
‘Late?’ said Lily. ‘I can’t be, it’s nine o’clock.’
‘We opened early today because of the inspection,’ the old woman explained. ‘You were supposed to be in at eight thirty.’
‘Inspection? I haven’t been told about an inspection,’ she protested.
‘No excuses. The man from the council will be here in twenty minutes, so sort yourself out and tidy your desk up.’
‘Okay Mrs B, sorry.’
‘And stop calling me that, I’m not an insect!’
She was an insect, Lily thought, more unfriendly and creepy than any insect she’d ever seen, but she wouldn’t say anything. The manager of the library walked off, muttering under her breath about the youth of today and the price of apples. As Lily began to tidy her desk – which was already impressively tidy – another old woman appeared. This time she was in front of the desk and was comparatively a very nice woman.
‘Good morning, dear,’ said the frail little woman, who was barely taller than the desk itself.
‘Hello madam,’ said Lily with the warm, friendly smile she offered all her visitors. ‘How are you today?’
‘I’m very well thank you,’ said the woman. ‘I’m wondering if you could help me find a book. It’s for my grandson.’
‘Oh, how nice. Of course I can help. Do you know any details about the book?’
‘Yes, it’s a book on dinosaurs by, ooh what’s his name,’ the old woman said looking for the scrap of paper on which she’d made a note of the name. She fumbled through her handbag for a while, Lily consciously aware that the inspector was due to arrive soon. ‘I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on. Ooh that reminds me, I need to go to the hardware store later. Oh, here it is, yes the author is Terry Dactyl.’
‘Not a problem madam, I’ll just check on the system if we have any books by him in stock.’
‘No time for that,’ said a flustered Madge who had just reappeared on the scene, ‘we’ve had word the inspector’s nearly here, we need to get ready.’
Madge grabbed the old woman and ushered her towards the door.
‘But what about my book?’ the old woman asked, a little bemused at why she was being thrown out.
‘That’s not important,’ Madge snapped. ‘Go home.’
‘Well I never,’ huffed the old woman.
‘At your age, you must’ve done.’
Madge pushed the woman outside and slammed the door behind her. Moments later, the inspector stepped into the library and greeted was greeted by a completely different Madge, simpering over him and doing her best to force something resembling a smile. It was painful to watch. The inspector was a tall, thin man with a long, pointy nose that looked like a handkerchief-maker’s dream. After a few grovelling pleasantries from the library’s owner, the inspector began his job.
‘The first thing that all people look for in a good library is a warm welcome. Let me see how your receptionist fairs,’ he said, heading over to the reception desk.
Lily cleared her throat and brushed herself down, making sure she looked presentable, and greeted the inspector with a big friendly smile.
‘Good morning sir, how are you today?’ she said.
‘I am well, thank you,’ replied the inspector.
‘And what can I help you with?’
‘I’m looking for a book on…’ the inspector paused as something caught his eye. ‘What is that plant doing there?’
‘I brought it in today. It’s my fifth year working here today,’ she replied proudly.
‘In section 2, subsection 6 of the health and safety code it clearly states that plants are not allowed near the entrance of the library as it poses a risk to anyone who may have allergies.’
‘I told her no plants,’ said Madge, leaning into the inspector like a schoolboy desperate to please the teacher.
‘You did not,’ cried Lily.
‘Be quiet girl!’ snapped Madge, turning to her with a deadly glare that the inspector couldn’t see.
‘And may I ask, what happened with the lady outside?’ asked the inspector. ‘She seemed very upset and told me she hadn’t been allowed to find her book.’
‘She threw her out,’ Madge lied, pointing at Lily. ‘Complained that the poor woman was wasting her time because she couldn’t remember the author’s name.’
‘That’s a lie!’ cried Lily. ‘She was a lovely woman and I was helping her. It was you that threw her out.’
‘Mm hm,’ muttered the inspector as he made a note in his notepad. ‘Argumentative staff.’
‘Why don’t you come this way,’ said Madge as she ushered the inspector towards the non-fiction section and glanced back to give Lily another scowl, before turning back to the inspector. ‘I’ll show you some nice books on unemployment.’
Lily sat at her desk and sighed. She liked her job, very much so. But she didn’t like the people she worked with. Lily had always been someone who saw the good in everyone and tried to always be positive, but her boss and colleagues made it very difficult to do so. They teased her over dressing smartly, wearing glasses, not being able to say the word “commemorative” properly. Anything they could belittle her over, they would. But Lily stuck at it, because she loved books and loved people. Like the little old lady who had been so rudely thrown out of the library earlier. Lily tried not to think about her for the rest of the morning and instead busied herself processing orders that had been placed for books.
It was an hour later when the inspector finally left. As Madge showed him out, Lily’s two colleagues, Sara and Janice sauntered over to the reception desk. They were both around the same age as Lily – which was considerably younger than Madge, but considerably older than a newborn baby – and thought they were prettier, cleverer and generally better in every way than Lily. In truth, they weren’t prettier, clever or better than Lily in any way, but it’s very hard to convince people like Sara and Janice that they aren’t as brilliant as they think they are, mainly because they don’t bother to listen to a word you say.
‘Oh look, it’s Lady Muck herself, with her stupid glasses and fancy new plant,’ sneered Sara.
‘That your new boyfriend, is it?’ jeered Janice.
‘Not today girls,’ said Lily, ‘I’m not having a great day.’
‘Well, it’s about to get worse,’ said Sara with an evil smirk.
Lily looked up and saw Madge stomping over, armed with another of her trademark scowls.
‘What did the inspector say?’ asked Lily tentatively.
‘You’re fired!’ shouted Madge.
‘He fired you?’ Lily gasped.
‘No, you are fired,’ Madge explained, pointing her bony finger at Lily. ‘You purposely brought that plant in to sabotage the inspection!’
‘I didn’t. I didn’t even know there…’
‘Then you threw customers out and argued with me in front of the inspector!’
‘I never… you threw… I…’
‘I don’t know why I even hired you in the first place, you’re nothing but trouble. Now gather your things and leave immediately.’
‘But…’
‘No buts!’
‘I just…’
‘No just!’
‘Otolaryngologist.’
‘No otolaninoro… narinologist… get out!’
Madge stormed off, leaving Lily to gather her things as Sara and Janice laughed and taunted her. Not only for being fired, but for using a silly word that they thought she’d definitely made up. In actuality, she was just keen to use the correct term for an ear, nose and throat specialist that she’d recently read in a medical book. Lily logged out of her computer and gathered her things, then gave a sigh as she looked around the library one last time and left. Before she got to her car, however, she heard a voice behind calling her. She turned around and saw Janice at the door holding her plant.
‘Don’t forget your boyfriend,’ laughed Janice, who threw the plant at her. Safe to say with her hands full of bags and stationery, Lily could not catch the plant, so it landed on the floor with a loud smash. Lily winced as the pot smashed and the soil decorated the floor. She decided not to bother trying to pick it up, leaving the beautiful plant broken and destroyed on the ground as a metaphor for her career.
She drove back home, thinking as she went how to tell her husband that she’d lost her job without having a good enough reason other than her boss was an evil cow. Lily’s husband, Vince, wasn’t a particularly empathetic man. He would often come home stressed and he would take out his frustrations on his wife, both verbally and physically. He’d not always been like this. When Lily fell in love with him all those years ago, he was quite a kind, charming person, but his job had worn him down over the years. Lily didn’t know much about her husband’s job, other than the fact that he worked in a laboratory. It was all quite secretive, and he would always get cagey when she asked, so she stopped asking. It wasn’t the best of relationships, but Lily knew – or at least she believed – that deep down, he loved her.
Inside the house, Vince Monroe was busy playing one of his video games, where a digital man that had been customised to look vaguely like him ran around committing crimes and shooting people. He found it was marginally less depressing than watching the news and hearing stories about people who didn’t look much like him running around committing crimes and shooting people. Vince liked the violence. He liked the anarchy. And most of all he liked the cartoon woman in a swimsuit who always appeared when the game was loading. His wife, who was not wearing a swimsuit, entered the house; her sad face hung low, like her neck had given up trying to hold her head up.
‘Where have you been?’ Vince asked, not taking his eyes off the game.
‘Work,’ she replied meekly.
‘Home early, aren’t you?’ he muttered as he munched on a cold half-eaten burger with one hand still on the controller.
Lily walked over to the couch and slumped over the back of it, draping her arms over her husband’s shoulders as a careful attempt at affection.
‘I got fired,’ she said sadly.
‘What did you do, put a non-fiction book in the fiction section?’ he replied with a sneer.
‘No, it was stupid Madge. All because I took a plant in to put on my desk.’
Suddenly, Vince’s ears pricked up. He paused the game and looked around at his wife. Instead of a sympathetic look, he sported a serious, almost angry face, not unlike the one on the little version of him that was now frozen mid-jump on the screen.
‘What plant?’ he asked.
‘I took one of the ones from the kitchen, I didn’t think you’d mind.’
He span around on the couch and grabbed her by the lapel.
‘Which one?’ he said angrily.
‘I… I don’t know,’ Lily stuttered. ‘It was the small one with the red flower.’
‘You idiot!’ shouted Vince. He got up from the couch and marched around to her. ‘That was part of an experiment!’
‘I didn’t know… you usually keep those ones in the basement… I can go back and get it… it should still be there… it’s just -’
‘Go back?’ said Vince, now surprised. ‘You mean you left it there.’
‘Well Janice threw it and… and the pot smashed… and it all fell out.’
He grabbed her by the throat. His eyes were filled with rage. His mouth trembled, seething with anger as he tried to control himself and tried to think what to do next.
‘You stupid woman!’ he shouted and pushed her across the room, sending her crashing down against a wall.
It was at that moment that something in Lily Monroe’s head snapped. She looked up at her husband and a stampede of thoughts rushed through her mind. He didn’t care that she’d been fired. He didn’t care that she was upset. He didn’t care that she loved him. All he seemed to care about right now was that poxy little plant. She pulled herself up and reached out to the side. She picked up a metal ornament of a cat and gripped it tight. Then she ran at her husband and with a scream she smacked him around the head. In her frenzied state, she’d assumed it would knock him out cold, but instead he just stumbled a bit. Then he turned around, his head bleeding a little and his eyes burning with an equally red rage.
‘Right,’ he muttered. ‘That’s it.’
He grabbed Lily’s hand and dragged her outside. She was scared. She shouted and screamed and apologised and cried. He pulled her round to the side of the house where there was a big patch of dirt. Next to it was a hole, where he had been planning to bury something. Now, that something became his wife. He threw her into the hole and the fall knocked her unconscious. He grabbed a shovel and began shovelling the mound of dirt into the hole. Within a few minutes, Lily Monroe was completely buried.
She was never sure how long she was buried under the dirt for, but as she eventually regained consciousness, the panic quickly set in. The darkness, the silence, the heavy dirt weighing her down. She tried to scream but the soil just took the opportunity to trickle into her mouth. She couldn’t move. Her arms were glued to her sides. Her legs felt paralysed. She was trapped. There was nothing she could do but lie there and wait to die. But as she lay there, terrified, she couldn’t help but sense that the dirt that was consuming her seemed unusual. It didn’t quite smell like dirt and it was a strange consistency, not quite grainy and not quite slimy. The colour was off too, which was an odd thing to be able to notice because she was underground, with no natural light. But the dirt gave off a slight glow. She felt herself becoming calmer and her whole body began to tingle. She knew. She could feel it. The dirt was not killing her. It was doing the opposite. It was giving her life.

