Scavengers

by Darren Simpson

  Landfill snorted a laugh and started brushing again, but stopped when Babagoo clambered from the mattress and took the brush from his hand.

  “Like this, Landfill.” He brushed in gentle circles along the boy’s molars. “No wonder your teeth are yellowing. Need to do it properly. You want a jabberhole full of stumps, like me?”

  Landfill replied through a mouthful of toothbrush. “Uh eally.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Uh eally.”

  Babagoo raised the pitch of his voice to mimic the boy. “‘Uh eally’?” He lifted an eyebrow and a grin creased his face. “Uh oo eyeing oo ay?”

  Landfill began to giggle, and couldn’t stop the drool that spooled from the edge of his mouth. Babagoo cackled at the sight, and they both gave in to chuckles and whimpers.

  After wiping the tears from his eyes, Babagoo returned to the mattress and held his overcoat up to the boy. “You can have it. Cold’s creeping in.”

  Landfill rubbed his own eyes and – being careful to avoid exposed springs – climbed onto the mattress. While he curled up with his back to Babagoo, he felt the scavenger drape his overcoat over him as a blanket. Landfill sniffed deeply at the coat’s plaid fabric; its sour scent made him yawn and snuggle his head into his threadbare pillow.

  Babagoo shifted on his side of the mattress. “No sign of trouble out there, Landfill, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t any. Rule six – no sign can be a sure sign. I’ll be foraging carefully at the Pit tomorrow, scavenging mirrors and bottles on both trips. Need more charms and glass for the wall. No point making it easy for the shadows to slip over. You know how they work with the Outsiders. But they don’t like the glinting. Puts them off.”

  “Off,” mumbled Landfill. His eyelids were drooping.

  “Need to be on our guard,” continued Babagoo. “You’ve been dropping yours lately – getting lacksadaisy. I notice your blade’s a bit on the blunt side. Got to keep it sharp. Rule number?”

  Landfill droned automatically: “Seventeen.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Woolf… Is she…okay?”

  “She’s got the swelling alright. Didn’t move her to the cabinet, though. The other wooflers got all growly when I tried, and I didn’t feel up to dealing with them. Not after the shadow trouble at the Pit today. I’ll move her tomorrow during chores.”

  A groggy purr. “Butterbyes…”

  “Eh?”

  “Butterbyes. At the Hard Guts. So many. All the colours…”

  “You’ve got the slumber-mumbles, lad. Used to ramble like that when you were little.” The scavenger chortled quietly. “You used to ruffle my beard back then, too, every time I ruffled your hair. Tickled like madness with those little fingers of yours. But I miss it sometimes.”

  Landfill smiled faintly. “I remember.”

  “Hm. You know…” The scavenger trailed off before clearing his throat. “You know I do all this because I love you, don’t you? It might seem harsh, but sometimes that’s what love’s like. You mean everything to me, Landfill. Everything. You’re my wallflower – the one good thing left in this world.

  “It’s barbarism out there, my lad. Miles and miles of masks, fibbery and horror, as far as the eye can see. Can you imagine it, boyling?”

  A vague shake of the head.

  “But you can fear it?”

  A firmer motion – a nod.

  “That’s good. Because fear is what you need. Rule five – respect your fear. Fear is our friend. Fear you can trust. You need to embrace that fear and temper that troublesome curiosity of yours. You don’t seem to fully appreciate what we’ve got here, what we’ve made – how precious Hinterland is. You’re becoming too wilful lately, and it worries me. Fear, Landfill. Only fear will preserve you. You hear me?”

  The words seemed to stretch and echo in Landfill’s ears, and he gave in to sleep.

  Landfill opened his eyes when the mattress began to tremble. The scavenger was grinding his teeth and gibbering while still deep in sleep. The boy sat up to hush and stroke his arm until he settled back down.

  He was mopping the sweat from Babagoo’s face and neck when he spotted something flashing in the gloom: a silver key had slipped out from beneath Babagoo’s jumper, and was hanging from its string against his shoulder. He stooped over Babagoo for a better look, then reached into the pocket of his shorts to pull out the key he kept hidden there. Positioning himself carefully, he angled his arm and held his own key close to Babagoo’s. It was too dark to compare them by sight alone so – holding his breath – he moved his free hand towards Babagoo’s key, as slowly, as steadily, as he could.

