“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 Zanna stared at each other.
“Let me try,” said Zanna. But dialing her number led to the same unpleasant insect noise. “No reception,” she said, as if that were all that was wrong. Neither of them said anything more about the strange words or pictures on their phones.
They went deeper into the cavern between the windowless buildings.
“We have to get out of here,” said Zanna, speeding up.
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 Zanna came to a sudden stop, and Deeba bumped into her.
“What?” said Deeba, and Zanna hushed her.
“I thought…” she said. “Listen.”
Deeba bit her lip. Zanna swallowed several times.
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 Zanna. Her voice was halfway between hope and despair— would this person help, or be more troubles?
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,” Zanna whispered.
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 Zanna stared. The rubbish was moving towards them. It was coming against the wind.
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 Zanna screamed and ran. They heard the manic wet rustle of the predatory rubbish.
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. Zanna tried to pull her along, but Deeba could only flatten against a wall. “Oh help,” she whispered. Zanna stood in front of her, between her friend and their pursuers.
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. Zanna raised her arms in despairing defense, and Deeba held her breath and closed her eyes.
7. Market Day
“Oy!”
A voice came from behind them, and stones began to whistle past them. Someone grabbed Deeba and Zanna by their collars and hauled them backwards out of the alley.
It was a boy. They stared at him as he elbowed in front of them, chucking more pebbles and bits of brick and brandishing a stick at the rubbish. Which was cowering.
“Go on!” he said. He threw another well-aimed stone. The rubbish flinched, retreated. “Get out of it!” the boy shouted. “Disgusting!” The rubbish scrambled to get away.
Zanna and Deeba stared. The boy turned to them and winked.
He was about their age, very thin and wiry, dressed in odd patched-up grubby clothes. His hair was messy, his face shrewd. He was raising an eyebrow.
“What’s that all about?” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “You ain’t scared of a trashpack, are you? Pests like them? Need a much bigger lot’n that to do you any damage.” He lobbed another stone. “If you’re that yellow, why you off walking in the Backwall Maze? You wouldn’t like it if they came swanning into your manor, would you? Mind how you go.”
He nodded and half-grinned, gave them a little salute, then strode off away from the wall, brushing dirt from his already dirty clothes.
“Wait a minute!” Deeba managed to say.
“We don’t know…where…we…” Zanna said. Their voices trailed off as they turned to watch the boy go, and saw the square he had pulled them into.
It was big, full of stalls and scores of people, movement, the bustle of a market. There were costumes and colors. But above all the girls’ attention was taken by the light shining down from above.
In the narrow alleys, they had only seen slivers of sky. This was the first time since emerging from the door that they had had a clear view.
The sky was gray, not blue. Here and there were a few scurrying clouds, unfolding like milk in water. They moved in all different directions, as if they were on errands.
“Deebs,” said Zanna, swallowing. “What is that?”
Deeba’s throat dried as she looked up.
“No wonder the light’s weird,” whispered Zanna.
The orb above them was huge, and low in the sky— a circle at least three times the size of the sun. It shone with peculiar, cool dark-light like that of some autumn mornings, giving everything crisp edges and shadows. It was the yellow-white of a grubby tooth. Deeba and Zanna looked directly at it without hurting their eyes, for long seconds, their mouths wide open.
The sun had a hole in it.
It hung over the city, not like a disk, or a coin, or a ball, but like a donut. A perfect circle was missing from its middle. They could see the gray sky through it.
“Oh…my…God…” Deeba said.
“What is that?” said Zanna.
Deeba stepped forward, staring at the impossible sun shining like a fat ring. She looked down. The boy who had rescued her was gone.
“What’s going on?” Deeba shouted. People in the market turned to look at her. “Where are we?” she whispered.
After a few seconds people went back to their business— whatever that was.
“Okay. Okay. We have to figure this out,” said Deeba.
Behind them was a blank concrete wall, the edge of the maze they had come through, broken by a few alley entrances. In front, the market stretched as far as they could see.
“Why’d you turn that stupid wheel?”
“Like I knew we were going to end up here?”
“Can’t ever leave anything alone.”
Hesitantly, the two girls stepped into the rows of tents, buyers, and sellers. There was nowhere else to go.
They were immediately surrounded by the animated jabbering of a market morning. Deeba and Zanna kept looking up at that extraordinary hollow sun, but the scene around them was almost as bizarre.
There were people in all kinds of uniforms: mechanics’ overalls smeared in oil; firefighters’ protective clothes; doctors’ white coats; the blue of police; and others, including people in the neat suits of waiters, with cloths over one arm. All these uniforms looked like dressing-up costumes. They were too neat, and somehow a bit too simple.