Metaltown (23 page)

“Why? It's my factory.”

“Exactly.” He lowered his voice. “What do you think your father will do if he sees me bring you in?”

“He never goes there. And Otto won't even be awake for another two hours. Besides, I'll be going in with you. As a worker.”

“As a worker,” he repeated, dumbstruck. “You want to work at Small Parts.”

I want to see what you see.
She put her hands on her hips. “You don't think I can handle it?”

You wouldn't last five minutes,
her father had said.

“Umm…” Colin tapped his spoon against the bowl again. “I don't think I said that.”

“Well, lucky for me it doesn't matter. I don't need your permission.” It irritated her that he thought she couldn't do what he did. She might not have lived in Metaltown, but the River District wasn't exactly the safest place either.

“You should stay here.” His voice was harder without the sarcasm.

“Lena's going home today,” said Shima, approaching them.

Her blood began to run hot. “I am not going home. And I'm not staying here. I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions.”

Colin and Shima looked to each other for support.

“I'm going with you,” Lena said. “That's final.”

*   *   *

She followed him through the employee entrance and into a dingy locker room that smelled strongly of body odor. The place was crowded and people kept bumping into her without any awareness of personal space. A few of them said hello to Colin—a dark-skinned boy about her age that he called Zeke, and a little kid who said someone named Ty was looking for him. Colin kept chewing his pinky nail, something she realized he only did when he was nervous.

It made her realize how truly dangerous this could be for him. In all her life, she'd never considered that she might be more dangerous to a boy from Metaltown than he was to her.

He stripped down to the thermal he wore on the floor, and when he lifted his arms over his head the hem of his shirt rose, revealing a pale, smooth belt of skin. Even after it was gone, the image still lingered inside of her. Though it was warm, she refused to take off her borrowed sweater, as if she had been the one exposed.

“Stay close to me,” he said between his teeth. “Follow me when I clock in.”

She kept on his heels, heart pounding as she passed the check-in station. Her eyes stayed down as she made it through the metal detector. A thrill filled her; she'd never imagined in a million years that she'd be sneaking into her own factory. Now she could see exactly what it was like to work under Otto's rule, and he wouldn't be able to deny it later.

If she saw him later.

She still hadn't figured out where she would go next. When she'd left the house, she'd left all her belongings. She didn't have money to go to a hotel, or rent an apartment, or hire a car. She didn't even have money for food.

Surely she couldn't live and work in Metaltown. Her stomach sunk at the thought. Unless she went home to face her father, she didn't have much of a choice.

The line moved forward, and soon they'd reached the foreman.

She'd braided her hair back, and wasn't wearing any makeup, but even so, her pulse spiked when the foreman snagged her wrist. She looked down at his hand, fighting the urge to shake him off.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She slipped free, hung her head. “Mary, sir,” she said, coming up quickly with the name. “From … the uniform factory.”

“Uniform factory?” the foreman mocked, making her wish she'd said another division. “You blind? This is Small Parts.”

Colin stopped in his tracks and sent a wary glance over his shoulder.

“They sent me as an extra,” she said quickly, keeping her eyes down. “They said you needed more hands on the line because there was more work coming through.”

The story fell from her lips as if it were practiced, but she wasn't even sure she was using the terms correctly. Still, she knew how to play a role under pressure. She'd entertained her father's party guests, after all, and they were some of the most dangerous men in the whole country.

“A sub you mean?” Colin suggested, glaring over his shoulder. “They send you to sub in for someone?”

“Call it what you like,” she tossed back. “I just do what I'm told.”

Minnick's face had seemed stuck in a frown, but at this, the lines around his mouth and eyes relaxed. “You're damn right you do. Hear that, rats? Mary here's gonna do what she's told, just like the rest of you.”

There were some mutters ahead, but no one looked back.

