Fisher seemed a unhurried sort of person, taking his time looking first Noi and then Madeleine up and down. His gaze lingered on Madeleine's starry feet and she self-consciously tucked them beneath the hem of her dress, prompting a quick look of comprehension.
"You both have stain covering at least a quarter of your bodies, yes?" he said, with an air of a theory confirmed. "Only the stronger Blues seem to be fully recovered, even though the surge initially left us barely able to move."
"Lucky us." Noi held up her hands, the palms glimmering with light. "I can't stand not knowing what comes next. Will that thing spit out more dust? Will we keep changing?"
"What happens next is rotting corpses," Fisher said, surveying the city skyline, window upon mute window. "Because people went home to die, it isn't as bad as it could be, but at the very least it will be unpleasant. It may even be a bigger problem around the city fringes, where the survival rate is higher, and the living are more thoroughly mixed with the dead. The government needs to stop futilely trying to ban travel, and start finding a way to arrange corpse disposal. Or at least ensure that the water supply isn't compromised, so we don't exchange one sickness for another."
"They'll stop flailing eventually," Pan said. "Maybe. It's better to still have the government than be like the US, anyway, with all its new presidents. And China. And Pakistan and...and...hey, nuclear weapons aren't kept near big cities, right?"
"If it's nuclear you're worried about, concentrate on power plants," Nash put in. "And, see that?" He pointed at a distant thread of smoke rising beyond the parkland which blocked their view of the harbour centre and the North Shore. "That is our now. Non-automated, high manpower vital services, like fire fighters and doctors – none of those are here. International transport is...not necessarily gone, just limited. In the medium term we will see fuel rationing. At this time there are thousands of functioning towns and cities worldwide, with police and hospitals and all that we're used to, but they're overwhelmed by all the people who've fled out of the Spire cities, and transport of food will be limited. Add to that the dust still circulating on the wind, meaning there will continue to be outbreaks, anywhere and everywhere. But...so far there has been no sign that this is transmissible person-to-person, so we are not beyond the point of recovery."
Nash glanced up at the Spire, not adding the obvious caveat, then turned his gaze on the long wharf stretching out into the water.
"Tyler Vaughn lives here," he remarked, giving Madeleine a tiny shock.
"So do Nikki Zee and Jason Kadia," Noi said, nodding. "I think only Nikki Zee's in residence right now, though. I saw Tyler Vaughn a few times when I first started working here, since he uses the restaurants a lot. But not lately."
"Filming Five Blades in LA," Pan said knowledgably. "Which, dammit, I was looking forward to."
Not at all wanting to talk about Tyler, Madeleine unhooked the pair of glasses she'd rescued and handed them to Fisher. "We managed not to stand on these," she said.
"Thanks." He held them up so he could look through the lenses, then tucked them away. "Something far from easily replaced."
"Food does not worry me as much as medicine," Nash said. "Any kind of–" He looked down, eyes widening, and fished a phone from a pocket, glanced at the screen and was beaming by the time he brought it to his ear.
"Saashi!" With an apologetic gesture he turned, talking rapidly in a language Madeleine didn't recognise, and walked a little way down the wharf.
"His sister," Pan explained. "He hasn't been able to get through to her, and wasn't sure if she was in Mumbai or still on location." At Noi's confused look he added: "Nash is from a big-time Bollywood film family. Mum's an actress, Dad is a producer. Saashi's just starting out as a director."
"So which one is Nash aiming to be?" Noi asked, with an appreciative glance at the tall, well-made boy. "Are they the singing, dancing kinds of Bollywood movies?"
"Most of them. Nash dances like a dream, but he's a horrible singer. Not that he'll let that stop him – he'll probably end up directing after a few years acting, then h-he'll–" Pan stuttered to a halt, his lively features falling still.
After a moment, Noi began deliberately peppering Fisher with questions, producing a brief lecture on decomposition, cholera and quicklime. Madeleine found herself watching, aware of a familiar sense of withdrawal and disliking herself for it. For the last few years people had been something she loved to draw, but no longer allowed herself to be drawn to, which was not an attitude suited to current circumstances. But still she felt that distance.