**

Twenty-seven minutes later, Vince Monroe sat at his kitchen table. His avatar remained frozen in mid-jump in the living room. Vince was no longer in the mood for playing games. He took another sip from his can of beer and thought about how he was going to tell his colleagues at the lab what had happened to the plant they had been working on for weeks. It wasn’t an ordinary plant. It was genetically modified and specially grown for very specific purposes. Purposes that, had the authorities ever found out about, would have been deemed illegal and inhumane.
His thoughts were interrupted by the loud bang of the front door being smashed off its hinges. In his drunken state, he jumped at the noise. He got up from the table and made his way into the living room, picking up a knife off the counter for protection – not that it would do him any good.
He stood at the living room door and watched as a shadowy figure entered the room. Though he was a well-built and relatively strong guy, Vince couldn’t help but feel a little scared at the person standing in front of him who had burst into his house and was currently staring at him with eyes that looked half-dead and a grin that pierced his very soul.
‘You?’ he muttered. ‘But how?’
Those were the last words that Vince Monroe ever spoke. The police would later find him dead on the living room floor, covered in bruises with his neck snapped. The only evidence? A trail of dirt across the floor that led to an empty pit in the garden.

**

It was a week after the murder of Vince Monroe and the Filtham City Library was closing for the night. The last of the customers had just left, clutching his book entitled ‘Death Of A House Plant by Noah Waters’ under his arm and heading for the nearest bus stop. The area was eerily quiet, even for a Thursday evening. There was a slight chill on the wind and the moon offered little in the way of light, as if it had decided to have a night off. Inside the library, it was just as quiet, save for the sounds of a few people’s footsteps.
‘Goodnight Madge,’ said Sara as she picked up her bag.
‘Bye girls,’ said Madge, placing a book called ‘Advanced Trigonometry by Martha Matics’ into its correct place on the shelf.
Sara and Janice made their way to the library’s entrance, but just before they got there, the door swung shut. It startled them a little, but they carried on. Janice tried the door. It wouldn’t open. It was locked.
‘She must’ve locked it, the old bat,’ muttered Sara.
‘I swear she’s losing it,’ said Janice in agreement.
‘C’mon, let’s go tell her,’ said Sara.
They turned back to tell Madge, but as they did, the lights suddenly went out, save for a few lamps dotted around the room.
‘What are you doing?’ Madge’s screechy voice called out in frustration. ‘I’m not finished yet.’
‘It wasn’t us,’ said Sara as they walked over to their boss.
‘The door’s locked itself too,’ added Janice.
‘Don’t be so stupid,’ Madge grumbled. ‘Doors don’t lock themselves. Stop playing silly beggars and turn the lights back on.’
As they stood and looked around the library for answers, a strange figure emerged from behind one of the bookcases. She was dressed in a distressed black leather jacket, with wild brown hair that looked like a bird had made its nest atop her head. Her face looked like it had once been pretty, but was now dirty and worn, like an old book. However, it was her arms that looked the strangest of all. The lower half of her arms appeared to be covered in what looked like soil, with clumps of dirt forming fingers. Drops of mud dripped from her hands, like she’d just come from a potter’s wheel.
The woman stepped from out of the shadows and into the centre of the room.
‘Wh… who are you?’ asked Sara.
‘Hm, I don’t know,’ she said, pausing as if she couldn’t remember her own name. ‘What was it ya used to call me? Oh, I remember… Lady Muck.’
She smiled a menacing smile and lunged forward, slamming her hand onto Janice’s face and pushing her against the wall.
‘Kinda appropriate, don’tcha think?’ she sneered.
And then, Janice felt some of the soil and mud on the woman’s hand begin to trickle from her hand and onto her face. It spread up her face and into her eyes, nose and ears. She tried to scream, but that only opened another hole, into which the dirt quickly crawled. Lady Muck’s smile grew and turned into a laugh as the dirt filled the woman’s mouth, faster and faster until it was choking her. The muffled screams got louder, but within seconds they stopped. Lady Muck released her grip and Janice slid down the wall and onto the floor with a heavy thud. Dead.
Sara and Madge screamed and made for the door, forgetting it was locked. They rattled and pulled at the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Madge looked for her keys, but they were on a desk in her room on the other side of the library. They gave up on the door and decided to try and make a break for it, running in different directions in the hope that at least one of them would make it. Neither did.
As they ran, Lady Muck rubbed her hands together and the soil crumbled, mushing into a paste and mixing with her sweat to grow into a ball of mud – her hands still covered in dirt as if it were an endless supply. She threw the balls at each of the ladies, knocking them out cold.
Madge and Sara woke up a while later feeling numb and struggling to move. They looked down and saw that they were sat on chairs, with their lower halves completely entombed in a mound of dirt. Both ladies tried to wriggle free, but the dirt was surprisingly strong, almost like cement, holding them down so they couldn’t escape. The lights were still out, and the room now had a faint smell of alcohol or paint or… gasoline.
‘Ah, yer awake,’ said Lady Muck, who was sat at a chair by her old desk feet up on a table. She got up and casually strolled over to the two helpless ladies. ‘I wanted ya to see this. Y’see, you were always so horrible to me. For years ya mocked me, ridiculed me an’ made this job that I loved a miserable hell.’
‘Lily?’ asked Madge, her voice trembling in fear.
‘Ding ding! The old crow has got it,’ Lady Muck said as she bent down and cupped her hands around Madge’s shaking face. ‘And now it’s payback time!’
She turned and walked into the centre of the room. She moved with a joyfulness, almost skipping, like she was excited about what was to come.
‘I’m sorry,’ cried Sara. ‘I’m sorry I was mean to you.’
‘Pfft, yeah right,’ laughed Lady Muck. ‘Say, I made ya a brew while ya were asleep. Now how d’ya like it? No, don’t tell me. I remember.’
She picked up a mug and a funnel from a table behind Sara’s chair. She lifted the cup up and spat in it twice. She forced the funnel into Sara’s mouth and poured the tea down into her mouth. Sara gagged and gargled as she swallowed the tea.
‘That’s how ya used ta make it for me wasn’t it? Janice said ya used to spit in it,’ said Lady Muck in a passive aggressive tone. ‘Oh and there might be some other surprise ingredients in there too, I got a bit carried away.’
She dropped the funnel and the mug, which smashed on the floor, and left Sara to sputter and wretch.
‘You monster!’ shouted Madge.
‘Ha!’ laughed Lady Muck. ‘That’s rich comin’ from you, ya old hag. Now simmer down, it’s time for the finale.’
Over by the reception desk, Lady Muck pressed a button on a stereo and a jaunty pop song began to play. She danced around the room, chuckling and singing along. The two prisoners watched on with a sense of dread. They tried to speak, but every time Lady Muck would shush them and flick splatters of mud at them.
‘Y’know what I like about books?’ said Lady Muck in a loud voice over the music. The two women shook their heads nervously and waited for the answer. ‘They’re so… flammable!’
She stopped dancing and from her pocket, she pulled out a lighter and flicked it on. The flame danced, almost in time to the music, illuminating her face, which looked both deadly serious and chillingly happy.
‘See ya, losers,’ she said in a gleeful tone and threw the lighter behind her.
‘Nooooo!’ shouted Madge and Janie in unison, but it was too late. The fire caught the books and the shelves burst into flames. The vivid orange fire rose and spread across the room, viciously consuming the books like a homeless man at a buffet. Lady Muck skipped out of the library, the door which had been held shut by her dirt now granting her access. As the blaze engulfed the library and the sound of screams drowned out the music still playing away on the burning stereo, Lady Muck chuckled in triumph, heading off into the night, never to be seen again… or for a few weeks at least.

**

‘There you go Mick,’ said HyJean, handing Sergeant Suds his soap gun. ‘I’ve been having a play around with the formula and I think it should work now. So you just shoot it as usual and the solution should freeze within seconds of contact.’
‘Thanks, Jean. Let’s try it out,’ said Suds. He aimed the gun at the wall on the other side of HyJean’s office and fired the gun. A small blob of blue goo shot out and splattered on the wall, almost instantly freezing into a solid state that stuck firmly to the wall. He walked over and thumped it with his fist, but it stayed put. ‘Nice! That should stop people getting away and make something to hold onto if we need to climb walls. Thanks again.’
He went to leave, but HyJean coughed loudly and called him back.
‘That’s not going to clean itself up, is it?’ she asked with a raised eyebrow.
‘Yes, Jean,’ said Suds, hanging his head down as he walked like a boy who’d just been told to tidy his room.
As Suds used a sharp knife to scrape the solution off the wall, HyJean turned her attention to MOP, who had wandered over and picked up Suds’ gun off the table.
‘MOP, no! Put it down! MOP, put it down!’ She yanked the gun out of the robot’s grip and put it farther back on the table. ‘I swear he’s taking on a mind of his own lately. He keeps taking things and putting them in the cupboard.’
Just then, Flush skidded to a halt outside the doorway and banged breathlessly on the open door.
‘Guys, come on. Faucet just text saying for us all to watch channel three,’ he said and ran back out of the room.
‘This best not be another old commode on Bargain Hunt,’ sighed Suds. ‘I swear Cap sends half of this stuff in to get attention.’
They left HyJean’s office and gathered around the television on the computer desk with Flush and Captain Clean. After an advert for a new pair of trainers that looked just like every other pair of trainers finished, a familiar face appeared on the screen.
‘Hey, it’s him!’ cheered Flush.
A woman holding a microphone stood facing the camera. ‘Hello, I’m Kit Smith and I’m here with local superhero Faucet, a member of the crime fighting group, the Sanitary Squad. Faucet, you just saved a group of orphans from a burning building, is that right?’
‘Actually Kit, it’s grime fighting. We don’t really fight crime. Well, we do, but mainly grime related crime… y’know what, it doesn’t matter. Yes, I did save them, that’s correct.’
‘So how does it feel risking your life, running into burning building with no regard for your own safety?’
‘Well, as you may know, my body is full of water and I can shoot water from my hands thanks to these,’ he held his bracelets up and fired a little spurt of water, which landed on a man’s head in the background of the shot. ‘So, I was able to put the fire out quite easily.’
‘Were you not worried? I mean if the fire heated up the water in your body, you could’ve been boiled to death?’
Faucet’s face suddenly filled with horror. ‘Holy sh*t, I didn’t think of that! Oh my god, I could’ve died!’
Kit leant in and whispered, ‘Please don’t swear, we’re live on TV.’
‘Oh, sorry,’ he turned to the camera and added, ‘sorry folks.’
‘So, if one of Filtham’s citizens is ever in any grime related trouble, will you be there to save the day?’ she asked, trying to remain professional.
‘Well yeah, I might be. I mean, I’ve booked a day off next Tuesday, so I won’t be around then, but otherwise, yeah, pretty much.’
The rest of the squad stood and watched as Faucet slowly embarrassed himself – and by extension, the squad itself – in front of thousands of viewers. Captain Clean had his head in his hands as he mentally begged Faucet to just stop talking, but it was only going to get worse.
‘Thanks for your time, Faucet,’ said Kit. ‘Do you have anything you’d like to say?’
‘Well actually Kit, that burning building was pretty hot, but not as hot as you. How about you let me take you out sometime?’
‘Um… no, I’m already seeing someone, sorry. I meant something you want to say to the city.’
Faucet turned to the camera with an awkward laugh.
‘You can cut that bit, right? … Live? Aww man.’
‘So, there you have it folks,’ concluded Kit with a professional smile to camera. ‘Faucet here will always have your back, except for next Tuesday of course. Back to you in the studio.’
‘Wait, let me just-’ Faucet continued, but was cut off as the picture changed to a presenter in a news studio.
There was a silence that filled the room as everybody stood awkwardly not knowing what to say.
‘Did anyone else think that was a bit… cringey?’ asked Suds.
‘I don’t think he should be allowed on TV again,’ said Flush. ‘Like… ever.’
‘Well, at least he’s getting the word out, I guess,’ HyJean added, trying to find a positive spin on the situation but sounding uncertain herself.
‘Yes,’ said the captain. ‘I just didn’t think the word would be a swear word.’
The captain got up from the chair to leave, but the TV, which was still switched on, drew him back.
‘Thanks Kit,’ said the anchor-man. ‘I hope the rest of the Squad are watching, because we have some breaking news. Filtham City National Bank is under attack from a woman who seems to be throwing mud at everyone.’ The video cut to CCTV footage inside the bank of Lady Muck walking around firing dirt at people. She disappeared out of view for a few seconds, then popped up right in front of the camera, which she put her hand on and covered completely in mud. The screen went blank and then showed footage from outside the bank; a large wall of thick, muddy soil around the building, with the reporter talking over the video. ‘The police are outside, but the entrance is being blocked by what appears to be a living wall of soil. Help us Sanitary Squad!’
Captain Clean turned to the team and nodded. This sounded like it was going to be a job for all of them.

