by Steven Bohls
Jed found the guts of a box spring leaning against a tractor. Half of the springs were missing from the skeleton of the bed. He set down his backpack and tried propping the box spring up like a hammock between the tractor and a dresser, but the moment he lay down, the old springs squeaked and snapped. Jed fell through the middle of the frame and landed hard on his back. Again.
He groaned. “You didn’t see that, did you?” He glanced at his backpack, and Sprocket’s bolt eyes were aimed right at him.
Jed was embarrassed, as if the tin can had seen him fall.
He lay there in pain, shutting his eyes. In the blackness, he tried pulling a single, clear face to his mind. Each time a face began to appear, though, a waxy smudge swirled over the image, erasing it. “I just want to go to sleep,” he said, “and wake up to memories and faces. Is that too much to ask?”
Sprocket didn’t answer, so Jed clambered to his feet with resignation and began walking once again.
The shovel-blender-spear felt heavier the deeper he went into the forest. He half considered chucking it into a tangle of fencing, but holding the spear made him feel a bit safer. Hesitantly, he tried to reach the heat in his chest again and bring life to the blender, but there was no fire left. There was only emptiness and cold.
So tired.
Steps turned into shuffles, and Jed slowly ground to a stop.
So very tired…
He collapsed into an empty bathtub.
His mind drifted off as the blackness of the forest faded into the color of dreams.
He was still in the bathtub, but the bathtub was the size of a tugboat, and it was filled with batteries and food. Meats, fruits, pastries, and cheeses enveloped him in a sea of nostalgia. Bright lemons in a bowl. Warm bread in a basket. A platter of pork roast. He closed his eyes and inhaled. Apple juice…rosemary…nutmeg…and black licorice?
Nubs of black licorice sprouted from the roast. He pinched one and plucked it from the meat. Before he could pop it into his mouth, a lemon turned and looked at him. It had a single, violet, glowing eye, pulsing slowly.
“Who are you?” he asked, dropping the licorice and stepping backward.
“I’ve found him,” the lemon said to no one in particular.
“What?”
The lemon spoke again. “He seems physically intact, though his core appears to have been reset. He likely used the Awakening Key as you suspected. His mainframe has been rebooted.”
“What’s going on?” Jed asked. “Tell me who you are. Why are you watching me?”
The lemon didn’t answer.
Instead, Sprocket’s voice spoke beside him. “She’s snnneaky.”
Jed looked at Sprocket, who was balancing on his shoulder. Her bolt eyes stared at him, head cocked.
“Who’s watching me?” Jed asked her. “Whose eye is that?”
“Wake up and seee,” Sprocket said.
Jed’s eyes opened to find a single violet eye staring at him through the jumble of metal branches. The eye pulsed steadily and then blinked. He scrambled out of the bathtub and backed up a few steps. Dim light trickled into the clearing, and a creature emerged. It was metallic—sleek, elegant, and shiny—with bars of steel, copper, and brass woven together perfectly. A dread. But it wasn’t like the other dread he’d seen. It was cleaner, crisper, and brighter. It hovered in the air, just inches above the junk floor. Thin wings hummed on its back.
“Who are you?” Jed asked, his voice shaking.
“It appears you were right,” the creature said. It had a soft, female voice. “He hasn’t recovered his memories yet. The Awakening process is still under way.” She waited, as though listening to a response only she could hear. “Very well,” she said with a nod. “I’ll collect him.”
She floated forward, her violet eye still watching him.
“Get back,” Jed said, raising his arm.
Red heat flared in his chest. Hundreds of pieces of junk in front of him shot at the dread, zapping his energy. The dread sucked in a startled breath and rolled out of the way. Cold replaced the heat inside of Jed instantly.
“Sir,” the dread said, fear in her tone. “He’s activated the spark. Orders?” She paused. “Aye, sir. I’ll bring him.”
The dread faced him. Jed stood his ground. He was done running from this thing. “I said, get back.”
He drew on the last remnants of power inside his chest. A flurry of junk bombarded the hovering creatures.
She cursed and tried to dodge the whirlwind of metal scraps.
