“No no no.” Babagoo shook his head. “The only purpose that pendant serves is…” He looked at the ceiling and scratched his beard with spidery fingers. “Making me look pretty.” Putting his bandaged hands to his cheeks, he smiled coyly and fluttered his eyelashes at Kafka, who responded by bleating and breaking wind. Babagoo hooted, and his laughter became a fit of coughing that didn’t seem to stop.
Landfill didn’t turn around. He didn’t leave the bathtub to check on Babagoo or thump his back. He narrowed his eyes, cut a bloody necklace around a gull’s neck and pulled off its head.
The next morning, Landfill returned to toiling over his secret. He continued to keep his bouts in the hole brief – just a few shovels of dirt before hiding his work and washing in the Gully. But with time he found himself digging upwards, with the wall’s buried bricks behind his shoulders.
There finally came a day when a knock of the shovel brought down not only dirt, but also a thin beam of light. Landfill inhaled sharply. Holding his breath, he used the shovel to probe the darkness above his head. After making the beam of light a little wider, he tilted his ear in its direction. No sounds came from above.
He started jabbing gently. Mud continued to fall, and the tunnel became illuminated by a green glow. Dirt was tumbling down to reveal a ceiling of barbed vegetation even denser than that lining the inner wall. After clearing enough mud, Landfill took his glass knife from his shorts and cut cautiously at stalks and creepers. Then he reversed back into the tunnel to pull the chair legs from the inner foliage.
Landfill crouched down, shuffled forward again and looked up at the newly exposed greenery. He had to take a long, deep breath before he could straighten himself and use the shovel’s handle to push the foliage up, just a little. Then, clutching the tunnel’s lip with his free hand, he stretched on the tips of his toes and gradually raised his eyes above ground level. He blinked in the dawn’s golden light, and his mouth hung open as Outside flooded his senses.
There was no need to duck or run. There were no Outsiders. There was only a rippling, rolling vastness of purples, greens, greys and browns – of heather and grass, rocks and shrubbery. The vastness rolled on and on, spilling outwards without walls or borders or anything at all to hold it back. Landfill’s eyes watered at the sight of tall slopes on the horizon – an end of things more distant than he’d imagined was possible.
While gaping at the slopes, Landfill was startled by a shrill cry from above. He stretched and leaned as far as he could, and saw a kestrel soaring away from Hinterland, its wings and feathers dark against a backdrop of pink and orange clouds.
“Winterson…” he whispered.
The sight seemed to rouse him. He cut through more stalks and used the chair legs to prop up the foliage around the hole. After digging his toes into the tunnel’s wall, he pulled himself up, just enough to ease his head from under the nettles and check to the left and right. In both directions he saw the wall stretching away, its darkness glassless and cold against this bewildering, vivid and impossible endlessness.
When Landfill strained his ears, he heard only moaning wind and the rustle of heather. The air smelled strangely alien to him. There was none of the rusty mustiness he was used to; just a smell he could only think of as blue-grey, dappled with scents that brought Hinterland’s moss and flowers to mind. And something else. A trace of something similar to…to the tang of treasures from the Pit.
Seeing no sign of Outsiders, Landfill clambered out from beneath the vegetation.
He tried to stand up, but swayed when vastness engulfed him from all directions but behind. In all of his life, Landfill had never experienced such boundless immensities of space. He was struck by a rush of horizontal vertigo; the ground tilted beneath his feet, and he crouched quickly to clutch at grass and bracken.
After some moments the ground stabilized, but the boy could barely stand without making it slant and spin. An unseen force – a queasy collision of giddiness and fear – pulled him groundwards and held him close to Hinterland’s wall.
Landfill kept his eyes to the ground, and clung to handfuls of grass to drag himself along the perimeter. Sometimes the wind would ruffle his hair and he’d peek up and away from the wall; but the purples and greens undulated as if they were alive, and caught him in their swaying so that he stumbled.
It took some time to reach the crook where the wall’s east and north sides met. Landfill slowed down before peeking gingerly around the corner, and shrank back when he saw the ground stop abruptly in the distance, just beyond Hinterland’s west face. Beyond the brink there was only sky.
