Un Lun Dun

6. The Trashpack

The wheel spun; the light changed; the sound changed.

The glow from outside went from the dim of streetlights, down to darkness, then slowly back up to something luminous but odd. The last of the car engines sounded very far away, and then was gone. At last the wheel slowed and stopped.

Deeba stood, frozen, her hands to her mouth, in the strange not-dark. Za

“Quick! Undo it!” Deeba said at last. She grabbed the wheel and tried to turn it backwards. It was wedged stubbornly, as if it hadn’t moved for years. “Help!” she said, and Za

But the wheel just spun free. It wasn’t catching on anything. It whirred heavily around, but the light didn’t change, and the noise of traffic didn’t return.

London didn’t come back on.

“Za

“I don’t know,” whispered Za

“Let’s get out of here,” Deeba said. Za

The peculiar light was shining around the edges of the doorway they had come in by, as if a giant black-and-white television were playing just outside. Deeba and Za

They stumbled out. And stopped. And looked around. And let their mouths hang open.

It was not night anymore, and they were not in the estate. They were somewhere very else.

Just as it had when they entered, the door opened on waste ground between tall buildings, and to either side were big metal bins and spilt rubbish. But the tower blocks were not those they had left behind.

The walls just kept going up. Everywhere they looked, they were surrounded by enormous concrete monoliths that dwarfed those they remembered, and stood in more chaotic configurations. Not a single one of them was broken by a single window.

The door swung shut, and clicked. Za

“Maybe that room’s, like…a train carriage…” Deeba whispered. “And we’ve come down the line…and…and it was later than we thought…”

“Maybe,” whispered Za

“Why did you turn it?” Deeba said.

“I don’t know, ” said Za

Holding each other’s arms for comfort, peering everywhere wide-eyed, Za

“I’m calling Mum,” Deeba said, and took out her phone. She was about to dial when she stopped, and stared at the screen. She showed it to Za

Deeba scrolled through her address book.

“What’s that mean?” said Za

“Those aren’t my friends’ names,” whispered Deeba. Her phone’s contact list contained random words in alphabetical order. Accidie, Bateleur, Cepheid, Dillybag…

“Mine’s the same,” said Za

Deeba dialed her home number.

“Hello?” she whispered. “Hello?”

From the phone sounded a close-up buzzing like a wasp. It was so loud and sudden in that silent place that Deeba turned it off in alarm. She and Za

“Let me try,” said Za

They went deeper into the cavern between the windowless buildings.

“We have to get out of here,” said Za

They ran past windblown old newspaper, deserted tin cans, and the rustling of black rubbish bags. In growing terror they turned left then right then left, and then Za

“What?” said Deeba, and Za

“I thought…” she said. “Listen.”

Deeba bit her lip. Za

For long seconds there was silence. Then a very faint noise.

There was a rustling, what might be a light footfall.

“Someone’s coming,” whispered Za

Then she slumped, and pointed.

It was just a torn black rubbish bag, billowing nearby. It scraped gently against the ground.

Deeba sighed and watched it despondently as it fluttered a little closer. There was more rubbish behind it: with a clatter a can rolled into view, and there was the whisper of newspaper. A little collection of discarded stuff swirled at the passage entrance. The girls leaned against the wall.

“We got to think,” Deeba said, and tried and failed to use her phone again.

“Deeba,” Za

There was more rubbish than had been there a moment before. The black plastic, and the can, and the newspapers, had been joined by greasy hamburger wrappers, a grocery bag, several apple cores, and scrunched-up clear plastic. The rubbish rustled.

More rolled into view: chicken bones, empty tubes of toothpaste, a milk carton. Debris blocked off the way they had come.

Deeba and Za

As the girls began to creep backwards, it seemed as if the rubbish realized they were onto it. It sped up.

The cartons and cans rolled in their direction. The paper fluttered for them as madly as agitated butterflies. The plastic bags reached out their handles and scrambled towards the girls.

Deeba and Za

They raced through the maze of walls, desperate to get away.

Behind them there was a scrunching of paper, a percussion of cardboard, the squelch of damp things moving fast. The girls were fighting for breath.

“I…can’t…” said Deeba. Za

The rubbish was close. It had slowed, and was creeping towards them. The stinking heap came with motions as careful and catlike as its odd shapes would allow. The stench of old dustbins was strong.

Ragged black plastic reached out with its rip-arms, trailing rubbish juice like a slug’s slime. Za