Jed emptied the last of his energy until the woman flew away in retreat. A deep chill overtook him. His vision wobbled and darkened. Voices overlaid the sounds of crashing metal, and he slipped completely into Shay’s eyes.
Shay
Shay spotted the yellow lemon tree sprouting from the center of their raft, and she marched toward it confidently, Ryan on her heels.
“Almost there,” she said.
“How far do you think we’ll get before we’re shot out of the sky?” Ryan asked.
Shay shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe far. Maybe not.”
As they neared the lemon tree, Ryan dropped down onto one knee. “Shay,” he whispered. “Stop. Look.” He pointed to a squad of scritchlings, who were investigating the tree closely.
“Lyle’s gotta be around here somewhere,” one of them said gruffly. “This is some of his dirt treasure.”
Shay smirked. “You’re only seeing them now? You need to open your eyes. I’ve seen them for a mile.”
“Then why are we heading toward them?”
“Don’t worry. Scritchlings listen to me. They have to do what I say. Don’t you remember? I made them.” She considered Ryan. “But you should be careful; they won’t listen to you. They’ll turn you into soup.”
“Soup?”
“Slurpy soup. With engine oil and paprika.”
“Yeaaah,” Ryan said, drawing the word out. “I’m pretty sure we’re not going to go talk to a pack of stray dread. That’s probably the worst idea I think I’ve heard in—”
“Ohhh, scritchbugs,” Shay called in a singsong voice, waving her arms. “Over here!”
“Really?” Ryan whispered. “Are you kidding me?”
She cupped her hands to her mouth. “I have some scritcherly questions for you.”
The dread immediately turned their attention from the raft. Half of them cocked their heads in confusion as Shay skipped forward.
“You,” one of the scritches said, recognizing her face. “The admiral’s pet.”
“Former admiral,” another scritch corrected.
“More like traitor admiral,” a third mumbled.
“Guess he could be both,” a fourth said.
“Quiet,” the first snapped. “You,” he said again to Shay.
Shay nodded once. “Yes. Me. I’m here. And I have four, maybe five questions.” She paused and thought for a moment. “No, maybe six or seven questions to ask you scritchbugs. Or maybe eight. Six if we’re lucky. Or seven.”
“You’re as annoying as these three,” the first scritch said. “We don’t take orders from little princesses any more, girly. Not since the new cap’n took control.”
Shay’s eyes lit up and she turned to Ryan. “See! See! I told you I could smell it. There’s a new mouse king.” She sighed in satisfaction before turning back to the scritchling. “Here are my questions: First, do you have any crackers? I’m nibbley.”
The scritchling gave her a wicked smile. “We told you. We don’t listen to you no more.”
“Since when?”
“Since your daddy shot one of our dreadnoughts right out of the sky. We don’t follow murderous captains unless they’re murdering not dreads.”
Shay folded her arms. “I don’t like him any more than you, but that’s definitely not what happened.”
The dread shrugged. “Sure looked like that’s what happened. And I ain’t gonna take the word of some broken toy like you.”
Heat rushed into Sha
y’s cheeks. Broken toy? Who does this little scritchwhelp think he’s talking to?
But Lyle had taught her not to lose her temper with peasant mice, so Shay took a deep breath and spoke again. “Then who do you take orders from? Who’s the new mouse king?”
The dread puffed out his chest proudly. “Name’s Captain Swillface Clunkrucket.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Shay scoffed. “I’d never follow a scritchmouse with a name like that.”
“No one never asked a broken toy like you to follow him. Cap’n Clunkrucket’s gonna clean things up. Gonna scrape the yard spic and span. Get rid of little whiners and flesh bags. But first, he’s gonna find your slippery little daddy. Clunkrucket’s gonna take that coward dread king and boil him in oil.”
“Listen,” Shay said matter-of-factly. “Boiling him in oil simply won’t work. His mouse bones are much too goldeny. You’ll need something much hotter. Much, much hotter. Maybe…” She tapped her chin and stared off into the sky. “Maybe engines! Engines are much hotter than boiling oil. Yes, engines. Hot engines. The fiery kinds that go whooosh!” She nodded to herself. “Definitely those kinds.”
