Scavengers

by Darren Simpson

  Several hours later, Landfill left the Thin Woods. He pouted and kicked at a flap of black moss. The trees behind him were bare, their leaves wind-torn and gathered in a slimy pulp around buildings and chutes. The flowers and weeds that once peppered Hinterland were trampled and translucent, and the vegetation clinging to pipes and chimneys was turning grey, releasing its hold and joining the mulch. Much of the perimeter wall’s foliage was on the ground, topped by glass teeth that had dropped from crumbling bricks.

  Landfill’s head twitched when he heard what sounded like approaching thunder. Looking quickly about, he loped towards the Ivy Stack and took cover beneath its conveyor. Panels rattled above him with the scream of the Eye overhead, and when the roaring died away Landfill noticed movement by the Black Fingers.

  Keeping to the cover of barrels and debris, he crept to the perimeter wall and moved westwards until he reached the two silos adjacent to the tall black chimneys. He pulled at pipes and steel frames to mount one of the silos as quietly as he could. His stomach churned with dread while he gained height, and when he peeked over the silo’s curve he gasped at the sight of Babagoo.

  The scavenger was on the flat roof of the building that formed the base of the Black Fingers. Shuffling back and forth, he arched his neck to study each chimney and mutter beneath his breath. He held a hammer and chisel, which he used to remove a brick from a chimney before adding it to a row of other bricks at the roof’s edge.

  Landfill clambered to the top of the silo. “Babagoo! Should be resting!”

  The scavenger showed no sign of hearing. His eyes scanned the closest of the four chimneys, and he removed another brick before adding it to the others.

  Landfill moved across the silo for a closer look. He eyed the hollows in the Fingers where bricks had been removed. “What’re you doing?”

  Babagoo scratched beneath an ear flap. “You were right, my boy. The shadows don’t have you yet, and moping’ll achieve less than nothing. You find any grubbins?”

  Landfill’s stomach gurgled at the word. “Nothing. Not even by Kafka’s standards.” He looked at Kafka, who was sniffing black weeds by the Gully and turning his nose up at them. “What are you doing? Tell me.”

  Babagoo frowned at his row of bricks. “Dominoes. That’s what I’m doing.”

  “What do you mean? You said no more games.”

  A curt laugh. “This is no game.” The scavenger pointed at the nearby perimeter wall, in the direction of the Spit Pit. “There’s shadow trouble down there, lad. Shadow trouble to curdle your blood and blister your bones. They’re gathering – getting ready to come for you. But I won’t make it easy. We can be ready for ’em.”

  “Don’t understand, Babagoo.”

  “We need to have something, Landfill. Something in our favour. Dominoes fall both ways, my boy. If you can’t have walls you need weapons.”

  Landfill gave up. “Whatever you’re doing, you shouldn’t be doing it. You need to rest and fight the fire-flush.”

  Babagoo raised a trembling finger and hobbled across the roof to the chimney that was furthest from the perimeter wall. “Almost done. Just one more thing.”

  He examined the brickwork at the east side of the chimney’s foot, ran his fingers over its surface and leaned to study the other three chimneys. Then he took up a shovel, aimed it so its tip faced the chimney, and rammed it in. Next, he crouched to grasp a branch which had a sledgehammer’s head fashioned onto its end. Grunting with every swing, he thumped the shovel’s handle with the makeshift hammer. As soon as the bulk of the shovel’s head had disappeared into the chimney, the improvised sledgehammer fell, and Babagoo collapsed.

  Landfill leaped from the silo to the Black Fingers’ base. “Babagoo!” He rolled the scavenger onto his back and propped his head on his arm.

  Babagoo blinked weakly at him. Tears gathered in the red rims of his eyes. “Won’t let you down, my lad. Promise I won’t. You’re—” He grunted and his hand flew to his stomach. “You’re the only good thing left. Only thing to live for. To fight…for.”

  “You need water and rest. Shouldn’t have strained yourself.” Landfill helped him to sit up. “Can you make it to the Gully? We’ll get you watered, then you can rest in the Burrow.”

  Babagoo nodded, and Landfill heaved him up.

  That night in the Burrow, Babagoo lay with his head propped against the black goat. Landfill held a damp rag to his brow, and hushed when the scavenger’s head began to loll.

