“I’ll get clean,” said Hayden.
“Okay.” He wondered if he sounded as skeptical as he felt.
The minutes passed. Colin knew he should go home. Check in. Take care of things. Try to get a few hours’ sleep in before work tomorrow. He cringed when he remembered that Ty wouldn’t be there with him. He hadn’t worked a day without Ty by his side in four years.
“It’s not so damn cold on the water,” said Hayden, chin digging into his collar. “Sometimes, when the tide was out, we’d lay out on the dock in the sun. That kind of warm goes straight to your bones. Keeps you heated half the night.”
Colin felt a pull deep inside of him. He wanted to feel that kind of warmth. The kind that burned off the chill, and the sickness, and the hunger. And the crushing defeat that he couldn’t help anyone he wanted to help, including himself. But at the same time he wished Hayden would just shut up about it, because he was sick and tired of stories that never came true.
“You coming home?” Colin asked.
Hayden’s eyes shot quickly to the door, then back to Colin. “Yeah. Now?”
“Now.”
Hayden grumbled a curse as they turned up the street. “You messed up my back, little brother.”
“Good.”
14
TY
Ty wandered the streets, with no particular destination in mind. The shadows were thick this time of night, and she watched them like they were living, breathing monsters, rather than the shrouds of the sick who’d wandered aimlessly from Beggar’s Square. No Bakerstown cops crossed the tracks to Metaltown. Not that they would have kept the streets safe anyway. Knife in hand, she walked faster, feeling the blisters begin to bite at her heels, and the cold claw under her collar.
She was tired of Lacey’s. Sick of the noise and sick of people staring at her face. She could have gone to Shima’s, but the sublevel apartment was cramped, and Ty didn’t want to be a burden. She wasn’t an invalid, after all.
She’d used up all her green from last payday; even if she had been able to forget what had happened last time, the Board and Care was out. If she’d stayed on at Small Parts until the end of the week she might have been all right, but kids who got fired didn’t get to claim their wages. That was Minnick’s rule.
So she walked, heated by her hatred for Lena Hampton. Hampton might not have been the one to dump the acid on Ty’s face, or sic those mutts on her at the Board and Care, but her hands were still dirty. It was her people who owned stupid Small Parts, who allowed for knotheads like Minnick to take advantage. Her people who let Jed Schultz’s Brotherhood protect the adults, but not the kids. Now there was nothing for her to do. No one hired a girl with one eye. And the Brotherhood would never cover her as an adult because she’d been injured before eighteen.
The despair clung to her back, sharp nails lodging in her muscles. She moved faster, trying to outrun it.
Lena Hampton had fired her. Ruined her. Ty remembered that pathetic puppy-dog look on Colin’s face when he’d said her name. That had been its own special brand of betrayal. He just couldn’t figure out where he belonged. Well, she was tired of reminding him.
It was long past midnight when she reached the familiar stone statue of St. Anthony. One thin stone arm stretched before him, the other broken off sometime over the years. He looked eerie in the dark, like a corpse in the streetlight. Ty quickly skirted by into the projects.
Twelve floors high, Keeneland Apartments was on the verge of ruin. The brick siding was crumbling, the windows almost completely boarded up. Graffiti marked everywhere within reach, and the fire that had scorched the west corner had become a hole for squatters since the owner—some pig-faced greenback from the River District—refused to fix it last year.
Ty hustled around the outside of the building, clambering through the weeds and empty bottles toward the fire escape. Just to the left of it was the Dumpster, and the smell coming from it was enough to make her gag. She froze when she heard several voices back near the statue. Someone broke a bottle against the stone, making her shudder. Laughter echoed off the brick siding as they moved on.
She climbed the fire escape to the second floor, and huddled in the shadows below the window. There wasn’t much warmth coming from inside, but it was enough to take the edge off. She felt safer here, with her back against the wall. She felt safer knowing he was close.
Her eyelids grew heavy. Her arms pulled inside the sleeves of her shirts, wrapping around her bare stomach. Her knuckles grazed the two matching scars beneath her knife hilt, reminding her of a nun at St. Mary’s, who’d told her when she’d gone to take a bath that she shouldn’t let people use her body to put out their cigarettes. If that’s what had happened, Ty couldn’t remember. Probably better that way.
A hacking cough from within the apartment roused her, but when it quieted, she drifted again.
Get up, she told herself. Don’t fall asleep.
* * *
The woman’s hand was cold, and dry like bones. Not warm like her mother’s. Not full like her father’s. It grasped her fingers so tightly she recoiled, but couldn’t shake it loose.
“Come on.” The woman’s voice shook, and that brought hot, fierce tears to the girl’s eyes.
They were outside a stone building, the damp shadows clinging to their skin. The woman knelt down, scooped up icy mud water from a puddle, and sloshed it into the child’s hair. It bit into her scalp and dribbled down her face. Her dress was ripped too—the collar shredded, leaving only her stained underskirt. The sounds were too much like growls in this strange place. The cold made her shiver so hard she could barely stand.
Finally, the woman knocked at a dingy wooden door, told the girl to stay put, and ran. She cried then, wailed, her tiny bare feet frozen to the step. She wanted her mother. After several moments the door was unbolted, and a lady appeared in the lamplight, a sour look on her face. She was dressed all in black, her hair and neck hidden by a scarf.
She only shook her head disapprovingly, and then picked the little girl up.
* * *
Ty surged to her feet, a rattling at the window above turning the remnants of that strange, familiar dream to dust as she sprung for the fire escape. She was too late; the plywood board was lifted off the frame and pulled inside, and the sharp curse from within had her freezing in her steps.
“Trying to kill me?” Colin whispered. He had a wastebasket tucked under one arm as he stepped over the ledge to the platform. Instantly, he replaced the board, coughing once as the cold air hit his throat.
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 understan
d.”
“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.
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