Lucky that I did. A hand that had been about to close around my leg snatched instead at empty air. I gaped at it, stumbled backward as the ground I'd been standing on erupted; cans, bottles, sacks and bags, plastic containers, old clothes and rotten food tumbled and shuddered, fell. A hatch pushed them up from beneath, raining them down. The hand was attached to a filthy arm, sinewy and strong under the grime to force aside that weight of garbage. A woman appeared, hair a tangle, her face wizened, clothed in the strangest assortment of rags I'd ever seen. Not my redhead, much older, and not as friendly either. She squinted at me in disgust and fury, none of the lines on her face suggesting she ever smiled. And she had a knife.
"Shoes!" she said. "Give em here."
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