  His hand touched the key’s tiny, jagged prongs, and in an instant was gripped in Babagoo’s fist. Landfill looked at Babagoo’s face. One eye was wide open, with its quaking pupil aimed right at him. But it shone with the glaze of sleep, so Landfill hushed Babagoo once more until his hand was released, then let the key drop.

  The glassy eye closed and Landfill released a shaky breath. After restoring his own key carefully to his pocket, he climbed back beneath the overcoat, closed his eyes and joined the scavenger in sleep.

  Landfill stirred in drab blue light. He wiped a drool-damp cheek against his pillow, and gradually noticed a noise that was even louder than the goats’ steady snoring.

  He poked his head out from Babagoo’s overcoat, and gazed dozily at the torrent of rain that was hammering the windows. The sleep in his eyes gave way to a keen sparkle.

  Landfill eased himself up and left the mattress. He crept past the goats, and saluted some kittens with a puff and scratch of the cheek. “Gander that, mowlings,” he whispered, nodding towards the window. “Coming down heavy. The Gully’ll be full.”

  He grinned and slipped into the tiled hallway. After urinating into the stinkbucket in the corner, he ran through the double door and hurled himself into the rain. He cackled as warm water pounded his skin and, with the gutter bubbling behind him, loped on all fours to the Gully.

  Landfill stopped at the Gully’s edge to marvel at the sloshing water. When he spotted two turtles bobbing there he waved an arm. “Hey! Where’ve you been, tuttles? Waiting for rain?”

  He moved down the bank until rainwater rose up to his chest, then dived in with a whoop and glided through the water along the Gully’s centre. Splashing and giggling, he ducked beneath floating petals and scum. Frogs leaped from his hands and swam to drifting chunks of debris.

  “Wet weather, eh?” he laughed. “Hunkadory for gribbits!”

  “For boylings too!” called another voice.

  Landfill turned to see Babagoo at the Gully’s rim, squatting beneath the shelter of some raised pipes. His hat and overcoat were sopping with rain, but he smiled a grim smile.

  Landfill puffed and scratched a cheek, and Babagoo did the same. The boy paddled towards the bank and soon felt concrete beneath his toes. “Sorry. Sneaked out. The rain woke me, and I knew the Gully’d be full.”

  Babagoo shrugged. He had to raise his voice over the downpour. “Not often it gets this high.”

  “Jump in. The water’s warm.” Landfill’s wonky teeth were on show while he beamed.

  “Certainly not. Look how light it is. We’ve missed the dawn and I’ve not done the Pit’s morning trip. Behind schedule again!”

  “But it’s so good to swim.” Landfill pointed at the turtles. “And Hesse and Melville are here.”

  The scavenger crossed his arms. “There’ll be time for tuttles this afternoon. All this –” he nodded towards the scummy water – “won’t be going anywhere, and neither will the tuttles. Hesse and Melville are hardly known for pace, are they?” He chuckled drily to himself.

  The boy pouted. “Come in,” he whined. “Come for a wash. You smell worse than the foxlers.”

  The scavenger huffed irritably. “More important things to do. Got to respect the routine. Rule number?”

  Landfill gargled through a mouthful of water. “Fourteen.”

  “That
’s right. Routine, routine, routine.” Babagoo jabbed his own forehead. “Got to keep the grey stuff occupied. And the devil makes work, eh?” His expression twisted into a scowl. “We saw that yesterday, didn’t we, boy?”

  Landfill paddled backwards, suddenly grave.

  Babagoo nodded. “I’ll do you a favour and empty the stinkbucket. Then I’ll be straight to the Pit for gulls and mirrors. As for you, stop dawdledallying and check the wall so you’re done before I’m back with breakfast. Show some respect, boy.”

  With that, Babagoo raised his chin, turned haughtily on his boots and slipped on some moss. His arms windmilled while he teetered at the edge of the bank, and he submitted to gravity with a curt shriek. A few bumps on the slope were followed by a splash, and the Gully was filled as much by youthful laughter as by water.

  Babagoo paddled in the scum and glared through a soggy fringe. Bubbles seethed around his lips. “Think that’s funny, do you?”

