Metaltown (4 page)

Automatically, one hand went to smooth her black hair, though it hardly needed a touch-up. It was neat and flawless, as were her olive skin and the arches in her brows. Not alluring, not like the women who attended her father's parties with their wealthy patrons, but polished. So like her father.

She sighed in frustration, removing one glove to fix her makeup. Leaning toward the mirror she could see her amber eyes clearly, and wondered as she had a thousand times if her mother's eyes had been this strange lion's color. Her father's and Otto's eyes were dark, nearly as dark as the black hair they all shared. Perhaps that was why he favored his son so much more than his daughter. Because he was a nearly perfect replica of the powerful, untouchable Josef Hampton. Quickly, she replaced the glove and continued past Otto's bedroom to her own.

Her quarters were large, composed of a sitting area, walk-in closet, bathroom, and sleeping room. Antique furniture had been sparsely arranged by her family's interior designer. Lena moved immediately to the window, before which hung a white decorative cage, half her height and shaped like the palaces across the sea. Inside was a bird, a brilliant yellow canary that trilled a happy greeting and hopped sideways along the wooden dowel.

“Good,” Lena said. “Why don't you go downstairs and sing for Father and his colleagues if you love it so much.”

She poked one finger through the cage, frowning when the songbird only tilted his head from side to side, but drew no closer. When he warbled again, Lena's lips turned up into a small smile. He was extraordinary; she'd thought so since her father had brought him home three years earlier from a business trip. They'd set up the cage together, one of the few tasks not left to the servants, and he'd told her she must take care of him herself in order to learn the value of responsibility. Sometimes she wished her father would come upstairs to see what a good job she'd done, but he rarely came to this level unless to look for Otto.

“Pretty thing,” Lena murmured, longing to feel the soft downy feathers but only feeling the inside of her glove. Outside, the breeze rattled the gray limbs of the oak tree against her windowpane.

“How exciting,” said Darcy, stepping into the room in one jerky movement. “What will you sing, I wonder?” Her tone didn't reflect her words; she was always on edge after a visit from Lena's father.

Lena rose, already defeated, and walked to the table beside the tall bureau where she kept her clothes. “I don't think it really matters, do you?”

In the center of the room, Darcy had already begun riffling through the sheet music on its intricate wire stand. “Something that shows your range, I think. Not that piece you performed at the last recital. Something classic. Your father will like that.”

Darcy wasn't listening to her. She had a way of picking through a conversation and only extracting the things she wanted to hear. It was that way with all of Lena's servants.

All but one.

Ignoring Darcy, Lena went to her sleeping room and closed the curtain separating the chamber. Her bed was neatly made, the plush gold comforter hanging nearly to the floor, a menagerie of decorative pillows scattered around the head. She kneeled beside the mattress, and shoved one hand beneath it until she came upon what she was seeking: a doll no larger than her fist, handmade from rope that had once belonged to a mop.

Smiling wistfully, Lena laid down the doll's dress and removed her glove once again to feel the knotted rope that made up the head. Then, taking care, she placed it back in its hiding place, where the servants could never take it out with the garbage.

 

4

COLIN

“Colin, you know this kid?” Ty sized up the tenant before them, eyes scanning over his lanky arms and tired face as if he might try to get tough.

Colin knew better. Gabe Wokowski was a runner, not a fighter—had been since they were kids. But that didn't mean Colin knew what to say. His mouth opened then closed like a fish's. He wiped a line of sweat off his brow. The apartment was hot as a damn furnace.

Gabe's family had lived down E Street. Not on Fifth. It pissed Colin off that they lived here. Bakerstown held enough memories of what he'd had to leave behind without him running into old ghosts.

“What are you doing out here?” Gabe asked, glancing at Ty with a confused expression. “I thought you moved.”

“I did,” said Colin finally. “Sorry. Took me a minute to remember how I know you.”