**

A quick call to The Driver and they were soon outside Filtham City National Bank. Just as the newsreader had said, the bank was entirely surrounded by a large wall of soil covering all the ground floor and blocking the windows and doors. At first it just looked like a barricade, but when a police officer approached it, part of the wall sprang to life, swooping down and flicking the officer away like a dust off a fancy jacket.
‘Thank god you’re here,’ said Chief Inspector Dovedale, who came rushing over to greet the squad, looking more desperate than usual, practically drowning in sweat. ‘Can you help us get inside?’
‘Please inspector, enough with all these questions,’ said Captain Clean, brushing him away. ‘We need to assess the situation.’
‘The situation is that there’s a crazy woman in there, calling herself Lady Muck, robbing the bank and there’s a giant wall of living soil stopping us from getting inside!’ Dovedale said frantically.
‘Or so it would seem!’ said the captain.
Everyone looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to impart some clever observation that nobody else had made. The captain paused for a moment and then continued.
‘No, you’re right, that is pretty much the situation. Okay, inspector, I’ve got a plan, but I need your help. Go and tell your men to form three groups around the front and sides of the building. Get as many weapons as you can, but no bullets, we don’t want to risk anyone getting harmed. Once they’re in position, I’ll tell you what to do next.’
‘Right Captain,’ said the inspector, who marched off to rally his men and get them into position.
‘So, what is the next step?’ asked HyJean.
‘I’ve no idea,’ admitted the captain. ‘I just wanted it to look like I had a plan.’
‘You do have a plan though, right Cap?’ asked Flush.
‘Of course I have a plan,’ he insisted.
‘You don’t have a plan, do you?’ asked Suds.
The captain shook his head.
‘I wonder if my water beam could penetrate it’, said Facuet.
‘Faucet please, this is no time for innuendos,’ said the captain.
‘It could work, or at least make it moist’ said HyJean.
‘What did I just say?’ the captain groaned.
‘Try it,’ Suds said.
Faucet jogged off to the front of the bank and stood before the giant wall of soil, which towered over him like a giant wall of soil.
‘Well, here goes something,’ said Faucet. He raised his arms and shot a powerful stream of water out of both hands, aiming them at the soil, roughly where the door to the bank would be.
At first the water started to push the soil back, opening up a little hole in its defence. However, the soil quickly adjusted and started absorbing the water. The hole closed up and the wall began to grow a little, turning into a thick mud. It swished and swayed like it was enjoying a good meal. Faucet stopped firing and re-joined the group.
‘I think I just made it worse,’ he said with an air of disappointment, scratching his neck awkwardly.
‘Maybe it wasn’t hard enough, try pumping it a bit more,’ suggested the captain.
‘Now who’s doing innuendos,’ Flush chuckled.
Faucet went away and came back moments later covered in a thick layer of mud from head to toe.
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘definitely made it worse.’
‘Maybe instead of trying to go through it, we should try and get around it,’ said HyJean.
‘How do we do that?’ asked Flush. ‘It’s surrounding the whole ground floor.’
‘We could get onto the roof of that shop next door and jump across into the bank,’ suggested Suds.
‘I can’t jump that!’ cried HyJean.
‘No, that’s too dangerous, we’ll never make it,’ agreed the captain.
‘Fine,’ said Suds. ‘What about we use that over there?’
The Captain, HyJean and Flush looked down the road where Suds was pointing. Faucet was still busy trying to wipe the mud off his body.
‘What? What are we looking at?’ asked the captain.
They turned back and saw Suds running off down the road toward the shop next to the bank. Flush felt like something was missing, and as he tapped his sides and realised what it was. ‘Hey, he’s taken my whip!’
‘We’ve got to stop him,’ cried HyJean.
‘No, leave him,’ said the captain, holding her back. ‘He knows what he’s doing… probably… hopefully.’

**

Sergeant Suds stood on the edge of the shop roof, looking down into the bank through the window on the other side. He could see groups of people cowering and a figure walking around in the middle of the room. He swung Flush’s whip and managed to catch it on a conveniently placed pole just above the window.
‘Ninth time’s the charm,’ he muttered.
After a brief hesitation, he jumped and swung down, soaring over the wall of mud and crashing through the window. The fall was larger than he anticipated, and he tumbled onto the floor with all the grace of a drunken toddler. The hostages all jumped in surprise, but Lady Muck seemed unusually calm at the sight of a middle-aged man falling through the window.
‘Ah, I wondered when one of yous lot would show up,’ she said. ‘Which one are you then? Old Man Dishcloth?’
‘I’m Sergeant Suds,’ said Suds as he slowly pulled himself up. ‘And I’m here to stop you.’
‘Nice ta meet ya Sarge,’ said Lady Muck with a quick salute. ‘But yer a bit late, ‘cause I already took the money. I was just hangin’ around ta meet one of Filtham’s finest. See I got a little job for ya.’
Lady Muck casually strolled over to Sergeant Suds, who was still sore from the fall and not quick enough with his gun, which she kicked away.
‘What do you mean? I’m not going to help you,’ he protested.
‘’Course yer not, that’s why I gotta persuade ya,’ she said with a friendly, but mischievous smile.
‘You won’t pers-’
But before he could finish, Lady Muck grabbed his head, her arms cupped around his ears.
‘What the… get off me!’ cried Suds, but before he had a chance to struggle, a wave of mud rose up from the floor and bound him by the arms and legs.
‘Shh, let mama do her work,’ Lady Muck said with a grin.
He tried to protest, but he felt himself getting weaker and was only able to communicate in groans. Meanwhile, tiny particles of dirt spread from Lady Muck’s hands into Suds’ ears, through his head and into his brain.
‘Let’s see now. My my Sarge, someone’s got a dirty mind,’ said Lady Muck with a chuckle. ‘Well, it’s mine now. An’ here’s what I want’cha to do.’

**

‘Suds!’ cried Captain clean as the squad burst through the main entrance to the bank.
‘What happened?’ asked HyJean.
‘Are you okay man?’ asked Faucet.
Sergeant Suds stood perfectly still in the middle of the room, with an expressionless face as if he was watching a reality television programme.
‘She got away,’ he said in a monotonous voice.
‘Is he alright?’ Faucet whispered to Captain Clean. ‘He looks a bit… y’know. Like he’s trying to remember where he parked his car when he came by bus.’
‘He’s fine,’ the captain reassured him. ‘He’s clearly just had a rough fight with Lady Muck and is embarrassed that she got away.’
‘Is anybody hurt?’ HyJean called out.
There were a few murmurs from around the room, so Faucet went around offering help and reassurance to the relieved hostages, while Captain Clean and HyJean headed over to Suds.
‘Are you sure you’re okay Mick?’ asked HyJean. ‘You don’t look well.’
‘He’s fine,’ the captain insisted, patting him on the arm. ‘Nothing a few beers won’t sort out, eh Mick.’
Suds slowly turned his head to stare blankly at Captain Clean and simply said, ‘Yes. Beer.’
‘Haha! See, what did I tell you?’ the captain grinned. ‘Still cracking jokes after a big shock. What a guy.’
‘Hmm,’ hummed HyJean, who still wasn’t convinced.
The police arrived inside the bank and led the people outside, where ambulances were waiting to over exaggerate their mental states and officers were waiting to take their accounts of the inconceivable events that had just occurred. The squad, meanwhile, began doing what they did best – cleaning the mud off the floor and walls. As they did, they heard a ‘Wuuuaaaaaaaaah!’ crescendo as Flush came flying through the window, swinging on a long stretch of rope and releasing so he fell and crashed onto the floor.
‘Argh, my back. I really need a stunt double for this sort of thing,’ he said as he stood up and looked around at the others. ‘Hey, how did you guys get in?’

