Scavengers

by Darren Simpson

  Landfill’s chin had sunk into his jumper. He croaked at the floor: “Alone…”

  “Yeah.”

  The cabin became quiet, until Dawn broke the silence with a long sigh. The golden gleam disappeared beneath her top. “Tell you what – how about we head to town for an ice cream or something? It’s never too cold for ice cream. I think we could both do with a bit of perking up.”

  “Don’t understand. I don’t understand…anything…”

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Out. Of here…?”

  “Yeah. We’ll fetch your shoes from wherever you’ve put them and head back through the—”

  She stopped when Landfill tensed and pulled away. He wiped his face with a woolly sleeve and muttered bitterly. “Traps.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Won’t work. Not going Outside.”

  “Come on, Landfill. We’ll—”

  “Mischief. Get out. Go back.” Landfill shuffled further away. He kept his eyes to the ground, unable to raise his face to Dawn.

  “But—”

  “Leave me alone. Won’t fall for it.”

  “Fall for what?”

  “Just go!”

  Landfill couldn’t see Dawn, but he heard her tone hardening. “Listen, Landfill. I’ll be honest. When I got into this place, I just wanted to fill up some camera film. I thought I’d get some good photos. But what I got instead was a boy in rags who’s scared of me and scared of some guy looking for him. A boy who’s wielding glass and playing weird games one minute, then crying in cabins the next. I don’t know what’s going on here, but whatever it is, it can’t be good.”

  Landfill finally managed to raise his eyes. “Please,” he begged. “Please go back.”

  Dawn raised her chin and considered him silently, then nodded with reluctance. “Okay. You really want me to go. I can see that. And I’m sorry. I never meant to upset you or make you uncomfortable. And I don’t want you to feel pressured. I know what it’s like when people try to force you to talk about things. But I’m only leaving if you promise you’re safe and that you’ll meet me here tomorrow. Deal?”

  Landfill put his palms to his eyes.

  “Deal?” repeated Dawn.

  The boy nodded. There was a pang in his chest when Dawn got up and brushed past him. Her voice came from the doorway. “Tomorrow. Promise you’ll be here.”

  Landfill lowered his hands, moved to the window and looked outside. He saw Dawn stopping by the hole to peer closely at the creepers on the wall. She reached out timidly, touched a protruding shard of glass and looked suddenly back towards the cabin. Landfill ducked out of sight, then raised his head to watch her disappear into the ground.

  That evening, Landfill and Babagoo ate in silence. The stove glowed as the Den’s windows darkened, its crackles blending with the sounds of cats stirring in their boxes. After tearing the flesh from a gull’s thigh with his teeth, Babagoo threw the bone to Kafka, who guzzled it down with a grateful grunt.

  “You’re very welcome, old bleater,” slurped Babagoo, speaking through his food. He took some bones from his lap and tossed them one by one to the other goats. “Dig in, my lovelies. Only the best, only the best.”

  He chortled and grinned at Landfill. Meaty lumps glistened from gaps between rotten teeth. “Come on now, boyling. Surely it’s time you got back to gobbling gull. I almost see where you’re come from with them – I honestly do. And it’s laudable, in its own sweet, demented way. But you can’t live on carrots and shrooms for ever. You need proper belly fuel.”

  Landfill shook his head, and Babagoo did the same.

  “I don’t know how often I have to explain it, Landfill. Gulls are an exception. They’re Pit vermin. Doomed to die, and if we don’t eat them we waste them. And we don’t like waste, do we, boy?

  “And don’t go thinking I’ll be gutting these for you much longer. That’s your work and you need to get back to it, whether you’re eating gull or not. I’ve got enough to do around here.”

  He looked at Landfill, who began gazing glumly at his lap, then shrugged.

  They ate in silence again, until Landfill cleared his throat and looked up. “Babagoo?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “The Outsiders…”

  Babagoo stopped chewing. His face contorted as if he’d tasted something bitter.

  Landfill continued. “Do they have hes and shes?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Do they have hes and shes? Like the amnals.”

  The scavenger scratched a bushy eyebrow. “They do, my boy. Although sometimes they’re like two separate species. Why’d you ask?”