  Babagoo stirred slightly, returning from the cusp of sleep. “Medicine,” he breathed.

  Landfill put his ear to flaking lips.

  “Medsin? What’s medsin?”

  There was an eerie, almost tranquil calm to the scavenger’s tone. “Will make me better. Fix this.” He raised a palm to show his fierce, weeping wound.

  Landfill flinched at the sight. “I’m so sorry, Babagoo. Sorry Longwhite did that.”

  Babagoo shook his head, his voice a crooning croak. “Oh no no no. Longwhite gave what I’ve long had coming.”

  “Where do we get medsin?”

  “Chemist. There’s bottles and paper. Powders and packets. Will make me better. Need to get better. Can’t fail my wallflower.”

  “But where’s kemist?”

  Babagoo hummed to himself, smacked his lips. “Beyond the Pit. Where Outsiders gather. We’ll go. After rest. Need to slumber…”

  Landfill gave the scavenger a gentle shake. “No slumbering. Not yet. How can we go to where the Outsiders gather? They’ll catch us.”

  “Perhaps.” Babagoo’s head rolled from left to right. “Perhaps not. They think we’re gone. Won’t be sniffing. We’ll blend in. Can blend when there’s many.”

  “Blend?”

  “Keep our heads high. Meet the eyes. Be cruel. Show scorn, not fear. They smell fear. If you’re weak they’ll know. They’ll smell it and feed like crows. Believe me. I know.”

  Landfill swallowed and nodded. “Okay. Medsin. Kemist. No fear.”

  “And money.”

  “Munnie?”

  “Coloured paper. Swap for medicine. Need to be wary, though. Money’s the trickster. Dangerous. Angers the hunger. Stokes the madness.”

  “Where do we find munnie?”

  “I have some.”

  “Where?”

  Babagoo shook his head.

  “Tell me, Babagoo!” Landfill searched the Burrow’s gloom. The green glint of a metallic edge caught his eye. “Wait… The locker. Is it in there? Is that why it’s locked? To keep the dangerous munnie in?”

  Landfill jolted when Babagoo sat up and clutched his arm. The scavenger glared at him, his eyes suddenly wide and lucid. “Leave the locker, boy. Leave it be.”

  “Okay, okay. Shush now. Shush.” Babagoo’s head fell forward, and Landfill eased him back against Kafka. “Rest now, okay? We’ll work it out. Get medsin. Make you better.”

  Soon after the scavenger fell asleep, he began to shiver and grind his teeth. Landfill soothed him until the gibbering became snores, then got to his feet and peeked up the stairway. A dim blue rectangle of light sat at its top; morning was on the way.

  He turned and stared at the locker before taking some cautious steps towards it. A quiet yap from the blankets made him falter; he frowned at the panting husky and pressed a finger to his lips. “Need to get medsin, Orwell. And to get medsin I need munnie. Don’t know if Babagoo –” his voice became a croak – “if he’ll be able.”

  Landfill reached the locker, took his key from his jeans and slipped it into the keyhole. Each click from its teeth made him wince, and he kept his eyes on Babagoo while easing it in. Then he tried to twist it, but it wouldn’t move. Sighing quietly, Landfill turned to face the scavenger. With his wrist tapping his lips, he studied Babagoo’s neck, glanced at the key in his hand and nodded to himself.

  Crouching low, he moved slowly towards the scavenger and squatted beside him. Watching his face closely, he held his key between the thumb and forefinger of his right han
d and raised it to Babagoo’s neck. Then he gradually lifted his left hand and – with his own key trembling in his right – plucked the string on Babagoo’s neck, so that its key slipped out from beneath his jumper.

  Babagoo’s hand shot out towards the string, and Landfill deftly pushed his own key into its path. He felt Babagoo grip the decoy key, and looked up at the scavenger’s wide, shuddering eye. He hushed him and – keeping the decoy in Babagoo’s hand – eased the string away and gnawed through its threads. He pocketed the scavenger’s key as soon as it was free, then stroked Babagoo’s cheek until the eye closed and the hand fell away.

  Landfill remained squatted, watching Babagoo closely and listening until the snoring deepened. With a gulp and a nod, he crept away and returned to the locker. Holding his breath, he slid the key in, and had to cover his mouth when it turned with a click.

