They were soon trekking through a ravine that wound its way between bluffs of reeking waste. The stench had Landfill breathing through his mouth, but was so strong he could taste it. It was like the scent in Babagoo’s overcoat, which usually brought comfort, but at this intensity it made him gag. He held Babagoo’s hand, kept his gaze low and treaded carefully. Sometimes he’d look skywards and wobble on his feet, until the scavenger grabbed his arm and pulled him along.
Babagoo sighed and wafted the flies from his eyes. Dark, buzzing clouds of them hovered everywhere, gathering around the pulp that oozed from torn bin bags.
“Suppose this is a bit much for you, isn’t it?” Babagoo had to raise his voice over the screaming of gulls. “You’ve never seen how big Outside is. But its size should be the least of your worries, my boy. There’s much worse out here than open air. Much worse.”
Landfill didn’t reply. His eyes were skimming the dreck at his feet, and he had to hop carefully over tin cans and shards of metal and plastic. Sometimes he looked briefly at the gulls that blanketed the landscape.
Babagoo looked at the boy’s feet. “Remember to keep an eye out for shoes in your size. I know you’re not fond of covering your feet, but you’ll need to here. And not just because of all the sharpness and hazard. There are rats out here as big as your head. Give them half a chance and they’ll gobble your toes for breakfast. Before you know it, you’ll be hopping on stumps.”
As if to emphasize the point, Babagoo knocked aside a rotten fruit crate to expose a huge black rat. He kicked it with his boot, and its slick, oily fur flashed as it scampered into a nearby cardboard box.
“So yes,” continued the scavenger. “Look out for shoes. What other treasures are we scavenging?”
Landfill frowned and sucked his top lip. “Packaged grubbins. Lighters. Jerrycans. Oil. Fuel. Clothing. Blankets. Nails and screws. Tools. Bo—”
“Yes, yes, yes.” Babagoo flapped a bandaged hand. “All standard treasures. What are we looking for specifically at the moment? Other than shoes for you, I mean.”
Landfill looked upwards in thought, but quickly dropped his gaze. “Piping. Metal piping.”
“Correct. For the stove. Some of the old vents are going to pot.” Babagoo grimaced and tugged Landfill’s arm. “Now pick up the pace. You’ll have to get used to this quickly. I can’t do much while I’m holding your hand. You’ll be as useful as a broken arm like this.”
Landfill nodded, and the scavenger glanced at him before stopping. He smiled, causing black teeth to glitter within his beard. “You look so pale, my lad. Don’t worry. You’ll get there. You always do. Chin up, eh? This is a big day for you.”
He held out a hand, which Landfill took in his own. “Now let’s keep going. Those traps aren’t going to empty themselves. And watch your step. Stay away from that stuff.” He pointed at a thin stream of dark orange liquid, which trickled slowly along the ravine’s lowest fissure.
“Dirty water?”
“Worse. It’s poison. Poison from the Pit – from the Outsiders. Never go near it. Don’t even smell it. It’s very, very bad for you. Trust me, I know. And never pick up grubbins that’ve been anywhere near it.”
Babagoo tugged his arm and they were moving again. After turning a corner in the ravine, Landfill paused.
Babagoo gnashed his teeth. “What?”
Landfill didn’t speak. He pointed at the slope to their left, where what was left of a cat was draped across an old vacuum cleaner. Its exposed ribs were crawling with maggots.
Landfill’s finger remained suspended while his stare moved to Babagoo. His mouth hung open in distress.
Babagoo frowned and fingered his beard. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Outsiders. You see now? Some of the small amnals do actually come from Outside. But it looks like the Outsiders got to this one before I did.”
He cleared his throat again and sniffed loudly. “You’ll see more of that. No doubt about it.”
The boy’s eyes began to water.
“Come, Landfill. Nothing to be done here.” He tugged with his hand, but Landfill didn’t move. “We’re almost there now. In fact, this could be a good time to drop those scats.”
Babagoo fumbled at Landfill’s rope and untied the slops bag. Try as he might, the boy couldn’t tear his eyes from the squirming mess.
“We’ll leave this here,” said the scavenger. “But don’t leave any scats near here in future. Rule twenty-seven: scatter your scats. Don’t go making piles. They’ll stand out.”