**

Back in the base, Faucet was settling himself down at the central table with a microwave meal he’d made himself. Captain Clean was out on patrol and the others were off doing their own thing, so he took the brief quiet period to indulge in the sort of meal that the captain usually didn’t allow in the main room. As Faucet tucked into his steak and kidney pie, he suddenly realised that he’d forgotten something.
‘Aww man, forgot the knife,’ he said with the frustrated disappointment that comes with having to postpone an adequate meal.
As if on cue, Sergeant Suds entered the room brandishing a large carving knife. He slowly made his way over to Facuet, a hauntingly blank expression on his face that Faucet seemed not to notice. Nor did Faucet notice that Suds was holding the knife aloft, pointed towards him like he was auditioning for a part in a West End production of Psycho.
‘Oh hey, Mick,’ said Faucet. ‘Cheers man, you’re a lifesaver.’
Suds didn’t respond, he just leaned over the table and swung the knife down with a powerful stab. As he couldn’t quite reach Faucet, the knife landed in the direct centre of the pie.
‘Bullseye,’ cheered Faucet with an oblivious grin.
Suds lifted the knife out and walked around the table, still brandishing the knife in a threatening manner.
‘Alright Mick, hand it over,’ chuckled Faucet. ‘I mean it’s a bit big, but it’ll do.’
Faucet, growing impatient and hungry, started picking at his food with his fork. Meanwhile, Suds had come round to his side of the table and lunged at him with the knife. Faucet swiftly dodged the attack.
‘Dude, I’m trying to eat,’ he said in a frustrated tone.
At this, Suds grabbed the plate of food and flung it across the room, not even looking where he was throwing it.
‘What the… oh I see,’ said Faucet. ‘You’re annoyed because I didn’t make one for you, ain’t ya?’
Suds stabbed at him again with the knife, this time with more power. Faucet once again dodged it, .
‘Dude, all ya had to do was ask!’
Suds now lunged forward, jumping on Faucet and bringing him down onto the floor. Suds stared into his eyes and lifted the knife.
‘I’m beginning to think this ain’t about the pie,’ gulped Faucet.
‘Mick!’ came a cry from the other side of the room. HyJean had left her office for a break and was now rushing over to tackle her colleague off of her other colleague. She grabbed Suds’ knife arm and wrestled with him for control of the weapon.
‘Uh Jean, there’s some food over there on the floor, but don’t worry, I’ll clean it up later,’ said Facuet as he watched HyJean struggle.
‘That’s… fine… Nelson…’ she replied. ‘Quick… grab the… the blue spray… from my belt.’
Faucet reached down and started scanning through the small plastic spray bottles that were attached to her utility belt.
‘Hm, I can’t see a blue one. Just red and green, will one of them do?’ he asked.
‘No… other… side,’ HyJean said, now struggling to detain Suds.
Faucet moved around to her other side and spotted the blue spray, taking it and holding it up.
‘What do you want me to do with it?’ he asked.
‘What do you think?!’ she shouted back.
‘Oh, right. Duh.’
Faucet sprayed the blue spray in Suds’ face and after a couple of seconds he collapsed on top of Faucet, dropping the knife as he did.
‘Mpph vrk,’ said a muffled Faucet from under the heavy grime fighter’s body.
‘No problem,’ said HyJean as she rolled Suds off Faucet’s body. She stared at the unconscious man for a moment, remembering how strangely he’d acted at the bank and trying to piece it all together.
‘What happened?’ asked HyJean.
‘I don’t know,’ said Faucet, rolling Suds onto the floor. ‘He came in and I thought he was bringing me a knife for my dinner and then he just went berserk and now we’ve killed him!’
‘We haven’t killed him, that was a sedative,’ HyJean explained.
‘Oh, really? Phew. I thought we were gonna have to go on the run together or something,’ said Faucet, pulling himself up onto his feet.
‘Come on, let’s get him into my office so I can run some tests.’
They picked Sergeant Suds up – which wasn’t easy given his large stature – and carried him into HyJean’s office, where they laid him down on the table. At a glance, he looked as normal as ever, but it was the emotionless expression on his face that still unnerved HyJean.

**

On the outskirts of the city stood Flower Rangers, a garden centre that boasted “More seeds than a Swedish sperm bank!”. Inside, a woman covered in mud skipped slowly down an aisle, admiring the large range of colourful plants. She passed the geraniums, chrysanthemums and orchids, and settled on a box of Cadbury Roses that were on display at the end of the aisle.
‘Ah, my favourite kinda roses,’ she chuckled as she sniffed the box, before opening it and starting to eat the sweets inside one by one.
However, her moment of indulgence was interrupted by a loud cough behind her. She turned around to see a smartly dressed man with a badge that named him as Cuthbert. He had an air of luxury around him and looked like he would’ve been more suited working as a butler in a stately home – if Filtham was nice enough to have any stately homes.
‘Excuse me madam,’ he said in a very posh voice. ‘The store is now closing.’
‘Oh, ya don’t know how right ya are,’ said Lady Muck with a chuckle as she took one last chocolate and put the half-empty box back on the shelf.
‘I’m sorry?’ Cuthbert asked.
‘Yep, I think this place’ll work great for my new home,’ she smiled, stroking one of the plants.
‘Your new home?’ he asked, still none the wiser.
It soon became apparent what Lady Muck was insinuating. Large mounds of soil rose from the floor and grains of dirt flew through the air, scaring away the remaining customers and employees. As the crazed woman stood in the middle of the store and waved her arms around like she was conducting an orchestra, the mud and dirt thrashed around the building, clearing spaces, rearranging the furnishings, and planting the flowers that had been on display. When Lady Muck had finished her renovations, most of the ground below had smashed through the floor, an expensive gazebo and several garden chairs had been turned into a throne, and the legs of a smartly dressed man poked out from a large pot full of soil near the entrance, warning off any visitors.

**

‘Afternoon captain,’ said Carol the receptionist as Captain Clean entered the Filtham Community Centre.
‘Well observed,’ he said, not even looking at her as he walked past. He was not being intentionally rude, he just didn’t feel the need for pointless conversations.
‘I don’t know what was going on up there, I heard a lot of banging and shouting,’ she called after him.
‘Probably just your imagination,’ he replied back casually. ‘It happens at your age.’
‘Cheek,’ she muttered. ‘I’m probably younger than you.’
As Captain Clean entered the second-floor base, he instantly spotted the food on the floor and a rage boiled inside him.
‘Who’s been eating in the main room!’ he shouted.
‘Cap, you’re back,’ said HyJean as she rushed out to greet him.
‘What’s this food doing on the floor?’ he asked, veins now throbbing on his forehead.
‘It doesn’t matter right now, there’s something more important…’ she began.
‘Nothing is more important than cleaning up a mess like this,’ he interrupted sternly.
‘Oh will you just shut up for a minute,’ said HyJean irritably. ‘Mick just tried to kill Faucet.’
‘What? Nah, he was probably just messing about,’ the captain said, waving his hand to brush the topic away. ‘Stop changing the subject.’
‘He had Nelson pinned to the floor and I had to stop him from stabbing the poor guy,’ she told him. ‘I told you something was wrong with him back at the bank.’
The captain sighed, ‘Where is he now?’
‘He’s in my office, asleep.’
‘Asleep?’ asked a confused captain. ‘Who falls asleep after trying to murder someone?’
‘No, I sedated him you idiot. Come and look at him.’
In HyJean’s office, Suds lay motionless on the table. Even though he was sedated, he still didn’t quite look himself. HyJean pointed out his face to the captain. On closer inspection, Captain Clean noticed that there were traces of dirt around his eyes. After a while, the eyes slowly opened, and Suds sat up.
‘Morning sunshine,’ said the captain. ‘How are you feeling now?’
Sereant Suds stared at Captain Clean for a moment and then lunged forward off the table, grabbing the captain around the throat.
‘Mick, what are you doing?’ cried the captain as he struggled to break free. ‘Get off!’
‘DIE!’ shouted Suds in a voice that did not sound like his own. It was deep and gravelly.
‘Jean… I think… I think you might be right.’ Captain Clean said, choking and spluttering as he tried to wriggle free of Suds’ grip. ‘There does seem… to be… something wrong… with Mick.’
HyJean rolled her eyes as she took out the little bottle of blue spray and held it up to Mick’s face, but rather than spray him straight away, she hesitated.
‘What… are you… doing?’ asked the captain as his face turned a lovely shade of purple. ‘Spray… him!’
‘Not yet, we could learn something from him,’ HyJean explained, turning to Suds casually whilst making no attempts to prise him off the captain. ‘Mick, why are you trying to kill us? Who’s doing this to you?’
‘My queen,’ Suds snarled. ‘I must obey my queen. Show my love for her.’
‘Your queen?’ asked HyJean. ‘Mary? What’s Mary got to do with this?’
‘NO!’ growled Suds. ‘My true love… Lady Muck.’
HyJean looked at the captain with a concerned look, and finally relented and sprayed Suds in the face with the little bottle of spray. His grip on the captain gradually loosened, and then he let go, flopping back down onto the table like a sack of potatoes being thrown on a van.
‘I think we both know what’s happened here,’ said the captain, massaging his neck.
‘There’s only one explanation,’ said HyJean, eyeing up the grains of dirt around Suds’ eyes.
‘Mick was so angry that Nelson spilled his food and made a mess that he lost control and tried to attack him,’ said the captain.
‘Yes, that’s… no, that’s not it at all,’ said HyJean, shaking her head as she realised what the captain had said. ‘No, it’s Lady Muck. She must have done something to him and is controlling him.’
‘What? Jean, you do say some ridiculous things sometimes,’ the captain chuckled.
‘He went inside the bank fine, interacted with her, then came back looking like a zombie and trying to kill us all,’ HyJean said in an irritated tone that she often found herself using with the captain.
‘Hm, I think maybe she could’ve done something to him and now she’s controlling him,’ said the captain pensively.
‘That’s what I just said!’ cried HyJean.
‘Sometimes it takes someone else saying your words to make them true,’ said the captain, trying to sound wise but just irritating HyJean further. ‘Anyway, let’s get him into one of the cells so he can’t hurt anyone else. Then we’ll go and confront Lady Muck and see if we can get some answers.’
The captain lifted Suds from his arms, while HyJean carried his legs. As they left the office, Mary was just entering the base.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked, looking shocked by the state of her husband.
‘Mick just tried to kill me, Jean and Nelson,’ the captain explained as if he were telling her about a sandwich he’d just eaten. ‘So we’re just going to pop him in the cell for a bit.’
‘Tried to kill you? What on earth are you on about?’ asked Mary, looking even more worried.
‘Lady Muck, the woman we went out to stop earlier, she’s done something to him,’ HyJean explained. ‘Looks like she’s using dirt to control his brain.’
‘What?! Oh god, Mick!’ Mary said, trying to wrestle between her two colleagues to hug her husband.
‘Mary, please, we need to get him in the cell so we can try to fix this,’ said HyJean as she struggled to keep hold of Suds. ‘Why don’t you stay with him, talk to him and he might connect more with you.’
‘Y-yes, I… I can do that,’ Mary said, shaking a little as she followed them across the base.
They took Suds into the cell, sat him down and propped him up against the wall. Mary wanted to stay in the cell with him, but HyJean insisted she sit on a bench outside the cell for her own safety.
‘Call Flush, he should be on patrol, tell him to meet us here,’ the captain told HyJean quietly. ‘I’ll call Dovedale, see if there’s been any news about this Lady Muck woman.’
Two phone calls later, and they’d learnt that Lady Muck had taken over the garden centre and Flush was on his way to the base. Once Flush arrived, Captain Clean, HyJean and Faucet joined him at the main table to discuss strategy.
‘Clearly this woman is more powerful than anything we’ve come across before,’ said the captain.
‘Even that guy who could sneeze toxic bogeys?’ posited Flush.
‘Yes, he was more annoying than powerful,’ the captain replied. ‘So what do we know? She can control soil or dirt.’
‘She can use it to control people’s minds somehow,’ added HyJean.
‘And she can create things out of dirt,’ added Flush.
‘Water just makes it slimier,’ added Faucet.
‘And she looks pretty fit,’ said Flush, though this got disapproving looks from the table. ‘What? You saw her on the news. I know she’s evil and all, I’m just saying, she’s a bit of alright.’
‘We do not fall for criminals. That’s rule one of being a hero, Flush, and you’ll do well to remember that,’ said Captain Clean sternly. ‘So, any ideas how we stop her?’
‘Well, she’s in a garden centre with lots of plants, so… pretty flammable?’ Faucet suggested.
‘That could work,’ said HyJean, who was scrolling through her phone. ‘Soil burns at 280 degrees Celcius, so it shouldn’t take much.’
‘We don’t want to kill her though… do we?’ asked Faucet.
‘No,’ said the Captain resolutely. ‘But we can use it as a threat. If she doesn’t come quietly, we say we’ll burn her.’
‘This is turning into the Salem witch trials,’ said Flush.
‘I mean, to be fair, she’s doing impossible things with soil, so not far off,’ Faucet pointed out.
‘But we don’t all have to be there, right?’ said Flush, scratching his arm awkwardly. He was thinking about the possibility of a much larger fire that would trigger his fear.
‘You don’t have to come if you really don’t want to,’ said HyJean sympathetically, ‘But Faucet will be there to put it out if it does get out of hand and we’ll make sure you’re safe.’
‘And what if she doesn’t come quietly though?’ Flush persisted. ‘I mean it’s highly unlikely, these kinda people never come quietly.’
‘Well, we can burn her soil creations to show we’re serious,’ said HyJean. ‘And if not, we’ll improvise. It’s what we usually end up doing.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Faucet nodded. ‘So, where do we keep the flamethrower.’
‘Um… we don’t have one,’ said the captain. ‘Council would never let us have one even if we could afford it.’
‘So we’ve just wasted time agreeing on a plan we can’t do?’ questioned Flush.
‘It’s good to think about these things in case we ever do get a flamethrower,’ the captain replied in a slightly patronising tone.
‘We don’t need a flamethrower,’ said HyJean with a sigh. ‘A match flame burns at around 600 degrees.’
‘Oh, that’s going to look very intimidating, walking in there holding a single match in the air,’ Flush scoffed.
‘It will be if she knows anything about soil,’ replied HyJean.
‘Can we afford matches on a council budget?’ asked Faucet.
‘Don’t be silly, of course we can,’ said the captain. ‘Just the one box though.’
‘Bostin,’ said Flush, standing up from his chair. ‘Let’s go burn a hottie then.’

