Authors: Andrea K Höst
"Where are you?"
"At a hotel, just by the airport. We walked here after the stain began to show."
"Do you want me to come pick you up? I, um, found your car keys."
"Did you? Felt
like a drive in the country?"
"Went out to see Mum and Dad. They're still stuck in the house, and I took
them some supplies."
Noi had driven, fast and confident, the M5 wide enough that
even the occasional abandoned wreck was easily avoided. They'd stood tins and bags of rice on the
front path of Madeleine's home, and hosed them off in case they'd brought any
dust with them. Then they'd hosed the
house, trying to get places the recent rain would have missed.
"How dusty is it out there now? Are they going to make a dash inland?"
"The cobwebs under the eaves were tinged purple. And you can see occasional flecks of sparkle
in the grass. The inner
city's
the same, except more so." She sighed. "I don't see how the uninfected could ever risk going about without
face masks. Dad said he and Mum are even
sleeping with a sheer curtain over them, and that until there's been a heap
more rain they're going to stick it out in the house. No-one had time to put in supplies,
though. When we went to leave, the lady
over the road waved at us madly through the window, and asked us to go get
nappies and tins of baby formula. Your
car doesn't have enough boot space."
"Well, I didn't really buy it with babies in
mind." He chuckled. "Who are 'we'?"
Madeleine apologetically explained his extra house
guests. "We were just off to
Bondi," she added, mouthing 'Tyler' at Noi as she stuck a puzzled head
around the door. "But that can wait
till I collect you."
"No, I found a car. I'll head home tonight after taking a friend to check his family. Why in the world are you going to the
beach?"
"For some Blue powers tests. We're trying to work out exactly what Blues
can do so we can avoid doing it accidentally. We've ended up with a lot more people going than I expected, but I guess
it is kind of a critical thing to know."
Tyler didn't respond, and she said his name, wondering if
they'd been cut off.
"I'm here. I–" He paused, a completely uncharacteristic
hesitation. "I can't do that, you
know. Force punches. I don't seem to create energy, but I need it. I'm lucky I made a couple of good friends out
here – they keep me on my feet."
"You
need
it?"
"Mm. Let's just
say I was playing quite the wrong character on
Blood Mirror
."
"Seriously?"
"Giant dust-spewing towers, and you balk at some mild
vampiric tendencies?"
"I...guess not. That explains some of the stories going around, at least."
When Tyler rang off, Madeleine grimaced apologetically at
Noi, but only said that Tyler would be in that night, since she wanted more
time to think over 'mild vampiric tendencies'. Grabbing the bag containing a portion of the lunch they'd packed, she
headed down to the garage.
The Blues test session had spiralled into an event. Fisher's discussion on
BlueGreen
of Madeleine's experiences
,
and his plan to test and compare a range of
Blues with different levels of stain, had swiftly been picked up by other Blues
around the world, and multiple groups had organised to do the same thing – a
couple of test sessions were already underway, and others were waiting for day
wherever they were.
When the number of people wanting to join the Sydney test had
risen to more than a hundred, Fisher had asked Madeleine, Noi and Emily to head
to the beach a couple of hours early, to get Madeleine's testing out of the way
before too many people were around. At a
little after seven in the morning it was chill with a hint of mist above the water,
but the sky was a pale blue wash which promised a day worth being outside.
The apple-green Volkswagen was waiting by a white hatchback
as near as possible to the centre of the massive arc of beach, six boys leaning
on the railing above the esplanade. Noi
pulled Tyler's red convertible sports car in beside the hatchback, and grinned
at Pan's expression.
"That's it, I'm riding back with Noi," Pan
said. "I can't take this any
longer."
"We've collected about a dozen sets of keys," Noi
told him. "Come back after and you
can pick one out. I'll throw in a couple
of boats."
"You're on!"
"This is Nick, and Shaun," Gavin said, nodding
first at a freckled blonde boy and then a dark-skinned guy with cool
mini-dreadlocks. "Part of our data
collection team, and volunteer guinea pigs."