The dread gave Shay a twisty-faced look, unsure of whether she was serious or not. “Well, Clunkrucket’s gonna boil you, too, so…” He seemed as if he wanted to sound threatening, but all of the confidence was gone from his squeak.
“Deal,” Shay said. “I agree to be boiled.”
The dread’s twisty look got twistier. “Huh?”
“But first”—she held up a finger—“I need your help. We must find a mouse named Jed. Let’s talk to Mr. Swillface and see if he has any ideas.”
Ryan chittered nervously. “Shay,” he squeaked. “Mind if I speak to you…alone?” Shay turned around. ’Fraidy Mouse continued in a low whisper. “What are you doing?” he asked.
Shay folded her arms. “If you’re going to find Broken Mouse, then you need to learn to be brave, or we’re not going to find him at all.”
“There’s a difference between bravery and insanity,”’Fraidy Mouse said.
Shay lifted an eyebrow. “Broken Mouse told me about SPLAGHETTI.” Ryan opened his mouth wide enough to fit a whole block of cheese in it. “What does the I stand for again?” she asked with an I know exactly what it stands for, and so do you tone to her voice.
“Insanity,” he mumbled. “But that’s not what I—”
Before he could finish, Shay faced the dread and put her hands on her hips. “Where were we?” she asked.
“What did that fleshy bag say?” the dread asked, glaring at Ryan.
“He said he’d like to be boiled in oil as well. Now take us to Mr. Swillface Clunkrucket so we can get on with it.”
The first scritch nodded to one of the others, who grabbed a bundle of ropes and began looping them around Shay’s wrists.
Shay sighed as she watched the process and then shook her head. “No, silly scritch.” She held up her bound wrists. “You’re doing it wrong.”
“Huh?” The scritch stopped mid-loop.
“You can’t just go around and around. Bendy mice can wriggle free.” She twisted her hands back and forth and side to side until her hands slipped free. “See?”
The fumbly scritch looked from her hands to the tangle of rope on the ground. “Um…”
“Try again,” she said, “but this time, go around and around, crisscross, crisscross. Then around and around, crisscross, crisscross again. Okay?”
Shay scooped up the rope, untangled it, and handed it back to Fumbly Scritch. His face squinched awkwardly, as if he weren’t sure whether to be angry, embarrassed, or maybe even a little appreciative. He assessed the rope and then assessed her wrists.
“Around and around, crisscross, crisscross,” Shay prompted helpfully.
Fumbly Scritch nodded to himself as he looped the rope around and around, then crisscrossed twice.
“Perfect,” Shay said, giving Fumbly Scritch an encouraging smile. “See?” She held up her wrists, twisting them back and forth. “Nice and tight. And you got it on your first try. I think you might just have a talent for tying up prisoners. That’s a useful skill. And useful skills are good—especially for scritchmice.”
Fumbly Scritch’s back straightened a few inches in pride as he admired the ropes around Shay’s wrist. “You think so?”
“Absolutely. Now give it another try on this mouse.” She motioned to Ryan.
“Around and around, crisscross, crisscross,” Fumbly Scritch whispered to himself.
Jed
Jed’s own vision swirled back into focus. He was lying on his back in the iron forest. Scraps of metal covered him in a messy pile.
He pushed the loose junk away and sat up. He looked around, but the violet-eyed woman was gone.
“SPLAGHETTI,” he whispered to himself, the vision still fresh in his mind. The word conjured up more memories of a home he once lived in. It had meant something important…something he needed to survive. He tried focusing on the other things he’d seen in his vision. The dread had mentioned that there was a new dread king. Swillface Clunkrucket. Jed pictured a gnarled face atop a monstrous body with four arms and twenty feet tall.
Unsettled, Jed climbed back to his feet, retrieved his blender-spear, and continued walking. The forest was a wash of black and gray. He scanned the metal for the glowing dot of violet light.
The tightly packed junk made a slight crinkly sound as his shoes pressed against it. It was a steady, predictable sound that only made him more tired the longer he walked.
