Garbage Island Read online

  Text and illustrations copyright © 2018 by Fred Koehler

  All rights reserved. Copying or digitizing this book for storage, display, or distribution in any other medium is strictly prohibited.

  For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, please contact [email protected].

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Boyds Mills Press

  An Imprint of Highlights

  815 Church Street

  Honesdale, Pennsylvania 18431

  boydsmillspress.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN: 978-1-62979-675-8 (hc) • 978-1-62979-141-9 (eBook)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018940032

  First ebook edition

  H1.0

  Design by Barbara Grzeslo

  The text is set in Apollo.

  The titles are set in CrustiWacky.

  The illustrations are done in digital media.

  For Duane,

  whom I threatened to write into a book if he didn’t behave himself

  Chapter 1

  Mr. Popli looked out from his only porthole into the world, scrunched his whiskers, and gasped.

  What stole his breath was not seeing Archibald Shrew in the lagoon, but rather the ramshackle floating bicycle that he appeared to be pedaling. Nearly the size of Mr. Popli’s houseboat, the sea-cycle carved through the water like a tuna. “Popli! Look at me!” Archie called as he zipped within a tail’s length of the mouse, spraying salt water through the open porthole and rocking the houseboat no small amount.

  “ARCHIBALD!” Mr. Popli bellowed, half in fury at the soaking and half in wonder at Archie’s latest invention. A pair of plastic bottles, poked through with Popsicle sticks and tongue depressors like paddle wheels, spun in the water. A belt system of string and rubber bands ran between the wheels and a framework of plastic tubing and irrigation pipe. A genuine coil spring created the propulsion for the entire mechanism.

  As the shrew pedaled, the large spring wound tighter. When he lifted his feet, the sea-cycle shot off so quickly Archie could only manage to cling to the steering mechanism, if in fact he could steer at all.

  “My name is ARCHIEEEEEEE!” cried the shrew, flying past a second time and drenching Mr. Popli again.

  A name I wish I’d never heard! thought Mr. Popli, scrambling out through his porthole. But before he could say anything, the sea-cycle careened into a half-sunken Styrofoam cooler. Archie shot into the air, somersaulted over the protective wall that held together their garbage island, and vanished into the hungry arms of the sea.

  “Overboard!” Mr. Popli yelled, as he bounded to a twisted antenna atop a weathered citrus crate to look for signs of Archie. “OVERBOARD! Sound the bell!” The islanders had worked hard to build a secure place to live, and for all his fumbling, Archie was a part of their community. But he’d just gone rocketing beyond the only safety they knew.

  A bell rang in the distance. Insects, reptiles, and mammals emerged from their homes, answering the call. Many poured into the water in makeshift rowboats and tiny skiffs. One small yellowish bird chirruped from above the gate leading out to the ocean. “Here! Here! He’s this way!”

  The boats rowed across the lagoon toward the circling bird, creatures heaving oars against the ocean. Scrambling from the citrus crate to the wall itself, Mr. Popli called out orders. “Angus! It’s quicker to your left! Janice! Go around that part of the lagoon—there’s barbed wire below the surface! Sven! That canal is blocked! You’ll have to double back!”

  “Hurry!” chirped the bird. “He’s drowning!” Mr. Popli narrowed his eyes, but could only see a vague shape. The silhouette vanished and reappeared as the shrew struggled against the waves.

  “Snakespit,” Mr. Popli cursed. “Merri, can you get to one of the skiffs? He needs a float, and quickly!”

  “Yes, sir!” The bird flitted down to the nearest vessel to retrieve a Styrofoam float wrapped in thread. By now all of the families nearby had gathered along the wall to watch the attempted rescue. A pair of yellow-and-black lizards grunted as they turned the handle of a fishing reel nailed to a board at the top of the wall. The reel retracted a heavy braided line that inched up a tall panel from the depths. As soon as this gate cleared the waterline, boats swept from the lagoon into the open ocean.

  “He’s got the float!” warbled Merri. “And the skiffs are closing in!”

