Landfill’s hand was edging subtly towards his jeans. “But it wasn’t just them who paid a price.”
A tilt of the head. “Eh?”
The boy’s hand was in his pocket. “I paid too.”
Babagoo sneered. “With what?”
“With blindness.”
Babagoo leaned back and winked both eyes as if struggling to focus. He cackled abruptly. “Blindness isn’t a price, my lad. It’s a privilege.”
He cackled again, and Landfill swiped his glass blade through the air. There was a spark when it caught the scavenger’s knife. Babagoo reeled a little, whisked his hand back and raised an eyebrow at the boy. “There you go again! Where does it stop, you wretched little skulk?”
He inhaled sharply and looked at his hand. Landfill looked too, and his mouth dropped when he saw the red slit in Babagoo’s finger.
Babagoo glared at the boy and put the finger to his lips. “So. My wallflower’s grown thorns, eh?” He scrunched up his face and raised his knife. “Try that again, lad. Try it again, so I can knock that toy out of your hand and bury this blade in your head.”
Landfill shuffled backwards and got to his feet. He held his blade up to Babagoo’s, trying his best to stop its trembling. Babagoo leered at the shaking glass. Something caught between a grimace and a grin was warping his face.
He lurched suddenly forward, and Landfill jumped to the left. While Babagoo staggered and coughed, Landfill grabbed the lamp from the ground and blew out its flame. Propelling himself through sudden darkness, he swung the lamp through black air and felt a thump as the lamp shattered.
Something slumped to the ground.
There was silence. Even Orwell’s barking had stopped.
Landfill took the lighter from his jeans and sparked its wheel. Babagoo was lying still with his face against the ground. Kafka snuffled at the glass splinters covering his hat and neck.
“Babagoo… Are you…?” The boy’s words were broken by sobs. He crouched and put a hand to the scavenger’s back, saw blood trickling from beneath an ear flap. A small yip drew his attention away, and he nodded at the pup. “Breathing. But only just.” His voice began to break. “He’s bleeding. I…” He thrust a hand into his hair. “Had no choice!”
Orwell yapped again, and Landfill got to his feet. “You’re right. Medsin. He said it can make him better.” He looked at the stairway. “Need to get down the hill. Before daylight. Go where Outsiders gather. You and Kafka look after Babagoo. I’ll be back soon as I can.”
Landfill seized the roll of coloured paper and sprinted up the steps. He kicked the cabinet door open to find indigo skies tinged red. After sucking in some cold air, he leaped down carpet rolls and ran.
The sun had begun its ascent by the time Landfill made it down the hill. He skirted the dunes of waste, trekking through mud and gorse along the Pit’s northern side. Occasional movements along the Pit’s rim – sunlight catching on hard hats and luminous vests – sent him ducking and quaking behind thickets.
With his heart hammering, Landfill left the Spit Pit behind and climbed over a low stone wall. He found himself on a strip of asphalt that stretched in a shallow curve to the left and right. Heading right, the strip cut into a wide wedge of trees; going left it headed towards squat buildings and tall wooden poles connected by cables.
An attempt to get his bearings provoked a giddy rush of dizziness. Landfill gripped the wall with white-knuckled fingers, trying to focus his eyes on the poles’ cables. He couldn’t tell whether they were swaying with the shifting ground. A trembling ran through his soles and a loud blare sent him scrabbling back over the wall. He covered his ears when something rushed by, fluttering his fringe with its own whipping wind.
Panting heavily, Landfill followed the sound and saw two rolling machines – each like a giant, limbless metal bug – racing away along the asphalt strip. The ground began to settle beneath him while he watched them disappear. With eyes clouding, he turned towards the Pit and gazed longingly at Hinterland’s four black chimneys. After taking some steps back the way he’d come, he clenched his fists, turned back around and headed left along the asphalt strip.
The strip was soon bordered by the rows of brick buildings he’d seen from high up in the Pit. They stretched out in long lines, broken only by the strips that crossed them further ahead. Rolling machines of various colours – brighter and shinier than any trinket he’d polished in Hinterland – were roaring by more regularly now. Landfill held his breath every time they passed, but appeared to be safe on the cracked, raised slabs that lined the asphalt strip.
