Scavengers

by Darren Simpson

  When the meat was ready, Landfill tried to feed a lump of breast to Orwell, who was lying limply in his arms and had barely moved since being found. A tired grin creased the boy’s face when Orwell sniffed and shifted himself to dig in. Satisfied, Landfill began to gobble his own portion of the scalding meat.

  Babagoo gobbled too, before muttering: “Not so fussy about gull now, are you, boy?”

  Landfill didn’t respond. He sucked at a bone, and when not a fleck of flesh remained he frowned at the scavenger. “You won’t look at me.”

  Babagoo fingered a dribble of fat on his lower lip and pushed it into his mouth. He shrugged and studied his food.

  Landfill shuffled a little closer. “Please, Babagoo. You’ve barely gandered me since we started hiding.”

  Babagoo took a deep breath and slowly raised his eyes to the boy. “There. I’m looking. Happy now?” His mouth curled into a sneer. “I’m looking at the ungrateful little skulk who singlehandedly destroyed everything I built to protect him.”

  Landfill had to turn his head away.

  “Oh,” spat the scavenger. “So now who’s not looking at who?”

  Through the tears that pricked his eyes, Landfill gazed at Longwhite’s head, which seemed to float in the gloom like a ragged ghost. It had been torn off and nailed to the mud above the blankets. Its eyes were as dry and dull as brown beads.

  Babagoo fingered the bite on his palm before nodding towards the floating head. “There it is, boy. A pale reminder of everything you did wrong. A white warning about listening to anyone but me. Rule three – Babagoo’s always right. Rule four – believe only Babagoo! And believe me when I tell you that vile ferret never said a word to you. None of the amnals do!” He jabbed a finger into his temple. “It’s all you, so don’t even try to shift the blame!”

  He began to shake his head. “No no – the ferret didn’t tell you to dig a hole. The ferret didn’t tell you to talk to an Outsider. And the ferret certainly didn’t tell you to keep the Outsider secret from me! It was all you, Landfill! All that, up there, all that rot and ruin–” he jerked a hand towards the stairs – “was YOU.”

  Babagoo’s hands began to clench. “You were well and truly played, boy. That venomous Outsider had you eating from its hand! It was this close to luring you out of Hinterland! From having you spill your fickle beans on me!” Emerald light crinkled along his beard. “You’ve seen it now, in the Pit, in that cabin – in the carnage up those stairs. The Outsiders are as cunning as they are hateful. They have method to their madness and madness to their method.”

  Landfill bowed his head and said nothing.

  They sat in silence until the light faded from the top of the steps. Babagoo moved quickly to throw the cloth over the lamp, draping the Burrow in the dullest green glow. “We should slumber. Need our strength for the Pit tomorrow.”

  After the four of them had settled on the blankets, Babagoo crossed his arms and kept his coat for himself. Landfill lay on his side, with his forehead against Babagoo’s back and Orwell snuggled against his belly.

  The Burrow was soon filled with Orwell’s sleepy whimpering and the snores of the scavenger and goat. As exhausted as he was, Landfill couldn’t sleep. He felt haunted by the pale head that hovered in the darkness above him. When he managed to peel his eyes from that floating phantom, he spotted something twinkling with the rise and fall of Babagoo’s chest. It was the scavenger’s key. Its rope was tangled beneath Babagoo’s beard, and the key was hanging just above the blankets.

  Landfill stretched out a shaking hand and reached slowly for the key. Upon contact, Babagoo’s fist grabbed hold of his fingers. Landfill’s gaze flitted to the scavenger’s face, and he saw a wide, green, glassy eye. But Babagoo was still snoring, so Landfill hushed and stroked his arm. The eye closed and the hand dropped away.

  Landfill rolled away to squint at the locker across the Burrow. He reached into his pocket and felt his own key there, but shook his head. After that he rolled back again, pulled Orwell close and cried himself to sleep.

  Daylight was fading by the time they hit the Pit the next day. The sky had been swallowed by seething clouds, which raced across the sky with disorientating haste. Decked in their dross capes, scavenger and boy trekked through the filth.

  Landfill turned his head to Babagoo. “You could have stayed in the Burrow.”

