Jed and the Junkyard Wars

by Steven Bohls

  The captain grabbed Jed’s shoulder and limped forward. “We need to find a place to hide.”

  He waved the others forward, but a pack of dread spotted them. The clicking of their footsteps rattled faster.

  “Run!” Sprocket said.

  Together they dragged the captain along the deck.

  Another pack of dread saw them and moved in from another angle.

  More dread added to the packs by the second, until hundreds of them closed in from every side.

  “There’s nowhere to go!” Sprocket shouted.

  Dread everywhere formed a tight circle around them.

  Spyglass pushed to the front of the pack and drew his shatterbox.

  “How nice to see you all again,” Spyglass said. “Just like old times. Except now I have legs. And this”—he waggled the shatterbox in the air—“and two thousand dread.” He touched his belly. “I’m curious…are any of you hungry? Because I’m starving.”

  “Shay,” Jed whispered. “Get ready to—” He looked behind him, but Shay was gone.

  “Look what I found!” Shay’s voice called from above.

  Jed looked up. “Shay?” She stood on top of a crate, holding a fire extinguisher above her head.

  Everyone stopped and stared.

  Even Spyglass.

  “What are you doing, Shay?” the captain said, with a get out of here while you still can tone to his voice.

  “I found one of the gilded relics!” She held the fire extinguisher higher.

  “You what?”

  She nodded. “It was over there.” She pointed off somewhere nondescriptly. “Just lying on the deck.”

  “Shay, get out of here,” the captain said.

  She hopped down from the crate and walked toward them. Dread parted as she passed. An eerie feeling swam over Jed.

  “What’s going on, Shay?” he whispered.

  “This”—she handed the fire extinguisher to Captain Bog—“is one of the gilded relics. It’s a special one that makes scritches do whatever you want!”

  Captain Bog searched the twisted faces around him. None of the creatures moved.

  “Try it!” Shay said with a squeal.

  Captain Bog took the fire extinguisher and held it like it was about to explode. He looked from Shay to the dread and then back to the fire extinguisher.

  “Make them do fun things like jump on one leg or act like scritchmice!” Shay said, clapping her hands. “Do it! Do it!”

  He limped toward the edge of the circle, and the dread parted. “Act…um…”—he looked at the extinguisher again—“like scritchmice?”

  Dread began crawling around the deck on all fours in their best “scritchmice” impressions. Even Spyglass dropped his shatterbox and crouched to the floor, hobbling about on hands and knees.

  “What is that?” Sprocket said, studying the fire extinguisher.

  “I told you! Isn’t it fun?”

  “How did you…?” Jed began.

  “Over there.” She pointed again. “Just lying on the ground. Lucky, right!”

  “Lucky…” Captain Bog mumbled, sounding almost scared of Shay.

  “Now you can be the captain of this boat too! Stoke the engines! Grind the crank gears! That sort of thing. So where to, Captain?”

  Silence filled the deck.

  Everyone stared at her.

  “What’s going on, Shay?” the captain asked.

  Jed stepped away from Spyglass, who was still on all fours.

  “We need to get Jed to the Red Galleon. Right?” Shay said. “I bet if you ask the crew, they’ll help! We should probably do that soon. Yes?”

  “Shaaaay?” Captain Bog drew out the word like a parent accusing a child of something.

  “Yes?”

  “What’s going on?”

  She shrugged. “I already told you. And time’s running out.”

  He looked at Sprocket. “What’s going on with her?”

  “I’ve been asking myself that for weeks.”

  “We can talk in the captain’s quarters, if you’d rather,” Shay said. “Seeing as how you’re the captain now, yes?”

  Shay turned and skipped back the way they’d come.

  “Shay, wait!” Captain Bog called, limping after her.

  “Don’t even try…” Sprocket mumbled.

  As Jed turned to follow, he glanced back at Spyglass. The dread was staring at him, and there was something in his eyeless face. It was small—almost unnoticeable. But Jed noticed.

  It was the faint hint of a smirk.

  Back in the dreadnought’s captain’s quarters, the four stared out the porthole at the Red Galleon.

  “We can’t just expect to float over there and jump on board,” Sprocket said.

