Jed and the Junkyard Rebellion

by Steven Bohls

  A weak chittering noise answered. “Gzzz.”

  Despite the agony he smiled.

  “You okay back there?” he asked.

  The can buzzed, and a metallic ring responded with something Jed could have sworn sounded like, “Yezzz.”

  “So how do we get out?” Jed asked.

  Sprocket didn’t respond.

  He sighed. “Yeah. This is a tough one.”

  He tried moving again, but junk engulfed him. The most he could do was to fall asleep and hopefully recharge his sparks. Before he could think any more about it, he was already waking up from sleep. He didn’t know how long he’d slept, but the sun was now high in the sky. Bits of energy swam through his sparks. He tried shifting in place, but too much junk still held him in his crumpled position.

  He reached for the refreshed energy supply. Activating the mutiny spark, he pushed away the junk that pinned him in place. Scraps shifted from his body, creating a small pocket of space. He sighed as the pressure abated and he could once again move.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said to Sprocket.

  “Zzzok!” she agreed.

  Jed wiggled and squirmed his way through the tightly packed junk above. He conserved as much of his power as possible—only using it when he couldn’t squeeze between scraps.

  When he finally reached the top of the junk, he rolled onto a kitchen table and sighed. The bright sun overhead highlighted the cuts, scrapes, and bruises that covered him in a big ball of pain. Gold metal glistened through torn skin.

  “Bzzzooorrrk,” Sprocket buzzed from his backpack.

  He carefully unzipped the pack and took her out. Her tin can body was ruthlessly dented, and more than half of her legs were crooked.

  “I’m sorry,” he said to her. “I didn’t mean for that to happen to you…or to me. I was being reckless.”

  “Gazzzabok,” she hummed in an It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean to tone.

  “I wonder if…” Jed trailed off as he turned her over in his hands. “Hmm.”

  He closed his eyes and felt the pieces around him. They spoke to him…called to him. “Wings,” he said.

  Energy flowed from his batteries into the rally spark. Junk tumbled toward him. He opened his eyes to find a Ping-Pong paddle and a Frisbee in his lap. “These could work,” he said.

  He closed his eyes again and scanned the junk. “Gears, wire, bolts, wrench, and screwdriver,” he said.

  A dozen objects crawled from the piles and bumbled their way toward him.

  Alone, sitting there in the junk, he tinkered with Sprocket until the Ping-Pong paddle and Frisbee were securely fastened to her back. He routed his power into the life spark and poured it into the tin can. The wings began to flutter.

  “Bzzziiinnn!” Sprocket hummed excitedly as she lifted into the air.

  “Now we can both fly,” Jed said. With that, he activated the mutiny spark and lifted himself into the air. As he glided over the piles, Sprocket flew beside him.

  Jed

  Jed was convinced of several things: Flying was the greatest thing ever; Lyle was crazy; Lyle must be looking for him by now; and, he had to save the world. He also needed somewhere to lay low. A little help wouldn’t hurt either.

  As Jed flew across the junkyard, a dot appeared at the edge of the horizon.

  Township, Jed thought.

  “Zzzzgaaandip,” Sprocket buzzed nervously.

  “I think you’re right,” Jed agreed. “I can’t imagine they’re going to be too friendly to a talking can and a skin-wearing robot.”

  He landed about a mile away in a mound of metal. “I’m going to need to cover up these cuts,” he said to Sprocket. “At least until the skin heals.” He considered his options, glancing around. Then a thought struck him.

  “Glue,” he said, reaching out his hand.

  A golf club zipped forward from the junk and smacked him in the face.

  “Not gluuueee,” Sprocket said.

  Jed rubbed his forehead. “Thanks. I kind of realized that.”

  He tried again. One spatula, three books, and two bottles of shampoo later, a yellow plastic bottle of wood glue flew into his palm. Jed stared at it, delighted. He unplugged the bottle and began filling each of his wounds and cuts with wood glue until every bit of gold was covered.

  Once masked, he raised himself back up and carefully approached the distant floating city. Bits of his memory returned as he stared at the city. He remembered going to other cities with…a tug crew. Faces flickered in his mind. Bog…Kizer…Riggs…Pobble…Shay…Sprocket.

