Landfill nodded and eased the frog to the ground. Then they dashed together through the water, up the Gully’s far side and under cover of the Woods.
Three days later, Landfill finished the animals’ morning feed and returned to the Nook with Orwell in his arms. When he pushed through the hallway’s metal door, he found Babagoo grinning in the Den.
The scavenger was sat on the three-legged stool by his workbench, with all his brown teeth – and all the blackness between – on show. He nodded towards the young husky.
“Orwell joining us for lunch?”
“Had his fill. The wooflers went to the Gully after their meat but Orwell can’t swim. Felt sorry for him, all alone.” Eyeing Babagoo closely, Landfill buried his nose in the fluff between Orwell’s ears. “What’s that look for?”
The scavenger’s lips rippled around a rotten grin. His eyebrows danced while he crossed his arms and leaned back on the stool. “Been busy.”
“You’re always busy.”
“The devil makes work. But I’ve been working on something special. Something for you.”
Landfill looked towards Kafka, but the goat was absorbed in chewing some rope and didn’t return his gaze.
The boy licked his lips. “What is it?”
Babagoo just grinned.
“What is it? Tell me, Babagoo.” Landfill was starting to hop on the spot, ever so slightly. Orwell panted happily, with his head bobbing up and down.
Babagoo cackled. “The joy of a boy.”
“What’s that grin for? Never seen a sillier smirk.”
Babagoo’s smile widened and he tapped his teeth with a black fingernail. “There’s always a grin beneath the skin, my lad.”
“Tell me! Please-please-pleeeease…”
Babagoo hooted and leaned back again. “Okay, my boy. Okay. Just step back and give me some room. And take some deep breaths. If you’re not careful you’ll explode and line our Den with guts.”
Landfill backed away and watched with bright, blue eyes as Babagoo moved the stool aside, crawled beneath the workbench and came out again with a large bin bag in his arms. He got up and grunted. “Close your eyes.”
“But—”
“Close those peepers. Or you’ll get nothing.”
Landfill scrunched his eyes shut. He strained his ears at sounds of rustling plastic and clunking cans.
Babagoo’s voice was a raspy whisper. “Right. You can open them.”
Landfill opened his eyes and saw what Babagoo was holding. It was a large rectangular patchwork of soiled cloth and plastic, covered on one side by a grimy tapestry of cans, packaging, bones and filth.
Landfill had to blink several times. “Is that…?”
“Yes. Your very own dross cape. You’re old enough now, Landfill. I’d say it’s time.” Babagoo chuckled. “Come on. Let’s see how it fits.”
Landfill seemed in a daze when Babagoo took Orwell from his arms and eased the pup onto the workbench. The scavenger moved behind the boy, draped the cape over his shoulders and tied the string around his neck. After lifting its hood, he walked back around Landfill and looked him up and down. “Suits you.”
Landfill stared at Babagoo with wide eyes, and Babagoo studied his face. He shook his head. “Just look at you. You’re becoming a man now, Landfill. Once upon a time you were less than a boyling – a bungling little amnal, waddling around the rubble and wrestling with wooflings. But now you’re nearly a man.”
Landfill’s brow creased. He thought he could see water at the rims of Babagoo’s eyes. “Are you—” His words were cut short when Babagoo lurched forward and took him in his arms.
“You’ve come so far,” croaked the scavenger. “Such a miracle. Such a stubborn, wilful, obstinate little miracle! It’s my blessing that they threw you away, Landfill. Their loss and my dearest gain.”
Landfill winced at the jab of Babagoo’s chin into his shoulder. He wriggled in his grip and dropped the hood of his cape. “Does this mean…I can go with you to the Spit Pit?”
Babagoo was silent. After wiping his face on Landfill’s shoulder, he stepped back. His expression became stern. “It does. Time you learned to forage and trap. And besides, going to the Pit might do you some good. You’re obviously getting restless. Any idiot can see that. You’re getting itchy feet. So let’s go Outside. Maybe it’ll help you appreciate how precious this place –” he circled the air with his finger – “is. I’m not sure Hinterland’s been getting the respect it deserves of late. I seem to recall a young brute kicking some cabins, just to see if he could break them.”