  The locker door whined when Landfill lifted it slowly open, forcing him to keep watch on Babagoo as it rose. Its contents sat in darkness before him, and he reached in to feel something silky but firm. He took it out and held it towards the lamp. It was a rectangular block with small patterns etched into its front, side and back. One side was indented and silky to touch, and brought to mind the magazine he’d found at the Pit. He opened the block up, and a dusty smell rose from the thin paper pages that flapped from one side to another.

  Landfill put the block down and felt around the locker before extracting several similar blocks, all of various sizes and with differing patterns on their fronts and backs. He piled them up on the mud and reached into the darkness again. After brushing something that rustled against his palm, his fingertips touched a small cloth pouch. He held the pouch out towards the lamp and untied its shoelace cord, then reached in to extract a small roll of paper held together by a rubber band. “Munnie,” he breathed. He placed the roll carefully on the ground and wiped his hands on his jeans.

  There was still some weight in the pouch. He searched its lining and pulled out a small metal ring about the width of a finger, followed by a thin plastic stick with what appeared to be a colourful ball at its end. The ball rattled faintly when Landfill restored the stick and ring to the pouch.

  Swallowing drily, Landfill closed the pouch and rested it on the stack of dusty blocks. Then his fingers searched the rustling plastic that lined the locker’s base. He felt a knot and pulled it gently up until he was holding a bulky bin bag.

  With his heart hammering in his throat, Landfill untied the bag. His heart hammered all the harder as he laboriously pulled out a pair of boots, some coarse baggy trousers, a dirty shirt and yellow vest, some thick plastic goggles.

  Landfill was weeping by the time he’d pulled out the white hard hat and stained, bloody bandage. He reached into the bag again. There was one thing left. It was cool and rubbery to the touch, and Landfill blanched when he removed it and faced his attacker from the Pit. The face hung limply between his hands, filthy and flapping, with a ragged gash in its cheek.

  Landfill let the mask hang from one hand while using the other to stifle his sobs. He gaped at the insect husks that tumbled from that blank, rubbery face.

  A noise from behind, a voice in his ear: “Where’re your loyalties, boy?”

  The mask dropped. Landfill spiralled and fell against boxes.

  With a drawn-out groan, Babagoo straightened up and stood over him. “Didn’t I always warn you, lad? Curiosity killed the boy.”

  Landfill scrabbled backwards with a finger aimed at the mask. He tried to find words. “The mask… Those clothes… It was you in the Pit. You who…tried to kill me!”

  Babagoo sneered. “Not kill you, you cretin. Just frighten you. You went too high, remember? Reckoned you might flout some rules, so I went ready that day – ready to teach you a lesson. Was for your own good! You weren’t respecting your fear.”

  Landfill stared aghast. “I thought I was going to die! All the jabber about Outsiders and masks… You wore one! You tricked me! You… You hurt me!”

  He jolted when Babagoo slammed the locker with his boot. “And I’ll hurt you again if that’s what’s best for you. I told you to stay away from my locker. Said I’d cut off your fingers and feed them to you if I caught you touching it.” He put his hand into a plaid pocket and pulled out his penknife. “So come along now. Open wide and give me those prying little hands.”

  Landfill’s eyes moved to the glimmering blade. “Please, Babagoo. I…” He shot a glance at the locker. “I did it for you! Was gandering for munnie, to get medsin, to—”

  “Twaddle and tripe! You were disobeying, plain and simple. You weren’t heeding like a good boy should.” Babagoo swayed a little, then steadied himself to shake his blade at Landfill’s forehead. “Isn’t that the least you can do? Is that too much to ask, after everything I’ve done for you? Why the hell can’t you just listen and do what you’re told? Is it really so hard? Is it—”

  He was distracted by shrill sounds of yapping. Both of them looked towards the blankets, where Orwell was barking and trying to drag his rear legs across the mud.

  Landfill was shaking, but when his gaze returned to Babagoo he swallowed and tightened his lips. “Listen to what, Babagoo? To your fibbery? To lies about an eye in the sky that’ll snatch me away but never really does? To lies about swellings and all the little amnals coming from Outside? Or how about stories of me coming from a seed – of how I’m the only thing that doesn’t have a mother?”