  “I’ve already told you – I’m fine.”

  “You’ve been stuck on the blanket all day. Not looking too hunkadory. I could have come for gulls alone.”

  The scavenger cackled bitterly. “What? So you can find more of your precious Outsiders and finish the job?”

  Landfill’s wrist went to his mouth.

  Babagoo snorted. “If you think I’m going to let you out of my sight, boy, you’ve got another thing coming.”

  They’d almost reached the traps when Landfill spotted something through a miasma of flies. “Look at that.”

  Babagoo didn’t look. He kept lumbering through the grime with his head bent low, pausing only to hiss and suck the wound on his palm. “Unless it’s a new Hinterland, I’m not interested. Let’s get to those traps.”

  Rubbish tumbled as Landfill freed the object from a bin bag bursting with dull plastic cubes. “But look. It’s got a face. It’s a bit like us. A little copy of us.”

  Babagoo revolved on the spot. His features tautened before softening sadly.

  “Is it a little Outsider?” asked the boy. “A dead one?”

  Babagoo sagged and sighed. “It’s called a doll. And it’s not dead. It was never alive.”

  “A doll?” One of the doll’s eye sockets was dark and empty. When Landfill turned the grubby toy in his hands, its remaining eye winked mechanically at Babagoo, who began to back away.

  “Put it down, Landfill.”

  “Hm?”

  The scavenger’s voice coarsened. “Put. It. Down. Before I use it to crack your skull.”

  Nodding meekly, Landfill dropped the doll. He looked up at Babagoo, whose eyeballs started to jut as if trying to escape his face. The scavenger stood frozen, as silent and still as a dumped bag of rags.

  Landfill shuddered at the sight. “What’s wrong?”

  “Your hands.”

  The boy looked down, saw black smears on his fingers and palms. “Just dirt. From the doll.”

  “No.” Babagoo shook his head. The flaps of his hat flailed in a sudden gale. “No no no. You’ve been marked.”

  “Marked?”

  “The shadows. They’ve marked you.” The scavenger had been moving away, but now took a cautious step back towards the boy. Landfill could barely hear his whisper over the crying gulls. “It’s you they want. Not me. I see it now. They’ve…they’ve always wanted you.”

  “But…” Landfill’s breaths quickened. His eyes searched the dunes. He felt acutely aware of the darkness lurking in every chink and crevice, pooling beneath every ridge and rim.

  Babagoo gripped his hand. “We have to get back to the Burrow! Not safe here. They’re coming for you!”

  They pushed against the wind as they went. Dusk was falling when they reached the glade. Babagoo squinted ahead before dropping abruptly to his knees. Landfill grabbed his elbows and tried in vain to lift him to his feet. “Nearly there, Babagoo. Keep moving.”

  Babagoo’s mouth opened and closed, releasing nothing more than stuttered wheezes. With his eyes agape, he stretched out his arm. “Moving?” he gasped. “Moving…where?”

  Landfill followed Babagoo’s trembling finger. Where there once was a fridge sat a huge, dark drift of rubbish. Landfill could just make out the outlines of car tyres, bicycle parts, the arm of a sofa.

  He looked up at Babagoo. “The wind! Must have blown the rubbish down from the fridge.”

  The scavenger shook his head. “Not wind. Shadow work.”

  Landfill had already sprinted to the mound. He tossed smaller debris aside and heaved hopelessly at scrap. “The door’s still under there! Just need to get thi
s stuff off! Dig our way in!”

  “No, boy. It’s too dark for untangling all that. Even the sky’s sided with the shadows.”

  “No, Babagoo, no.”

  “Can’t you see, lad? One wrong tug and that’ll come down on you like death. We’re stranded.”

  Landfill took a step back, and lapped the back of his wrist while studying the heap. His lips puckered with the rise of his gaze along the mound’s arc. When he reached the peak, he clapped his hands together. “Not stranded at all. We don’t need the tunnel. The night’ll help us. Can cover us while we climb the hill.”

  Babagoo arched his neck to follow Landfill’s ascending gaze. Gradually his features hardened, and he ruffled the boy’s hair. “Wise goblin. Where there’s a hill there’s a way. Get moving. You’re not safe till we’re in the Burrow.”

