He still wouldn’t look at her, was watching Noi heading upstairs.
"It makes it easier for me," he added, voice muted, "to know that you won’t falter. Can you promise to try?"
Madeleine promised.
"What are you writing?"
"Thank you note for the owners of the house," Noi said, frowning as she read it over. "Miss Manners totally needs to add a chapter on squatting during an apocalypse. I wish we didn’t have to leave your painting behind, Maddie."
"I’ll come back for it."
"That’s the spirit. A big improvement over yesterday afternoon."
"I’m trying to keep focused on how glad I was to survive St James," Madeleine said. "I was convinced the dust would kill me, and I concentrated everything I had on getting out, and painting the picture I’d been waiting months to start. I got to do that, by going on step by step, not giving up. And then I met you, and we got through Bondi, and the seven of us have really…"
She gazed out the patio doors, to the moon being swallowed by the sea.
"I’ve spent years thinking I was so self-sufficient, that I had all I needed. My art is always going to be the most important thing for me, but this place has been…good for me. I’m really proud of the portrait of Tyler, and I think the one of you and Emily might be the best thing I’ve ever done. They have something my usual work lacks. And–" She smiled. "And I want to paint Fisher. When that Spire’s no longer in Sydney, and I can do something so indulgent as hit the nearest art supplies store, I will paint him."
"Preferably nude."
"Maybe." Madeleine refused to be embarrassed. "We better get downstairs. Two years of this still seems a near-impossibility, so I’m focusing on the current step."
Noi nodded, folded her note in half, and stuck it in the middle of the children’s drawings on the fridge. "I’ll miss this place," she said, then tugged a scavenged beanie over her riot of curls, and picked up her backpack.
They turned out the last of the lights, and rode the elevator down to the garage, stepping into chill, pitchy dark. The open service door was a grey square of illumination, and cubes of windshield glass crunched underfoot as they edged their way toward the three shadows which interrupted the thin light.
"Won’t be long," Pan murmured. "They’re aiming for the slip closest to the near entrance."
"I’ll head down to check," Min said. "If I don’t come back, they’re ready. Or I’ve fallen in."
"We’ll listen for the splash, Minnow." As soon as the younger boy had gone, Pan took and let out several long breaths. "I’m so wired. Makes me want to shriek, and jump about."
"Tempting." Noi shifted the spare bag of food she was carrying. "When all this is over, I think some full-throated yelling while running down the middle of the nearest street will be in order."
"Works for me."
"You’ll join in, won’t you Millie? Maddie?"
"Through Hyde Park," Emily said, firmly, and after a moment they agreed to that, then Noi led Emily out and down the Wharf to the northern gate of the marina.
"I can’t believe, with all the millions of dollars of high-powered luxury boating stretched before us, this is the plan we’ve come up with," Pan said. "There’s something inherently deflating about the words utility dinghy."
"Rowing four kilometres in the dark," Madeleine said. "Racing dawn. Smuggling ourselves right beneath the noses of the Moths."
"Stop trying to make it sound awesome. Utility Dinghy. Utility Dinghy."
"Let’s go." Lifting her allotted share of the food, Madeleine stepped out of the garage, and waited while Pan pulled the service door gently shut behind them. They crossed to the corner of the main building and peered down the Wharf, all shadows and moonlit edges, and then the soft glow of lampposts beyond the area where Pan had punched out the lights. No sign of movement. They slid around the corner, keeping close to the high patio fences which hid the view into the lower apartments, and moved as quietly as they could, straining their eyes to spot the gate to the marina.
"I think it’s here," Pan said, barely audible.
Finger Wharf didn’t have safety railings, the edge a shin-high wooden board punctuated by the occasional pylon. The marina gate was transparent, opening onto a ramp leading down to the floating dock, which had no rim at all. Even though they’d given their eyes plenty of time to adjust, Madeleine still didn’t dare do more than inch forward, searching with her free hand. They’d timed their departure to use the last of the moonlight to get around the dock without torches, and she was able to make out shapes, but couldn’t force herself to move any faster.
"It’s here."
The words were accompanied by the faintest metallic noise, as Pan turned the key left by their advance boat-seekers, then pulled it free. The ramp at least had railings, and Madeleine followed it down until there was nothing left to guide her, and she stood clutching the end, trying to adjust to the faint bob of the dock.
"Directly left, Maddie," breathed the night. "It’s only a metre or so, so take one step forward, then kneel and pass me your bags."
Nash whispered similar instructions to Pan from the next slip over. Obedient to Noi’s command, Madeleine stepped, knelt, and held out the food bag, then her overstuffed backpack, and by the time that was done she was more sure of what was in front of her, could just make out Noi, Fisher and Min. Then it was a matter of lowering herself, guided firmly by Noi, until she was sitting in the back of a small boat, shivering more from nerves than the chill lifting from the water.
"Put this on."
A bulky shape with confusing straps. Madeleine fumbled it over her head, and found parts which clicked together. By the time this was done, the moon was no more than a fading memory.
"All clear," Noi said, a fraction louder.
"Lift off."
There was a gurgle of water to accompany Nash’s response, and then another as Noi pushed the boat away from the dock, and Fisher and Min used their oars to prod them out the rest of the way.
Rowing lessons had been the highlight of the wait for moonset. Boats made of couch cushions, and brooms for oars, with Nash patiently drilling them with the motions despite the spurts of giggles born of a long night’s tension. Madeleine felt little urge to laugh now, as they eased clear of the slip and began to turn, with water making blooping noises off the oars, and a faint creak from the oarlocks. Unlikely to be heard no matter how well sound carried over water, but she still stared back over her shoulder at the long bulk of the Wharf, searching for movement. There would be no outrunning anything in a dinghy, but sailing at night with a crew of total amateurs would have been suicidal, and any engine a trumpet call in the hushed city, so no-one had been able to argue against using the small boats. Nash had been confident that the trip could be made well before dawn, even with inexperienced rowers, and there was little chance of them being spotted so long as they kept away from the shore.
As they picked up speed, passing the North Building, Madeleine began to relax. There was nothing but parkland on their left, and a long gap to the navy base on the far side of the Wharf. The Bay had few sources of light, and they were leaving those behind, scudding along beneath a cloak of stars, invisible.
"Destination: North Pole," Noi muttered, and squeezed Madeleine’s hand.
Webcams had ruled out other choices. Circular Quay seemed to be a hive of Moth activity, while a beach cam had provided glimpses of smaller craft moving near Watson’s Bay, making it clear that a speedboat dash past the headlands and out of the Harbour would not merely be a matter of avoiding two very large, weapon-festooned ships. Finally, representing the uninfected portion of Australia, some isolation-suited reporters had settled down with long-range cameras to watch Greens stationed at roadblocks, broadcasting through the night and incidentally making it even harder for free Blues to sneak out of the city. So the Musketeers were gambling on refrigerating themselves.