When Babagoo threw the bag down, Landfill started and glared at him. “No.” He shook his head. “Not here. Not near the dead mowler.”
Babagoo raised an eyebrow, then shrugged, picked up the bag and handed it over. “Move along, then. Take it somewhere else.”
They soon rounded a bend where the ravine opened up a little, its steep slopes dipping to the left and right.
Babagoo stopped. “Right. Drop those scats now, Landfill. We’re here, and with some luck you’ll need room on your rope.” The bag landed with a wet thump, and the scavenger waved an arm across the area ahead. “I set up my last traps around here because it’s a relatively safe area. These slopes offer good cover, and the Outsiders shouldn’t be troubling this patch for a while.”
Landfill looked up at Babagoo. “How’d you know?”
“Oh I know. After a while you’ll get a knack for how they move around. And when you do, make the most of it.” He narrowed his eyes, and his fingers scuttled like spiders through his beard. “Now, boy. Look ahead. See anything unusual? Anything I might’ve left here on a previous jaunt?”
Landfill scanned the ground and saw only flies, filth, seagulls and scrap. “What am I looking for?”
Babagoo pointed at a gull just ahead from where they stood. It was squawking and flapping, but seemed unable to leave the ground. “There. Gander that gull. The one that’s not going anywhere.”
“One of your traps?”
Babagoo slapped his back. “That’s right. Can’t see it though, can you? What’s rule twenty-six?”
“Make sure traps are invisible.”
“That’s the one. And there’s an example of how to do it. Building them from scrap helps, but you’ve got to bury them a little. Not so deep that they won’t get a gull, but deep enough to be discreet. Got to be sly with your trapping. Come on. Let’s get some meat.”
Babagoo pulled his hand from Landfill’s and headed over to the seagull. Landfill followed, but kept his distance from the thrashing bird. He inhaled sharply at the sight of its foot, which had been caught and mangled by the trap’s wire jaw.
“Watch and learn, boy. Got to do this quickly. Short and sweet.” Gritting his teeth, Babagoo forced his hands through flapping wings, and cursed when the seagull’s beak jabbed the bandage on his hand. The pain seemed to spur him on; Landfill could barely follow the scavenger’s hands as they clutched the bird’s neck and ended the thrashing with a pull and twist.
Exhaling noisily, Babagoo kneeled to loosen the trap and tossed the gull into one of the bags on his rope. He was muttering to himself, but his lips froze when he saw the boy’s expression. “What? What is it?”
Landfill’s voice was muffled by the fingers clasped over his mouth. “Always knew you killed the gulls. Just never…” He stared at the bag, then looked at the seagulls squawking all around them. “Never seen them alive before. They’re always dead when you bring them to Hinterland. They’re just…meat. But now…” His brow furrowed. “Never really mulled about it. There’s a rule against hurting amnals in Hinterland. Why’s it okay to hurt them Outside?”
One of Babagoo’s eyebrows fluttered. He scratched his temple and moved his lips, but nothing came from his mouth.
When Landfill tried to speak again, Babagoo raised a hand. “It’s different with gulls, my lad. They’re Pit vermin and better off dead. They’ll be dead soon anyway. The poison’ll get them – if the Outsiders don’t get them first. You saw that mowler, didn’t
you? Who knows what they put it through before they left it for the maggots.” His hairy nostrils flared. “So no, we’re not hurting the gulls. We’re putting them out of their misery.”
Landfill was frowning at a dirty breeze block next to his foot.
“You don’t look convinced.”
Landfill didn’t move his gaze or reply.
Babagoo grunted. “Listen. These gulls give you your meat. They’ve allowed me to give you meat since you were as tall as my knee. They’ve kept you alive and they’ve kept you strong. So don’t go getting squeamish on me now, boy.” His voice was rising and he had to catch himself. “Don’t you realize how ungrateful that is?” he hissed. “Don’t you see that? Didn’t you always like the meat?”
Landfill raised his eyes momentarily, but Babagoo’s scowl forced him to drop his gaze again. “Used to.”
