Metaltown (16 page)

Ty couldn't think of anything to say. Her tongue felt too thick. Dawn had come, and she'd stupidly fallen asleep outside Colin's door. For all the times she'd come here, she'd never been so lax.

He was wearing his work trousers already—the pants Jed had bought for him. They reminded her of what had happened the last time they'd gone to the Brotherhood's office, and she forced herself to look away.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “You crash out here again?”

Her teeth chattered. “No. Just walked over.”

He went to the ledge and turned the wastebasket upside down, spilling half a dozen bloody rags into the dumpster below. Ty's heart clenched.

“If I was flush,” she said, “I'd get her medicine.”

When he rubbed his eyes, she noticed how tired he was. For an instant she let herself wonder what it would be like, living here with them. She could help him take care of the family.

“If I was flush,” he said, a small, sad smile playing over his mouth, “I'd get your eye fixed.”

Her throat tied in knots. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I was thinking I might talk to Hayden about a job at the chem plant.” Maybe she'd talk to him about some other stuff too, like getting himself together.

One brow lifted. “They only hire over eighteen. You know that.”

Of course she knew that. “People say I look older. Couldn't hurt to ask.”

“You know…” He paused. Frowned. “You know you can stay here, right? Ma says it's fine.”

She felt her spine zip up. “I can take care of myself, thanks.”

He leaned against the rail, sighing. “Can you? I mean, you know I've got your back, but who else does?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I been thinking,” he said. “About Jed.”

She groaned. “Oh, here we go.”

“Just listen.” He chewed the nail of his little finger. “Jed started the Brotherhood because no one was protecting the workers. They were getting beat up and fired and not getting their pay.”

“And…”

“And it sounds a whole lot like Small Parts, right? I mean, you've worked there since you were a kid. Never missed a day. And Minnick goes and sacks you the second you get hurt—on the job, no less.”

“Minnick didn't fire me, Hampton—”

“Anyway, I started thinking. Why doesn't Small Parts have a Brotherhood?”

“Because Brotherhood is just for adults.” She didn't know where he was going, but the scheming in his voice made her nervous.

“I mean our own Brotherhood. Why doesn't Small Parts have something like that?”

“A charter? The Hamptons would smash it.”

“Why?”

“Because we're kids,” said Ty. “Because we're nobodies.”

Colin was pacing now, tapping the wastebasket under his arm like a drum. “Well this nobody makes eighty detonators a day, and I'm pretty sure a bomb's just a hunk of metal and nitro without that.”

“So what are you saying? You want to stop making detonators to teach them a lesson? They'd fire you faster than they fired me.”

“They can't fire all of us.”

Ty laughed. “All of us? You mean all the workers at Small Parts? I'm pretty sure they can, Prep School.”

“And do what? Hire a new set of workers? Who's going to train them, Minnick?”

Ty abruptly stopped laughing. He did kind of have a point. But this was crazy. “How are you going to convince over a hundred workers to stop their jobs?”

Colin grinned. “I'm not. You are.”

*   *   *

They met at Lacey's after work, when dusk had lit the Metaltown sky a bruised yellow-gray. Ty had been sick with nerves since morning, but she'd come anyway, because as much as she thought their plan wouldn't work, a small part of her hoped it did.

Rico had boiled water for her in silence. When the parasites had all burned off, he poured it into a cracked mug and set it on the bar. Rico didn't like to talk much, on account of the pain in his mouth when he spoke, but it made her feel a little better being around him. His face was damaged too, and he'd still managed to find work.

Colin stood beside her while she slumped on the stool, gripping the mug so hard her hands shook. Chip settled in the front row, looking doubtful that this would be as entertaining as she had promised. Martin and Zeke had come, and Matchstick, who was forced to stand in the back because he was so tall. Others, too—a girl named Agnes Ty had known from St. Mary's who mostly kept to herself; Slim, who worked in Batteries; Noneck, whose ears rested right on his shoulders; and even some of the guys from the warehouse. All in all there were nineteen of them. Hardly enough to break Small Parts, but still more than she'd expected.

