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Winston.
    ‘Yeah. With me dad and his mates back home. Says
that’s the only reason he makes me do Rangers, so I can get him more pork.’
    Rangers? Astrid had said she was a Girl Guide?
Maybe she was tied up with some paramilitary wing of the guides. Instead of
delving into that, Winston asked, ‘Your dad like you being on TV?’
    ‘He said most of our rellies have been on
Crimewatch, so I should give it a crack.’
    ‘What do you think so far?’
    ‘Fucken shithouse.’
    ‘We have to go into Katoomba,’ repeated
Astrid, frowning.

Chapter Seven
    Photo Shoot
    T he rain pelted down relentlessly. Eventually Astrid decided not to
go into Katoomba after all, and thought she ort to stay back with Malisovich
and the girls. So Winston and Dick went alone.
    At the brow of the hill where the road up
from the visitor centre joined Echo Point Road, they saw lights. ‘Look, over there.
See?’ said Dick. Each carried a plastic folder from the truck, held flat over
their torches as protection from the rain because one of the other penlights
had already conked out from water penetration.
    A car appeared in their path. It sat at an
odd angle as though it’d been travelling uphill then rolled back across the
curb and partly up onto the footpath. They shone their torches inside but it was
empty.
    Further up the hill a cluster of lights twinkled
through the downpour. One of the beams brightened for a second as it pointed
directly at them, then flashed away. Another beam slightly further apart from
the others picked them up and waggled back and forth, up and down, obviously trying
to attract their attention.
    As they approached the waggly torch-bearer gradually
drifted into focus. At first it looked like some creature with a huge, round,
black head and glowing, triangle-shaped body. Then Winston could make out a
yellow poncho raincoat, topped with an afro over brilliant white teeth and
eyes. The rest of the man’s jet black face blended perfectly into the night. Two
women were on either side of him, both elderly and stooped. At least twenty
others sat in the middle of the street behind the trio. Several of the huddled figures
were small; Winston figured they must be children.
    Thirty meters behind them stood a bristly
pyramid which a few hours earlier must’ve been someone’s house. The pile of rubble
cast an eerie silhouette with perhaps ten or a dozen torch beams working over
it like fat, luminous worms trying to burrow in.
    ‘Quiet, quiet!’ one of the worms shouted. Must
be trying to hear survivors. The rain continued to slap down defiantly,
refusing to give them a break.
    The Aborigine smiled. ‘Glad to see you
fellas.’
    ‘Howdy,’ replied Winston quietly.
    ‘Good evening,’ proffered Dick loudly, like
he was ordering a steak in a crowded restaurant.
    ‘I just arrived ten minutes ago. Jean here
says they lookin for people in this guest house, but most other houses all
right. Except some building over the road but ’parently no one in that. And
another one, she fall down up the street. Jean reckons they got enough blokes
lookin in here now.’ He paused. ‘Only the two of you?’
    ‘There’s four others at the Three Sisters Centre
down the road. We just walked up from there,’ replied Winston. ‘What’s left of
it anyway.’
    ‘Leroy.’ He held out his hand.
    ‘Dick Snow.’ Leroy shook Dick’s hand, then
Winston. His palm felt unusually padded and warm. A dog barked nearby, ending in
a hollow, drawn-out wail.
    ‘That’s Peanuts. He’s in me van.’
    ‘Is it working?’ asked Dick.
    ‘No. He sit around the house all day, scratching
his arse.’
    ‘The van I mean.’
    ‘Oh. Yeah mate. Couple other cars stop I saw.
I tried to help a fella with me jumper cables and couldn’t get his going but. We
saw an old lorry drive past though, just a while ago. It was—’
    A deep rumble rose from below then a moment
later the earth jolted violently. Rock grated angrily against rock in a series
of short, vicious