  His expression quivered before hardening into a scowl. “What other stories have there been? How many fibs? Has anything you’ve said been true? Or is it all fear and gibberish? Is all that rot and hate and trickery out there actually in here?” His finger pointed back and forth between them while he snarled and clacked his teeth.

  Babagoo clacked back and pulled away, then raised an eyebrow and leaned back in. “And there it is again – the little brat’s faltering loyalty. Whose side are you on, boy? Are you one of them now? Are you an Outsider?” His free arm shot out towards the black goat, who was shuffling across the mud towards them. “Stay put, Kafka! The brat can’t be trusted.”

  He coughed and winced before flashing a fevered grin at the boy. “You really want to know about your precious mother?”

  Landfill’s eyes shimmered with tears. His hands flexed stiffly into claws, and all the while Orwell yapped on.

  “Pah!” Babagoo gobbed at the boy’s feet. “You’ve got a mother alright, but she’s not interested in you. I found you in the Spit Pit, just like I always said. Not as a seed, but as a tiny pile of limbs on the brink of death. Found you in a suitcase, thrown out with all the other rubbish that wasn’t wanted. That’s what landfill means to them, boy! Unwanted trash to be discarded and forgotten. That’s all you were to your mother.”

  “No!” Landfill shifted down onto his haunches. “You’re lying again! Mothers care! I saw Woolf – how she was with Orwell.”

  “Oh yes? Then where’s she now?” Babagoo searched the Burrow with exaggerated jerks of the head. “Woolf dumped her little runt, just as your mother did you.”

  Landfill’s breaths felt too vast for his chest. Each exhalation shook his entire body. His lips moved, but no words came.

  “Was nicer to come from a seed, eh?” The scavenger spat into mud. “Don’t you get it? Sure, I’ve bent some truths. But nothing I’ve said doesn’t stem from fact. Truth and lies are more tangled up than you’d ever believe. Most of the time they’re indistinguishable! Truth is an impossibility – a patchwork that falls apart as soon as you touch it. The closest thing you’ll get to truth is with me. There’s no truth Outside, my lad. There’s only the lies they choose to believe.”

  He huffed and wiped his lips. “You have no idea how hard I’ve worked to build somewhere safe for you, Landfill. I’ve worked myself to the bone for you. And yes, there’ve been some prices to pay.” He shrugged bitterly. “A few fibs and fancies are the least of it. The things I’ve had to do!”

  A questioning look began to weaken Landfill�
�s expression.

  Babagoo huffed. “Do you think all the fluffy amnals from the swelling had the privilege of sharing this sanctuary with you?” He shook his head. “You’ve seen it yourself – half of them ended up in the Pit as food for the flies. And those Hinterland amnals I was seeing to, with all their whining and the scars between their legs… Same as the littluns left to the Pit. It’s a little thing called population control.”

  Babagoo leaned in closer and stared into Landfill’s eyes. “Hinterland could only sustain so much life, boy. If territory starts to shrink, life turns against life. That’s why I did what I did! That’s why I did what had to be done! Paradise isn’t free, Landfill. There’s always someone who pays a price.

  “Like your precious gulls – they paid it too. Can you comprehend what Hinterland would’ve been like if we didn’t feed the amnals? It’d be like inviting Outside in! They’d turn fang and claw against each other and in no time the hunger would have ravaged the perfect Eden I built for you. For you.”

  Babagoo’s knife quivered by the nub of Landfill’s nose. “Don’t look so surprised! Wipe that miserable look off your face. You see now how much I’ve done for you? How much I’ve toiled? I’ve twisted nature with my own bare hands! All for you! Everything for you! And are you grateful? Do you appreciate it? Do you listen when I set a few rules and try to keep you safe from what’s out there? Or do you rebel? Do you ignore my warnings and spit in my face? Do you slink and scheme with Outsiders and destroy everything I’ve spent years building for you?”

  Orwell’s yapping became shriller and shriller. Landfill drew his face slowly back from Babagoo’s blade. “All those amnals in the Pit,” he began. “All those tiny, dead amnals… How could you do it? One of them could have been Orwell…”

  Babagoo snorted through flaring nostrils. “A few abandoned amnals. A daily handful of gulls. A small price compared to what you pay Outside. Dead mowlers and muttlings are sunbeams compared to the horrors out there.”