Landfill nodded eagerly. “Can we go today? Can we go now?”
The scavenger shook his head and his finger rose again. “Don’t be overkeen, my lad. This is a serious thing, and it can’t be rushed. There’s mischief and danger out there. More than you’ll ever appreciate. We’ll go tomorrow. Today we need to go over some new rules. The Spit Pit has a set of its own, and breaking any of them could see you snatched up and wrung out by Outsiders. You hear me, boy?”
Landfill nodded.
“Say it.”
“I hear you.”
“Good. We’ll go over the rules at lull-time, then again at dinner, and once more after evening chores. You got that?”
“Yes.”
“Also good.” He slapped his hands together. “Right! My belly’s squirming. I believe it’s time for lunch. Get the vejbles and what’s left of the meat together. I need to visit the stinkbucket.”
Landfill headed for the consoles after Babagoo left the room, but paused when he passed Kafka. He grinned at the gnarly old goat and flapped his cape. “Hunkadory, eh?” The boy’s eyes sparkled, and he glanced at the metal door before winking at the goats. “Hey, who’s this?” He threw the cape’s hood over his head, stooped a little and hobbled about, all the while gibbering under his breath and fobbing the odd gob of spit to the floor. “Afternoon, bleaters,” he grumbled. “How’re my venerable lovelies today, eh?”
The goats stared blankly on. Landfill jiggled his eyebrows at them, but jumped and spun when the door slammed behind him.
Babagoo looked him up and down. His brow furrowed, but lost its creases as a smirk crept onto his face. “Being Babagoo, are you? Well, two can play, young stinkpellet. If you’re me, I’ll have to be you. Which means this little scamp here is mine-all-mine.”
He dropped to all fours and – with his rump raised and wriggling – shuffled across the floor before hopping up to pluck Orwell from the workbench. He cradled the pup against his shoulder, and grinned at Landfill when the husky licked his hands.
Landfill scoffed. “Best leave being me to me.”
“Good, because you’re doing a dismal job of being me. Nowhere near dashing enough.”
“Dashing? You’re slower than the tuttles!”
Babagoo guffawed. “Different sort of dashing, young goblin!” He ruffled the top of Orwell’s head, and beamed when the pup reached up to paw his beard. “And gander this! The woofling does a better impression of you than you do. Look! When I ruffle his hair he strokes my beard. Just like a little Landfill I used to know.” He chuckled at Orwell’s yapping and panting, and continued to ruffle the fur between the husky’s pert, furry ears.
Landfill rolled his eyes.
The scavenger cackled. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, my lad.”
“Going to the stinkbucket. When I get back, I think we should all be ourselves again.”
“Can’t get as good as you give, eh?”
Landfill passed the chortling scavenger and entered the hallway. After closing the door behind him, he sniggered quietly and touched the shoulders of his dross cape, as if to make sure it was real. Then he inhaled deeply, crouched on cracked tiles, took the lighter from his pocket and sparked its flame. When he held it to the bucket, his smile became a grimace.
There it was again: the red blossom in the yellow pool.
The sky was honey-yellow with dawn, and giving off a warmth that had Landfill itching beneath his cape. He was
standing with Babagoo by the junk stacked against the perimeter wall. A bag of stinkbucket slops hung from the rope tied at his waist, along with some bin bags yet to be filled.
With one squinting eye, Babagoo looked Landfill up and down.
“This is usually wall inspection time. You can start your check later while you give the amnals their morning feed. Finishing the job will cut into your lull-time. We’ll need to think about the routine if you’re coming with me regularly.”
Landfill nodded. His eyes flitted towards the metal cabinet sat upon rolls of rotting carpet.
Babagoo’s mouth twitched. “Don’t be impatient, boy. Impatience is folly out there.” He checked the rope and bags hanging from his own waist, then raised an eyebrow at the boy. “Okay. Let’s see what the Pit has to offer.”
Landfill followed Babagoo up some carpet rolls, and watched him stoop at the slanting cabinet to pull its door open.
“Into the Burrow we go.” Without looking back, he raised a hand and beckoned with a grotty finger.