  A cold emptiness chilled his heart. “Sprocket,” he whispered.

  “Yezzz,” the can buzzed.

  He looked at her. “You died,” he said. “He killed you. Lyle. How could I forget that?”

  The memory stung. He missed Sprocket. Jed slunk to the ground as new images flooded his mind. His parents. A memory. Years ago, when the three of them went to the opera. “Roast beef sandwiches,” he whispered. The memory felt distant, as if Jed was looking through a foggy window dotted with rain. “We brought them inside of a coat.”

  And then, as if the window shattered, the scene opened with rich color and vivid detail.

  “Ryan, you didn’t…” his mother said. She had porcelain skin and pink cheeks. Her hair was short and disobedient. Jed wanted so badly to see the details of her face, but it was still just a white-and-rosy blur. His father gave her a sheepish smirk. “Open your coat,” she demanded. He shook his head like a child hiding a cookie. “Open it now,” she said, giving him her best folded-arms glare.

  His father looked to the left and then to the right. He opened his coat to reveal three bottles of root beer and three paper bags hanging by clothespins.

  “This is the opera,” she said. The words seemed like they were trying to sound scolding despite the faint laugh creeping into her lips.

  “Exactly. And in all the times that we’ve been to the opera, how many of those times did we have access to root beer and roast beef sandwiches?”

  “I count zero,” Jed said.

  “And you would be correct,” his father said. “Zero indeed. It’s time for things to change, Mary. And when things must change, what do we do?”

  “We change them,” Jed said.

  “That we do, Jed,” his father said. “That we do.”

  His father rested his hand on Jed’s shoulder. His face sharpened.

  He gave Jed a single nod and smiled before closing his trench coat and holding out his arm for Jed’s mother to take. Still trying to stifle the grin that dimpled her cheeks, she hooked her arm in his, and the three of them headed to their booth.

  Jed’s mind felt alive. More memories prickled the recesses of his brain. Flour fights in the kitchen…pineapple upside-down cake…Lemon Saturday…

  “I remember them,” he said to Sprocket the can. “Both of them. Ryan wasn’t my kidnapper, he was my father. I remember my home. It was redbrick, and I helped my dad build the fence in the backyard. I remember how the wood smelled as we sawed the ends of the planks.”

  Like a cascading waterfall, his hidden memories began filling his soul with a lifetime—his lifetime.

  Jed

  Jed stepped into the shadow of the township overhead. With a deep breath, he shot up into the sky toward the floating city. To his left, one of the docking ports was empty. He pulled himself to the edge of the port. Despite his best efforts, he smacked the side of the dock but managed just enough purchase to swing himself over the edge.

  A sign at the end of the dock read: WELCOME TO RIGGER HOLLOW.

  Jed focused on Shay’s image in his mind. “Rigger Hollow,” he whispered. He had no idea how to link to her, but he had to try. “Rigger Hollow,” he said again, closing his eyes. He repeated the name over and over.

  The township was small. It was a speck in the sky compared to Lunkway—a mere blink and passersby would miss it entirely. Hopefully, Lyle would blink.

  Jed walked the main street, self-
consciously hoping that none of his gold was showing. He spotted a restaurant called Chog’s. Across the street was another restaurant called Velpin’s.

  A burly man stood outside of Chog’s with a crate of canned chicken.

  “Hey,” Jed said. “Are you Chog?”

  The man nodded. “Can I help you?”

  His memories back, Jed longed for the opportunity to cook again. “I was wondering if you had any job openings,” he said.

  “Scram,” Chog said. “The Rigger orphanage is down the road. You can pick up a can of expired beets from them just like every other urchin beggar.”

  Jed liked a lot of foods that other kids didn’t. Mushrooms, asparagus, salmon, even the occasional anchovy. But beets were where he drew the line. The wicked little red monsters tasted like dirt. Bitter, horrid dirt. He didn’t know how long he’d have to wait for Shay and his dad, but he wasn’t going to do so eating beets.

  Beets did not equal survival.

  “Yeah. That’s not really going to work for me.”