The arrival of an apple-green Volkswagen – the curve-top model from the 2000s – was a welcome distraction. Madeleine took a box, and followed along behind Fisher, glad to see that while he moved with care he was no longer wobbly.
"What the hell is with your taste in cars, Gav?" Pan asked as they reached the roadside.
The strawberry blonde boy grinned as he popped open the compact boot. "Girls love it," he explained, and mock-leered at Noi and Madeleine. "Suddenly inspired to get to know me better, right?"
"Maybe," Madeleine said, unable to not smile a little.
"Cheerful, compact and zippy?" Noi asked, tucking the food box in the boot. "Is that what you're trying to tell me?"
"Fuel-efficient, can go for hours," Gav responded, blush competing with an ever-widening grin. But that faded to solemn consideration. "Want me to come back for you two? We're getting pretty well organised, and we've sworn off re-enacting Lord of the Flies. You can even have an exemption to the uniform rules."
"I'm waiting for my cousin," Madeleine said, and was horrified to find tears suddenly pricking her eyes. "He was – I should wait a couple more days."
"I'll stick with Madeleine," Noi said immediately. "It'll give me a chance to go through the kitchens here."
"Exchange numbers," Fisher ordered, sitting sideways on one of the front seats.
"And call us without delay if there is a need," Nash added, his candy-cream voice rich with concern and reassurance.
It took only a few moments to bump phones and contact-pass numbers, Twitter handles, email addresses. Pan added a quick explanation of their school's location, perhaps fifteen minutes away by foot.
"All right now?" Noi asked, waving as Gav pulled his apple-green chick magnet away from the curb.
"Yeah. Sorry – I really hero-worshipped my cousin when I was a kid, and I...just wish I knew."
Noi was silent and, aware of inadvertently prodding a wound, Madeleine turned and surveyed the long building jutting out into the bay. She wasn't quite sure why Noi had stayed with her, and, as usual, she had an overwhelming desire to find some space to herself and draw. But Noi and her reasons for being there brought forth a competing impulse.
"How many apartments are there on this wharf?"
"Not a clue. A few hundred, I guess."
"If around a quarter of that school survived, there must be other people here. Probably Greens who can't get about yet."
"Probably."
"Is there some kind of security office which would have keys?"
The shorter girl stared at the enormity of the wharf, then let out her breath and resurrected her wry smile. "Never pictured myself as a ministering angel. But I'm game if you are."
"Last thing I want to do," Madeleine said. "We'd better get started."
Chapter Five
"Science Boy must live on this site," Noi said, as Madeleine fumbled with keys. The girl waved the tablet computer she'd brought along. "No wonder he fell down – no sleep."
"Did you find what's the best thing for Greens?"
"I found a big argument over it." Noi fell silent as Madeleine slotted one of the master keys into the lock and turned. The door opened an inch, then caught on a chain as sound spilled out: a television, the now-familiar voice of an Australian Broadcasting Corporation presenter based in Canberra. And a smell.
"Should we knock again?"
"Not if you want to get through this entire building t
his century. Watch out." After the Building Manager's office, they'd taken a side-trip to a maintenance room in the garage for, as Noi put it, a Ministering Angel Toolkit. This included an upright, three-shelf trolley they'd stacked with food, and a red and black pair of bolt cutters, which nipped through the chain effortlessly.
Madeleine pushed the door open, but neither of them made any move. The full impact of the smell was enough to guess what was inside.
"We're going to have to check," Noi said. "If we're doing this properly."
Before Madeleine could say anything the girl lifted her chin and walked into the apartment. Madeleine followed, calling out "Hello?" in case the smell hadn't told the whole story.
Two people were on the couch, sitting snugged together beneath a blanket, one man's head resting on the other's shoulder. They looked to have been in their fifties or sixties, and Madeleine could almost think them peacefully asleep if not for the waxy pallor, and the single fly which had found its way into the apartment, to spin joyfully in the corner of the smaller man's mouth.