Landfill reached the cabinet and watched Babagoo descend into darkness. He turned suddenly and took in Hinterland, as if for the last time. Some cats and dogs lounged at the Gully’s edge. Crows cawed from the Black Fingers’ tips. Blue poppies nodded in a warm, perfumed breeze.
“You coming or not?”
Landfill jolted, and slipped through the cabinet’s doorway.
He’d started to descend some brick steps when another gruff bark stopped him: “And close the door behind you!”
After doing so, Landfill followed the steps until he felt a cool, clay-like floor beneath his soles.
“Babagoo?” He squinted into the gloom, unable to make out more than ghostly outlines. He heard a cough up ahead, which was followed by the rasp of a lighter’s wheel.
The darkness was lost to shivering amber light, which revealed a dank, muddy hovel with a ceiling propped by planks and old pipes. Landfill gaped at the pale, hairy roots hanging just above his head. When Babagoo turned to face him the light raced along the walls, illuminating cardboard boxes stacked against the wall up ahead, and what appeared to be a pile of crusty, gore-stained blankets to Landfill’s left.
Landfill stared at the blankets. “Babagoo? The swelling… Is that where the amnals—”
“No time now, Landfill. Can’t afford to dawdledally.” Babagoo moved towards a short ladder propped directly opposite the stairs they’d descended.
As the scavenger mounted the ladder, his flame bathed the boxes to his left in fiery light. Landfill spotted something familiar next to them: something long, metallic and rectangular – not unlike the lockers in the Rippletop, but alone and on its back in the dirt.
He frowned at the locker and stroked the contours of the key in his pocket, but was distracted by a grunt from Babagoo. “Come along, boy.” The scavenger was scuffling beneath a round, black cavity in the wall. The flickering light dimmed when he clambered into its mouth.
Landfill climbed the wooden rungs, felt around the cavity’s edge and peered inside. It was the opening of a narrow tunnel that sloped downwards from the Burrow. He could see Babagoo on his hands and knees ahead, his flame illuminating the ribs of twisted metal that buttressed the tunnel’s sides.
“You in yet, lad?”
Landfill clambered into the tunnel. “Yes.”
“Good. I’m going to turn the lighter off. Got to save fuel. It’ll be dark, Landfill. Darker than having no eyes. But there’s only one way to go, so you can’t get lost. Just keep heading down. Keep your breaths slow and steady, you hear?”
“I hear.”
The darkness was as instant as it was complete. Everything disappeared, and there was only the smell of damp earth and slops, the rustle of bags, a sucking moistness against palms and knees.
Landfill had no idea how long he’d been crawling before Babagoo spoke.
“All okay back there?”
“Yes.”
“Fit for some revision, then. Let’s make sure those Pit rules haven’t slipped that little skull of yours. Rule twenty-three. What is it?”
“Never remove your dross cape.”
“That’s right. Wear it as if it’s your skin. Twenty-four?”
“Stay low.”
“Correct. A variant of rule twelve. Don’t go any higher than you have to. The higher you go, the more chance you have of being spotted by Outsiders. Which reminds me…rule twenty-eight. Tell me.”
Landfill scrunched his eyes and concentrated. “If…if seen by an Outsider, move away from Hinterland and hide until it’s safe to return.”
“Why?”
“To lead them away from Hinterland.”
“That’s right. Heading for Hinterland would draw gazes in its direction. Want our blind spot to remain a blind spot, don’t we, boy? And what do you do if you’re captured by an Outsider? Which rule number?”
“Twenty-nine. If you’re captured by an Outsider, cut its throat, cover it in rubbish and return to Hinterland as quickly and carefully as you can.”
“Mm-hm. And you think you can do it?”
“Which bit?”
“Slit an Outsider’s throat.”
“Of course.”
“It may not be as easy as you think. Remember, they’re monsters and they’re rotting inside, but they have masks. They don’t look very different to you and me. Don’t let that slow you down. A moment’s hesitation could snatch away your blade and have you torn to shreds – if you’re lucky. If you’re unlucky, they’ll have their way before putting their mouths to your eyes and sucking you up through your sockets.”