The foreman pulled up his pants, but his belt buckle disappeared below his paunch as soon as he released them. “Haven't hired a replacement for fuses. You work hard today, I might consider keeping you on.
If
you make quota, understand? No messing around. I don't know how they do it at the uniform division, but here, you don't pull your weight, we say good-bye.”

“Understood, sir. I won't mess around, sir. Thank you.”

He grinned, revealing yellow, crooked teeth. He snapped his fingers at Colin. “You show her how it's done. She falls behind, it's on you, got it?”

“Come on,” Colin grumbled, motioning for her to follow.

The main room opened up to the floor. The machines were already loud and cranking—she remembered the volume from her last time here—and it was already warm. As they went down the stairs, it occurred to her that she'd made a huge mistake. She didn't belong here. She wasn't trained. She'd never worked a day of labor in her life.

But when she thought of home, and the things her father and brother had done, she thought maybe she didn't belong there, either.

Colin motioned her to the station where she'd seen him before. Wincing at the memory of firing the girl, she ducked under the belt and took a place beside him, opposite a big boy Colin called Henry.

“Mary,” Lena said, introducing herself. “I'm a sub from the uniform division.”

Colin quirked a brow, impressed.

“They all look as good as you over there?” Henry asked.

Lena's mouth fell open. Colin chuckled.

“What?” Henry grinned. “Just asking.”

“Shouldn't you be getting back to Plastics?” Colin asked him.

He smiled again at Lena. “I will soon as the boss tells me to, and not a moment sooner.”

Colin just shook his head.

He showed her how to wire the detonators by sticking a small copper wire into a narrow metal rod. He asked her again to take off her gloves but she refused. Still, she wished she could—her hands were sweating fiercely within them, and they made the task cumbersome. For every piece she completed, Colin finished five. Frustrated, she tried to pick up the pace, but she kept screwing up.

“Lose the gloves or we won't make quota,” he said.

She locked her jaw and ignored him.

The heat increased. She longed to take off her sweater, but Henry kept staring, and winking whenever she caught his gaze.

At the end of the second hour she stretched her back. Standing on the cement floor had made her heels begin to ache, and she longed for a glass of water.

“When's our break?” she asked Colin.

“You had one,” he said. “All last night.”

“What about lunch?”

“Sorry, Mary,” he said. “No lunch today.”

Her mouth grew dry. A water girl came through, ogling Colin unabashedly. Lena passed; there were clearly things floating in the jug the girl had strapped over one shoulder. She might have fished it straight from the river.

Lena's head was pounding.

“You all right?” Colin asked. One brow, the one divided by a scar, arched. She hated that he was waiting for her to give up.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead and pushed on. “That area behind the curtain, what is that?”

“The hot room,” he said. “Don't go near it. It'll singe your hair off.”

“Don't tell me what I can and can't do,” she answered, temper on edge. But she worried what he meant.

She waited for noon, then drifted nonchalantly toward the hot room. Thick plastic strips blocked a clear view, and she blinked back the tangy burst of chemicals that assaulted her senses as she drew the strips back. Inside were a dozen workers near her age, dressed the same as Colin. They stood around a table where a line of metal cylinders waited for their unprotected hands. She opened her mouth in shock, tasting the sour air. No gloves. No masks. Her father would have to be informed immediately. This was unacceptable, inhuman treatment.

A thought sank its teeth into her: what if he already knew?

And then, as she watched, a boy darted to the corner, leaned over a trash can, and vomited. Less than a minute later, he was back at his station.

“Does this look like social hour, sweetbread?”

Lena spun, the hard plastic sheaths slapping together behind her. Mr. Minnick glared down at her, his face red. Immediately she lowered her gaze, skirting by him.

Don't recognize me. Please don't recognize me.

He didn't. And not just because of the way she was dressed, or her disheveled appearance. Something was off about him. As she passed by she caught a strong whiff of something like cigar smoke, but more potent.

She shot across the room to go to the bathroom, but two other girls had the same idea, and when Mr. Minnick caught her in line he locked them all out with a sneer and a reminder that every minute wasted belonged to him. She dragged herself back to their station.