  Landfill shrugged. “No reason.” He coughed quietly and looked away, trying to dodge Babagoo’s eyes. He gazed at the bathtub in the Den’s corner, still slick from gutted gulls. “What about the rot? Can you smell it?”

  “Usually. Unless they cover up the stench. All about disguise, are the Outsiders.”

  “Cover the stench…” Landfill rubbed his nose. “What about blood?”

  “Blood?”

  The boy glanced at the pocket that held his blade. He swore he could still taste Dawn’s blood. That coppery tang seemed to linger, faint but familiar.

  Swiftly, he shifted his gaze from his jeans to Babagoo. “Do they have blood? Like us and the amnals?”

  Babagoo frowned and rubbed his lips. He looked up at the ceiling panels. “Guess they do.”

  “And they bleed if you cut them?”

  “Should hope so.”

  Landfill gnawed at a fingernail. “But the Outsider in the Pit… It didn’t bleed. There was just the rot there.”

  Babagoo’s back straightened. “Hmm.” He clucked his tongue. “All depends on how the rot has spread. Some have lost all their blood to it. Just filth left, my lad.”

  The boy’s eyes glimmered. “So some have less rot than others?”

  Babagoo began to squirm. “I—”

  “Does that mean some aren’t as bad as others?” Landfill’s voice was rising. “That some—”

  Babagoo raised a hand and glared at the boy. “Now hold it there, Landfill. I’m not sure I like where this conversation is going. Where’s all this coming from? I knew it. You’ve been far too quiet lately. You’ve been pondering, and not in a healthy way.” A tilt of the head. “Now tell me – why might some Outsiders be…‘not as bad’?” He choked a little, and gobbed a web of mucus to the floor.

  Landfill closed his eyes, then looked again at Babagoo. “Well…I was mulling… You said the Outsiders have small Outsiders come from inside them. Just like the small amnals come from big amnals – from the swelling. And I was mulling about Woolf – about how she cares for her little wooflings. I pondered whether the Outsiders look after their little Outsiders like that. If they do, are they all so bad?”

  Babagoo gawped at Landfill with his greasy mouth open. He began to shake his head, his features tightening. “You’re jabbering gibberish, boy. Dangerous, misguided drivel. Certainly, the big Outsiders create the…the small ones.”

  He stalled, then scowled and wiped his lips roughly. “But they don’t raise them so much as warp them. They pass on the hunger and the suffering – fill their tiny heads with hate, fear and fibbery so the rot sets in. You could almost pity the little creatures, if they weren’t responsible for sustaining the disease.”

  Landfill returned his gaze to his lap. He licked his wrist and ran it across his hair. After a pause he spoke again, so quietly that Babagoo had to lean in to hear. “What if the Outsiders can change? Do you think they can get better?”

  Babagoo’s laugh was as bitter as it was shrill. “Course not! They can only get worse.”

  Gradually, the boy raised his eyes. “But you got better. Didn’t you?”

  Babagoo opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came. His lips and eyelids spasmed. “Now… Ah… You’d…” The grubby skin above the hair on his cheeks reddened. “Now watch your jabberhole, Landfill. Be caref
ul what you say. Words can be dangerous things. Sharper than any knife.”

  “But you did get better. Lost the hunger. You said so.”

  “I only got better after…after…” The scavenger scratched his forehead so fiercely that skin gathered beneath his fingernails. “There are always…exceptions. I’m an exception. You’re an exception.”

  Landfill maintained eye contact. “Sometimes it feels like…there’s a lot of exceptions. Like—”

  “Watch that brattish little mouth!” Babagoo was on his feet, glaring down from above. “I warned you about words, Landfill. Boys can be cut by what they say. Boys can be too young to understand, and should respect what they’re told and what they’re supposed to do.”

  He kicked away some bones and shot a look at the black windows. “And talking of what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it time you went out and got some meat to the amnals? Get out. I can’t look at you.”

  His shaking finger was aimed at the door. Landfill looked at it with welling eyes. Then he sagged his shoulders and got up to go.