  “Sprocket’s right,” Captain Bog said. “They’ll get you before you hit the deck.”

  “Not if they can’t see us,” Jed said. “What if we use the same idea you had against that wing of falcons? Fly as close as we can, then pop cloud bombs around both ships.” He looked at the captain. “Can you fly this thing?”

  “Maybe. Bessie was a dread tug last I checked.”

  “Here,” Shay said, handing the fire extinguisher to the captain. “Don’t forget your gilded relic.”

  “Right. Wouldn’t want to leave it lying around, would I?”

  “Nope!”

  • • •

  Jed, Shay, and Sprocket stood at the edge of the dreadnought, holding the ends of their coiled rope ladders.

  “Closer,” Jed mumbled to himself. “A little bit closer.”

  With Captain Bog at the helm, the dreadnought drifted near the Galleon. A pop sounded, and a cloud bomb launched into the air. It exploded, and a shroud of smoke billowed around the two ships in a tidal wave of black.

  “Now!” Jed said, dropping the rope ladder. Rung by rung, he descended until his feet no longer felt additional rungs. His jaw tensed and his breath stopped. Where was the Galleon deck?

  He squinted, but the black smoke was too thick.

  What if they weren’t above the Galleon? They’d fall all the way to the barge.

  Either the ladders were too short, or they were dangling above open air.

  Heroism, he told himself, thinking of SPLAGHETTI.

  He sucked in a deep breath and let go. He fell through the air, his heart in his throat. Jed’s feet slammed against something solid. The others dropped beside him.

  “Shay, Sprocket,” he whispered. Two hands reached out and touched his shoulders.

  “We need to hide before the smoke lifts,” Sprocket said.

  “I can’t see anything. What if we run off the edge?”

  “I see something,” Shay said. “A crate.” She grabbed Jed’s hand. They ducked behind a large box and waited for the smoke to clear.

  When the darkness lifted, Jed turned around. Six dread stood in a semicircle around them.

  Jed drew his shatterbox and fired. One of the dread burst apart.

  Sprocket drew her shatterlance and shot the other five before Jed could pull the trigger again.

  All around them, limping steps clattered through the smoke.

  Sprocket fired again and again. Dread crashed against the deck.

  More footsteps. Dozens. Hundreds.

  The steady clatter evolved into a thundering stampede. Jed shot blindly into the smoke. Metal scraps showered over the deck, but the dread continued to march.

  “I’ll go find a shatterkeg,” Shay said. “There’s one nearby.”

  “Shay, no! Don’t go by yourself!” She bounded away as if she hadn’t heard Jed.

  A moment later, wheels squeaked beside him, and something pressed against his legs. He reached down and found a shatterkeg lever. He punched a button and a boom shook the deck.

  The sound of broken crates and pieces of the ship echoed through the air. He thought of the surrounding dreadnoughts—the hundreds of warships.

  They’re all going to come. Thousands of dread—hundreds of thousands. Even if
we survive, even if we take the whole ship, it won’t matter. We won’t escape.

  Jed fired the shatterkeg again, and bits of metal sprayed the deck. Shadows surrounded them—black shapes through the smoke. Arms outstretched, Shay leaped forward like a cat toward its prey.

  Sprocket tapped the trigger of her shatterlance so quickly, the chain of shots dyed the blackened air with blue lines of smoke. Until she pulled the trigger once more and there was only a click. She dropped the shatterlance and drew two shatterboxes. Shots blasted through the smoke, and dread collapsed.

  Two more clicks. Two empty shatterboxes.

  Metal limbs clanked against the deck as hundreds of dread breached the smoke around them.

  “That’s enough,” a voice called from the darkness. “Weapons on the floor.”

  The dread stopped. Weapons dropped to the deck.

  Shay scampered back to the others.

  Silence filled the air.

  Not a single dread moved. Their metal bodies stood like statues. The smoke lifted, and a figure walked toward Jed.

  The dread king.

  Jed’s dream played again in his mind. The oil, forced down his throat, slippery and thick. Shay’s words rang in his head. He makes disobedient mice drink the same oil his engines drink. And then he watches them gurgle their last squeak.