Gulping, and then trying not to breathe, Madeleine looked away and found Noi opening the nearest door.
"Look in all the rooms, check the hot plates, turn off any running water, the TV, then out," the girl said, with a fixed determination.
"Hot plates?"
"Kitchen rules," Noi replied, shrugging. "But it's worth thinking fire prevention."
Madeleine moved to obey, finding no active hot plates, no running water, and no visible way to turn the television off. The remote was probably somewhere on the couch, and she felt bizarrely that it would be impolite to go hunting for it, disrespectful to disturb the dead. And she didn't want to touch. But Noi spotted a discreet cord, a wall switch, and was reaching for that when Madeleine said:
"Wait."
The TV showed a van crammed full of people and personal belongings driving toward a roadblock. The thin hum of the engine dropped, then picked up again. Then a tinkle, breaking glass, and the van screeched to a stop. Little chopped-off noises followed as it hastily reversed, turned, and accelerated away, one headlight punched out.
"Where is that?" Madeleine asked. "That's not here, is it?"
"That's everywhere," Noi flicked the power switch. "Come on."
Madeleine wanted to protest that Australians wouldn't do that, but couldn't. She followed Noi out and closed the door as the shorter girl wrote "D2" on a diagram she'd found in the building manager's office.
"I guess so long as we stay in the city centre we won't have to worry about that," Madeleine. "Everyone here would have to already be infected. Teaming up with that school is probably still a good idea, though."
"No, I'm glad you said no to that. Here." Noi picked up the tablet computer and passed it to Madeleine, then began pushing their trolley toward the next door.
The tablet was displaying a very recent post on the BlueGreen site titled "Blues dangerous?" It was a summary of stories of Blues hurting people, with repeats of the surge, or jolts of 'invisible lightning'. And two incidents, one in Singapore, the other in Norway, of Green survivors, thought to be recovering, who had been found dead after coming into contact with a Blue.
"I'd rather give it a few days," Noi said, as she rapped on the new door. "See what happens."
Madeleine read through the article in silence, then fumbled for the keys, painfully conscious of the patch of midnight and stars below her left eye, of the whole of her body feeling like velvet beneath the concealing dress. There was a lot still to learn about being Blue.
ooOoo
The apartments at Finger Wharf were grouped into two long parallel buildings, joined by a connecting roof over a massive central throughway where modern metal and glass sat strangely mixed with wooden walkways and arching old-fashioned conveyer belts preserved as decorations. There was a hotel nearest the street, and a smaller separate building enjoying the prime views at the northern end. Three hundred apartments, a hundred hotel rooms. Noi and Madeleine rapped on doors until their knuckles were sore, and then they used the blunt end of the keys, their shouts hello becoming cursory as they toured through death.
Most of the world – or at least this portion of Sydney – had died curled up on the couch, watching television. These were much easier to deal with than the handful who, like Madeleine, had ended up in their showers, finding some comfort from the pelting water. They were usually at least partially naked, the marbling of flesh and the beginnings of bloat difficult not to look at when reaching to shut off the water. The splashing left Madeleine feeling contaminated.
In one apartment the windows and door were so effectively sealed with tape and plastic that Madeleine swore she could hear the room inhale when they broke through. She had to wonder whether it was the stain or suffocation which had killed the small family inside. In a different apartment there were nearly a dozen people, with empty bottles – champagne, beer – everywhere, and a partially-eaten sheet cake where someone had roughly scrubbed off 'Birthday', and spelled out 'Apocalypse' with shining silver cachous.
Death had not come all at once. Most Blues had died quickly, but many of the Greens had obviously lingered over the past three days, so the sick-sweet aroma of rot was not always present, though there were often other smells. Bowels relaxed in death. A couple of times pungent incense made their eyes sting. In one bedroom scented candles still burned, set all around three little beds and three tiny occupants tucked up with toys, and favourite books. Noi and Madeleine blew out the candles, and found the mother in a bathtub of blood.