They quieted on their own, all watching Colin expectantly.

He cleared his throat. “So, like you've all probably heard by now, Ty got pretty worked over at the Stamping Mill a few days ago,” he said loudly. Ty could feel their eyes boring through her and bristled at the attention. “Small Parts fired her, and you know nowhere else is going to take her with her eye all messed up like that.”

“You blind, Ty?” called Martin.

“Maybe now you can finally kick her ass,” joked Zeke, slapping him on the shoulder. Several people chuckled, but Ty felt too sick to join them.

“At the Stamping Mill there's rules the Brotherhood enforces when someone gets hurt on the job,” continued Colin. “They get three days' leave, and a doctor's care. And most important, their job gets held while they're gone. The boss can't hire anyone to fill it. But at Small Parts, if you get hurt…”

“You get fired,” said Chip.

Colin eyed him, annoyed, but the murmurs of agreement around the room returned his focus to the plan.

“At the chem plant they get protective eye masks and gloves. And they can't dock your pay whenever they feel like it. The foreman can't rough you up without the Brotherhood roughing
him
up.”

Ty noted the distaste in his voice, but doubted the others knew what Jed Schultz had said to Colin when he'd asked for help. It was important that Colin point out the good parts of the Brotherhood, like they'd discussed, rather than the dangers of it. They needed people to want to join them, not to get scared off.

“That true, Hayden?” asked Zeke. Everyone looked back to where Colin's brother stood beside Matchstick. Hayden jerked up awkwardly, but his eyes were clear. It was strange seeing him sober.

Colin went rigid, obviously surprised he'd shown.

“Yeah,” said Hayden. “Yeah, he's got it right.”

“My sister works at the uniform factory,” said Noneck. He'd just been transferred to the hot room after a year in Plastics, and his eyes were already bloodshot. “They get two breaks a day. Small Parts, we only get one, and only for five minutes. Barely get to the front of the line at the can in five minutes.”

More nods of agreement.

“I don't see folks at the Stamping Mill pulling doubles and not getting paid for it,” said Agnes.

“We get sacked if we don't work them, and then stiffed when we do,” said Henry, a musclehead who worked in Plastics. “I say we torch the place and be done with it.”

“That can be arranged!” called Matchstick from the back. One of the defective detonators was swinging around his pinky finger by its thin copper wiring, and he grinned as the others broke into laughter.

Ty couldn't believe how the mood in the room had changed. She lifted her chin for the first time, pushing her hat back off her forehead. Colin smirked down at her. Maybe he'd been right. Maybe people would make a stand.

Maybe she'd even get her job back.

“Pissing and moaning is one thing,” said one of the boys from shipping. “But this is the kind of stuff that gets us all sacked. Nothing good comes out of it.”

“What if it could?” said Colin, stepping forward. “Nobody over eighteen puts up with this crap, why should we?”

“Because we're grunts,” argued the same boy. “Ty had a tough break, could've happened to any of us, but that's the way it is. She knew the risks when she took the job.”

“She took the job because there wasn't another one,” said Colin, and Ty swelled at the bite in his tone. “Look, alone we're just like Ty, sacked and homeless, and—”

“I get it already,” inserted Ty.

“—Minnick is one man. There's over a hundred of us at Small Parts,” Colin continued. “If we tell him we want changes…”

“He'll fire us,” said Martin. “Plain and simple.” Colin glared at him as the others began to protest.

“I was quitting anyway,” called Matchstick, puffing his chest out. “Once I collect my inheritance, that is.”

It was an old joke in Metaltown. Years ago, before Ty could remember, the owner of the food testing plant had died. His kid had gone missing—likely killed by the same illness he'd tried to destroy. Hampton himself had posted a reward for information, but no one had dared to collect. Only a fool went toe-to-toe with the big boss and demanded money.

Several people fought Matchstick for the title, all demanding that they were the rightful heir. That was how the joke always went.