They were both Greens, and the brief discomfort that fact
inspired bothered Madeleine inordinately. There was no reason to feel any different about Greens, and certainly
Nick and Shaun were nothing but nice as they showed off the stain-coverage
diagrams they'd created – a front, back, left and right outline of a generic
person – and enthusiastically highlighted almost all of hers.
"Thanks for keeping my name out of it," Madeleine
told Fisher, as Noi and Emily filled out their sheets.
He nodded absently, surveying the beach. "Another advantage to starting this
early. You followed the discussion on
fields versus punches?"
"Yeah." Naturally many Blues hadn't waited for formal test sessions after his
post on 'Subject M', and it had quickly been established that two different
expressions of power were possible: 'punches' focused and pushed out, or
protective fields. Fields seemed a lot
harder to create, but within an hour of the post Blues began reporting that
they'd successfully paralysed themselves by surrounding themselves entirely
with a field, and then trying to throw it like a punch. "Nice to know I did that
ass-backward," she muttered.
"You destroyed a car with a shield," he said. "I don't want anyone else on this beach
when you try to punch. Let's see if we
can get into the lifeguard tower."
This was easily accomplished with the aid of "
Noi's
Little Helper" – a small crowbar usually used to
open delivery crates – and they explored the circular observation level,
deciding to ignore the beach vehicles kept in a locked garage below.
Pan made a quick, efficient burglar. "Binoculars, first aid stuff – man, I
keep expecting the lifeguards to show up and have a go at us."
"They might still," Nash said.
They moved down to the sand, Fisher leading Madeleine to the
edge of the surf while the others waited by the stairs.
"The beach is a kilometre long, and we're halfway, so
you've got five hundred metres of unbroken sand in either direction,"
Fisher said. "We'll do the tests
right at the wave wash, so it'll be clear each time. Do you think you can punch instead of using
the shield?"
"We practiced yesterday afternoon." Madeleine pointed at a shell and focused the
roil of energy inside her into the tiniest little blip, sending the shell
shooting away in a spray of sand. "No more dramatic collapses for me."
Fisher smiled. "At least a softer landing here. And a better setting." He
gazed down the vast stretch of beach to the rocky rise of cliffs at the
south-western end, his face contemplative. After a moment his determined brows lowered in remembered anger, and he
turned toward the centre of the city, but they were too low and too far for the
Spire to be visible. "Go all out,
" he added. "And try to keep
the punch flat, scoring the surface rather than digging into the sand."
He strode back up the beach while Madeleine hooked off her
sandals and hitched up that day's maxi-dress. The damp sand felt incredible against her velvet skin, and she shivered
when the water rushed up to caress her feet. The last trace of mist had already burned off, and the blues of sky and
water were shifting, deepening. There
were no seagulls, no voices, no cars; just the soughing of the waves.
Madeleine glanced back. They were all clustered together at the bottom of the tower stairs, more
than fifty metres away, Nash and Shaun holding cameras at ready. The question of angles preoccupied her, and
she eventually knelt, and cupped her hands before her knees, focused down the
long, slightly curving line of surf, and poured everything inside her down through
her arms, her palms, out.
THOOOOMMMMMM!!!
The noise shocked her, and she jerked. Since she'd angled a little low, gouging
underground, this lifted the punch, sand exploding up for the whole of perhaps
a hundred metres. The leading edge of
water poured and foamed into the instant trench, and Madeleine took a deep,
shuddering breath, wondering at the sudden rush of exultation.
"Damn,
Maddie
, I am
never
going to piss you off!"
Pan had run down, Noi and Shaun close behind. He was lit high with excitement, but paused
to help her back to her feet and then pushed a brightly coloured stick into the
ground a few metres to her right before trotting down the line of the trench
with another.
"No pins and needles? Urge to imitate statues?"
"I'm fine." Breathing deeply, Madeleine took the sandals Noi held out, trying to
reconcile the rush of excitement with a sick feeling in her stomach. "Like I'd run up a lot of stairs. Just...trying not to picture what would
happen to any people in the way."
"If they were Blues, we think they'd auto-protect,"
Gavin said, coming up with the others.
