Within 24 hours more than half the town’s population had flown away never to return. The operation ran entirely to plan. Being a town with a deep connection to the military, Alice Springs was one place where a strong show of force on the streets proved reassuring to the vast majority of the town’s residents. Thus there was no panic or disorder. Their oasis in the desert had dried up and it was simply time to leave. People did as they were told because no-one wanted to miss their allotted spot on a military transport.
Luckman had barely slept since the start of the evacuation.
But with the operation in hand and the arrival of a wary and reserved senior officer by the name of Major Mike Brogan to take over command, he gratefully stood down and figured on grabbing a few hours’ rest before sorting out departure arrangements for his friends.
Brogan had not mentioned a word about Pine Gap, although he must have been fully briefed on the situation. Luckman wasn’t about the raise the subject himself. He updated the Major on the evac and then left him to it. He was still driving the police four-wheel-drive – Pollock had told him he might as well keep it.
Pat Williams appeared at the back door to Paulson’s house as Luckman pulled up. “Look who the cat dragged in.”
Luckman smiled wearily. “How is everyone?”
“Better than you by the looks.”
He wasn’t about to argue. “How are those town camps going? You sorted them out yet?”
Pat rolled his eyes. “Half the blackfellas reckon they wanna stay put. Reckon they never had electricity or running water in the first place.”
“Have any of them ever actually lived off the land?”
Pat shrugged. “A few of the old fellas. We’ll get ’em out eventually when they realise the shops won’t be reopening.”
Maxine Warrington was in the lounge room spoon-feeding Mel from a bowl of porridge. It was a struggle, partly because her right arm was in plaster and partly because Mel ate like a newborn child. Most of the porridge seemed to be dribbling down her chin. She smiled when she saw Luckman.
“How’s she been?” he asked Warrington.
“Fine. Not a peep actually.”
“Has she tried to speak?”
Warrington shook her head. It had been a calculated risk allowing her into the house. But he had forced Shearer to place Warrington under his command and above all else she was a soldier – he trusted her to obey orders. She longed to obey orders. She didn’t have it in her to kill him. She could have done so already but had fired her gun and missed. While his game of chess with the General was far from over, for now at least it was safe to trust Warrington as an ally.
In the meantime, several questions remained unanswered. With the shutdown of the Others’ psychic defence system a mental fog in Luckman’s reasoning had also lifted. For the past several hours a question had begun to crystallise, one he knew he should have asked several days ago.
“Hey Pat, something is bugging me. Why was Clarence Paulson the only person in Alice Springs to lose his memory from the Sunburst?”
“He thought he was immune to its effects. And he didn’t trust the Others, so he chose to stay behind.”
“What would make him think he was immune?”
“Beats the bejesus biscuits out of me,” Pat admitted. “It’s the only time I’ve ever known him to be wrong about something.”
“That’s one helluva time to make a bad judgment call,” said Warrington.
“Which is sort of my point,” said Luckman. “He was utterly convinced he alone would remain unaffected. Why?”
“Why do you care?” asked Warrington.
“I dunno.”
“Don’t worry about it now,” Pat told him. “You’re dead on your feet. Get some rest.”
Fifty
The wind was so strong it almost knocked him over. The sky was grey. The whole world was grey, like it should be raining, but the air was tinder dry. He was on a rooftop. There was a crack that ran through the centre of the building, a catastrophic flaw that surely indicated imminent collapse.
He realised the structure was swaying like it would topple at any moment. Something about it was familiar; he’d been here before. The arc of the exterior finally jogged his memory. He was standing in the middle of a perfect circle. It was the roof of the Focal building.
A perfect circle. The words echoed in his head like they ought to mean something.
He knew he needed to get to her before the building collapsed, but he couldn’t remember which part of the circular structure he should descend to get to her apartment.
He looked around for his ropes. Panic rose in his chest as he realised he didn’t have any with him.
What was he thinking? How did he hope to rescue her from a perfect circle without the necessary equipment?
He peered over the side and immediately felt the building tilt toward the ground like some terrifying fairground thrill ride. But this was no ride, this was the real thing. Buildings don’t tilt.
Except then it swung back the other way.
Another crack appeared beneath his feet. He chanced another look toward the ground below. The ocean had receded. He looked toward the horizon. The waterfront was a long way off but the ocean looked as if it was fighting fiercely to regain the advantage.
Directly below him in place of the water was a sea of humanity. Tens of thousands of people were beating against the base of the building like their lives depended on it. They were the ones shaking the building. Didn’t they realise they were going to kill him? Scores of them were climbing towards him, lifting themselves higher and higher, one balcony at a time. Some of them were almost at the top. He watched in horror and fascination as one young man lost his footing and fell to the ground.
But there were others. They would reach him soon.
All of them looked up at him. They were calling out to him, trying to get his attention. Desperate for his help. But he didn’t know how to help them. He felt suffocated by the weight of their need. He sensed it would quickly turn to anger when they found out he could do nothing for them.
He had to get inside the building. He hung out as far as he could to view the floor below. It would be hard without a rope but what other choice did he have? He climbed onto the concrete roof ledge and lowered himself so that he was hanging by his hands. He realised at once he had made a terrible mistake. His feet were the only part of his legs that extended into the cavity of the penthouse balcony. He had no room to swing. The best he could hope for would be to crash into the railing below and probably break his legs in the process. But it was far more likely he would merely glance off the building and fall to his death.
“Stone – help us.”
It was Mel’s voice. He looked up. She was right above him on the rooftop. He felt her hand on his. But she was lifting his fingers, loosening his grip on the roof ledge.
“Help me,” she repeated.
“No help me,” yelled someone else.
Faces everywhere on the roof now. Reaching out to him, clawing at his hands as if they had no regard for his safety. As if all they wanted was to touch him.
He heard something snap. He realised it was one of his fingers. But he felt no pain.