**

By the time the squad arrived, the garden centre was now a desolate wasteland on the inside. Outside, though, it was relatively normal. A façade, hiding the world of evil within. Like when you go to someone’s house and the outside looks nice, there’s a nice garden, but then inside it’s a total dump, with hoards of crap everywhere and a smell that you can’t quite place your finger on. Not that anyone would have been invited into this dwelling. The legs still sticking out of the large pot was a clear warning to anyone brave (or stupid) enough to enter. The law enforcement had tried, but the lucky ones swiftly came running out, covered in dirt and debris. The unlucky ones, well, it’s too horrific to describe what happened to them, so I shall leave it to your imagination. Captain Clean, HyJean, Faucet and Flush stood at the entrance to the garden centre, looking at the sign above the door that was still trying its best to be inviting, with its rounded, brightly coloured letters, unaware that its design was far from appropriate. Had he been a typographer, Captain Clean might’ve changed it to a bold, slab-serif font in dark, unassuming colours. But as it was, he was not. He was a grime fighter, here to do his duty.
‘Six men have gone in, only four have come out,’ said Chief Inspector Dovedale, like he was narrating a trailer for a horror movie.
‘I went in, it was terrible,’ said Officer Down, who had appeared at his boss’s side. ‘The place is just full of flirts… uh, dirt. She’s not even doing anything, just sitting there. But we can’t get near her, she’s got these mud creatures that are guarding her. We’ve shot them but it just goes straight through them, they’re impervious to mullets… uh, bullets.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ve got a plan,’ said the captain.
‘Oh, I see,’ said Dovedale, folding his arms. ‘This is one of those I’ve got a plan moments where you make out you know what you’re doing when really you’re just going in blind and hoping we won’t notice.’
‘No, we really do have a plan,’ said HyJean.
‘Well, I’ll believe it when I see it,’ scoffed Dovedale.
‘But you won’t see it, because we’ll be in there and you’ll be out here,’ Flush pointed out. ‘Unless you want to come in with us?’
‘No, no. You just stick to your plan,’ said Dovedale, quickly walking away.
‘Good luck, guys,’ said Officer Down as he followed the chief’s lead.
‘I think we’re going to need it,’ muttered Faucet.
They each took a deep breath and looked at each other, giving a nod and turning back to the annoyingly friendly sign.
‘Let’s do this,’ said Captain Clean.
He pulled out the box of matches and struck one on the side. It didn’t light. He tutted and looked around sheepishly, before trying again. The second one struck the side of the box and lit up with a flickering bright orange flame. He passed it to HyJean, who passed it down the line to Flush. The captain repeated the striking of matches until they all had one, then they walked forward in unison, holding their tiny weapons aloft in front of them.
Inside, it was dark and gloomy, with all of the furnishings strewn across the floor, the floor tiles barely visibility buried beneath the huge mounds of soil. Flowers and plants had been planted here and there, but their pastel petals did little to brighten the room’s atmosphere. They climbed through the entrance into the main part of the shop. The front of the reception desk was sticking out of the ground, with two mud-painted letters at the start so that it read UNWELCOME. Looking around, using their matches to illuminate the way, they saw light and movement coming from beyond an archway at the far side of the room. They swiftly crossed the dirt and debris towards is, but before they got there, two big, hulking clumps of soil, in a shape not unlike that of a human, stomped out in front of them, blocking their path. They had no eyes or features of any kind, but two legs thick as tree trunks and two long, dangling arms. The captain wasted no time and stepped forward.
‘Take this!’ he said, poking the giant dirt monster with his tiny match and holding it there for the flame to latch on. The creature just stood and waited, clearly confused as to what was happening. It took several seconds before the fire started to spread a little and the body caved in as it was burned. The creature let out no sound, as it had nothing resembling a mouth, but it started to thrash about wildly. Faucet quickly stepped forward and added his flame to the mix, aiming for the shoulder joint (or whatever the equivalent would be on a giant soil monster) and burning off its appendage. While this was going on, the second monster seemed to realise that they were being attacked and began swinging its soil arms around. HyJean noticed as it did, the soil seemed to contract, stiffening and hardening until it was solid as a rock. It swung at them and knocked Flush to one side, causing his match to fall out of his hands and extinguish. HyJean lunged forward and started burning the soil, ducking and diving to dodge attacks from both creatures. They moved their matches around, poking various parts of the body until they’d covered most of it and enough was burnt away to sufficiently break up the creatures, which collapsed into heaps before them.
‘I don’t think these are going to last,’ said HyJean, holding up her match, the flame of which was now teasing her fingers as it flickered dangerously close to her skin.
‘We should have enough for one more each,’ the captain replied, holding up the box and shaking it. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
As they struck up more matches and marched forward, the two creatures seemed to stop and stood still either side of a doorway. The grime fighters looked at each other cautiously, then carried on into the next room. Inside was a large conservatory, the ground completely covered in soil and plants growing all along the perimeter, blocking out much of the sun from the outside. At the other end of the room, the soil rose and formed a large throne, on which sat the woman herself, Lady Muck. She was sat back, watching a monitor on the screen that showed the CCTV footage of both the inside and outside of the garden centre.
‘Hey guys!’ she said in an unnervingly friendly tone as they entered. ‘I was just watchin’ yous lot on TV. Good work gettin’ in, I’m almost impressed.’
‘Can the small talk, Lady Muck,’ said the captain confidently. ‘You’ve caused enough damage, we’re here to stop you.’
At this, Lady Muck burst out laughing, rolling around in her throne of dirt. ‘Hahahaaa! Oh, good one Captain,’ she said as she wiped a muddy tear from her eye.
‘I’m serious,’ said the captain.
Once again, Lady Muck sniggered and tried to contain her laugher, ‘Stop it, yer killin’ me.’
‘Look, whatever’s happened to you to make you like this, we can fix it,’ continued the captain.
‘Fix it?’ snorted Lady Muck. ‘What’s to fix? I ain’t broken. If anythin’ I’m more alive now than I ever was.’
Her face finally became more serious as she sat up in her muddy throne and stared at the grime fighters.
‘And I ain’t gonna let you bunch of do-gooders spoil my fun.’