"Auto-protect?" Noi repeated. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Tap me with a finger-punch and I'll show you."
"Seriously?"
He gave her a mock-sultry look. "I know you'll be gentle with me
Noi."
"I'm immune to your lash-batting," Noi told
him. "Okay, you asked for it."
Waiting till Nick and Fisher had moved out of the way, she
pointed at his shoulder. Madeleine
couldn't see the punch, but she realised she was beginning to feel it
happen. And she could just barely make
out a visible ripple around Gavin's shoulder as he stood, unmoved.
"Now do it again, a good solid palm-shot."
Frowning, Noi obeyed, and this time the shield was obvious,
making the air around Gavin shimmer.
"It doesn't work if you bean him with a cricket
ball," Pan said, jogging up. "Not automatically anyway, though if you see one coming you can try
to shield in time."
"While we just get punched," Nick said, pulling his
shirt down so they could see a round, red mark above a patch of green. "Seriously cheated in the special
abilities department."
"Could be we just haven't figured it out yet,"
Shaun put in, looking up as he tied the end of a colourful ball of wool to the
first stick. "You Blueberries can
be brute force, and Greens will be the brains."
He trailed off down the beach, unreeling the ball of wool,
which switched colours at regular intervals, and Pan followed him, pushing a
stick into the sand at each colour change.
Madeleine's punch had reached over one hundred and fifty
metres. Her nearest rival was Gavin,
managing fifty. Then Noi, Emily, Fisher
and Pan, mildly indignant at measuring lowest. Madeleine spent her time on the lifeguard tower's steps, sketching,
snacking, and watching Nash, not surprised when he kept to his role as
cameraman and did not test.
Pan dealt with any disappointment by playing the fool for
Emily, drawing her out until she was pink-cheeked and giggling, convincing her
to put her fine pale hair in a bun and calling: "Come on
Tink
!" as they raced along the line of sticks to
confirm the length of each punch.
It wasn't until they'd eaten a second breakfast, and Pan had
led Nick and Shaun off to investigate the food opportunities of the Bondi
Pavilion, that Madeleine had a chance to speak to Nash. He and Fisher had paused, as they all did
eventually, to watch her sketch.
"Can I look–?" Fisher asked, pleasingly surprised
and interested, and she handed the sketchpad to him, glad she'd taken the
precaution of removing a couple of sheets before heading out.
Madeleine studied their faces as they turned over pages,
stopping particularly at the portrait of Noi sleeping to say impressed
things. Compliments were something she
struggled with. Either she thought them
over-effusive, a lie with ulterior motives, or she dismissed them as the
opinions of people who didn't know what they were talking about. Better than the alternative, of course, but
she never expected real appreciation.
She found herself thinking about Mrs Tucker, something she
hadn't managed to do since she'd understood the amount of death a cloud of dust
might bring. Mrs Tucker, who had been
substitute art teacher for all of two weeks when Madeleine was in Year Ten, who
had asked Madeleine to stay after class on her last day there and had
mercilessly deflated an over-inflated bubble of pride, pointing out issues of
composition, and Madeleine's complete absence of backgrounds. Cutting her to bits for deliberately avoiding
areas she was weak in, for acting as if she had nothing to learn.
Mrs Tucker, a scrawny, wrinkled, grey-haired woman, the
'wrong demographic' for survival. She
had given Madeleine the contact details of a talented university student
willing to tutor cheaply, and left not the burgeoning art genius who had stayed
back expecting praise, but a beginner, a pretender, overwhelmed by how far she
had to go. Madeleine could only hope
she'd been outside the dust zone.
And of course there were now new people to worry about, ones
she didn't have the luxury of ignoring – nor even wanted to. Proving Madeleine's expectations wrong once
again, Nash made several comments which showed he had a very good
understanding. And Fisher – Fisher
looked at her as if she had become suddenly real to him.
"I'm jealous," he said, handing the sketchbook back
with a solemnity which lent the words weight. "I can't do anything like that. It's a revelatory skill, isn't it?"
"Revelatory?" It wasn't a word Madeleine associated with her work.