Landfill swallowed drily in the darkness.
“But it’s okay,” muttered the scavenger. “Shouldn’t come to that. Stick to the other rules and you’ll be safe. They’re there to stop you needing rule twenty-nine. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The tunnel seemed to level off. Landfill felt the weight shift from his shoulders and wrists, and no longer had to pull back against the slope. After some time, he spoke again. “Babagoo?”
“Mm.”
“Are there always Outsiders at the Pit?”
“Usually. More in the daytime, though. Most go away at night.”
“Oh.” Landfill sniffed. “Why not forage at night, when there’s less around?”
“Too dark at night for foraging, my boy. We’d need to use light, and that’d stick out like the biggest, sorest thumb you’ve ever seen. Might as well douse ourselves in fuel, set ourselves alight and wave our arms at them.” He snickered quietly.
“Oh.”
“Much easier to blend in with the rubbish in the day. Darkness can be as much foe as friend. The shadows are mischievous in the Pit, lad. And they hide all the better at night. Ruthless, relentless, sticky things.”
The scavenger’s shuffling noises stopped. Landfill stopped too. “What is it?” he whispered.
“Tunnel’s end.”
A thin, right-angled white line appeared just ahead, and broadened into a rectangular glare. Faint shrieking noises entered the tunnel, and Landfill shuffled backwards, remembering the sounds he’d heard when Joyce abandoned him outside the wall.
Shielding his eyes, he saw the scavenger’s silhouette crawling into the light.
“Move along, Landfill. Don’t have all day.”
Landfill could just make out Babagoo sitting on the ground by the tunnel’s exit. Still squinting, he dragged himself out and crouched with his palms on the scavenger’s shoulders. His head darted to and fro while his eyes adjusted to the light. He gradually took in the crooked band of sky above his head, bordered by leaves and the occasional tips of mattresses, wardrobes and slabs of plasterboard. It soon became clear that the tunnel led to a small, uneven glade of trees and precariously stacked flotsam.
Babagoo patted the boy’s hand and pulled gently away. Landfill heard something creak behind him, and spun around to catch the scavenger slamming an off-white, aluminium door mottled by mou
ld. The door seemed to protrude from a large mound of rubbish, with rusting bicycles, car tyres, planks and even a blackened sofa at its top.
Landfill nodded towards the jutting doorway. “The tunnel’s mouth… Some sort of locker?”
Babagoo shook his head. “Used to be a fridge. I hollowed it out like I did the cabinet. To hide the tunnel.”
“What’s a fridge?”
“Winter in a box.”
“Really?”
Babagoo smirked. “Really. And there’s a rule for that too – always close the fridge door behind you. Same goes for the cabinet at the other end. That’s rule thirty. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Then let’s keep moving.”
As Landfill followed the scavenger, he peeped between tree trunks at the mattresses, fridges and furniture piled on rocks and thickets.
“By the way,” began Babagoo. “If you ever hear Hunger’s Eye coming while you’re here, run to the fridge or to that tunnel.” He gestured towards some bushes to which the glade led, and Landfill spotted an opening at their base.
Landfill nodded. “What’s that noise?”
“What noise?”
“Sounds like…screams. Screams and cries. Like injured amnals.”
Babagoo lifted an earflap to listen. “That’ll be the gulls. You won’t notice their racket with time. Handy at the Pit, though. Covers our noises.”
When they reached the bushes, Babagoo got to his knees and squeezed through the gap. Landfill dropped down, followed him through the opening and began to move along a dark, thorny crawlway.
The rustling of twigs stopped just ahead. Babagoo’s voice became a hoarse whisper: “We’re here.”
Landfill leaned to look past Babagoo’s rear. The crawlway’s exit was blocked by some chain-link fencing. Beyond the fencing he saw only rubbish, piled in dunes so huge they blotted the sky and knotted his stomach.
The scavenger was feeling along the fence’s base. He found what he was looking for and rolled up the wire, so that not even chain-link separated Landfill from the vastness ahead.
Babagoo threw up his dross cape’s hood. “Look alive, my lad, and cover your head. We’re going into the Pit.”
Scavengers Page 8
