At the front of the dump was a small, squat structure the colour of wet cat food. It had its own fence. Amy guessed it was a guardhouse of some kind. In the game her mom had shown her, you always had to decommission the security in places like that before gaining access to the feedstock from the compiler. It was tough, though, and you were likely to get hurt: in-game, the guardhouses had electrified roofs and the dumps had botflies equipped with thermal vision, and these were linked to fence-mounted turrets full of puke rounds. Amy looked at the fence. Sure enough, there were slender guns mounted on every second fence post. Puke rounds sat clustered under them like plastic beehives.
You could always run. He's not worth it. You know he's not.
Amy shook her head. "He didn't have to save me before, either, but he did."
Amy decided to walk the perimeter. It would give her a better sense of where the best garbage was, assuming the security drones didn't find her first. She could see them darting among piles of scrap metal that glistened with yellow anti-theft acid coating. Kneeling, Amy dug a small hole in the ground and coated her hands with dirt. She wished she had mud, instead. It wouldn't really stop the burn once she stuck her hands in the garbage, but it might delay it for a while. She'd have to rely on her mods to take care of the rest.
The garbage dump wasn't actually that big. It was roughly the size of the big-box store they had visited earlier, and sat on a square of green spongy material, sort of like the stuff that got sprayed over oil spills, when there were more of those. The sponge spanned the entire width of the dump, from fencepost to fencepost. It was darker and plumper under each pile of garbage. If Amy could get some of it on her hands, it might absorb the acid – maybe even the electricity from the fence, too. She'd have to reach under the fence to get it, though, or maybe she could dig under it and snatch some. If the fence's wires didn't go down too far, it was worth a try. Amy peered through the fence. There was a single PET shack with a solar tile roof, but Amy couldn't see if anyone was inside. It sat facing the proper entry to the dump, which was on the access road she'd walked up. Aside from the pump and crunch of a compactor unit and the roar of the compiler's furnaces, there was no sound. Even the yellow camelbots with the forklift teeth slumbered silently, their work done for the day. She'd never have another opportunity like this one.
You're right. You should run away now, while you still have legs to carry you. Leave the boy and his iteration behind. The only thing they're still good for is food.
"I'm really starting to hate you, Granny."
Amy bolted from the cover of the trees. She shot forward faster than she'd intended, and had to turn herself sideways to avoid the fence. Without looking up, she began digging her fingers under the fence. Under the sponge the dirt was wet, dark and heavy, and seemingly full of rocks. Soon Amy was digging those out, too, clawing at them and throwing them to one side as fast as she could. She had exposed some of the sponge's underside, though, and if she could just reach it without touching the fence–
–a drone hove into her vision. She froze. It was a botfly model, tiny and black, and it zoomed around her head, blinking.
Destroy it! Now, before it broadcasts! A sudden rigidity overtook her left arm. Portia. Her hand slid free of the dirt and reached for the bot, palm stiff and open and ready to choke. Another hand closed around it, though, and yanked it behind her back. Just as Amy yelped, Javier said: "Don't. Move."
The botfly examined them for a moment, then buzzed away. Amy watched it fly between the fence wires and disappear behind a pile of old toilet seats. Behind her, Javier briefly rested his head between her shoulder blades. "Well. Thank Christ that's over."
Amy turned. Javier looked worn and thin. He'd fashioned a sling from an old black long-sleeved T-shirt, and Junior lay curled up inside, his head against the side of Javier's chest where his heart would be if he'd had one. She beamed. "You're OK!"
"Yes, I'm OK. But you are out of your fucking mind. Did you not see the guns up there?" He scuttled back toward the trees. Amy followed. Javier pointed toward the dump. "What are you doing here?"
"I was trying to get in so I could get some food."
He glanced at the fence. "I thought you wanted to stay away from this place."
"That was before you fell asleep at the wheel." Amy leaned in and squinted at him to see if his eyes still had the sleepy, unfocused look from before. In the dark, it was hard to tell. "Are you sure you should be out here? You passed out. And you couldn't even talk, before."
Javier wove away. "I'm fine. And why are your hands covered in dirt?"