Step, crunch.
Step, crunch.
Step, crunch…crunch.
Jed froze. He pointed the blender-spear in the direction of the extra crunch. “Who’s there?”
Another crunch sounded to his right, and a third behind him. Finally, he saw pinpricks of light.
Eyes.
Watching him.
But these eyes were different. They were red, not violet.
Creatures shifted in the shadows. A face of wires and gears peeked through a gap in the forest. Brackets and bolts bound old skin to metal plates. Its left eye socket was filled with nails. Its right socket held a red eye a few sizes too big for its face.
“Well, hello, secret boy,” it said, licking its bottom lip quickly as if it had a tongue like a lizard. “All alone, are we? No dread king anymore. No orders to not slurp up secret boys. Secret boys smell so good. So tasty.”
Jed aimed the blender-spear at the creature. “Back away,” he said as confidently as he could manage.
The creature looked at the spear and assessed the blender at its tip. “Is secret boy a trickster boy?” It took a wary step back, as if recognizing something for the first time. But then it waited, as if expecting an answer. “Well? Is secret boy a trickster boy, too?”
“What are you talking about?” Jed asked.
It pointed at the blender. “That. You make it go? Buzz, spin, crunch, shrieking dread. Can you make dread be shrieking dread?” The dread’s expression changed from fearful to eager.
“Yes.” Jed nodded slowly. The creature’s eye widened. “I can make it go.”
“Do it,” the creature said, his whole body shaking with excitement. “Do it, do it, do it!” His tongue tapped his top lip rapidly, and he squirmed with anticipation.
Jed reached for any warmth still left in his body. “Go,” he whispered to the blender. It didn’t move. “Go,” he said louder. But the fire inside him was gone. He had nothing left. “Go,” he shouted at the blades. Nothing.
The creature writhed with frustration and expectation. The longer Jed failed to bring life to the blender, the more frustrated the creature became. “Liar! Liar, liar, liar! Wicked little cheat!”
“No,” Jed said, insistent. “I can. I can make it go.”
“Secret boys are cheaty little liars that can’t make any things go!” It cocked its head and looked at Jed hungrily. “I heard,” it said, glancing at other dark shapes around them, “that secret boys are fill
ed with sparkly treasure.”
“Lots of sparkly treasure,” another creature said to Jed’s left.
“I want sparkly treasure,” a third said excitedly. “I want to pull it all out of him.”
All of the dread began to nod. Some licked their lips. Others began to tremble with excitement.
Jed could see the attack in the creature’s hunched posture—its shoulders high and face forward, a skulking wolf ready to kill.
Metal clanked all around him.
At first, it was just one set of footsteps, and then it was two…then three. Soon, all around him, footsteps crunched against loose junk.
He was surrounded. The circle of dread began to close in on him, constricting on all sides until they were only a few leaps away.
“Get away from me!” Jed yelled, swinging the blender-spear.
“Slurp him to bits!” The creatures dove for Jed, arms outstretched, mouths gaping open.
Jed
Jed lifted his blender-spear and gritted his teeth. A hand gripped the back of his shirt. He swung his spear, though he knew it was pointless to resist. There were too many of them. The grip on his shirt tightened and pulled. Jed braced himself to be yanked into the mob. But the hand didn’t pull him backward. It pulled him up.
His feet left the ground, and he rose into the sky.
Iridescent wings fluttered above him. They were long and thin and beat quickly. The wings were attached to an elegant, mechanical flyer with the single violet eye. Now that Jed could see, he could tell it had the shape of a woman, though most of her face had been replaced by gears. She gripped him tightly, hovering just out of reach from the dread below.
The woman flew higher, struggling to lift them both. Her iridescent wings beat faster, forming a ghostly blue-green-purple-gold blur.
“Who are you?” Jed called up to her.
“That’s classified,” she said.
“Huh?”
The dread swarmed under them in a horde. The woman strained to gain height. “Are you okay?” Jed asked.
She held out a chain with her free hand. “Wrap this around your waist,” she said.