  After the evening feed, Babagoo and Landfill were sitting on either side of a short line of dominoes. They stared at their piles, but neither of them moved. The goats had already settled down to sleep.

  Landfill looked at the scavenger. He sighed quietly. “Babagoo?”

  Babagoo grunted, his eyes locked on black spots against yellowing white.

  “Babagoo, I’m sorry about before.”

  The scavenger’s eyes remained on his dominoes. “You should be.”

  Landfill wiped his nose with the back of his wrist. “You know how you say there’s nothing like me? That I’m special?”

  “A special pain in the neck.”

  Landfill carried on. “It used to feel good. But now… it doesn’t.”

  Babagoo shifted uncomfortably while Landfill went on. “Sometimes I ponder why there aren’t more like me. When I watch Woolf with her wooflings, I feel…alone. It makes me sad that I came from a seed. I ponder why I didn’t get to have a…a…” He trailed off and brushed a tear from his cheek.

  Babagoo looked up. He pursed his lips, rubbed the bridge of his nose and groaned. “Listen, my lad. There’s nothing wrong with being what you are. You’re my wallflower. A rare, precious bud, purer than anything in this filthy world.

  “And you shouldn’t feel alone. That’s nonsense. You have me. You have the amnals. You have Hinterland. Out there, Outside–” he nodded towards the windows – “out there, there’s nothing for you. Everything you need is here. You just need to learn to appreciate it again. Like you used to. You need to stop all this mulling and deal with facts – with fear and all I’ve done for you.”

  Landfill nodded. He sniffed and wiped away another tear.

  Babagoo sighed. “Okay. I think we’re both very tired. Maybe we should get some slumber.”

  After brushing his teeth with Landfill, the scavenger stretched out on the mattress and offered his overcoat to the boy. “Come on, goblin. You need to rest.”

  Landfill curled up on his side of the mattress. He inhaled the coat’s sour scent and pulled it close. They lay there soundlessly for some time, until Landfill yawned and croaked: “Will I ever get the swelling? So I can make something like me?”

  Babagoo only snored in reply.

  The boy’s eyes were red and stinging, but he knew sleep wouldn’t come easily. He fidgeted beneath the overcoat, and rolled over to notice a dull glimmer just ahead of his nose. The top of Babagoo’s key was peeking out from the neck of his jumper.

  He eyed the key, then slowly reached out. As soon as his finger touched it, the scavenger snorted. His eyelids flickered, and Landfill jerked his hand back as if scorched by the metal. Babagoo mumbled through a mouth sticky with sleep. “Wha… Lan…”

  “Babagoo?”

  The scavenger stirred on the mattress. “Mmyy boy…”

  “Can…” Landfill’s eyes were misty with tears. “Can we slumber closer?”

  Babagoo murmured and grunted, and the mattress shuddered as he shifted to enfold the boy in his arms. Landfill sniffed and gave himself to that woolly, acrid hug.

  Later, as the glow from the stove’s embers faded, Landfill began to wriggle in Babagoo’s embrace. He needed it, just as thirst made him need water, but those arms felt too tight to bear.

  Landfill checked the cabins during his morning inspection of the perimeter wall, but there was no sign of Dawn. A light queasiness fizzled in the boy’s belly; he couldn’t tell whether it was relief or disappointment.

  After lunch, Landfill left Babagoo to thin out some bindweed that was eating into the Nook’s exterior. He attempted to saunter casually along the Gully towards the Rippletop, and as soon as the scavenger was out of sight, he leaped to all fours and dashed across Hinterland. Yapping dogs tried to join him at Muttbrough, and he shooed them away as he passed the Rippletop’s entrance.

  He slowed down upon rounding the warehouse’s corner, and peered through a cabin window to find Dawn sitting with Rushdie’s muzzle on her thigh. The black device that had blinded him in the Pale Loomer hung against her chest, and she wore the plastic band with cupped ends around her neck.

  She smiled when he stepped cautiously into the cabin. “I see you’ve got rid of that glass. That’s progress, right?”

  Landfill tapped his pocket. “Still here. I’ll get it if you try using that lightning box on me again.” With his stomach cramping, he checked behind him and closed the door.

