The morning after the fire, Garbage Mountain looked different.
Not because its shape had changed.
The mountain was still there.
Still high.
Still giving off the same smell.
Still visited by garbage trucks dumping out the city's guts.
What had changed was the way Raka looked at it.
Garbage Mountain used to be a workplace.
A place to look for bottles.
Cardboard.
Wires.
Metal.
Anything that could be traded for money.
Now, every corner seemed to hold a question.
Raka stood at the edge of the burned settlement.
In his hand was a small bolt he'd found in the remains of a house.
He rolled it between his fingers.
“Bro.”
Raka turned.
Ucup stood behind him.
“What?”
“My car is still here.”
He held up the old toy car without any wheels.
Raka smiled.
“Good.”
“The house is gone, but the car isn't.”
“That means your car is strong.”
Ucup nodded seriously.
“It is.”
Jali, who had been listening nearby, laughed.
“When you go to school later, don't forget to bring that car.”
“Why?”
“So your friends know you're rich.”
Ucup looked at his car.
“Rich people have cars?”
“They do.”
“Then I'm rich.”
Jali shook his head.
“Your logic is dangerous.”
Ucup laughed.
Raka smiled too.
Only for a moment.
Then his gaze returned to the ruins.
A small house had once stood there—the place where they slept, fought, ate, and dreamed about things they might not even be able to have.
Now, only ash remained.
Ms. Laras asked them to help the residents clean up the remains of the fire.
Arman came too.
He brought several people from a volunteer community.
The rubble was lifted piece by piece.
Sheet metal.
Wood.
Metal.
Cloth.
Shards of glass.
Everything was sorted.
Raka worked without saying much.
He lifted a charred board.
Something beneath it made him stop.
A small metal box.
It wasn't big.
Part of its surface had turned black.
Raka picked it up.
“Ms. Laras!”
Ms. Laras came over.
“What is it?”
Raka showed her the box.
“I found it under my house.”
Ms. Laras wiped its surface with a cloth.
There was no name.
Only a scratch that looked like an arrow.
Bimo came over.
“Can it be opened?”
Raka handed it to him.
Bimo examined the lock.
“Yes.”
He took out a small screwdriver.
A few minutes later, the box sprang open.
Inside were several objects.
Coins.
A button.
An old photograph.
And a sheet of paper that had been half burned.
Sari picked it up.
“This isn't ours.”
Raka moved closer.
The writing on the paper was almost gone.
But a few parts could still be read.
...L-17...
Sari held her breath.
“Ms. Laras.”
Ms. Laras took the paper.
She turned it over.
On the back was a drawing of lines.
Like a map.
Some of it had burned.
Some of it was still intact.
Bimo took a picture of the map.
“Can I?”
Ms. Laras nodded.
She said nothing.
Raka studied the lines that remained.
There was a box.
Then a line leading east.
Then an X.
Sari took out her notebook.
“This isn't an ordinary landfill map.”
“Why not?”
“Look.”
She pointed.
“The landfill map we have doesn't have this route.”
Raka studied it.
The line passed along the eastern side.
Then it went beyond the landfill boundary.
Toward a building.
The building was marked with a code:
G-4.
Jali furrowed his brow.
“What's G-4?”
“A warehouse?” Bimo said.
Raka shook his head.
“I know where it is.”
Everyone turned to him.
“Where?”
“Outside the landfill fence.”
“You've been there?”
“Before.”
“What's inside?”
Raka thought.
“I don't know.”
Jali spoke immediately.
“Then we know our next destination.”
Ms. Laras looked at him.
“No.”
Jali raised both hands.
“I didn't say I wanted to go.”
“You do.”
“Yeah.”
Ms. Laras sighed.
They took the map to the reading center.
Ms. Laras laid it on the table.
Arman arrived a little while later.
The moment he saw the paper, his expression turned serious.
“Where did this come from?”
“From the ruins of the house,” Raka answered.
Arman took a small magnifying glass from his bag.
He examined the writing.
“This isn't an official map.”
“Why not?”
“There's no letterhead.”