Landfill crouched and took some deep breaths. He caught a whiff of that tang again, and realized that Babagoo may soon return from his morning trip to the Pit. Upon retreating, he told himself that it was this and not cowardice that was sending him back the way he’d come.
He continued to back away, until an airborne cry stopped him in his tracks. He looked up and saw the kestrel, Winterson, wheeling in the sky, and followed her arc with his gaze until she disappeared around the wall’s corner. Landfill crept forward, and his nostrils flared when he peered around the corner and again saw ground give way to sky.
Something orange moved. The boy stiffened, then exhaled with relief when he recognized the squirrel in the heather. “Joyce? You’re…alive.”
Still clutching grass between his fingers, Landfill edged around the corner and followed the wall on all fours. He stopped when he reached some train tracks, and stared at the base of the wall from which they came, visualizing how the rails led to the Rippletop on the wall’s other side. He looked further along the perimeter and saw the other pair of tracks, which passed through the wall and led to Muttbrough.
Some chattering from Joyce made him turn around. The squirrel was sitting on the tracks. Landfill stretched out a hand. “Come on, Joyce. Come here. Can’t do this alone.”
Joyce didn’t respond.
Landfill smiled. “Come on. Need you with me.”
The squirrel sniffed the air and hopped backwards. Landfill’s mouth dropped, but its edges began to curl. He clucked his tongue and chuckled. “Still playing chase, little twitcher? Think you have the upper paw, eh?”
Joyce hopped back again. Landfill looked over his shoulder at the wall, and checked to the left and right before fixing his gaze on the squirrel. “Okay. Here I come. Ready…or not…”
He reached out and grasped the nearest rail with both hands. The smile on his lips faltered as – with all toes and fingers on the rail’s rusting surface – he heaved himself away from the wall in Joyce’s direction. After three more heaves, the grim smile returned to his face and he began to gather momentum. He glanced up now and then, and saw the squirrel watching him. He could see that the tracks ended just beyond Joyce – that they faded into purple and green, apparently without destination.
Landfill drew closer and closer. He was just one heave away from Joyce when the squirrel sprinted forward and scuttled over his head. Landfill spun and fell onto the rotten sleepers that carried the rails. With eyes agape, he watched Joyce scarper along the tracks and shoot up Hinterland’s wall, which was now so far away that Landfill winced with the pain of his knotting stomach. “No! Joyce!”
The wind picked up. That blue-grey scent overcame Landfill, and he felt distance crashing into him from every side.
“Joyce! Don’t leave me here! Don’t leave me!” He threw both hands over his mouth when the squirrel disappeared behind the wall, and the wind against his exposed back and ribs felt cruel enough to bruise. It changed direction, and a gust racing along the north wall carried what sounded like faint screams.
Landfill was suddenly adrift in this merciless rolling of greens, purples, pinks and oranges. He could feel the edge of Outside – with its sudden brink and infinite sky – pulling him away from the wall, sucking with its endless emptiness. The ground began to tilt downwards from his feet. When he saw Hinterland receding down the slope he gritted his teeth, grabbed the r
ail and pulled himself back along the tracks. His pace quickened when he caught sight of something in the undergrowth: the leathery corpse of a dog, glistening with flies.
Landfill whimpered and carried on. He soon reached the wall, and moaned like a wounded animal while he clawed his way around the corner and finally back to his hole.
Landfill studied the pale cockroach clasped in his hand. Its pearly legs twitched and kicked, and when Landfill held his lighter close, he saw innards throbbing beneath a translucent shell.
“Don’t be scared,” he whispered. “It’ll be quick.” He stroked the cockroach’s belly with a fingertip, closed his eyes and tossed it at the tangled pipes. Darkness devoured the boy’s offering, and chittered gleefully when it was done.
Landfill took a seat on the cold stone ground. “I did it, Longwhite. Yesterday. I saw Outside. I went Outside.”
Pipes chattered and chimed.
“Almost didn’t. When I reached the bottom of the wall I got scared. Wasn’t sure how much I wanted to see Outside. Thought what Babagoo’s told me about it would do. But he carried on with his fibbery. I asked again about the pendant and he kept on with his secret. So I kept on with mine.”