The scavenger eyed him silently, then pushed a finger to his nostril and huffed snot to the ground. “Fine. We’ll talk about this later. This isn’t the place for debate.” He tipped his head towards some other gulls that were trying in vain to leave the ground. “There are other birds to bag up. I’m assuming you don’t want to be involved today. We’ll talk about that too. For now, make yourself useful.”
He nodded in the direction past Landfill’s shoulder. “There, around the bend we just came from. It’s due a foraging. See if you can find anything useful. And be thorough.”
Landfill’s eyes met Babagoo’s. The stiffness in his lips softened, and he nodded with a sigh.
He turned and stepped carefully over some glass bottles. Babagoo called after him. “Things are different Outside, Landfill. Always told you they were. Maybe now you’ll appreciate what we’ve got in Hinterland.”
A short while later, Landfill returned from around the corner. Babagoo had made some progress along the ravine, and was stuffing another gull into one of his bags.
Upon seeing the boy, he held up a palm. “Watch your step! I’ve put some fresh traps down.” He narrowed his eyes. “What’s that smile all about?”
Landfill’s grin gleamed in the sun. He held a bin bag up high as he approached Babagoo.
“Found good treasures.” He beamed goofily at Babagoo, who slowly smiled too.
“The goblin can scavenge, eh? Okay, then. Let’s have a gander. What’ve you found?”
Landfill reached into the bag and pulled out something thick and dark, sealed in transparent film. “I think it’s grubbins. Had to fight a crow for it.” He brandished a gashed finger with pride. “It is food, isn’t it?”
Babagoo nodded. “That it is, my lad. Black pudding.”
“Pudding?” The boy’s eyes widened.
Babagoo snorted. “Nothing sugary, though. Don’t get all excited about it.”
A glum pout. “So what is it?”
The scavenger scratched a shaggy cheek. “Hmm. It’s essentially a large scab.”
Landfill screwed up his face. “What? A scab?”
“Yes, a scab. But it’s not as bad as it sounds, and it looks like some of it might still be edible.”
Landfill cringed and dodged when Babagoo reached across to ruffle his hair. “A good find, young scavenger,” he chuckled. “Not a bad start at all. Maybe you’ll be good at this. What else have you got in there?”
Landfill returned the black pudding to the bag and rummaged around. “This is for you.” He extracted a dirty toothbrush and held it out to Babagoo.
The scavenger’s eyebrows rose. “Impressive! But you have it. It’ll be wasted on me.”
Landfill shook his head. “It’s for you. You always give me the toothbrushes, but I found this one, so I decide who gets it.”
Babagoo cocked his head, sniffed and nodded. “Suit yourself.” He took the toothbrush, jammed it into his mouth and spoke: “Ank oo ery uch.”
Landfill answered in kind – “Ur elcum” – and they giggled together while the boy reached once more into the bag. “Don’t know what this is but it looks nifty. Full of the patterns we’ve got around Hinterland. On doors and consoles, places like that. And there’s pictures!”
The scavenger’s smile was fading. He bit his lip and leaned to look into the bag.
“Pictures of Outsiders!” continued the boy. “And you’re right – they do look a bit like us. Do you think the smaller ones are like me? But they’ve got queer teeth and hair in…in shapes. They look so…smiley. Is that the masks, how they trick you? There’s—”
Babagoo snatched the object Landfill was removing from the bag. Landfill gasped when it flew into a pile of bin bags. “But—”
Babagoo spat, and clacked his teeth. “Don’t ever touch those! There’s plenty more about, and if you ever see one, you need to look away and keep your distance.”
“What are they?”
“They’re called magazines, and they’re as toxic as the poison that runs through the Pit. It’s one of the ways the Outsiders poison each other. Sneaky, treacherous things. Stay well away. Those things are packed with the hunger.” He shuddered and wiped his hands on the sides of his plaid overcoat. “Same goes for books.”
“Books?”
Babagoo pointed at the magazine. “Like that, but shaped in blocks. Plenty of danger there too. Just avoid them, Landfill. Same goes for anything with pictures of Outsiders. You’ll see a lot of that in the Pit, especially on packaging. Big white smiles. Shiny hair. But they’re nothing like you, boy. Nothing is! Masks. Trickery and poison. That’s all it is. Keep well away. You hear me?”
The colour had left Landfill’s face. “I hear you.”