He was struck by the lack of foliage or decay on the bricks and concrete. There was a cold, grimy starkness to every surface; corners and edges were naked and sharp. He stiffened when he clocked an Outsider coming towards him, just ahead on the slabs. Its black jacket had white stripes running like tracks down its arms, and was open to reveal a T-shirted stomach the shape and size of a bag of gulls.
Landfill stared at the Outsider, bewildered by the bluish clouds of smoke that erupted occasionally from its nose. It drew nearer and Landfill noticed it was sucking at a thin metal tube. He muttered his mantra – “Blend. Blend. Blend.” – scowled and tried to still his shaking limbs. When the Outsider was close enough to touch, Landfill strained to hold his head high, and reached for the glass blade in his pocket. Its tip pricked his thumb, and his senses sharpened to the point that he could see every pore on the Outsider’s ruddy face.
But the Outsider didn’t notice him. Its attention was fixed on a small plastic rectangle cradled in its hand, which emitted a small, shifting light that had Landfill enthralled, until he was startled by a puff of fragrant smoke.
The blade stayed in the boy’s pocket. He watched the Outsider walk away, wiped his clammy hands on his jeans and continued along the slabs.
He was among more Outsiders now – Outsiders of shapes and colours as varied as they were baffling. There were soon so many Outsiders that Landfill struggled to keep a wary eye on each of them. Like him, they walked along the slabs flanking the strip. Some of them looked blankly ahead as they strolled, while others gazed absently at the rectangles in their hands. But Landfill noticed that one – young looking and in a hooded top – was watching him from the other side of the strip. Its plastic rectangle was pressed against its ear, and it was nodding and appeared to be talking to itself.
Goosebumps erupted all over Landfill’s body; the young Outsider wasn’t alone in watching him. Other Outsiders were slowing down to stare at him – to ogle his dirty face, crusty jumper and bare, muddy feet. He did his best to keep walking and stare rigidly back, and the Outsiders often looked away. But some continued to stare, parting their lips to reveal teeth so uniform that Landfill couldn’t help running his tongue along his gums.
These staring Outsiders usually stepped aside when Landfill passed, as if trying to maintain their distance. But others kept their eyes locked on his. Some even changed their course to trail him for one or two steps before stopping on the spot. Landfill fondled the glass in his pocket, continued to mouth his mantra and picked up his pace.
He scanned buildings, doorways and windows, searching for signs of bottles or paper, powders or packets. He sniffed keenly at the air, which smelled all at once of more things than were imaginable. There were clashing scents of rain, of soot, of sulphur, mildew and urine – of hot grease, cold dirt and remoistened faeces; of damp weeds and chemical sweetness and something caustic he couldn’t identify. His nostrils twitched frantically and his eyes continued to roam. Every muscle was sore in his limbs, taut against the urge to turn around – to drop to all fours and bound away.
Sometimes, between the yawns of thunder from rolling machines, Landfill heard other noises: plastic cacophonies that poured from open windows in narrow brick buildings. He lapped at his wrist and screwed up his face, trying to make sense of the jumbled barrage. As he passed a window he peered through to glimpse several Outsiders gathered around a huge rectangle of lig
ht, which hovered and flashed against a smooth yellowish wall. The Outsiders laughed and the rectangle laughed back. Landfill rubbed wildly at the back of his neck – at the hairs so keen and erect that they felt like pins in his skin.
He was trying to look through the next window along when something touched his arm, causing him to yelp and spin. Groping clumsily for his blade, he found himself face-to-face with a bulky Outsider. It was sat on a wheeled machine reminiscent of those on the strip, but much smaller, with four tiny grey wheels and no roof.
“Are you alright, young man?” it squawked.
Landfill gaped at its crease-ridden face. Its hair was bunned up in bluish rolls, and grey-yellow teeth chattered beneath a faint moustache of fluff.
Landfill swallowed deeply, spoke through rigid lips. “Kemist. Where is it? I have munnie.” He took the roll out from his pocket, tearing off the rubber band so that coloured sheets flapped in his hand.