  Mr. Popli slid down from the wall and collapsed, running a trembling paw across his forehead. For all his clever inventions, Archibald Shrew put his own life (and the lives of others) at risk on a regular basis. Something had to be done.

  “BIGEYE!” A shout interrupted Mr. Popli’s thoughts. The word sent shivers down his tail. Few things struck terror in the citizens’ hearts like the monsters below. Unseen, ravenous, unable or unwilling to communicate, the fish made up an entire kingdom of variations on death. The bigeye tuna was a particularly vicious and opportunistic carnivore, and a bobbing shrew would make for an easy meal.

  With an acrobatic leap, Mr. Popli sprung back to the top of the wall. He could just make out a dorsal fin slicing the water’s surface thirty wavelengths from Archie and closing quickly. The boats would never get there in time.

  “Arm the slings!” yelled Mr. Popli. “Bait balls at two o’clock! Distance of sixty waves! Then sixty-five! Lure it away!” He heard the creaking sounds of a ratchet followed by a loud click.

  “READY!” a voice cried.

  “FIRE!”

  A projectile sailed overhead, breaking apart as it descended and showering the water with smaller particles. Bits of rotten food, sawdust, and snail slime made an oily slick of chum on and just below the surface. The bigeye was nearer to the chum than to Archie, but the tuna did not alter course. “It’s not turning around!” Merri cheeped.

  “Distance of twenty waves!” ordered Mr. Popli. “Fire when ready!” Another bait ball shot past, raining down all around the great fish.

  And then the fin disappeared below the surface.

  Archie was too busy thinking about death to notice the bigeye. I wonder which happens first—freezing or drowning? Freezing makes you fall asleep. But if I fall asleep I’ll let go of the float and drown. So then would the drowning wake me up from the freezing? I suppose either one is better than being eaten.

  At that moment something slithered past Archie’s tail. With a screech, he vaulted out of the water as a ribbed fin exploded the surface right in front of him. The bigeye submerged and then rocketed into the salty air, mouth agape with skewers of teeth each as long as the shrew’s whiskers.

  Archie looked up, following the fish’s arc with awe as it eclipsed the sun. A giant, gaping mouth flooded his field of vision. Such amazing teeth! thought Archie.

  As he wondered what kinds of inventions he could create with teeth like those, a yellow blur crashed into him from the side. It was Merri. She’d knocked the wind from them both, but pushed the pair just beyond the bigeye’s jaws.

  The predator plunged into the sea alongside them and turned for another pass.

  Archie and Merri flailed on the water’s surface. Only a wave away, they could see the tunafish’s eyes burning, hollow and hungry. It raced toward them with frightening speed.

  “NOW!” a tiny voice rang out. A small harpoon zoomed through the air and collided with the bigeye in mid-leap, piercing its right eye. The fish flopped once and then descended into the depths.

  Strong arms lifted the shrew and the bird into a plastic soda bottle cut in half lengthwise. It was layered with S
tyrofoam in the bottom, rigged with benches and oars, and painted with a crescent moon down the side. The animals on board the lifeboat all wore crescent moon symbols around their necks, on belts, or on bracelets.

  Still too shell-shocked to recognize who had rescued him, Archie flopped over in the bottom of the vessel. As the waves pounded the side of the boat, his only thoughts were that Merri was alive and they both were safe. The boat ferried them back to the island, and the shivering shrew allowed himself a half smile. At least I haven’t caused any real trouble.

  In fact, Archie’s real troubles were just beginning.

  Chapter 2

  A sheared-off stabilizer from the tail of an airplane bobbed just west of the lagoon, faded vinyl decals cracking and peeling in the midday sun. Crates and boards were stacked on top for shelter from the rain and heat. Sealed-off plastic bottles created pontoons to support the entire structure from below. More boards lay across the ensemble to form access roads for the larger animals. String threaded outward in every direction to create lanes for the smaller, nimbler creatures. The assembly hall had been designed to accommodate every type of animal on the island.