  Smoke shrouded the dread king’s features, but Jed could see his silhouette. He held a box, then lifted its lid with a small creak.

  “Jed, the music box!” Shay yelled.

  The relic. Able to put a roomful of people to sleep.

  A melody trickled into the air, one note at a time.

  Shay tackled Jed and covered his ears.

  One by one, dread crumpled to the floor. Sprocket teetered at their side. Her shatterlance clunked against the deck, and she dropped to her knees. She swayed in place, and fell.

  Shay’s hands pressed against Jed’s head, and she hummed to herself.

  His heart beat faster.

  She’s not falling asleep. Why isn’t she falling asleep?

  Her hands lifted. The music stopped, and the box clicked closed.

  The smoke had gone too.

  A man stood before him. A man with a big nose and a bushy mustache.

  No.

  Jed’s blood froze in its veins. His ears throbbed and his lips went numb.

  This can’t—no.

  The air around him felt heavy and pressed into him on all sides.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” his grandfather’s brittle voice said.

  The man smiled and opened his arms.

  Jed stood, though his legs shook.

  “How…?” Jed’s voice fell away. Something clattered to the deck. His shatterbox. “You’re here…but how are you…?” The words, gone again.

  “Come over and give your grandfather a hug!”

  “But…” Jed’s ankles brushed against a dread.

  His grandfather closed the gap and wrapped lanky arms around him.

  “What’s—what’s going on?” Jed stared at the metal corpses. “You’re…working for the dread?”

  “Heavens, no, boy!” He clapped Jed’s shoulder. “They’re terrible creatures. Absolutely horrid!”

  Every word from his grandfather—even the sight of him surrounded by sleeping dread—felt like a scorpion’s sting piercing deep into his neck.

  Jed looked at a dread. And then another. And another. Their twisted frames. “Then why are you…?”

  “The world is in trouble, Jed. This world. Our world. We need to save it. Together. Your family needs you.”

  “My family?”

  “Your family is bigger than you know, and they’re dying. But you can save them. Save us all. I’ve waited nine years for your return.”

  Nine years.

  “Car seat,” Jed mumbled. His head still felt packed with cotton. The thoughts…the memories…“A blue car seat. You buckled me inside. And then I was falling. Why was I falling?”

  His grandfather squeezed Jed’s shoulder. “I’m sure you have many questions. I’ll answer them all. I promise. But there’s much you need to learn. I want to show you something.”

  He hooked his arm around Jed.

  “No.” Jed turned around. “Sprocket, she’s—”

  “She’ll be just fine. She’s only sleeping.”

  “I’ll stay with her,” Shay said.

  Shay’s voice broke Jed’s mind from his shock. He’d nearly forgotten about her. She stood next to Sprocket, her hands clasped in front of her as she stared at the deck.

  “The music box. You didn’t fall asleep,” he said to her.

  “Shay’s special,” his grandfather said. “Aren’t you, Shay?”

  Shay looked at the deck. “I’m special.” The words sounded stiff. Like they’d been etched into her mind after a thousand repetitions.

  “Are you all right?” Jed asked.

  She didn’t look up. “I’m fine. Go. I’ll stay with Sprocket.”

  “We’ll be back before you can blink,” his grandfather said.

  “But—” Jed hesitated. Shay’s gaze stayed fixed on the floor as his grandfather pulled him away.

  They wandered the pristine empty deck until they reached a staircase to the lower deck. The walls and flooring were dark brown planks. The wood was treated, stained, and lacquered. Jed touched a wall. It was slick and new. The varnish still had a sweet scent. He ran his fingers along the perfectly fitted boards. “How did you find these? They all match.”

  His grandfather smiled. “Ah, yes. Wonderful craftsmanship. I’m quite pleased.”

  “But where? Where did you get it?”

  “From home.”

  “What home?”

  “There are secrets in this world meant just for us. Wonderful secrets. Beautiful secrets. Secrets that would enchant even those who’ve lived beyond the fringe…”

  He gripped the knob of an oak door and twisted.

  A lush garden blossomed behind the open door. Bright tomatoes nearly glowed on their vines. Sprouts of turnips, carrots, cabbages, and onions. Purple sprigs of lavender next to plump marigolds. A delicate blue orchid under a hydrangea bush. Rows of herbs: thyme, basil, parsley, and cilantro.

