"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 this 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.