  Inside, a consortium of small animals gathered in the public seating area. Mr. Popli stood above the crowd on a platform of various boxes topped with an old, brittle soap dish. Below him, in a cereal bowl decorated with cartoon images of caged circus animals, a miserable-looking Archie Shrew slumped with his head in his paws. He wriggled his snout and looked up, shifting mismatched glasses that allowed him to see slightly better than a cave cricket.

  “Order!” announced Captain Shift, a yellow-and-black leopard gecko. “ORDER!” She slapped a strong, thick forelimb against the podium. So many different animals milled below her. She wondered how long this society would last with all of these natural enemies and uneasy truces. And yet somehow Mr. Popli had convinced them to try to live together.

  The crowd quieted.

  “We are gathered here today to hear testimony about the events of Tuesday, June 7. Mayor Popli will preside.”

  After a round of polite applause, Mr. Popli addressed the crowd. “Welcome, friends and citizens. It is a happy day indeed.” Archie looked up with curiosity. “It is a happy day because we’ve come so far as a community.”

  To the left and right of Mr. Popli, a row of venerable-looking animals clicked their pincers, buzzed their wings, and otherwise fidgeted impatiently. “Get on with it, Popli,” said a dung beetle whose name happened to be Edward. “We’ve all got better things to do.”

  Mr. Popli attempted a smile before continuing. “Since the peace accord, we’ve built a place where all animals can survive and prosper. I know it hasn’t been easy, and I know that our efforts require time that could be spent on equally important responsibilities.” He nodded to the dung beetle, who had only come to the meeting because he thought he might get the chance to pronounce punishment on someone.

  “This year alone we’ve designed and constructed three new water towers tall enough to keep out the saltwater spray. A single turnip seed pod, discovered by the eastern geckos, has blossomed into a vast hanging turnip garden. Our algae farm is now protected by netting we’ve stretched underwater across the entire lagoon. Storehouses are beginning to fill with food as well as reserves of snail slime and fish oil. More of the floating debris has been tied down and converted into homes. We’ve sworn in twenty new members of the Order of the Silver Moon, and no one has seen even a glimpse of the snake.”

  A collective shudder shook the room. Perhaps she’s been eaten by a shark, thought Mr. Popli. The notion filled him with warmth.

  “There have, of course, been tragedies. Two drownings. One disappearance. There was the land dispute between the vole clan and the hermit crabs, which had casualties on both sides. And the terrifying four-day battle with that marauding school of tuna. But we citizens are survivors. And, together, we will thrive.” More polite applause echoed through the assembly hall.

  Mr. Popli hated making speeches, but he knew this was the price of civilization. And it is a small price to pay compared to how things used to be.

  The mouse continued. “Furthermore, it is a happy day because we are the same number today as we were yesterday. An unfortunate incident put many lives at risk, including a dozen members of the Order of the Silver Moon.”

  A low grumble spread across the audience and there were several outbursts of “Hear! Hear!” Nearly half of the animals in attendance wore the symbol of a silver moon. Crescents were cut from vinyl, hammered from tin, or gnawed away from bottle caps.

  “We invite Archibald Shrew to explain his actions.”

  “It’s about time,” mumbled Edward the Dung.

  Wringing his tiny paws, Archie adjusted his glasses and stammered, “I … um … good morning.”

  “It’s afternoon already!” interrupted the dung beetle.

  “Ah, yes. Of course,” continued Archie, flustered. “Well … So … So I suppose I erred in the particular dynamics of my latest invention. But the concept is sound, I assure you! Can you imagine the possibilities of a locomotive vessel? We could explore other islands, collect more resources, search for our missing families!” Archie tried not to think of his own family, the smell of burning oil on the air, the sounds of battle.

  He looked pleadingly around the room. Archie’s list of friends had dwindled—due in part to his obsessive nature but also because of his reputation for getting into trouble. A few sets of eyes met his. Many more glanced down or away.