Landfill’s sigh sent dust swaying through the chamber. “Longwhite… You ever been Outside?” He shook his head. “The way it is out there… The space. There’s so much of it. Enough distance to make you…fade. You don’t feel there, when you leave the wall. You’re like smoke from the stove. Can’t know what’s where or where’s what.”
Landfill fell silent. He gnawed his fingernails before carrying on. “I saw something beyond the wall’s west side. It’s like Outside stops. Turns into sky – into clouds at your feet. Clouds you could fall into and never come back. There’s a pull out there, Longwhite. Or a push – I don’t know. Whatever it is, it’s stronger than falling from up high. Sucks the breath from your mouth. Makes your heart stop.”
Landfill heard the brush of coarse fur against metal. He smiled and held out a hand when Longwhite slipped from the pipes.
“It lilies your liver out there,” he continued. “But scary as it was…”
With long back arching, Longwhite darted across the ground and sniffed the boy’s fingers. Landfill giggled at the twitch of a tiny, pointed snout against his knuckles.
“Scary as it was,” he repeated, “there was also…beauty. So much beauty it gooses your bumps. And too much space for anything to stop it. Too much space even for…for rules. And all of it was colour. Like the butterbyes.
“That’s something Babagoo’s never said about Outside. He jabbers about the hunger and madness. He jabbers about fear and hatred, about monsters, masks and puppets. About all the rot and pain. Maybe I heard some of that, on the wind… But he’s never mentioned beauty.”
Longwhite squeaked, mounted an ankle and curled up in the niche between the boy’s crossed legs.
Landfill nodded. “Been mulling about that. Much as it feels like I saw everything out there, there must be more! I didn’t see the Spit Pit. Don’t think I did, at least. Didn’t see gulls or treasures.”
He gnawed again at a fingernail, lost in his thoughts. “When Babagoo goes through the cabinet, he heads past the wall’s west side. He’d be heading for where the ground becomes sky. There must be more after that edge. The Spit Pit must hide behind it, but out of sight with the distance. Just like the Gully – the way you can’t see into it from the Nook.”
Another squeak.
Landfill stroked Longwhite’s slender body, felt a bony warmth beneath that pale, coarse fur. “My secret’s still there. Did my best to hide it on both sides of the wall. Some of me wants to go out again. To see more. Maybe I can find out what Babagoo doesn’t want me to know.
“But it’s a sticky pickle. Staying out too long could get me caught out. Babagoo might even gander me while he’s Outside.”
Landfill winced and shuddered. “I heard screams, too. There was a dead woofler, covered in flies. The Outsiders must’ve got it. Maybe they were closer than I knew. Rule six – no sign can be a sure sign.” He frowned and bit his lip. “And you’re so bare out there. So…alone.”
He felt the tingle of whiskers against his belly.
A shake of the head. “I’d have to go alone. Can’t put any amnals at risk. And I can’t get Babagoo involved, can I.”
Longwhite chittered and hissed.
“Babagoo won’t take me to the Pit. I’ve asked so many times, but it’s always the same. He says I’m not ready. Says it’s too dangerous.”
Longwhite squeaked. His red eyes glittered in the light from Landfill’s flame.
“Find a crack in Babagoo?” The boy tilted his head. “You mean…like a way to change his mind?”
Longwhite uncurled his long, lithe body before slinking back into the pipes.
Landfill sat in silence and pondered.
Later that day, Landfill and Babagoo were spending lull-time in the Gully. Landfill splashed through the shallow water, which was losing its depth to the summer heat. He scattered rainbows while kicking spray into sunlight, and Babagoo trod carefully behind him with his trousers rolled up.
“Babagoo! Watch this.” Landfill showed Babagoo a smooth chip of rubble he’d found among foxgloves on the bank. He surveyed the long course of water that led to the knotted, suspended pipes of the Hard Guts at the Gully’s end. After tilting his head he whipped his arm.
Babagoo watched the sparkling chip skim the water. It bounced several times, then sank next to some ducts that hung like huge taps over the concrete bank.