“For your sake, I hope you do.” Babagoo winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Any more surprises in your bag?”
“Just this.” Landfill reached solemnly into his bag and extracted a thin, rectangular sheet of metal. “There’re more if you think they’ll be handy. Found them behind some bits of wood.”
Babagoo squinted with one eye at the sheet in Landfill’s hand. “Hmm. Could be useful, I suppose. In fact…”
“Thought you could use them for fixing the stove. Maybe you can bend them—”
“Into pipes!” Babagoo grinned. “Well goose my bumps. That’s good thinking, my boy. That’s the right spirit! Everything’s got a use. Waste not, want not, eh?” He cackled and smacked his scabby lips. “You say there’s more of these?”
Landfill nodded. “A whole pile. I can spread them across my bags so they don’t get too heavy.”
Babagoo nodded approvingly. “A clever little imp. Off you go, then. I’ll finish here while you get those sheets, and then we’ll head back.” He looked at the sky, which had changed from yellow to a pale, cloudless blue. “Should be cooking breakfast by now. Routine-routine-routine. So off you go. Get to it.”
Still smiling, Landfill nodded, spun around and headed for the bend. Some of the timidity had left his feet, and he hopped squirrel-like across the rubbish.
After collecting more sheets and distributing them across his bags, Landfill paused to look around. He studied the birds that seemed to cover every surface, then frowned when he noticed two gulls brawling some way up the slope. It wasn’t until he squinted that he saw a tiny starling caught between them. The starling was opening and closing its beak, its pellet-like eyes sparkling with terror while it flapped and flailed. The sheet in Landfill’s hand fell to the ground, and as soon as one of the gulls jabbed the starling, he started to climb.
With his fingers and toes seeking crevices and footholds, Landfill kept his eyes on the starling and moved nimbly upwards. The bank was steep, but soon levelled a little and became easier to climb. Protruding edges caught Landfill’s belly, palms and knees, occasionally scratching deep enough to draw blood, but he didn’t notice. He moved up the slope like a lizard, and tapped one of the gulls just as it sent its rival into the air and hopped around to face the starling.
“Why’re you fighting?” croaked Landfill. “Why hurt each other?”
The seagull went for his hand, but Landfill dodged the ja
b, put his palm to its side and pushed with all his strength. The gull left the slope and stayed in the air, its wings a white blur. It squawked and stabbed again at the boy. Landfill threw fistfuls of rubbish until it finally retreated and took to the sky.
Landfill turned his attention to the starling, which was still agitated and flailing. “There there,” he hushed. “It’s okay. It’s alright.” He dipped his head to check beneath the starling’s speckled breast, and saw one of its feet snagged in some netting. Landfill reached for the netting with both hands, and bit his lip when the starling screamed and pecked his knuckles. “Ow! Now you’re hurting me? I’m trying to help!”
His hands were speckled with blood by the time he’d torn the plastic webbing. “Go,” he grunted. “Go on, you can go!”
The starling trilled and hopped into the air, then shot across the ravine. Landfill shifted his torso to watch it go, but his head stopped turning when he spotted the Black Fingers’ tips, thinned by distance and emerging over the crest of the opposite slope. He continued to climb higher, glancing back regularly to watch the Loomer’s top rise similarly into view, followed by the wall’s west side.
Landfill could soon see the hill that lifted Hinterland to that endless plateau of purples and browns. He spent a moment trying to comprehend what he saw, then twisted suddenly into the bank, pushing his body against its slope and gripping so hard that it hurt. His eyes were clenched shut, and it took a while for the dizziness to pass.
When he opened his eyes again he looked up and gasped. His own slope’s summit was just above his head.
After checking the bend below, Landfill closed his eyes and took some deep breaths. Making his decision, he opened his eyes and moved cautiously upwards. While approaching the summit, he adjusted the hood of his dross cape. Then, as gradually as he could, he raised his head until his nose was just above the crest.
His eyes widened, his mouth hung open and his knuckles turned white. After that, only his golden hair moved, flicked by a rancid breeze that sent wrappers whistling past his head. He struggled to take it all in – the Outsiders made small by vast distance; the motley hues of the landscape and faraway buildings; the rolling, grinding machines with their huge spiked wheels…
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