  Chog shrugged. “Whatever, kid. Not my problem.”

  “No. It’s not. But it could be your opportunity.”

  At the word opportunity, Chog set down his crate of canned chicken. “What do you mean, ‘opportunity’?”

  Jed looked across the street at Velpin’s, which was full of people talking, laughing, and eating. Chog’s restaurant looked sad and desolate by comparison. “I think Velpin is doing all right for himself.”

  Chog glared at the colorful restaurant. “That slug has been here less than three weeks! You want to know how long I’ve been here? Twenty-four years! Twenty-four years I’ve run a fine establishment. I know half the town. I call my customers by name. But then Velpin throws up some shiny lights and a bit of paint, and now my place is emptier than a gutted slug.”

  “I’ll bet you a can of chicken and a few swigs of pineapple juice that I can get every customer in sight back at your tables,” Jed said.

  • • •

  Jed stirred the coconut carrot soup with a spatula.

  “What in slug clunk are you doing?” Chog asked. He leaned over the pot and inhaled.

  “Would you like a taste?” Jed asked. He dipped a spoon into the creamy soup and lifted it toward Chog’s mouth. The restaurateur looked skeptically at the spoon as if it were poison. Finally, though, he took it and gave a gingerly sip. His left eyebrow raised slowly as he swished the soup around in his mouth.

  “How’d you—”

  “Pretty good, right?”

  “I’ve never tasted anything like it. And I’ve tasted everything.”

  Jed nodded. “That probably means no one else in this city has tasted anything like it either.”

  Chog grinned. “We’re going to make sacks of batteries with that scrap!”

  “Does that mean I’m hired?” Jed asked.

  Shay

  “Shay,” Jed’s voice whispered in her mind for the thousandth time that week.

  “Yes, Broken Mouse. I’m here. But, let me guess, you can’t hear me. Right?”

  “Shay…can you hear me?”

  “Yep. Loud and clear. What about you? Can your teensy little mouse ears hear me?”

  “Shay. Are you there?”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “If you’re there…”

  “Yup, I’m here.”

  “…I’m at a town called Rigger Hollow.”

  “I know. You’ve squeaked it at me two hundred times already. And you keep squeaking and squeaking and squeaking and squeaking. We’re trying to find you, but everyone in the mouseyard loves killing scritches, and we have lots and lots of scritches on our very, very scritcherly-looking boats. So…”

  A gruff voice called from behind. “Shay? Who are you talking to?”

  Shay turned around. “Oh, hi,” she said to Captain Bog. “Just Jed.”

  “Jed?”

  “Yep. He’s been talking to me in my brain. Didn’t I tell you?”

  He slowly shook his head. “I think you forgot to mention that one.”

  “Oh. Well, he’s been talking to me in my brain. Sometimes he sees through my eyes, too.”

  Bog gave her an odd look. “I thought you said that Jed just sent you a message that he was in Rigger Hollow….”

  “Oh, he did. A message in my head.”

  “In your head…”

  “Exactly.”

  “Are you feeling all right, Shay?”

  “I definitely won’t be if he keeps nagging and nagging and nagging about Rigger Hollow. Every day, it’s Rigger Hollow, Rigger Hollow, Shay can you hear me, Shay I’m here, and I don’t think my brain can take it anymore.”

  “You’re really communicating with him?”

  “Not so much anymore. I think we’re too far away, and his brain voice is many squeaks louder than mine. So he keeps shouting, shouting, shouting, and I can’t say anything back.” Shay released a big sigh. “It just makes me tired.”

  Intrigue sparked through Bog’s eyes. “Has he told you anything important? What do you know? Has he mentioned where Lyle is? Have the coppers and irons formed an offensive against the dread like I’ve been hearing from rumors? What is their combined military strength? Do they have freighters? How are they coordinating their supply chains?”

  “Let’s see…” Shay tapped her chin, “I do know lots of things.” Bog leaned in closer. “I know that…Jed works at a restaurant now! It’s called Chog’s. Probably because Chog is the one who made it. But, that’s just my guess.”

  “A restaurant…” Bog said, lifting an eyebrow.