He raised an eyebrow. “Not bad, my lad. Not bad at all. But sit back and learn. I’ll show you how it’s done.”
Landfill smirked and headed for a patch of burdock by the edge of the water to pluck and nibble some leaves.
Babagoo searched the sticks and rubble on the bank. “Aha!” He held a rusty washer out to the boy and wriggled his bushy eyebrows. “This’ll do nicely, if I say so myself. Very nicely indeed.”
The scavenger smiled smugly and turned to face the Hard Guts. Rubbing his hands together, he tilted his head and judged the water. He rubbed the washer between thumb and finger, and winked at Landfill before carefully assuming the correct stance. Then he crouched a little, closed one eye and narrowed the other. Slowly, his arm pulled back. Babagoo muttered silently to himself, apparently calculating under his breath. He nodded gently, then flicked his hand and released the washer.
His throwing arm remained stretched out, and he held his pose as the washer flew in a skewed line above the Gully, bounced off the concrete slope, rose with a chime into the air and plopped gracelessly into the water.
Hinterland was filled with boyish laughter. Landfill clutched his belly and shrieked with joy. Babagoo remained in his throwing position, but gradually swivelled his head to show the boy an exaggerated scowl. The scowl didn’t last, and the scavenger was soon hooting too.
When the laughter finally died down, Babagoo grinned at the sun and fingered his beard. “Made a woofler’s turdhole of that, didn’t I, boyling?”
Landfill’s smile was crammed with goofiness. “A woofler’s turdhole is prettier. Look!” He pointed up at the Gully’s ledge, where Kafka was munching honeysuckles and looking blankly on. “Even Kafka’s shamed to know you.” He held his skinny belly and howled again.
Babagoo wagged a finger at the gnarly goat. “Be kind, old bleater. There’s hair clippings from the Spit Pit in my bag. Your favourite. Think about your loyalties if you want them with your dinner.”
Kafka bleated and tore up another mouthful of flowers.
Babagoo nodded, and slapped his hands together. “Right. Another go. That was just a warm-up. A demonstration of how not to do it.”
“I’m sure, Babagoo, I’m sure.” Landfill took a seat on the bank and watched Babagoo rummage through shrubs and scrap metal. Slowly, his smile disappeared. “Um. Babagoo?”
“Yes, my boy?”
Landfill licked his lips. “Talking of the Spit Pit
…”
“Mm-hm.”
“Can I go there with you soon?”
Babagoo kept his back to the boy. “You know the answer to that. No point in asking.”
“I know, I know. But I’ve been mulling.”
“A dangerous pastime, Landfill. Maybe we need a rule for that.” Babagoo picked up and inspected a small stone. “Go on, then. What’ve you been mulling about?”
Landfill was watching a frog that was half-submerged at the edge of the water. He held his palm out and croaked quietly: “Come along, gribbit. Hop on.” The frog croaked and hopped towards him.
“What were you mulling about?” repeated Babagoo.
“You always say you live for me.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m the only thing left to live for.”
“Yes.” The scavenger was getting into position again, eyeing up the water.
The frog was on Landfill’s palm now. He stroked its back, felt the cool slime against his fingertips. “Who’ll go to the Pit for gull and scavenging when you’re not alive?”
There was a quiet plop. The stone had fallen from Babagoo’s hand. He turned to face the boy. “Where’d that come from?”
Landfill shrugged. “When I saw blood in your squirts, you said something about…about the seasons getting shorter. Didn’t know what you meant. But then I remembered you once said you’re in autumn and I’m in spring. So I started mulling about what happens when you reach winter.”
The boy swallowed sorely, his throat suddenly dry and swollen. “Started pondering how to get gull and grubbins after that.”
Babagoo stood in the water for some moments. Water dripped from the ends of his rolled-up corduroys. Only his eyebrows moved.
Eventually he sniffed and screwed up his face. “Don’t you worry about that, Landfill. I’ll think of something.”
Landfill nodded earnestly. “I know. You always do.”
They both fell silent, until a faraway rumble had them looking up as one. Babagoo’s face paled. “Hunger’s Eye.”
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