**

It was some time later when the grime fighters finally regained consciousness. As they sat up and rubbed their sore heads, they looked around at their surroundings. They were no longer in the garden centre, but in the middle of a field. Not one of the nice fields with luscious green grass and cute wildlife, but a dirt field that would be used for planting crops or building on.
‘How did we get here?’ asked a dazed Faucet.
‘God knows,’ said Flush. ‘Last thing I remember was back in the garden centre; she was talking to us and then something hit me from behind.’
‘Must’ve been one of her dirt monsters,’ said HyJean.
‘Look, there’s a message here,’ said the captain, pointing down to some writing in the dirt.
‘Stay out of my way,’ Flush read aloud. ‘Reckon it’s from her?’
‘Of course it’s from her,’ groaned HyJean. ‘Obviously she’s trying to scare us off.’
‘I gotta admit, it’s kinda working,’ said Faucet.
‘We’re not going to let one minor setback stop us,’ said captain as he took out a wet wipe from his utility belt and started to wipe the remaining dirt off himself. Luckily his boots, cape, mask and gloves were stain resistant, so they remained surprisingly clean. As he wiped, he walked across the field.
‘Minor setback?’ said HyJean as she followed him. ‘She knocked four of us out cold and stranded us miles away! This isn’t our usual criminal, Clifford. This is something bigger that we’re not equipped to deal with. We don’t know how her powers work or how to stop her. We couldn’t even get to her without… where are you going?’
With the captain walking away from her and seemingly ignoring her, HyJean snapped and shouted at him. The captain looked back, a little surprised at her tone.
‘I’m going back to stop her,’ he said. His voice sounded broken. Like he was out of ideas and this was the only thing he could think to do.
‘Cap, that’s ridiculous,’ said Flush as he caught up to them.
‘No, it’s not,’ said the captain, his voice still quiet and determined. ‘Somebody’s got to stop her, and as the Sanitary Squad, it’s our job to clean up the dirt and keep this city clean.’
‘No, I know all that,’ said Flush. ‘But Filtham’s that way.’
He pointed behind them, and sure enough the outline of the city was visible in the distance. The captain grunted, and changed his direction to walk towards the city.
‘How are we going to get back to the city?’ asked Faucet. ‘It’s miles away, it’ll take us ages to walk it.’
‘Keep an eye out for any tractors or trucks passing by,’ said HyJean. ‘We’ll try and hitch a lift.’
They continued walking, all of them looking around for any signs of life. There were roads and paths around, but no vehicles on them.
‘Y’know, if this was a film, a truck would’ve pulled up by now,’ said Flush.
‘I wonder what music would be playing while we’re walking,’ Faucet wondered out loud.
‘Probably something inspirational,’ said Flush. ‘Or a song about walking, like ???’
Within seconds, Flush and Faucet were both singing the song, quietly to themselves at first, but louder when they both realised they were in harmony. HyJean groaned and tried to ignore it, but Captain Clean barely seemed to register it as he walked silently. A while later, when the song had long since become annoying and died out, they eventually saw a pickup truck coming down the road nearby. They all ran towards it, waving their arms and shouting out, and as they approached the car slowed down. They walked up to the car door and HyJean took the lead.
‘Thank you for stopping we…’ she paused momentarily as she saw the occupiers of the car. There was an unkempt, wiry man in a tatty, patchwork coat sat in the driver’s seat. He smiled with crooked yellow teeth that were surrounded by a stubbly beard with bits of food in it. Meanwhile, sat next to him was a life-size plastic doll of an aged woman wearing a grey wig and dated dress.
‘Going back to the city?’ the man said in a husky voice that cracked like a broken record. ‘Mommy and I will happily take you.’
‘Actually, y’know what, I think we’ll walk,’ said HyJean. ‘but thank you ever so much for the offer.’
‘It’s no trouble,’ said the man, undeterred. ‘There’s plenty of room in the back if you just move all the pig heads.’
‘No, no. Really, it’s a lovely day and we could do with the exercise,’ HyJean insisted, but unbeknownst to her, Captain Clean was already climbing into the back of the truck.
‘Get in,’ he called out to the others, and they could tell by his tone that this was no time to argue. They each shared a worried look and obeyed, climbing into the back of the truck.
The ride back was uneventful, and the scary driver actually turned out to be a lonely widower who filled his time transporting produce for local butchers. He dropped them back at the community centre and they wished him well before he drove off. The captain was silent as he entered, ignoring the receptionist even more than usual, who looked very concerned by the state that they were in. Upstairs, HyJean’s first port of call was to check on Mary and see if there had been any improvements with Suds. She reported that there hadn’t. He’d been mostly asleep and only stirred once when she mentioned lamb chops. HyJean left Mary to tend to her husband and returned to the main room.
‘We need a plan,’ said the captain, who had finally broken his silence. ‘One that will actually work this time.’
‘I didn’t know we had those kind of plans,’ Flush smirked, but the captain’s glare wiped the smirk off his face immediately.
‘What did we learn while we were there?’ the captain asked. ‘What can we use against her?’
‘Well, I don’t know about her, but I think I’ve worked out how to get past those dirt creatures,’ said HyJean. ‘While we were fighting them, I noticed their composition alter – they were able to change their density to harden. I should have something that can stop them doing that, or even reverse it, so their molecules separate and make them unstable.’
‘Excellent,’ said the captain.
‘But even if we can get to her, we still don’t know how to stop her,’ Flush pointed out.
‘I’ll talk to her,’ said the captain with a steely determination in his voice.
‘Not this again,’ groaned HyJean. ‘That never works, Cap. We’ll just end up in a field again, or worse. We need an actual plan of attack.’
‘I can convince her,’ the captain continued.
‘So, what do we know about her powers?’ said HyJean, ignoring the captain.
‘She can control soil and mud,’ said Faucet.
‘She can get into people’s minds,’ added Flush.
‘I can make her see that what she’s doing is wrong,’ said the captain.
‘So she’s connected to the dirt somehow,’ HyJean pondered. ‘Could we somehow separate that connection? Draw the dirt out of her?’
‘I could try and flush it out with water?’ suggested Faucet. ‘I know it didn’t work on the mud, but if I hit her with enough water, maybe it’ll wash the dirt of her.’
‘That could work, to be fair,’ said Flush.
‘She just needs someone to understand her’ continued the captain.
‘That’s good, we’ve got a plan A,’ said HyJean. ‘But we need a plan B in case that fails, which, given that it’s us, is almost inevitable.’
‘If we could get her unconscious, we could trap her, give us time to study her properly and figure out how to take away her powers,’ said Flush.
‘Yeah, one of us could sneak in and get her while the others are distracting her,’ suggested Faucet.
‘Good idea,’ said HyJean. ‘So, Cap, Faucet and I will go in and soak her. If that doesn’t work, then Flush you jump out and render her unconscious.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Flush.
‘I think this could actually work,’ Faucet added.
‘And then I’ll talk to her and make her see the error of her ways,’ said the captain, a little louder now to make sure people heard.
‘Of course, that’s plan C,’ said HyJean, then adding, almost patronisingly, ‘C for Captain Clean’s Clever Counterplan.’

**

While the rest of the grime fighters were making their plans and leaving to enact them, Mary sat watching her husband. Before long, Sergeant Suds finally woke, dazed and confused, still showing no emotion. He stared at his wife, who was sat on the bench on the other side of the glass door, and whose heart panged at seeing the distant, but threatening look her husband was giving her.
‘You are from the Sanitary Squad?’ he asked in a monotone voice.
‘Yes, love. It’s me, Mary,’ she replied, pointing to herself as if he might confuse her for one of the other people who weren’t in the room.
‘I must kill the Sanitary Squad,’ he replied, his voice not changing.
‘But you can’t kill me, I’m your wife,’ she pleaded.
‘I must kill the Sanitary Squad,’ he repeated.
‘But they’re your friends, Mick. You don’t really want to kill them, that’s just the crazy dirt lady talking,’ said Mary, moving a little closer to the glass door. Suds, for his part, sat silently, still staring at her. ‘You’ve got to remember me, Mick. I’m your wife, your Marigold. We’ve been together for 13 years and a few weeks. We love each other,’ she said, hoping to trigger a response. Unfortunately, it triggered the wrong response.
‘I love Lady Muck,’ Suds replied.
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Mary, her voice suddenly changing and rising with fury.
‘I love Lady Muck,’ Suds repeated.
‘You lying cheat! Don’t you dare tell me you’ve fallen for that filthy tart! I’ll rip her head off if you’ve…’ her words trailed off. Though she could feel the anger burning up inside of her, but the more she looked at Suds, the more she knew that her husband didn’t mean the words he was saying. In all the years they’d been together, he’d never even so much as looked at other women. Of course he’d literally looked at other women – it would be pretty difficult going through life only ever looking at one woman – but never with any lustful intent. She sighed and sat back down. ‘I know that’s not you talking. It’s her – that Mucky woman – messing with your mind. But I can’t stand it. I need you Mick. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’d be lost. I certainly wouldn’t be able to cook for myself. I rely on you for that, because you love it and I’m rubbish at it. I even burnt that toast last week, do you remember?’
‘I do,’ said Suds, blinking a few times. ‘It was as black as charcoal.’
‘Exactly! So that’s why I need you back, Mick. Because you do all the things I can’t,’ she continued.
‘Marigold, I am back,’ Suds replied a little wearily. ‘It’s me, Mick.’
‘But I need you, the real you,’ she continued. ‘I don’t want to spend my life talking to you through glass, it’d be like you were in prison.’
‘Mary, it is the real me,’ Suds said, raising his voice a little. ‘The memory of the toast, it brought me back round.’
‘All the things we’ve never got to do yet,’ Mary continued, completely oblivious that Suds was now back in his right mind. ‘We never went to Greece. We got as far as Rome and had to come back because your cousin died. Do you remember him, Mick?’
‘Yes, of course I remember him!’ Suds said loudly. ‘Look, Mary, I’m not hypnotised anymore, I need you to let me out.’
‘I can’t take that risk,’ Mary said, shaking her head. ‘The captain told me not to let you out unless I was absolutely certain you were back to normal. You’re going to have to prove it.’
‘Fine, that toast you burnt last week and I ate it and said wasn’t that bad? It was bloody awful!’ he replied. ‘It was like eating death itself. That’s why I rushed off to go get the paper, I was actually being sick out the front.’
‘I see,’ said Mary, but instead of looking relieved, she folded her arms and continued to interrogate him further. ‘And a few days before when I made you that cup of tea that you said was too perfect to drink?’
‘Look, that doesn’t matter now,’ he replied. ‘I’m back to normal, okay? Just let me out so I can go help the others.’
‘You’re not going anywhere until you tell me the real reason you wouldn’t drink that tea,’ she said sternly.
Suds let out a heavy sigh, ‘You’d used salt instead of sugar again. I’m sorry love, you’d had a rough morning and I didn’t want to upset you more.’
Mary paused for a moment and then smiled, gushing at her husband’s words. ‘Oh, that’s my Mick. You sill old fool.’
She quickly stood up and scanned the area around the door. While the door itself was glass, the frame had a number of locks and panels on it, which Mary had never used before.
‘Okay, what do I have to do?’ she asked.
‘That panel there, the square black one just above the handle… no, down… the one under that,’ Suds instructed, guiding her around the panels on the wall. ‘Okay, press the button on the side of it. No, the side… The other side… just feel… run your finger up and down it, you should feel a button. Okay, now press that.’
She pressed the button and the screen on the black panel lit up.
‘Ooh, I’ve done it,’ she said, tugging at the door handle and trying to open it.
‘No love, you need to do the biometric scan first,’ he said, trying to keep calm.
‘The bi-electric scan?’ she replied, looking puzzled.
‘Biometric. There should be a little circle with a thumb print on it at the bottom, just put your thumb on that,’ he said, holding up his thumb and pointing to it so that there could be no confusion as to his instructions.
‘Which one?’ Mary asked.
‘Which one what?’ Suds replied.
‘Which thumb?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Well, I don’t want to put the wrong thumb on and you end up locked in there forever.’
‘I won’t get locked in, trust me, just put your right-hand thumb on it.’
‘See, I said it needed to be a specific one.’
‘It doesn’t! Just put your thumb on it.’
The pair grew exasperated, Suds with his wife’s inability to grasp simple instructions and Mary with the confusing technology. She put her thumb on the scanner and the light around it turned green.
‘Okay, good,’ said Suds with a sigh of relief. ‘Now there should be a button on the screen that says open. Press that.’
Mary inspected the screen, but could not see what she knew to be a button. She took her glasses out of her pocket and looked closer still, but she could not see a button and didn’t want to admit it as she knew Suds got irate with her when she struggled with technology.
‘Can you see the button?’ he asked, seeing that they were getting nowhere fast.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘There’s just pictures of rectangles with words in them.
‘Yes! Those are the buttons,’ he explained.
‘These aren’t buttons,’ Mary chuckled. ‘You can’t press them in.’
‘No, you just need to tap it,’ said Suds. ‘Just tap the one that says open.’
Mary did as he said and there was a clicking sound. She tried the handle again and this time it opened. The two embraced in a loving hug, saying nothing for a few seconds and just holding each other. When the hug finally broke, Suds held Mary’s hands and they both sat on the bench.
‘Okay, tell me everything that’s happened,’ he said, wanting to get up to speed as quickly as possible.
‘Well, the Chief Inspector called about a woman who was robbing the bank,’ Mary began.
‘Yes, I know that bit, I mean what happened after she took over my brain?’ said Suds, trying calmly to speed his wife up. Like a lot of women, Mary liked to talk, and often spent far longer than she needed to adding in every minor detail of the story, no matter how irrelevant. He sometimes wondered if she was on commission from the Oxford English Dictionary to use as many words as possible. If she was, he thought, they could’ve retired years ago.
‘Oh, well you all came back here, and apparently you tried to stab Nelson,’ she explained, making a stabbing motion with her hand. ‘And then you tried to stab Jean. And then you tried to choke the captain, though I think we’ve all wanted to do that at times. So they knocked you out and brought you in here.’
‘Jeez, I’m going to have to give quite the apology,’ Suds replied. ‘But what about the others, where are they now?’
‘They went fight this Lady Mud woman at the garden centre, oh what’s it called… Flower Raiders? Flower Rangers! That’s the one. They went there and then somehow ended up in a field. They came back and now they’ve gone again to try and stop her. Sounds like they had a better plan this time. They left about twenty minutes ago.’
‘Right, I’m going to go after them,’ said Mick, standing up. ‘Can you call the Driver while I get my gun, please?’
‘Are you sure, Mick?’ asked Mary, sounding quite concerned. ‘You’ve only just recovered.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Mick said as he cupped her cheek and bent down to give her a gentle kiss on the forehead. ‘I love you, Marigold.’