He didn't know why he said it; four years was a long time, but the guy didn't look
that
different. Not like Colin did. Standing in the doorway of the Wokowskis' home, he became acutely aware of the holes in the elbows of his coat and the scar slicing through his eyebrow—a badge he'd earned in a fight a few years back that served as a warning to others that he wasn't afraid to take a hit. But as Gabe glanced over it, the look on his face was more pity than fear, and Colin didn't know what to make of that.

“School.” The boy frowned. “Gabe Wokowski.”

“Right. I remember now.”

“We had class together every year.” He turned to Ty. “Assigned seating charts. They always put you in order by your last name.”

“Yeah, they do that in the factories, too,” said Ty with her usual bite. Colin wished she'd stop glaring at him.

“You work in the factories?” Gabe asked her. “In Metaltown?”

“Is this kid for real?” Ty jabbed a thumb his direction. Gabe's face turned red.

Colin cleared his throat. “Listen, Gabe, we need to talk to your dad.” They were here for business, not to catch up. Maybe flush schoolboys didn't have to work, but Colin had responsibilities.

Gabe withdrew into the house and let them in. It was a small apartment for Bakerstown; dingier than the Wokowskis' old place on E Street. They could hardly take a step before bumping into a blue patchwork couch, which they had to shuffle by sideways in order to get into the kitchen. The walls were decked out in old-lady needlework pictures—flowers and such—and several pairs of shoes had been kicked off randomly across the floor. Colin remembered when he'd had more than one pair of shoes. He remembered when he'd had a bicycle, too, like the one hanging from a hook against the back wall. He and Gabe used to race home from school.

Ty crinkled up her nose at the cabbage boiling in the pot over their single-burner stove. It was hotter in here; the oven was cranked high and had been left open to heat the room. Dishes, coated with crud, were stacked up on the counters. A fly buzzed against the window frame.

“There's stew,” said Gabe, picking through the mess in the sink. “It's mostly cabbage, though.”

“Smells like it,” said Ty. “Not as good as pigeon, huh, Colin?” He winced when she elbowed him in the ribs.

“So you live in Metaltown?” asked Gabe, testing the word again. “I thought your family did all right.”

“Who said we don't?” asked Colin.

“Oh, right. I only meant … I thought you were moving uptown, that's all. I thought that's what you said.” Gabe scratched his head.

“Looks like you heard wrong,” said Ty when Colin didn't respond.

Colin loosened the scarf around his neck but didn't take it off. His eyes flicked down to a worn book on the kitchen table, and stumbled over the title.
Flight of the Fox,
it was called. Probably a kiddie book with a name like that. Maybe Gabe had a screw loose or something.

It had been a long time since Colin had read anything but factory manuals.

“Well, I'll just go get my dad then,” said Gabe after another moment. He wound his way around the chairs and down a narrow hallway.

“You going soft in the head?” whispered Ty. “If it's bad blood, let's just drop the green and be done with it.”

Colin didn't know what was wrong with him. It wasn't bad blood. In fact, he and Gabe had hung out together as kids. So it didn't make sense why this apartment, which was twice the size of his place over the beltway, seemed to be shrinking, or why he didn't care what Gabe had been up to for the last four years, or why he wished Ty had stayed in Metaltown.

“Colin.” A man in a loose-fitting shirt and slacks approached from the back of the apartment. He was fair-skinned, like his son, with light hair that had lost some of its luster over time. He smiled warmly, but his eyes were tired.

Only then did Colin remember that Jed Schultz had sent them here because Mr. Wokowski had lost his daughter to the corn flu. He pictured her now—red hair, mouthy, always trying to tag along. She'd been a few years younger than him. Kali or Kaylee or something.

“Hi, Mr. W.,” said Colin. “I … I heard about your daughter. We came to pay our respects.”

Mr. Wokowski's face fell. “Thank you.” He nodded slowly. “And how is your family? Your mother? And her friend, I heard…” His voice broke.

“They're real good, thanks.” Colin glanced down at the book again.

“What about you? Gabe says you're working in the factory district.”