  “Also, he can fly!” she added. “Like a mouse with wings!”

  Bog sighed. “Wonderful….That helps us…so much.”

  Shay beamed at him. “Oh, good. I love being a helpful mouse.”

  Jed

  The sweet scent of cooking oil and chicken filled Chog’s kitchen. Jed had talked the restaurant owner into installing a bathtub in the restaurant. He knew there was probably a better way to make a stove, but the bathtub reminded him of the tugboat. Chog reacted the way the old crew had around fire and suggested that no one know what Jed was doing.

  Within two days, word had spread about Jed’s new menu. Velpin’s looked nearly abandoned, and Chog had more business than he’d had in twenty-four years.

  Every table was filled with an unending supply of customers.

  “Two more orders of carrot coconut soup!” Chog called from the dining room.

  Jed sliced open another half dozen cans of carrot puree and one can of coconut milk, then dumped them in a pot. “Give me ten minutes,” he called back, adding butter, thyme, curry powder, onion, and garlic.

  “Oh, and one winter minestrone, and another pea risotto.”

  Jed scanned the shelves for canned cannellini beans, carrots, chicken broth, kale, and pasta.

  By the end of the night, he’d managed to expand the menu to include creamed spinach, potatoes with paprika and caramelized onions, cherry clafoutis, and ambrosia fruit salad. The endless stream of patrons would have left any cook exhausted. But not Jed. That night, as he lay down in his bed, all he could think of was how much he wanted to make a specialized soups menu that included Indian lentil soup, shrimp bisque, and Moroccan stew.

  I’m going to need an assistant, he decided as an idea popped into his head right before closing his eyes and falling asleep.

  • • •

  The next day, Jed visited the beet distribution line near the orphanage to find someone to help him in Chog’s kitchen. He arrived at lunchtime and found a scrawny girl sitting beside the building, gnawing on an uncooked beet.

  Jed sat beside her. “Hi,” he said. “I’m new in town. My name’s Jed.”

  She looked up from her beet and gave him a curious look. “Penelope,” she said. “Penny for short.” She glanced at the distribution center, but the window was closed. “Oh, did you get here too late for lunchtime beets? You can have half of mine, if you’d like.” She lifted the nib
bled-on beet and offered it to Jed.

  “Actually,” Jed said, “I was wondering if you’d like to eat something other than beets.”

  Her face slumped. “They only offer beets here.”

  “I work at Chog’s down the street,” Jed said. “I’m looking for someone to help me at the restaurant while I’m cooking. Are you interested?”

  “Cooking? What’s cooking?”

  Jed smiled. “Come on. I’ll show you. And you can have all the cans of food you want.”

  The whole way back to Chog’s, Penny stared at him suspiciously as if this was all just one big prank.

  Jed led her past the line waiting outside and into the restaurant.

  “Hey!” Chog shouted over his notepad as he jotted down a customer’s order. “You there! I’ve seen you begging around here before. Get out of my place and go back to the beet distribution center.”

  “Actually,” Jed said, “she’s our new employee.”

  Chog glared at Jed, but he didn’t argue. How could he? Jed’s cooking was bringing in more business than Chog had ever had.

  “Come on,” Jed said to Penny. “The kitchen’s back here.”

  He gave Penny a tour of the pantry and the restaurant, but first he gave her three whole cans of peaches. She devoured each one and slurped up its syrup almost before Jed could open the next.

  “Three more sides of potato salad!” Chog called from the dining room.

  “I have a special job for you,” Jed said. “I need a guard.”

  “A guard?” Penny asked, her mouth still full of peaches.

  “I need you to keep watch and make sure no one comes into the kitchen—not even Chog.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Pretty much. Only come in when I call you for a dish but never at any other time. Okay?”

  She nodded. “And I can eat more peaches if I do?”

  “All the peaches you want.”

  A grin spread across her face, and she rushed from the kitchen to stand guard immediately.

  Alone in the kitchen once again, Jed smiled to himself. “This is going to be fun.”

  With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and lifted his arms. The kitchen with all of its cans, utensils, and dishes appeared in his mind. Their tiny threads of connection linked him to everything in the room.