  Landfill’s words were gasped between guffaws. “When you fell… Sounded like… You sounded…like the mowlers when you stand on their tails!” He continued to howl, and Babagoo’s grimace began to weaken. Landfill could see laughter quavering in the scavenger’s eyes.

  Babagoo shook a theatrical fist. “Why, you little goblin! I’m coming over there to push your head in the water and be done with you! Then we’ll see who’s a tittering troll.”

  “Have to catch me first!” Landfill ducked beneath the water and resurfaced with puffed-up cheeks. With a kick of the legs he raised himself and squirted a silvery arc of water, which splashed just short of Babagoo’s face.

  “You little stenchpellet!” bellowed Babagoo, his voice trembling with repressed mirth. “That’s it! You’re done for now, boy!” He lunged forward, and they were soon splashing each other as sunbeams pierced the rain.

  After a late breakfast, Babagoo began work on turning a bounty of cracked mirrors into charms for the wall.

  Landfill, somewhat relieved that the rain had stopped, began his rounds with plastic bags of meat. The crows gorged on the gull guts left over by the cats, but the badgers in the Thin Woods weren’t interested – they’d had their fill of insects and grubs, and had been good enough to stay away from the vegetable patch. Landfill tossed meat up to kestrels and sparrowhawks perched on vents and chimneys, and left food for the foxes around the cabins behind the Rippletop.

  Upon reaching Muttborough, Landfill threw meat towards the dogs that came running at the sound of his rustling bags. While they tore at gull, Landfill crouched by the trough and lapped up fresh water. Once he’d quenched his thirst he looked at Woolf’s cart. With the dogs quietly feeding, he thought he could hear panting from within.

  “Woolf? Is that you?”

  He listened out for a moment, and it took all of his self-control to get up and move backwards in the opposite direction. But then he heard shrill, tiny whines. The noises confused him, and when he recognized sounds of pain he stopped moving.

  He checked his surroundings. After reassuring himself that the scavenger wasn’t nearby, Landfill lowered himself to all fours and crept towards Woolf’s cart. He spoke in a whisper. “Hasn’t Babagoo been to move you yet?”

  Covering his mouth and nostrils, Landfill drew nearer. He kept as much distance as he could while peering inside. When he saw what was in the cart, he couldn’t restrain a sudden intake of breath.

  The husky wasn’t alone. She lay panting on her side, with four wet little creatures – not unlike large mice – biting at her red, swollen teats. Landfill’s first instinct was to reach out and pull them from danger, but when his free hand got close, a growl from Woolf made him falter. After he’d withdrawn his hand, she licked and nuzzled the animals attached to her belly. Landfill stared at them, and it gradually dawned on him that they were tiny dogs, with squashed noses and grey and white fur, just like Woolf’s.

  “Wooflings… But where’d you…? How did you…?”

  Landfill stopped whispering when he noticed Woolf’s panting had become heavier. Spotting movement towards her rear, he shuffled along the cart’s horizontal side and – with one hand still covering his mouth and nose – felt something sticky on his fingers. The blanket was soaked with some sort of discharge, and he could make out four small, rubbery pouches glistening in gloom, each of which sat in its own pool of fluid.

  He was prodding one of them when something started to emerge from above Woolf’s hind legs. At first, Landfill thought she was pushing out a stool, but the object was too glossy, too firm and wide.

  The object continued to gradually protrude. After it landed on the blanket, Woolf began licking and nibbling its viscous exterior. She whined and her licking became agitated. Landfill moved to get a better view of the sac and, as some light came in from behind, he saw something moving inside – something that Woolf was trying to get out.

  Holding his breath, he reached out with both hands, gripped the slippery sheath between thumbs and knuckles, and pulled it carefully open. Warm liquid oozed over his hands, and the sac slipped away to reveal another dog. Woolf moved to lick its face and nose, before washing Landfill’s fingers with her tongue.

  The pup tried to move along the blanket but seemed to be struggling. It was smaller than the others, and its back legs didn’t look right; they were too thin, and looked oddly twisted. Landfill watched the other pups attached to Woolf’s teats and knew what to do.

  The little dog, with its tiny eyes unable to open, squeaked when Landfill picked it up and guided it to a teat, which it latched on to immediately. Woolf licked it while it fed, then gnawed the gore that soaked the blanket.