Colin pulled at his scarf, wishing they'd crack a window to let in some air. The room was as hot as the factory floor. “Just for a little while,” he said. “Then I'm going to the coast—place called Rosie's Bay. My brother was out there for a while working a fishing boat. One of those rigs that go way past the oil slicks to the clean water and net sharks and tuna and stuff. Real stuff, not the synthetic kind. I'll be doing the same.”

He pictured the route he would take from the train map Hayden had brought home not long after his return. The Northern Federation was mountainous, marked by swells and potholes where the people and the smog had gathered and stuck throughout the ages. Winding through valleys, the train would climb the Yalans, higher and higher until you could look down and see the southern border of the Eastern Federation—where most of the fighting took place. His brother had told him the North's military guarded the supply trains heading toward the ocean. Once he got to the water, it was just a matter of walking the coastline until he reached his destination.

“That sounds wonderful,” said Mr. Wokowski.

“It is,” said Colin. He saw Rosie's Bay clearly in his mind, just as Hayden had described it: green cliffs cutting down into the frothy waters of the Whitewater Sea, a small fishing village right on the sand. Lots of space and as much food as you could catch.

Mr. Wokowski nodded. “It's a good day when friends come calling.” Behind him, Gabe shifted, and moved something across the stained carpet with his bare foot.

“You have some good friends, I guess,” said Colin, feeling more at ease talking to Gabe's dad. “Like Jed Schultz.”

Mr. Wokowski's face shot up. His eyes had narrowed. “Why do you say that?”

Ty, who could always read a room, sucked in a breath.

Colin reached in his pocket. His fingers, calloused and cracked from the cold and the factory, closed over the smooth bills, and he felt a pang of regret. With this kind of money he could set up his folks and get the hell out of Metaltown. He could be on the northern coast within the month.

But Jed Schultz had been good to his mother when few others had. He wasn't about to stick a knife in the man's back.

“Gabe, go to your room,” said Mr. Wokowski suddenly.

“Dad, I—”

“
Go.
”

Colin scowled, seeing his old friend bow like the child he'd once been and withdraw into the shadows.

Mr. Wokowski stepped forward. “Please thank Mr. Schultz. Tell him we could not be more appreciative. Tell him that, will you? Tell him we're fine without his money, and I will return tomorrow to work.” His voice had gone all wobbly and thin.

“He didn't want you to lose your house,” explained Colin. “He wasn't mad or anything. He was just trying to help out.”

“Of course,” said the man, eyes so round you could see the whites circling the brown irises. “His gesture will never be forgotten. I was planning on returning tomorrow anyway. And my wife's pay has covered the rent this month. We are all right.”

“But…”

“Come on,” said Ty. “Let's get out of here.”

“Jed told me to give you this money,” insisted Colin. “Turning it down is crazy.”

“Colin,” said Ty. She grabbed his arm. He shook her off, staring at the old man, who seemed to wither before him. Colin didn't like that, either. He didn't want Mr. W. to be afraid of him; the man was acting like a child.

“Here,” Colin said, slapping the money down on the arm of the couch, where it spilled across the floor.

“No!” Mr. Wokowski dove to the ground, scooping it up like melting snowflakes. Still on his knees, he shoved it at Ty, who took it with a look of bewilderment on her face. She stuffed the bills into her coat pocket.

Colin couldn't believe it. When someone offered you something so generous, you didn't turn it down. You said thank you, and used it to keep a roof over your head.

“Fine,” he said. “I guess you were right, Ty. Bakerstown
is
full of pricks and pansies.”

Mr. Wokowski's jaw locked, but he didn't say another word. As Colin left, he saw Gabe in the hallway, braced with a tire iron over one shoulder but looking more like a kid than ever.

 

5

TY

They moved fast out of Bakerstown, like their own shadows were chasing them. Fast enough to make Ty's shins burn, but not fast enough to leave Colin's dreams and demons back where they belonged: in the past.

She watched him, ready, but for what she didn't know. His shoulders were bunched, his fists balled, his eyes shifting side to side, looking for a fight. She felt strangely powerless, and had the urge to hit something just to know she still had control over herself.

It wasn't until they'd crossed the empty beltway marking the barrier to Metaltown that Colin finally exploded.