**

Sergeant Studs crossed the dirt-strewn room, climbing over mounds of soil and brushing the plants and weeds away with his gun. He tried to walk with no emotion in his gait. Since his mind had not been his own when Lady Muck’s dirt had been controlling it, he had no idea how a brainwashed person walked, so he based his movements on those that he’d seen in horror movies. He was not stopped by any soil guards, whose bodies had now been lost in the rest of the soil that surrounded them. He had expected to hear fighting, screams or at least some signs of a struggle. But it was quiet, save for some music playing in the distance. He walked through the archway into Lady Muck’s den. She sat on her makeshift throne sideways, legs draped over the side, making little objects out of soil to practice her skills. Suds looked around discreetly for his comrades, and to his horror he found their bodies lying on the floor to one side of the room. Their bodies were almost entirely covered in soil, which had been sculpted to resemble various figures for each, like one would bury someone in sand at the beach for fun. Captain Clean had the body of a mermaid; HyJean had that of a penguin; Faucet had an ice cream cone for a body, with his head serving as the ice cream; and Flush, who Suds suspected had no doubt annoyed Lady Muck the most with his usual attempts at humour, was made to look like a baby, complete with soil bonnet. Were it not for the seriousness of the situation, and the fact that his friends’ lives were in danger, Suds would have found this highly amusing, but he did his best to hide any emotions. Their mouths were covered in a thick, muddy sludge (and in Flush’s case, a dummy made of soil) so that they couldn’t speak, but their eyes bulged as they saw their friend, each of them trying desperately to get his attention and explain their predicament through a series of eye rolls and blinks, like some crazed form of morse code.
‘Murfuhyuh,’ said Captain Clean, which roughly translated as, ‘Good to see you.’
‘Hurduff fuff,’ muffled HyJean which meant, ‘Help us, Suds.’
Faucet was busy trying not to sweat, as his especially watery body was leaking into the soil and turning it to mud.
Flush looked up and said, ‘Muffumlufutuf,’ which translated as, ‘This is the most humiliating thing that’s ever happened to me, and yes I am including that time when I drunkenly mistook Chief Inspector Dovedale for a horse and tried to feed him sugar lumps.’
Suds wanted to respond, to let them know he was okay, but he had a role to play, so he instead ignored them and hoped they’d understand.
‘Like my latest works of art?’ he heard Lady Muck say.
He looked up and, unsure what a brainwashed reaction would be, said nothing. He merely stared blankly at her like a newly graduated barista being overwhelmed by the sight of a customer.
‘Everyone’s a critic,’ she muttered as she turned to sit properly on her throne. ‘Where have you been? You were supposed to get rid of these idiots for me.’
Suds muttered something incomprehensible.
‘What?’ she said, getting a little irate at his lack of response.
He grunted back, still keeping his words a hushed mumble.
‘I can’t hear ya! You must still have dirt in yer ear!’ she shouted, leaning forward. ‘Come up here so I can hear ya!’
Suds walked forward, his heart racing as he hoped he was giving nothing away. He climbed the few little steps up to the area where she sat, which was surrounded by a twine fence and decorated with various colourful flowers.
‘What did ya say?’ she asked.
‘I said I was getting my gun,’ he replied.
‘Yer gun?’ she repeated with a furrowed brow. ‘Whadda ya need that for?’
‘This,’ he said with a smirk.
He held his gun up and fired it at Lady Muck’s chest. It sprayed her with blue goo, which instantly hardened and made a creaking sound as the soil lining her hands contracted and froze. She let out a scream and tried to grab him, but he jumped back and fired again several more times, covering her entire body in the blue substance, which turned her into a scared looking statue, mouth open mid scream and hands half clenched. Once she was suitably covered, he pushed her back into her throne and then ran over to his friends who were on the floor. They all let out muffled cries and though he couldn’t understand them, he smiled.
‘Good to see you too,’ he said as he bent down and started to scrape the mud off their faces. He couldn’t help but notice that their eyes were still bulging and darting around, now looking even more frightened than before. He quickly wiped the mud off the captain’s mouth just in time to hear him say, ‘Look out!’
Suds turned his head quickly, and as he did so he saw a giant figure made of soil lumbering over him, its large, soily protuberance thrusting down towards him. It had hardened and formed into a sharp point, which came down at him – almost in slow motion as he realised what was happening – and stabbed him right through the chest. He let out a short, sharp cry of pain and his head turned, giving him one last glance at his friends before the arm swung to the side and threw him across the room, where he crashed against the wall and dropped down onto the floor with an undignified thud.
‘MIIIIIICK!!’ cried the captain at the top of his lungs.
The others let out similar muffled cries, their eyes disbelieving at what they’d just witnessed, tears already appearing to express what their mouths could not. Seconds later, the doors to the garden centre burst open, and a dozen police officers stormed in, lunging at the dirt monster and tackling it to the ground, their combined efforts managing to break it apart into lifelessness.
‘What happened?’ asked Chief Inspector Dovedale, turning to the squad. But as soon as he saw them, he let out a gasp and had to stifle his laughter.
‘Mick! Over there!’ the captain said, gesturing with his eyes to the far wall.
While the other officers started to dig up the squad and wipe the mud away, Chief Inspector Dovedale moved swiftly over to Sergeant Suds, bending down and rolling him over onto his front. There were no signs of breathing. He checked for a pulse on his wrist. Nothing. He checked again on his neck. Nothing.
He turned around and looked up at Captain Clean, who was now free from the dirt. His eyes asked the question his mouth dare not put into words. The chief inspector shook his head with a sympathetic look.
‘No!’ cried a now-free HyJean, who rushed over and crouched down over Suds, checking for a pulse again, not trusting the competence of the police force even in this situation, but was met with the same result. She collapsed down onto his body, sobbing. She was soon joined by Faucet and Flush, the latter of whom was more distraught by the news, having been closer to the sergeant. But even Faucet, who had known him only weeks, was stunned into silence by the loss of someone he had just started to get to know and like. Captain Clean just stood looking down at the body. Thoughts and emotions raced around his mind, fighting over which he felt the most. Sadness. Anger. Frustration. Disbelief. Heartbreak. Though none of them showed on his face, he felt them all at once.