  “Lightning box?”

  Landfill nodded towards the black device, and Dawn followed his gaze. “That? It’s my camera.” Confusion skewed her laugh. “I still don’t know how to take you, Landfill.”

  “Take me?” Landfill shuffled back towards the door, his hand reaching for his blade.

  “Hey, calm down.” Dawn raised her palms. “I mean understand you. I still haven’t got the hang of what you’re playing at. Just take it easy, yeah? You’re so tense.”

  Landfill swallowed painfully. His fingers lingered by his pocket.

  Dawn stroked the fur on Rushdie’s neck. “So are you feeling a bit better today? You’re here again, so I take it you’re ready to talk about it.”

  “About what?”

  “About what’s going on. About this place. Like, why there’s all that glass in the walls.” She looked through the window towards the glinting shards. “I’m no expert on coke works but—”

  “Coke works?”

  “That’s what this place is. They used to process coal here. But I doubt they put that glass in the walls. Any idea how it got there?”

  Landfill’s gaze flitted to the window and returned to Dawn, who was watching him closely. She tapped her lips and carried on.

  “I’m guessing it’s supposed to stop something climbing up – something in here, since the glass points inwards. But what? And maybe those dogs dug their way in, in which case maybe it got out?”

  She looked expectantly at the boy, then returned her gaze to the window. “But why would the dogs have come in in the first place? And why are they hanging around? None of it makes sense. And it seems like so much trouble, putting all that glass in the wall. Do you know anything about it?”

  She gestured again at Landfill, who frowned at his hands to avoid her gaze.

  “No? Then maybe we could try asking that man. The one who—”

  “The man’s gone!”

  Dawn cocked her head. Landfill could feel her scrutinizing his face. “How do you know?” she asked. “Who was he?”

  Landfill shifted the subject. “The glass keeps…keeps the shadows…” He stared through the window while he spoke, his words rising in pitch as if to form a question. Then he pressed both hands to his ears and grimaced. “It keeps Outside out. It keeps the danger out.” He nodded pointedly towards her.

  Dawn gave him a quizzical look. “But that makes no sense. If it keeps danger out, why is it on the inside? That suggests the danger’s in here rather than out there, doesn’t it? Bes
ides, there’s no danger beyond that wall.”

  “Lies!”

  Rushdie bristled in Dawn’s lap. She shushed and stroked him. “Lies?”

  “I’ve been Outside. I was attacked!”

  Dawn’s hand froze in the fox’s fur. “You…you’ve been attacked?”

  “By an Outsider,” spat Landfill. “In the Pit. Tried to give me grubbins. Just like you.”

  Dawn held up a palm. “Hang on. Slow down. I’m not following. When was this? Who attacked you?”

  Landfill recognized an anxious sadness in Dawn’s eyes. He felt the tension leaving his cheeks, and his reply was hoarse. “An Outsider. It was filthy and full of hate and rot. It wasn’t…like you. Wasn’t like you at all.”

  Rushdie scampered beneath the table when Dawn got up. “I’ve heard enough now. Something’s iffy here and I won’t pretend I’m not worried about you. I hoped I’d figure this out, but the more I find out the worse it looks.” She took a deep breath and held out a hand. “Will you come with me, Landfill?”

  The boy shrank back against the door. “Come where?”

  “To town. You just said you were attacked, and from what I’ve gathered you don’t have parents and you’re all alone. I think we need to find you some help. So let’s get out of here.”

  “You mean…Outside?” Landfill’s hand moved once more to his pocket.

  “I’ll take you to the authorities.”

  “Othritees…”

  “People who can help.”

  “What’s peepul?”

  Dawn’s chin dropped. “People! The ones like me – like you! – out there. The authorities can find out what’s happened. They can look after you. God knows they’re not perfect, but they’ve got to be better than whatever’s going on here.”

  “Tricks and traps!” barked Landfill. “They’ll hurt me. And then they’ll get in to hurt…to hurt…”

  “No.” Dawn’s voice was gentle but persistent. “No one out there’s going to hurt anyone. Trust me on this.”