“What does that mean?”
“It could be an internal map.”
Sari pointed to G-4.
“What is this?”
Arman opened his laptop.
He typed something.
A moment later, he shook his head.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“It isn't listed on the public landfill map.”
Raka stared at him.
“Then why is it here?”
Arman didn't answer.
Bimo said,
“Maybe it's an illegal building.”
“Maybe.”
Sari pointed to the X.
“What about this?”
Arman examined it.
“I don't know.”
Ucup, who had been quiet until then, suddenly spoke.
“That isn't an X.”
Everyone turned.
“What is it?”
Ucup pointed at the map.
“It's the letter X.”
Jali laughed.
“Same thing.”
“No.”
Ucup shook his head.
“If it's a cross, the lines meet like this.”
He demonstrated with two fingers.
“If it's an X, it's like this.”
He made the letter X.
“So?”
“It's not a location marker.”
Raka looked at him.
“Then what is it?”
Ucup pointed to the lines beneath it.
“Those look like numbers.”
Bimo moved closer.
Sari did too.
He was right.
Beneath the X were two short lines.
One long.
One short.
Bimo enlarged the photo.
“It could be a code.”
Sari wrote:
X-17?
Arman shook his head.
“Not necessarily.”
Raka looked at Ucup.
The boy had gone back to playing with his car.
He had no idea whether he'd just found something important.
Maybe he had.
Maybe he hadn't.
But Ucup had always been good at noticing things other people missed.
Late afternoon was approaching when Raka went to the eastern side of the landfill.
He didn't go alone.
His four friends went with him.
Ms. Laras had actually forbidden them to go.
But this time, they wouldn't go far inside.
They only wanted to see the location of G-4 from a distance.
They passed through the old fence.
A dirt path.
Brush.
Then a narrow concrete road.
Raka stopped.
“There.”
An old building was visible behind the trees.
Its walls were gray.
Its door was huge.
There was no sign.
There were no windows on the front.
Sari looked at the map.
“G-4.”
Bimo raised his camera.
Suddenly, Jali pointed.
“There’s a car.”
A white car came out from the side of the building.
They hid.
The car drove down the road.
Then it disappeared.
Raka watched its license plate.
Sari wrote it down.
“Recognize it?”
Raka shook his head.
Bimo looked at the building.
“There’s a camera.”
A security camera sat in the upper corner.
Jali whispered,
“Then this place is important.”
Raka nodded.
They didn't move closer.
Not yet.
That night, Bimo worked until late.
He imported the photo of the map into his laptop.
Then he enlarged the burned section.
Sari sat beside him.
“Try turning it over.”
Bimo rotated the image.
“What?”
“This part.”
She pointed to a small corner.
There was writing so faint it was almost invisible.
Bimo enlarged it.
Letter by letter, the words appeared.
G-4 / STORAGE
Jali moved closer.
“Storage?”
“A storage warehouse,” Sari said.
Raka stared at the screen.
“Storage for what?”
No one answered.
Bimo opened another file from the flash drive.
He searched for the same word.
G-4.
Nothing.
He tried the word storage.
One file appeared.
G4_TRANSFER_LOG
Bimo opened it.
A table appeared.
Dates.
Times.
Vehicle numbers.
Cargo codes.
Raka held his breath.
“This.”
Sari started taking notes immediately.
“G-4 is connected to L-17.”
Bimo nodded.
Jali read one of the lines.
“BM-07.”
Everyone fell silent.
It was the same code.
The black bag.
The truck.
L-17.
The pipe.
And now G-4.
The pieces were beginning to connect.
Ms. Laras read the entire table.
The longer she read, the quieter she became.
“Ms. Laras?”
She didn't answer.
Raka waited.
At last, Ms. Laras said,
“This is important.”
“How important?”
“Important enough that we can't talk about it outside.”
Jali nodded.
“Secrets again.”
Ms. Laras looked at him.
“Because you aren't safe yet.”
Raka looked at the screen.
“What’s being stored in G-4?”
Ms. Laras shook her head.
“We don't know yet.”