“You know I got your back, Ty,” interrupted Zeke, “but I got my sister to look out for. I can't be getting myself fired just 'cause you did. You understand.”

“I understand,” said Ty, hands gripping the mug again. “I understand you're full of it.”

“Don't be like that,” said Zeke, frowning.

“Be like what? Honest?”

“Stop,” Colin hissed at her. “Of course you have to take care of your sister,” he said evenly.

“But don't say you got my back if you've only got hers,” Ty finished, skin hot. Chip burst to his feet and stood beside her. There was fire in his eyes as he glared back at the crowd.

Colin stood his ground. “How'd you like it, Zeke, if you were in Ty's place right now, and she was the one saying ‘sorry 'bout your luck'?”

“Come on, man,” groaned Zeke.

“If we stand together, we can look out for each other,” said Colin. “They can't run a factory if all the workers refuse to work.”

That got some laughs. Ty felt a familiar itch inside of her. Soon her hands were fisting and her eyes had narrowed to slits.

“All the workers,” mocked Noneck. “None of us work, just to make a point.”

“Why not?” asked Colin. “We can keep taking it, or we can crew up and do something about it.”

Martin was shaking his head. “You're talking about organizing a press.”

Ty had heard of a press—once upon a time the Stamping Mill had pressed for rights. They'd refused to go into their factory, and instead stood outside and blocked the doors, stopping production completely. They even got their own shirts made. The Stamping Mill press had been organized by the Stamping Mill Charter, a group of workers tired of their boss's crap who'd joined up to make things better. The Brotherhood, they called themselves. Led by slick Jed Schultz.

“That's right,” said Colin. “We hold out, stop working, and press the boss for what we want.”

“Since when did you get so goddamn noble?” chided the second shipping boy.

“Since I figured out no one gives a damn about us.”

“What about Jed Schultz? What's he got to say?”

“Who cares?” shot Colin. He hunched suddenly, Adam's apple bobbing.

A hush came over the room; Colin had spoken blasphemy. Ty wanted to stuff the words back in his mouth. Even if Jed was slippery as the grease in his hair, you didn't bad-mouth him in public. That was dangerous.

“Jed Schultz must believe the same thing, otherwise he wouldn't have started the Brotherhood,” she said, but it was too late.

“Sorry, guys,” said Martin. “But some pay's better than no pay.”

One by one, they fell into their old conversations. Their old jokes. Their old fights. And Ty and Colin melted onto their barstools, defeated.

“I got your back,” said Chip to Ty. “I'll pledge right here.”

“Pledge to what?” muttered Colin.

“Pledge to the code,” he said, as if this were obvious. “Street code.”

Ty smiled despite herself, and the movement hurt her face. Street code. That said you didn't beat up on kids smaller than you. That if you didn't call dibs, your stuff was up for grabs, and if you shared food with someone, they owed you later.

And that said if someone said they had your back, they had your back.

 

15

LENA

Lena's room sparkled. Her clothes were refolded, or straightened on their hangers. The floor had been scrubbed. Her sheet music on the stand was organized and filed away. Everything was in its proper place. There were staff members to do the housework, of course, but with her mind reeling, Lena had demanded to do it herself.

She scrutinized the mirror over the dresser, searching for streaks in the glass. Every time she thought it was perfect, she noticed another one and had to start over. It had been this way since Aja had driven her home from Metaltown the previous afternoon.

From the cage before the window came a high trill. Lena glanced up—her yellow bird stood out sharply against the black night outside.

“It's not my fault,” she answered.

The bird cocked his head to the side, then jumped to another wooden dowel.

“It's
not
.” She collapsed on the parlor chair, groaning at the tight muscles in her lower back. “Letting that girl go was the ethical thing to do. What if she'd hurt herself more? What if…” She balled her rubber cleaning gloves and tossed them across the room. She'd been so flustered by what had happened, she hadn't even told Minnick he couldn't call the employees
rats.
“Managers have to make tough decisions, that's the bottom line. The Small Parts factory cannot afford to fall behind right now.”