  Landfill had no idea how far up the hill they were. The darkness made it impossible to tell. They had to use the feel of the slope for direction. Babagoo wheezed and Landfill panted, his tongue hanging out like a dog’s. The wind had eased off, but unseen shrubbery scratched his feet and pulled at his jeans, forcing him to yank his legs as he slogged his way up the hill.

  Babagoo trailed behind, dragging his coat and bags through gorse. “You can see why I built that tunnel, can’t you!” He broke into coughs and caught his breath. “Not just to close up Hinterland. It’s this wretched hill! It was misery then and it’s misery now. Hold…”

  The instant Landfill heard Babagoo slump behind him, he pivoted and stumbled down the slope. “Babagoo! Are you—”

  “Fine. I’m fine. Hunkadory! Just need a breather.” The scavenger rolled onto his back, unbuttoned his coat and mopped his beard with its hem. “Boiling brownberries! Hotter than muttler breath tonight. I’m stewing in my clothes.”

  “Hot?” Landfill sat against the slope by Babagoo’s side. “It’s cold, Babagoo. Really cold.”

  The scavenger didn’t respond. They gazed in silence at the darkness below. Landfill could see a few luminous specks along what he assumed was the Spit Pit’s edge. Just beyond the Pit hovered the large grid of yellow and orange lights – presumably the tract of buildings he’d seen while high up in the Pit.

  He pointed in its direction. “What’s that?”

  Babagoo grunted. “Where Outsiders gather. Best not to even look at it.”

  “What about that?” Landfill’s finger rose to the deeper distance, and settled on a faraway glow that radiated like a weak, rising sun. Dots of light drifted around the darkness, many of them forming a line that headed in its direction.

  “That? That’s history.”

  “What’s…history?”

  “The past. A long time in the past.”

  “Oh.” Landfill squinted at the light. His breathing began to quieten. “Is that because it’s so far away?”

  “Eh?”

  “Like the stars. I remember once… Once, you said looking at stars is like looking at the past. Because they’re so far away. Is it the same for that glow?”

  Babagoo wiped a sleeve across his forehead. “Might be on to something there.” He puffed some air through his nose. “Quite the philosopher, aren’t you, lad?”

  “Don’t know. What’s that?”

  “Someone who thinks too much.”

  Landfill considered this before nodding earnestly. “Then I’m a fillofficer.”

  Babagoo chortled and spat into some nearby bracken. “A fillofficer if ever I knew one.”

  The boy tapped his lips. “So if the past is like light from stars–” he nodded towards the distant glow – “does that mean it always reaches you in the end?”

  Babagoo stifled a whimper. Landfill reached out into darkness, felt warm wetness against his fingertips. “Babagoo. I thought you said you’d run out of tears.”

  A shuddering breath. “Seems…seems some wells have no bottoms, my boy.”

  After hauling himself up, the scavenger staggered a little, and Landfill caught him just before he fell.

  “Need to keep moving,” panted Babagoo. “No time for dawdledallying. Shadows don’t rest.”

  With time, they finally dragged themselves across Hinterland’s fallen gate. Upon reaching the Burrow they staggered down its steps with Babagoo propped against Landfill’s shoulders. After Landfill had eased Orwell aside, the scavenger fell to the blankets like a pile of old clothes. He was joined immediately by Kafka, who bleated gruffly and lapped at his hand. Even in the dim green light, Landfill could see the wound from Longwhite festering there, swollen and greasy with pus.

  Babagoo was moving stiffly, straining with his arms and fumbling at his overcoat. After Landfill helped to remove it the scavenger groaned and held it up in quaking hands. It took the boy some moments to realize he was offering it to him. With tears in his eyes, he accepted the acrid bundle, pulled the pup to his stomach and laid down close behind Babagoo. After trying to spread the coat so that it covered all three of them, he pushed his nose into its sour fabric, inhaled deeply and fell instantly asleep.

  Landfill woke up cold and damp. The only warmth he could feel came from Orwell, who was snoring peacefully in the crook of his belly.

  The boy shivered and rolled over to find Babagoo sat nearby, with the black goat by his side. The scavenger was gazing at some dominoes, which had been placed on their ends in a straight line along the locker’s top.