**

Following the events at the garden centre, Suds’ body had been taken away but he paramedics, whilst Lady Muck had been arrested and taken to the cells in the Filtham Community Centre base, which HyJean assured the police would be better equipped to hold her until they’d found a suitable prison that could contain her. The squad made their way back to the base, though none of them spoke a word. They entered and took off their masks, put down their weapons and sat at the big table, except for Captain Clean, who remained in his attire and stood looking out of the window. Still nobody spoke for several minutes, until finally HyJean broke the silence.
‘Somebody’s going to have to tell Mary,’ she said, quietly.
‘You should do it Cap,’ said Flush.
‘Me? Why me?’ he asked.
‘You’re our leader,’ Flush replied. ‘And you knew him best.’
‘What am I going to say?’ the captain asked. ‘Hey Mary, your husband’s just been killed by a giant clump of sentient soil?’
‘What?’ came a gasping voice of surprise from behind them.
The captain’s eyes widened as he realised what none of them had considered. Mary was still in the base and standing in the doorway.
‘Mary! I’m sorry, I…’ the captain stuttered, standing up and quickly going over to her.
‘Is… is it true?’ she asked, her voice quivering as her clasped hands trembled.
‘I’m sorry,’ the captain replied, nodding slowly.
Mary burst into tears, bawling and howling, letting out groans like she’d just been stabbed herself. She clung to the captain and buried her head in his shoulder. The captain looked around at the table awkwardly and HyJean gestured for him to hold Mary and pat her on the back. He turned back to the crying woman and did so, comforting her the best he knew how.
‘H-how… how did… *sniff* … how did it happen?’ she said through her tears.
‘Well um, it’s a little hard to explain, but Lady Muck, she had these… monsters, I guess you’d call them, made out of living soil,’ he told her. ‘We thought we’d got them all, but one came from behind and stabbed him with a hardened spear of soil.’
‘But he came to save you!’ Mary said, still crying and sniffing in the ugly way that people do when they are sufficiently upset.
‘He did save us, Mary,’ the Captain said, still patting her back. ‘We’d probably all be dead if it wasn’t for him.’
‘It’s not fair!’ she cried, her voice now growling aggressively.
The captain pulled her away gently and held her arms as he spoke softly to her.
‘I know it’s not, Mary. None of it is fair,’ he said calmly. ‘And you have every right to be angry. Let that anger out.’
Before he knew it, Mary had lifted her arm and swung a punch, hitting him square in the jaw. He let out a yelp of pain.
‘I didn’t mean on me!’ he grumbled.
This made Mary feel even worse, as she lunged back into his arms and clung to him once more, crying even louder now. He tried to ignore the fact that she was sniffing and her nose was inadvertently wiping on his shirt. He knew it wasn’t the right time to bring it up, but he couldn’t help but shudder at it.
‘I’m sorry,’ said the captain. ‘Do you need something to wipe your nose on?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Mary said as she tugged a piece of the material off the captain’s toilet-roll mask and started blowing her nose on it.
‘I didn’t… I didn’t mean… never mind,’ he sighed, as, for once, he accepted that there were more important things right now than being clean.
After several minutes of crying, and HyJean taking over comforting duties from the captain, who discreetly slipped off his mask and threw it in a nearby bin, Mary finally composed herself enough to speak.
‘Where is she?’ Mary asked.
‘No, Mary,’ said HyJean, who knew exactly what Mary was thinking. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘Where is she, Jean?’ Mary repeated resolutely.
‘She’s in the cells,’ HyJean explained with a sigh, quickly adding. ‘But she’s still frozen, so she won’t respond.’
‘I want to see her,’ said Mary. ‘And then I want you to take me to the hospital.’
‘Why, are you feeling sick?’ asked the captain.
‘No, to see my dead husband, you nitwit,’ Mary replied.
HyJean nodded and gave an understanding smile. ‘Okay.’
She led Mary out of the main room and down a small corridor to the cells. Inside the nearest one sat Lady Muck. Her body was still as stiff as when she’d been shot – they’d shot her a few more times at regular intervals to keep her in this state – and only her eyes moved, following Mary as she walked towards the glass door of the cell.
‘You’ll pay for what you did to my husband,’ Mary said calmly. There were plenty of other words she wanted to add to that sentence – most of them would be unprintable in a family friendly book – but she did not want to give Lady Muck the satisfaction of seeing her angry. She turned away and left, HyJean following close behind her. HyJean gave a little nod to Captain Clean as they passed, then left the base for the hospital.
‘You two might as well go home,’ the captain said to Flush and Faucet.
‘You sure, Cap?’ Flush asked. ‘What if she gets free?’
‘Trust me, the way I’m feeling right now, she won’t want to get free,’ said the captain, a little ominously.
The two grime fighters gave each other a concerned look, but both mentally agreed that the captain would probably prefer to be alone, and they weren’t going to get in the way of that. Without another word, they both left the base. The captain went over to the main table and dropped down into a chair. He put his elbow on the table and rested his head in his hand. He sat in silence for a moment, remembering the events of the day, wondering if he could’ve done anything differently, anything that might’ve kept Suds alive. It had all happened so quickly, a chaotic mess of-
‘It’s my tear ducts,’ came Faucet’s voice, interrupting Captain Clean’s thoughts. The surprise of the voice caused the captain’s hand to slip up his face and his head to fall down onto the table with a thunk.
‘Jesus, Nelson, I thought you’d gone,’ said the captain as he sat back up.
‘Sorry, but I just wanted to say, I know I didn’t cry like the rest of you guys when he, y’know… but that’s just because my tear ducts don’t work anymore. But I was crying inside,’ he explained.
‘That’s okay,’ said the captain with a slight nod.
Faucet leaned against one of the chairs, not wanting to impose himself upon the grieving captain, but feeling like he should say a little more than just the state of his tear ducts. He thought for a moment and then decided not to think about what he was going to say and just speak from the heart. ‘I never know what to know what to say when someone dies. Like, they say it’s going to be alright, but it ain’t. How can it be? Everything’s going to be different now. They say he’s gone to a better place, but we don’t know what happens after you die. There could be a heaven, or you could just rot in a cold, dark grave for the whole of eternity.’
‘Is this supposed to be cheering me up?’ Captain Clean asked. ‘Because if it is, it’s not working.’
‘No, sorry. But what I’m trying to say is… I didn’t know Mick as well as you guys. But he was a super nice guy. And one hell of a grime fighter. So, y’know. I’m sorry, that he’s gone. And if you need anything, I’m here for ya.’
‘Thanks, Nelson. I appreciate that,’ said the captain, looking up and giving him an appreciative smile. ‘Though maybe work on the words of comfort a bit.’
‘You got it,’ Faucet said with a smile, before leaving Captain Clean once again to his thoughts.

**

The weather was surprisingly sunny for Filtham city on the day of the funeral, as though even the sun was coming to pay its respects to Sergeant Suds. It created a different sort of atmosphere, but one, everyone agreed, that suited Mick Goldman’s sunny disposition. The people who really knew him frowned at this statement, as Mick was often known to be grumpy and impulsively aggressive, but often at funerals people seem to overlook any negative traits that belong to the deceased. They prefer to think of an idealised version of their loved one, colleague or acquaintance. This is something we can all look forward to, knowing that no matter how grumpy, selfish or foul smelling we are, people will completely ignore it for one day when we’re gone, and criticise anyone who brings it up – at least until the wake when they start having a few drinks and their tongues loosen.
It was an impressive turnout, with members of the army, close friends, and of course, the Sanitary Squad. Mary was particularly fragile that day, as one might expect, but Jean stayed close by her side for support. It was a straightforward funeral, as Mick had not made any specific requests, such as wearing bright colours or having a relative who was tolerable on the bagpipes attempting to play My Way. This was partly because he was the sort of man who liked to keep things simple, but also because he hadn’t planned to die quite this early, so he’d made no plans.
Inside the grand building of Filtham church, the priest had read from his little book the words that he read at every funeral, and they had sung a hymn that nobody really knew the words to and just mumbled along – yet the collective effort somehow formed into a recognisable song. One of Suds’ army bosses was giving a speech, while Clifford sat reading through his own notes one last time. Jean peered over to read what he’d written.
‘Uh, Cliff, you don’t spell eulogy like that, there’s an E at the start,’ she whispered.
‘Hm? Oh yeah, I asked Mary to type it out for me, but there’s quite a few spelling mistakes in there.’ he replied in a hushed whisper.
‘What?’ Jean replied, exaggeratedly mouthing the words to avoid being too loud.
‘It should be fine, it’s just a few mistakes,’ Cliff replied, brushing it away.
‘No, you asked Mary – the widow of the deceased – to type up your eulogy?’ she said slowly in an accusatory tone.
‘Yeah,’ he nodded. ‘Wish I hadn’t now, there’s all little wet patches on it.’
‘You’re unbelievable,’ she muttered, turning away and crossing her arms.
As the army general finished, it was Clifford’s turn to speak. He got up and took to the raised platform, shuffling his sheets of paper and putting them down onto the lectern as he leaned into the microphone.
‘Hello ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, tapping the microphone to make sure it was on. ‘As Mick’s colleague and only friend, I’d like to say a few words.’
Several members of the audience grumbled at the suggestion that this person was Mick Goldman’s only friend, but they swiftly settled down so that he could continue.
‘Mick Goldman was one of the best men I’ve had the pleasure to have known and worked alongside. I met him many years ago when he worked as a cleaner for the barmy. Uh, I mean the army. Thought he had joined with ambitions to be a soldier, he found a new calling in cleaning. And boy could he clean. The floors were so shiny you could see your face in them, which was a shame because he was an ugly git,’ the captain paused for a laugh that didn’t come. He cleared his throat and continued. ‘I knew I should’ve taken that joke out. Anyway, he devoted his life to others, always willing to help where he could, he was someone you could rely on and a friend to Al. Al? Oh, all! He was a friend to all. Including Al. He joined me working for my cleaning company,’ he said, turning to Jean and giving the most unsubtle of winks, ‘and proved to be a valuable asset. He had a wide range of skills, and whatever task he was given, he never once complied. No, complained. He never once complained. Because that was the sort of guy he was. His wife Mary later joined and seeing the two of them together was a beautiful sight. He loved Mary like I’ve never seen anyone love another human being. And yet she still stayed with him!’ Again, another pause for laughter that instead provided a long awkward silence. ‘Tough crowd. Anyway, she meant a lot to him, and he was never shy about that. We will all miss him, and the jam he brought to the team. Joy. The joy he brought. He didn’t like jam, he thought it was a strange consistency. Especially the ones with the little bits in, you know those ones…’ Jean gave a cough and raised her eyebrows, and he moved on. ‘He was, of course, a man of many talents. A skilled cleaner, a strong fighter, a decent drummer, an excellent golfer and a great cock. Cook! I meant cook. Sorry, he… his food… anyway, above all that, he was a true friend who I will miss dearly. He will always be a part of our squad, and will always be in my heart. Goodbye, Mick.’
Clifford left the platform to a small ripple of applause. He went over to the coffin and patted it, before returning to his seat.
‘Do you think anyone noticed the mistakes?’ he asked Will as he sat down.
‘Nah, it was fine, you did great, mate,’ Will replied, before discreetly turning to Jean and exchanging exasperated looks.
The service continued with a few more readings, and then it was time to move on. The coffin was taken outside and people slowly made their way out of the church and down to the burial spot. The gathered crowd stood in an arc around the hole and the priest read a few words as the coffin was lowered into the ground. A little bucket was handed around and one by one, people tossed a small handful of green confetti into the pit. Although the tradition is usually to toss soil onto the coffin, this had been changed as it was decided it would be highly inappropriate given the nature of Suds’ death. Once they’d finished, the priest began a to recite a few more lines from his book, but he was quickly cut off.
‘I’m sorry, I just can’t let this happen,’ said Clifford Cane, much to everyone’s surprise. The crowd looked up from their mourning poses and saw him step forward and crouch down, lowering himself into the hole above the coffin.
‘Cliff, what are you doing?’ Jean asked quietly.
‘It won’t take a minute, it’s just really bugging me,’ said the captain as he pulled a wet wipe out of his pocket and bent over the coffin, rubbing the gold plaque on top with the wipe. ‘He’d hate to have a smudge on his plaque.’
‘Cliff, will you stop it,’ Jean hissed, reaching down and trying to pull him out. ‘Just leave it.’
Clifford insisted on cleaning the plaque properly, ignoring Mary’s sobs and the gasps and tuts from the crowd looking down on him. Whilst Jean grumbled at the side of the hole, Will and Nelson turned to each other and gave a little smile. They both had the same thought and nodded. Together, they climbed down into the hole and took a wipe from Clifford’s jacket pocket and proceeded to join in cleaning the coffin. Jean looked down at them and felt a little flutter inside. As mad and inappropriate as it was, it was a strangely perfect way for the squad to show their unique brand of affection for their friend. She climbed down and took a wipe too, polishing one of the handles as she, Will and Nelson chuckled joyfully. While many were taken aback by the display, Mary smiled, touched by their actions. She realised what they were doing. And she knew, after all, it was nothing less than what Sergeant Suds would’ve expected.

**

Far away in a maximum-security prison, Lady Muck sat in her cell staring at the wall. The room was a dull grey box, that had been specially adapted so that there wasn’t a single hole, crack or space that any dirt could escape through. The freezing goo had long since worn off, but she had not said a word since being incarcerated. A guard was stood outside the cell, armed with a flamethrower as per the sanitary squad’s advice. He’d found his position a little dull, as nothing had happened in several hours, but five minutes before he was due to change over with another guard, he was surprised to hear a knock on the door. He cautiously opened the little hatch at eye height on the door, which was protected by a glass shield. Unfortunately, he didn’t notice the small hole at the bottom of the glass that had been chipped away.
‘Hey there, come a little closer,’ the almost hypnotic voice of Lady Muck whispered. ‘I think you’ve got something in your eye.’