The Outsider’s rheumy eyes were agape. “Put that away!” It pushed his hand down and guided the wad back into his pocket. “You want to get robbed?”
The Outsider twisted in its seat to peer around, and Landfill noticed that other Outsiders – some of which he’d passed earlier – were gathering behind the wheeled machine. They seemed to consult their rectangles and mutter to each other in hushed tones.
“…coke works…”
“…said there was a boy…”
“…never found him…”
“You need to take more care,” continued the blue-haired Outsider. “Where are your parents? Are you lost?”
One of the muttering Outsiders met Landfill’s gaze. The moment it stepped forward, Landfill submitted to his instincts and ran. He felt sick as the slabs raced by beneath his feet, and someone shouted behind him. He ran and ran, dodging the Outsiders that were too distracted to move aside, or weaving widely around those that trailed him with their eyes. His lungs were raw, and his ribcage felt sore with the pounding of his heart. Watery, acidic bile flooded his mouth and trickled down his chin.
And then, after skidding around a corner, he saw her. He cried out, triumphant and terrified: “Dawn!”
Dawn turned her head. Her lips parted. “Landfill?”
Landfill had lost all control of his limbs. The legs attached to his hips pumped on their own accord, driving him towards her. The arms on his torso swivelled in their sockets, threw themselves around her waist. He took cover behind her back, and pushed his watering eyes into the grey fabric of her top. “Daawwwnn…” he moaned, then peered around her side to see a pack of Outsiders closing in.
Dawn thrust a palm out towards them. “Back off, will you? Can’t you see he’s terrified?”
The Outsiders slowed to a shuffle. One of them, with a hard, rectangular case in its hand and some sort of black ribbon dangling from its neck, pointed at the boy. “That’s him, isn’t it? From up the hill? It must be.”
Landfill gawked at the speaker’s smooth, hairless head. When it moved closer, Dawn held up a finger. “Please. Just give him some space.”
“But—”
“I’ll deal with it, okay? I know him. You can see he knows me, can’t you?”
The Outsider hesitated.
“Good,” said Dawn. “So leave him with me, okay? You just doddle on to the office or wherever it is you’re heading.”
The Outsider reddened before muttering and falling back. Murmurs were exchanged within the pack, and after shrugs and lingering stares, they finally turned and scattered.
Dawn eased Landfill’s arms from her waist so she could swivel to face him. Her smile sent a familiar flutter through his stomach. “Landfill! It’s really you! I got a call from a friend who said he might have seen you up the road. I didn’t believe him but thought I’d look around, just in case. And here you are!” She put her hands on his arms. “I was so worried – you know, after what happened with that man…” Her smile faltered while her pupils searched the slabs and asphalt. “Are you safe? He’s not here, is he?”
The mention of Babagoo had Landfill pulling away. His heartbeat settled into a steadier rhythm, and his limbs felt once more like his own. “No.”
She looked eastwards, in the direction of Hinterland. “Is he still at the coke works? If he is, we need to tell the police.”
“Pulleess?”
“Yeah. So they can get him and find out who he is, what he’s been doing. It’ll help them to help you.”
Landfill took another step back. His expression shifted with growing wariness. “No pulleess. He’s not there.”
“Then where is he?”
“He’s gone.”
Dawn tilted her head, her expression mirroring Landfill’s. “You said that before. Is he really gone?”
“Where’s kemist?”
Landfill’s question had the desired effect. Dawn was thrown. “Kemist?”
“Need medsin.”
“Oh… You mean medicine? Are you hurt?”
Landfill shook his head. “Need to find medsin.” He took a step back towards her, then reached out before hesitating. “Can you help me?”
Dawn fidgeted with the golden chain on her neck, and spent some moments searching the boy’s face. “I can help you,” she finally said. “I’ll help you by taking you to the police – to the authorities.”
“No pulleess! No othritees! Medsin. Need to get medsin and go back.”
“You can’t be serious, Landfill. You’re safer here. Let me take you to people who can help you.”
“If you won’t show me where kemist is…I’ll find it myself!”