  Orwell stirred and whined when Landfill sat up. “Is it morning?”

  Babagoo nodded.

  Landfill pointed at the dominoes. “You want to play?”

  Babagoo kept his eyes on the lengthening line. “No games. No play. That’s all long gone. The doll that marked your hands was an omen.”

  “Oh…” Landfill frowned. “What’s an omen?”

  Babagoo didn’t look up. He took one of two dominoes left in his hand and added it to the end of the line, positioning it a little further from its neighbour, so that there was a larger gap between the two than the regular space between the others.

  He repeated the boy’s question. “What’s an omen?” A noise left his throat that could have been a laugh, were it not so brittle and broken. “An omen means that no matter what you do–” with a tap of the finger, he marked the domino that was slightly separate from the line – “no matter how you repent, no matter how much you suffer, no matter how you try to make amends…” He filled the gap between the marked domino and the rest with the final domino. “No matter what, there’s no escaping what’s owed to you.”

  With a sigh, he nudged the domino at the opposite end of the line. Scavenger, boy, goat and dog watched while domino after domino toppled, until the one Babagoo had marked hit the locker’s top.

  Landfill hugged himself. “Don’t understand, Babagoo.”

  After pushing his knuckles into his eyes, Babagoo raised his face to the roots that dangled above him. “It’s so unfair, Landfill! You’re nothing to do with this. Yet you’ve been marked. It’s you the shadows want. They’re getting to me through you!” Tears were trickling steadily into his beard.

  Landfill shuffled on his knees to Babagoo and put the overcoat around his shoulders. “Does that mean you’re safe?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t care! But I know they want you. They want you because I don’t deserve you.” Babagoo ground his teeth. “But you’re nothing to do with this. Not you, Landfill – my sweet, sweet wallflower. You don’t deserve this. You’re above it. You’re above everything. And yet…” He tremored when he felt the boy’s forehead against the side of his hat. “It’s all my fault, Landfill. I brought this upon you. I’m so, so sorry.”

  Landfill shifted to face the scavenger, pressed his palms against his cheeks. “Listen, Babagoo. Look at me. Look at me.”

  The scavenger sniffed, and opened his eyes. They looked so red against the clammy paleness of his skin. Landfill could feel the heat blazing in Babagoo’s cheeks.

  “Now listen,” said Landfill. “The shadows haven’t got me. I’m still here. We need to stop mopi
ng and we need to get food. We didn’t eat yesterday and neither did Orwell. Not even Kafka – he won’t touch the plants up there now the rot’s got in. We need to go to the Spit Pit for food.”

  Babagoo’s gaze fell. “There’s no getting to the Pit, my lad. Can’t use the tunnel; the fridge is buried, and we can’t work at it from the inside. Have to work at it from the other side. In daylight. But that means going down the hill in daytime. We’d be exposed. I used to have a grass cape to get down, but even—”

  “Then we go down when night comes and wait for daylight! But we need food today – need to find something. Something in Hinterland. In the Den… There might be something we missed. Or the vejble patch. Maybe the vejbles are better.”

  The scavenger was shaking his head. “Pointless. We’re done. The shadows have us scuppered.”

  “We have to try, Babagoo! That’s all there is. Try or die.” Landfill got to his feet.

  “Stay here, my boy. Starving’s far prettier than what the shadows’ll do.”

  “No.” Landfill crouched to push his forehead against Babagoo’s. “No, Babagoo. Not fair. I made this mess, but you can’t choose for Kafka and Orwell. Stay here and starve if you want, but you can’t tell the amnals to do that too.” He pulled away. “I’m going to check Hinterland. If you won’t even try to feed your bleater, I will.”

  Babagoo raised his eyes to the boy, and studied his face in the growing light from the stairway. His mouth curled into something like a smile. “As stubborn a miracle as ever,” he grumbled. “Such a wilful little sc—” He gasped and clutched his stomach.

  “You’re burning with the fire-flush. Stay here and rest. I’ll go alone. I’ll be careful.”

  Babagoo moved to get up, but the boy pushed him back down. “Rest, Babagoo. I’ll be back with whatever I can find.”