The minutes drew together. Her vision became blurry. She would have killed for a cold glass of water and a sandwich. The heat became unbearable, and the stench of working bodies and chemicals that infused every part of Metaltown made it even worse. Her stomach turned.

“It's like this all the time?” she asked, but she already knew the answer.

“Welcome to Small Parts,” said Henry. “You don't look so good.”

“Go home, Lena,” whispered Colin. He looked angry. “Tell Minnick who you are. He'll call your family.”

I have nowhere else to go.
“I'm not leaving.”

He shook his head.

The wires poked holes in her thin gloves and the sensitive pads of her fingers bled through. She didn't stop. The ache between her temples turned to a throb. She didn't stop. Quitting time came and went. She didn't stop.

Nearly two hours after the plant should have closed, Mr. Minnick reappeared at the top of the stairs.

“On the floor!” shouted someone from her left. The blond boy she'd seen before, working in Batteries. He hadn't noticed her when they'd run into each other this morning.

“On the floor!” Colin called on. Lena's back objected when she straightened.

Two men appeared at the top of the stairs. Mr. Minnick, and a man with long hair that she recognized from her father's party. The one her brother had paid for what she'd assumed was a gambling debt.

“Listen up, rats!” called Mr. Minnick. “You all know Schultz is here to talk to you about the Brotherhood, so don't look so surprised. Wrap your crap up, and get your scrawny asses in line.”

One by one the machines shut off. Lena blinked back the dizziness, and pushed away when Colin placed a steadying hand on her elbow.

“Are you done proving you're tough?” he asked.

“Not quite,” she said, still wavering.

He pointed her toward the stairs. “Go home, Lena. Things are about to get ugly.”

She mustered her best pithy look and shot it his way. What was she, a child? Exhausted, she followed him up the stairs, straining on every step. She was starving, and wanted nothing more than to fall into her bed at home and sleep. Anger scalded her insides. She couldn't do anything right, not even day labor.

The boy she'd recognized from the battery department approached. The sweat made his short blond hair look crunchy. He glanced back at her. “Who's she?”

“Just a sub,” mumbled Colin.

She kept her eyes trained on the backs of his heels, relieved when the boy took Colin's word for it. If she could just get past them, to the bathroom, to the foreman's office,
anywhere,
she could hide. Wait until they were all gone. Then figure out what to do.

“I thought Minnick hated Schultz,” said the battery boy to Zeke.

“He does,” said Colin. “If we sign up for the Brotherhood, Minnick won't get to work us to the bone like he likes.”

Lena wondered what the Brotherhood was. It sounded like a cult. She'd seen the man beside the foreman—Schultz—but never had heard his name associated with a Brotherhood before.

Zeke leaned in, lowering his voice. “I heard Minnick hates Schultz because Schultz beat the holy hell outta him when he was a shell.”

“Minnick was a shell?” Colin asked.

Battery Boy's face scrunched. “What's a shell?”

“A fill-in worker,” said Zeke. “No skills, no nothin'. Just some bum off the street who's so hard up he's willing to work for half our wages.”

“Half of nothing…,” Battery Boy mused. “I think that's still nothing, Zeke.”

She wondered what they did make—in all her research she hadn't found a pay scale. Since she was technically a substitute on the line today, that should have entitled her to wages at the end of the day, but something told her not to hold her breath.

“What happened with Schultz?” Colin asked as they crowded forward.

“Schultz led the Stamping Mill press way back when, and while they weren't working Hampton hired all these replacement shells to do their jobs for cheap. Minnick was one of them. Schultz and his crew worked them all over pretty good, and there's been bad blood ever since.”

“So Schultz can press, but we can't?” asked Colin. Lena perked up. Colin wanted to stage a protest? She felt a bite of betrayal, but could only blame herself. She was the one who'd walked into this situation blind.