Landfill was turning away when he felt Dawn clutch his shoulder. His heart kicked and he lowered himself, bracing to flee, until a sigh stopped his feet.
“I’ll take you,” said Dawn. “Just stay with me, okay?” She released his shoulder and shrugged. “There’s a chemist not far from here. I’ll show you the way.”
Landfill followed a few steps behind as Dawn moved briskly along the slabs. She turned abruptly. “Why are you hanging back like that? And what’s that look for? I’m helping you, aren’t I?”
Landfill eyed her darkly. The edge of his lip curled to reveal a sliver of teeth. “Why’d you do it?”
“Do what?”
“You destroyed everything.” The boy’s voice began to break, but he maintained his steely expression. “You tore Hinterland down and drove away the amnals.”
He tipped his head eastwards and Dawn’s eyes flashed with comprehension. “You mean the coke works? I didn’t do that.”
“You sent Outsiders.”
“Things got out of hand up there, Landfill. The police headed up when I showed them the negative of you and that man, but then word got round and before the police knew it they had a mob on their hands. From what I heard, things got heated. Stuff got trashed.” She snorted bitterly. “Some people are just looking for an excuse to smash stuff up, you know?”
Landfill scowled. “Hate and madness.”
Dawn shook her head. “It wasn’t like that, Landfill. It’s not so straightforward. Those people only got worked up when word spread that I’d been hurt. They were looking out for me. In fact, they were looking out for you. When the rumours spread about a man keeping a boy up there… Well, that’s when it really kicked off.”
She closed her eyes and massaged her forehead. “I mean, yeah – maybe they shouldn’t have gone so overboard. They should have let the police do their job. But sometimes it’s a fine line, you know – between anger and caring. Can you understand that?”
Landfill’s lips tautened. He felt his head begin to bow, for he understood more than he liked to admit.
“Are you okay, Landfill? You’re sure you’re not hurt?”
The boy nodded and felt Dawn’s hand on his elbow.
“Landfill. Listen. I’m really sorry the coke works got trashed. But it’s for the best, believe me. And there’s something I need to say.
“I’m sorry I left you that day. After that man attacked me it was f
ight or flee, you know? I ran for help, and only realized as I got into town that I shouldn’t have left you with him. I felt terrible. I still do. But by then, the best thing I could do was stick to the plan – get to the police so they could deal with that guy and help you.”
Landfill looked up to notice the scar that lined Dawn’s temple, deep and dark like the rim of a mask. His throat began to expand, and he swallowed the salty lump that was swelling there. “I’m sorry too.”
“Hmm?” Dawn followed his gaze and touched her scar. “Oh. You mean this.”
Landfill frowned at the mud crusting on his feet. “I’m sorry I hurt you. Didn’t know what was happening. I… I don’t know anything. I’m so…jumbled up.”
Dawn’s nostrils flared momentarily. She closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m over it, Landfill. As over it as I can be. I know it wasn’t your fault. It was that man. That’s who really did this.”
She squeezed Landfill’s hand. He felt the warmth of her fingers through the sweat covering his own. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you to that chemist.”
They made some headway, until something ahead made Landfill pause. There was an Outsider that looked different to the others. While most of the Outsiders wore clothes that were clean and intact, this one was limping on torn shoes and wore a filthy, baggy coat with a missing sleeve. The rims of its eyes were dirty and red, and long clumps of hair hung against cheeks that were dark with scabs and stubble.
Two Outsiders with orange skin, long hair and metal hoops in their ears were heading towards the one-sleeved Outsider. They tottered on silver shoes with tall, pronged heels that bewildered Landfill more than anything he’d seen.
Landfill watched the scruffy Outsider hobble meekly towards the orange-faced pair. Its palms were clasped together in a gesture of pleading. Landfill was too far away to hear its words, but when the Outsider spoke he saw teeth as brown and crooked as Babagoo’s.
Dawn tugged the boy’s hand. “Come on, Landfill. We’re nearly there.”
Landfill pointed at the Outsider. After calling out to the orange pair now walking away, it approached other Outsiders with its palms still pressed together.
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