  Landfill looked on with wide, unblinking eyes. He didn’t even realize he’d started breathing again.

  He started at the sound of a bark outside the cart, and some distant, phlegmy coughs from the direction of the Thin Woods made him slam his head against the cart’s top. He clutched his hair in both hands. “It’s Babagoo!” he hissed. “I shouldn’t be in here!”

  In an instant, Landfill had backed out of the cart, grabbed his plastic bags and sprinted away. He hid well out of sight, behind the Pale Loomer’s far side.

  A chorus of growls rose from Muttbrough.

  That night, once he’d finished the animals’ evening feed, Landfill returned to the Den to find Babagoo in conversation with the black goat. The Den had been tidied and Babagoo’s traps and bags of litter were in the hallway, ready for the morning trip to the Pit.

  The metal door thumped behind Landfill, causing the scavenger and goat to look up. Babagoo puffed and scratched his cheek. Landfill did the same.

  “Dinner done?” asked Babagoo.

  “Done.”

  “Hunkadory. The day’s chores are behind us. So how about a little play?” Babagoo took a tattered wooden box from one of the consoles behind the goats. It clacked with dominoes when he shook it, and Landfill nodded curtly.

  They sat by the stove to play. While Babagoo looked at his dominoes, Landfill watched the boxes stacked not far from the bathtub. Feeble sounds of mewling came from within. “The mowlings sound unhappy.”

  Babagoo put a domino down. “That’s because I saw to some of them earlier. They don’t like getting the nick between their legs, but it’s for their own good. Better to see to those poorly parts.”

  Landfill nodded and added a domino to the line.

  Babagoo took his turn, and a cheery note entered his voice. “Got good news for you, lad. Went to Muttbrough today to move Woolf, but it turns out I didn’t have to. She’s hunkadory now. Swelling’s practically gone! Did it all by herself! Never seen a speedier recovery.”

  Landfill raised an eyebrow. His lips became pale with tightness.

  “Thought you’d be chirpier about it after all your fretting,” said Babagoo. “And guess what I found in Spit Pit this afternoon… A tiny pack of wooflings! Impish wads of fluff, every one of them. I’ve given them to Woolf to look after. You can have a gander tomorrow.”

  Landfill stewed in silen
ce.

  “Mowler got your tongue, eh?” Babagoo sniffed. “Alright, then. If you’d prefer something more glum to jabber about, I spotted some creepers after visiting Muttbrough, eating into the Pale Loomer’s lower wall. Could cause mischief over time.”

  He jerked his head towards the window, in the direction of the four chimneys across the Gully and Thin Woods. “You remember the damage they did to the Black Fingers, don’t you? I’ll tear them out tomorrow. That vegetation can eat through anything. Last thing we want is the Loomer going down in a few years’ time. Best to nip these things in the bud, eh? Rule fifteen?”

  Landfill only gazed at his dominoes.

  Babagoo reached over and tapped his shoulder. “What’s rule fifteen, my lad?”

  “Look after Hinterland,” muttered Landfill, “as it looks after us.”

  “That’s the one.”

  After smacking his lips, the scavenger spoke again. “What’s wrong? You’re staring at those dominoes like they’re riddles. Been in a daze since lunchtime.” He touched the boy again. “Landfill?”

  “Tell me where I came from.”

  “Eh?”

  “Where I came from. Can you tell me?”

  “You know where you came from, my boy. Told you many times.”

  “I know.” Landfill looked up and spied a sliver of string against the side of Babagoo’s neck. His eyes traced its course beneath the scavenger’s jumper, to where Babagoo’s key dangled out of sight. He realized his gaze was lingering, and quickly shifted it to Babagoo’s face. “But it’s been a while. Can you tell me again? Please?”

  Babagoo pouted. He scratched his temples and scrutinized Landfill’s face. “Okay,” he finally said. “Let me see… Well, you started as a seed – a seed spat into the Spit Pit by the Outsiders. They can’t have known what a precious thing they were wasting. But then again, they never do. That’s why they’ll always be infected by the hunger – why it eats them up and rots their insides. The hunger makes waste and wasting makes the hunger. No surprise it’s such—”