“If we want to find out?”
“We need evidence.”
Raka nodded.
“Then we have to get inside.”
“No.”
“Ms. Laras—”
“No.”
Ms. Laras's voice was firm.
“You've already lost your home.”
The room fell silent.
Ms. Laras continued,
“I don't want to lose you too.”
Raka lowered his head.
He knew Ms. Laras was right.
But his curiosity kept growing.
And it wasn't just curiosity.
There was something else.
The need to prove that they weren't guilty.
That the fire hadn't been an accident.
That the residents weren't the cause of every problem.
That the people who had always considered them unimportant might actually be hiding something much bigger.
The night grew later.
Raka went out into the yard.
Garbage Mountain was visible in the distance.
He sat on the steps.
Sari came out carrying a book.
“You haven't gone to sleep?”
“Not yet.”
“Still thinking about G-4?”
Raka nodded.
Sari sat beside him.
“Don't go alone.”
“I won't.”
“Promise?”
Raka looked at her.
“Promise.”
Sari opened the book.
“I made a list.”
“A list of what?”
“Everything we have.”
She showed him the page.
1. Photo of the truck. 2. Photo of the drum. 3. Photo of the L-17 pipe. 4. Payment documents. 5. List of sick residents. 6. G-4 map. 7. G-4 transfer log.
Raka looked at the list.
“That’s a lot.”
“Not enough.”
Raka smiled.
“Why?”
“Because if we want people to believe us, we have to make sure everything connects.”
Raka looked at her.
Sari was right.
Evidence wasn't just about having a lot of it.
Evidence had to form a story.
Jali's voice came from inside the reading center.
“Bro!”
Raka stood.
“What?”
“Bimo found something!”
They ran inside.
Bimo stood in front of the laptop.
His face was serious.
“What is it?”
He pointed at the screen.
A video file.
Dated three months before they found the bag.
A short recording.
Footage from inside G-4.
Several blue drums were visible.
Then someone entered.
The person's face couldn't be seen.
They were carrying a folder.
They placed it on the table.
Then they opened it.
A document was visible inside.
Only for a few seconds.
But Sari recognized its symbol immediately.
“That’s a health report.”
Raka moved closer.
Bimo enlarged it.
At the bottom of the document were the words:
CAUSE: RESIDENTIAL ENVIRONMENT
Jali read it.
“Residential environment.”
Sari shook her head.
“Even though the waste came from them.”
Ms. Laras stared at the screen.
Then she said quietly,
“Now we know.”
Raka turned to her.
“Know what?”
Ms. Laras looked at the five children.
“They aren't just dumping waste.”
“They're also preparing a story.”
“A story?”
“A story that if the residents get sick, it's their own fault.”
The room fell silent.
Raka looked at Garbage Mountain through the window.
For years, people might have seen the area as a dirty place.
A place where poor people lived.
A place where garbage piled up.
A place where disease grew.
But perhaps all this time, someone had deliberately let it look like the residents' fault.
Raka clenched his fists.
They had lost their home.
They had been accused of stealing.
They had been chased.
They had been watched.
And now they were beginning to understand why.
But one piece was still missing.
They still didn't know who made the decisions.
Who paid.
Who gave the orders.
And who had spent all this time making sure none of the evidence ever reached the right hands.
Ms. Laras shut the laptop.
“Tomorrow, we'll find the answers.”
Jali looked at her.
“At G-4?”
Ms. Laras sighed.
“We'll see.”
Jali smiled.
Raka knew that meant yes.
Outside, the night wind moved through Garbage Mountain.
Among the remains of the burned houses, several sheets of paper fluttered through the air.
One sheet came to a stop near Raka's feet.
He bent down.
Picked it up.
On the back was a small, nearly invisible stamp.
MAYANGKARA WASTE MANAGEMENT
Raka stared at the stamp for a long time.
Then he folded the paper.
For the first time, they weren't just trying to find out what had happened.
They were beginning to search for who was responsible.
And that journey would bring them closer to the people who had always believed they could never be touched by five children from Garbage Mountain.