  “And at what risk?” questioned Edward the Dung, looking as smug as if he’d just rolled an exceptionally large ball of poo. “The bird nearly died rescuing you! The fish could’ve knocked over any of the boats and gobbled up everyone on board! You’re lucky it was just one fish. What if it had been a whole school? Or sharks? Or a storm?”

  “You could have let me fend for myself,” muttered Archie. “I might have made it back safely.”

  “You seem to miss the point,” said Mr. Popli. “When any life is in danger, we go out. And your life is no exception.”

  “I say we banish him!” said Edward the Dung. “Put him on a boat and send him rowing. Good riddance!” Half the animals applauded. Mr. Popli held up a paw for calm.

  “We hold no contempt for you, Mr. Shrew.” The mayor sighed. “But you act as though invention and exploration are more important than your friends and neighbors. And you seem to overlook that we are also inventors, no less skilled than yourself, and our greatest creation is community. This community.”

  Most of the other animals in the room regarded the shrew with mixed expressions of sorrow and pity. But Archie saw only the scowls of indignation and disgust. He wished he could melt, a blur of gray blending into the bright reds and yellows of the cereal dish. Everything Mr. Popli said was true. Archie understood the risks he took. He knew the trouble he’d caused. But he also knew that he couldn’t change who he was. There must be a place in this world for animals like me, he thought. But this isn’t it.

  Meanwhile, Mr. Popli considered how baffling Archibald Shrew had become. Here was a fellow mammal, also orphaned by the war, forced to claw out a life for himself from the same stinking pile of garbage. Mr. Popli had risen up, working diligently and earning favor with all of the other animals. Archie had not.

  From Mr. Popli’s perspective, the shrew seemed to repeatedly slap away every outstretched paw of assistance or friendship. I don’t know how to convince him of the life he could have here, thought the mayor. Of what this community could be, if he’d just stick to his work. But all he can think about is inventing—or worse, building ships and going exploring. If one of his crazy contraptions gives everyone hope of something beyond these walls, they’ll abandon everything we’ve worked so hard to build … and be fish food in a fortnight. Still, I can’t let Edward the Dung have his way. He’d send him rowing off in a teacup with nothing but a thimble of water and wedge of cheese.

  “It is my recommendation that Mr. Shrew’s workshop
be boarded up and that he be compelled to spend his evenings at the Watchtower,” said the mayor. “If he proves dedicated to his expanded duties after three months, we will explore an end of his probation and full restoration to our community.”

  Archie gasped.

  “Unless of course there are others who wish to speak.”

  The shrew looked dejectedly around the room and, lastly, behind him and up at Merri, who perched in the shadows behind the assembled citizens. The warbler cleared her throat with a high chitter and flitted down. “I would remind the assembly of Archie’s past valor and current usefulness.

  “Before you judge Archie too harshly, let’s not forget the story of how he spied an egg from the top of the Watchtower, floating amidst a school of jellyfish; how he dove heedlessly into certain danger to bring the egg ashore; and how, that very night, I hatched from that egg.”

  The audience mumbled assent. Merri went on.

  “Beyond that, who discovered how to collect and store the rainwater? Archie. Who developed the hydroponic gardens to supplement your nutrition? Archie. And whose idea was it to grease the outer wall with oil and snail slime so the snake could not climb over? It was Archie’s idea. Is he at times reckless? Yes. Do his ideas always work? No. But many of the innovations that have added safety and comfort to your lives are due to Archie Shrew.” Louder applause. Archie’s bushy eyebrows lifted and he looked hopefully up at the council.

  “Perhaps,” answered Edward the Dung. “But how many of us come back half-starved from his expeditions to gather materials? Too many! And who gets bullied into hard labor to build his ridiculous contraptions? We all do. Everything this shrew does costs more than it’s worth. And this latest invention nearly cost a number of lives. He’s a bad egg and we should toss him!”

  The audience erupted. Some in attendance might have tried to pitch Archie over the wall for good, right then and there, if not for Mr. Popli.

  “Citizens!” squeaked the mouse, banging a clawed fist against the lectern. “We can’t banish Archibald. Not yet.”