Out in the hall, Noi marked off the apartment, then slumped to the ground, and Madeleine joined her, shuddering.
"How long ago do you think she did that?" she asked the shorter girl. "An hour? Two? If we'd started at the other end of the building we could have saved her."
"Or just delayed her."
Madeleine hunched her shoulders, then pulled off her sandals and massaged her arches. Velvet against velvet. Over two hours, and so much more left.
"I thought we'd find more people. How can they have had one in five come through at that boarding school, while in forty apartments we were too late for the sole survivor?"
"One in five healthy teenagers with Science Boy playing head nurse," Noi pointed out. "We're trying to Nightingale the wrong demographic."
"Do you want to go on?"
With a sigh, Noi nodded. "Yeah. I'd obsess about it if we stopped now. About things like that family, except with one of the kids still alive instead. But eat something – don't let the hunger catch up."
They snacked on some of the nuts and dried fruit they'd brought along to offer to survivors, and Madeleine browsed BlueGreen while Noi sent some texts. There was an entire section devoted to Rushcutters Bay Grammar, one of a half-dozen 'major studies' cobbled together by whoever happened to have access to a large number of infected people.
"Looks like we're not being very original," Noi said, and held up her phone to show a Twitter feed for #checkyourneighbors.
Madeleine could wish for fewer neighbours, but nodded and stood up. "My cousin's apartment's the last on this row. We can put me down as a survivor."
"One less door to thump on, anyway."
There was a merciful run of empty apartments, and they moved on to the next level up.
"Who is it?"
The words had a horror movie quality, the barely audible sound sending Madeleine flinching backward, the keys she'd been lifting to the lock jangling.
"Hello!" Noi called out, with only a suggestion of a gulp. "We're checking for sur – for anyone who needs help. We have some food and bottled water, or we can bring milk if you want it."
"I don't need anything."
It was a woman, her voice hoarse, frantic. Madeleine and Noi exchanged worried glances.
"We can leave some things out here for you, if you'd like," Madeleine offered. "You don't have to open the door while we're here."
"Go away."
"All right. Sorry for – uh, we'll be
in apartment 222 later, if you, um..." Madeleine trailed off as a thump made the door shake, as if the woman had hit it. "We're going now."
Noi hurriedly pushed the trolley down the walkway to the next door, then clutched Madeleine's arm.
"I don't know whether to laugh or scream," she whispered. "What the hell?"
"Maybe she somehow managed to avoid the stain. Of course she wouldn't want to open the door."
"She could have just said that." But Noi shrugged off her annoyance. "I guess we can at least chalk up another survivor."
"We still don't know everything that the dust does to people. She could be something new, changed in other ways."
"Don't say that after you told her your apartment number. Let's get on – I'm wanting some distance."
Madeleine rapped at the new door, far less casually, and called for longer than had become habit, before making a quick, nervous sortie and heading for the next apartment.
"Wait."
The strained voice was worse for being louder, sharper, and it was impossible not to jump, Noi even letting out a tiny, cut-off shriek as they spun in unison to see the previous door had opened, though there was no sign of a person.
"Take him away."
The faintest suggestion of movement followed, then nothing.
"I am freaking the shit out right now," Noi said, under her voice. "Are you freaking the shit out?"
"I'm...really looking for an excuse not to go in there," Madeleine said.
They approached the door like nervous horses, ready to shy at a moment's notice. Madeleine moved to peer around the corner, changed her mind and backed to the limit of the walkway, against the railing, so she wouldn't be in reach of anything which might be just inside the door.
"Can't see anyone," Noi murmured, craning for a look down an airy, white hall. She hefted the bolt cutters, adding: "It's going to turn out to be some scared little old lady and I'm going to look like the bad guy waving these around, and yet..."
"Let's get this over with."
Madeleine picked up a bottle of water, on the theory that it might make a distracting projectile, and followed Noi in. One of the smaller apartments, very neat and tidy, with the windows wide open, sheer curtains rippling. No-one in sight. Two doors shut, one open. Competing scents: pine, and rot.
And All the Stars Page 5