  Jed’s foot sank slightly as he walked. Rich soil blanketed the floor in dark brown. He scooped a handful of it and held it to his face. The damp earth filled his nostrils as he took a deep breath. The particles crumbled through his fingers, and he brushed his hands together.

  A glint of yellow caught his eye. In the center of the room, in full bloom, was something he could describe no better than wonder. A lemon tree. Tall and magnificent, its branches arching over the other plants like a mother’s safe arms.

  His grandfather walked in front of him and sniffed the air. “Ahh. Can you smell that?”

  Jed inhaled. A wave of nostalgia coursed through him. He was home again. Peeling lemons for his mother’s pound cake, flipping through the pages of the Lemon Anthology for Lemon Saturday. He could hear her humming to herself as she sliced the lemons into wedges. Her apron—eternally dusted with flour and spotted with stains of a thousand meals.

  “Do you still have it?” his grandfather said, shattering the memory.

  “Have what?”

  He plucked another lemon from the tree, then scratched the rind and smelled it. His eyes closed. “The lemon, of course.” He opened his eyes and glanced at Jed’s pocket.

  Jed took out the lemon. Its leathery rind was shriveled and dented. The orange blemishes had multiplied, discoloring the surface.

  His grandfather took the fruit and replaced it with the one he’d just picked.

  “A fresh one for the road. We do love our lemons, don’t we? Wouldn’t want you to be without one.”

  The new lemon was supple and rubbery. The way a lemon should feel. Jed looked up, but the wilted lemon was gone. A sting of loss pricked his heart, as if a piece of his parents had been ripped away.

  “How did you know?”

  “Beca
use I asked you to bring one with you. We have wonderful things to make, and we need every lemon we can get.” He winked. “Follow me. I have one more surprise.”

  His mind—so fuzzy. But every time clarity struck long enough for him to ask another question, his grandfather walked off. Or spoke first.

  They left the garden and walked to the door across the corridor. His grandfather opened it, and a sweet scent filled the air. A kitchen, much like his kitchen at home. Cherry cabinets, a frosted-glass pantry, an iron stove, a granite-topped island counter, and even a microwave.

  A ding sounded from the oven.

  “Ah! Just in time.” His grandfather rubbed his palms together and strolled to the oven. He grabbed an oven mitt, then pulled out a wire rack.

  Lemon poppy-seed doughnuts. The way Mom makes them. Jed’s heart raced. What’s happening?

  He pressed his thumbnail into the back of his hand. It hurt. But so had the oil—from the dream.

  Wake up, wake up.

  “What was that?” his grandfather asked.

  “Nothing.”

  The man dipped the freshly baked doughnut into a bowl of glaze, long enough for it to soak into its core.

  This isn’t real.

  “Here.” He handed Jed the doughnut on a napkin. “Try it. They’re my favorite.”

  Jed lifted the doughnut to his lips. Steam snaked up from the wet glaze.

  So sweet. So perfect.

  His teeth closed around the doughnut, and the bite melted onto his tongue. Just the way it did at home.

  A memory pushed its way to the front of his mind. The summer after he turned nine, his family had vacationed in Bangladesh. He’d come across an animal he later learned was called a slow loris. It was not much bigger than his shoe, with large, misty eyes. Its fur pulled into teardrops around the eyes, making it look vulnerable and frightened. It licked its elbow and cocked its head at Jed. He smiled back. “Hi there, little guy.” When he crouched, the loris lunged and sank its teeth into Jed’s shoulder.

  Jed tried prying it off, but its skinny arms grasped his like bands of iron. His father ripped the loris away. But it was too late. Jed’s muscles seized from the poison in his veins. He blacked out and woke in a hospital. From that day on he’d always remembered the eyes. Big, beautiful eyes. Harmless. Innocent.

  He’d been on more dangerous adventures than a boy his age should have been able to survive. But he had survived. Because he’d learned to. And if there was one thing he’d learned over the years, it was to trust himself when something didn’t feel right. Jed recognized poison behind innocent eyes.