They sped down the highway and through the streets of Atunda, cars parting to let Dirk's monster vehicle through. As the high-rise buildings flashed past in a blur of residue atmospheric dust, Dec's mind swirled with its own storm of thoughts, all of which he was unable to string together. He thought of the Cormorant, how her cargo had been stacked between vertical guide rails made from steel, how each row had been crane-lifted into place, fixed and locked down for their own security. How his own life had been lifted, lashed and fixed down with the iron grid precision of the Cormorant's cargo bound for a predetermined destination. The Captain, no, his father—he cringed—had made sure of that.

Eventually, Dirk's monster vehicle mounted the curb, before falling into position out the front of Dec's house with a suspension-rattling jolt. Dec barely noticed they'd arrived. He was too busy grinding his teeth and throwing mental weight against the iron confines of his cage. Dirk leaned over the passenger seat and tapped the glovebox. It slid open with an electronic whizzing noise. Dirk pulled out an industrial-sized radio that looked like it could've withstood a crushing from a tank and spoke into the mouthpiece, "Tell the Captain the boy has been delivered."

"Copy that," came the reply.

Dirk slammed the glovebox shut and shoved a rubber nib in front of Dec's face. "Sign here," he said. From his pocket, he unrolled an expensive Northern-style digitised notepad, with his name, Dirk Regulski, gold-embossed in gold on the back.

Dec made no move to sign.

Dirk huffed. "Your signature will be transferred to the protection papers I've lodged with the police, preventing them from commencing any further investigations on your disappearance during the storm and the damaged bot without substantial evidence against you. Montague will not track you any further, unless he wants to navigate a shit tonne of paperwork."

Still, Dec didn't move.

Dirk jabbed him with the rubber nib. "Sign it, kid," he said. "You've no grounds for stubbornness right now."

Dec caught his own reflection in the glossy surface of the trackpad and was surprised to find his expression was made of steel—deadly as a politician about to declare war on the national news projections. Certainly not the blithering mess of someone who'd been given an ultimatum by a father he'd spent twenty years putting to rest in a very deep grave of his mind.

In a single, jerky movement, he yanked the rubber nib from between Dirk's marble digits and attacked the trackpad with such force, his name came out looking like an uncouth graffiti tag, reminiscent of a raised middle finger. Dirk rolled the trackpad and tucked it back in his shirt pocket with the swiftness of a diner wiping his hands on a napkin and began typing a message on his palm pod. He seemed to forget Dec was there.

Dec took leave without ceremony, slid from the leather seat and onto the curb, slamming the door behind him with such force, the vehicle rocked on its wheels. Now that he was out from under the umbrella of Dirk's tinted windows, the sun assaulted his eyes and pricked his neck. Keeping his head down, he stomped indents in the cinnamon dust-coated footpath, ignoring the nostalgic warmth on his back and the urge to take one last look at the day around him. He knew if he did, his outer steel might melt.

Dirk's car idled on the curb, engine a low warning growl. Dec thrust the roller shutter door up, eliciting a loud metal screech. In the flash of light afforded by the sun streaming into the room, he saw how filthy their life had become. Liquid spills made artistic streaks down the kitchen cupboard fronts and the cement floor was littered with chunks of dirt and food scraps. Spiderwebs that had gone unseen in the candlelight clung like broken wedding veils to blown bulbs in the uninsulated plasterboard roof. A cockroach scuttled between a crack in the wall.

Tommy and Mel sat side-by-side on the couch, eyes fixed on the news projections. They turned in unison at the sudden flash of sunlight. His sister was still wearing the same clothes she'd been wearing on the night of the Smackdown. Her eyes were red from crying and her nose trailed snot. Tommy's head was still wrapped in a bandage, right eye swollen shut.

Tommy's good eye widened as it fixated on the sunlight streaming over Dec's shoulder. As soon as Dec closed the roller shutter door and the darkness swallowed them up once more, Tommy's eye narrowed and hardened, the black iris glinting in the reflection of the projector.

"Dec!" Mel scrambled from the couch to throw her twig arms around his neck.

Dec thumped her back, cringing at the feel of her rib bones beneath his fingers, which seemed fine enough to snap.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she continued breathlessly. "When you didn't answer my call and they found your palm pod under that bridge, I thought you and mum were ... " her voice caught in her throat and she gave a little cough. "When the police went out the next day and found you ... I can't even tell you how relieved I was." She was sobbing now and Dec could feel her tears through the cotton of his t-shirt.

He continued to thump her back. "Have you heard from the hospital?"

"They said mum was sleeping. She's in isolation while they test her for the mutated virus."

Dec didn't know whether to be relieved or not. He had a vision of Adele, tied to a bed, hooked to machines, betrayal in her eyes. After everything they'd been through the night before, the inevitable had found her, just as it had found Dec. She was just another container of cargo, locked down on a ship, bound to its destination.

" ... stuck in a drain pipe!" Mel was saying. "Weren't you scared? When the police said they had to keep you at the station during the clean up because the roads were too full of dust and muck from the storm, I almost called Montague and his wasps a bunch of incompetent bumblebees. He hung up before I had a chance."

Dec imagined his sister, all five feet of her, spouting ridiculous insults into her palm pod and Montague sniggering with his colleagues about it afterwards. The thought made him want to punch something. He balled his fists.

"What else did they tell you?" He growled. The police were lying on his behalf now, which showed their corruption had become as blatant as a wolf in a red scarf.

"Nothing ... Why?"

"Just wondering what other camel shit excuse they might've come up with for why they had to keep me at the station for such a long time," Dec lied. There was no point in telling Mel the truth. The truth didn't affect her. He and Mel had different fathers. Coz, Adele's ex-husband and Mel's father still lived in Quarry Cove where he went about his life, pining for his failed marriage while at the same time living off the money he'd made from the sale of Adele's property, which had been afforded to him in the absence of a prenuptial agreement. Every now and then, mainly for birthdays, they received a call from him. Every conversation was the same—him talking about himself and his woes. The calls were getting fewer and further between.

The news projections behind Mel's head caught his eye, featuring a mass of angry Southerners attempting to barge the doors of the City Hospital. He could tell from the film of dust on the camera lens and the thick red powder coating on the steps, the footage was fresh from the night just passed.

"Turn that up will you?" he said and Mel tapped the volume on her palm pod.

Hersh, anchorman for City Night News, and Teegan's self-confessed crush, floated from the speakers in the projector. "What you're watching, is surveillance camera footage of the terrifying moment when a mob of angry citizens stormed the waiting room of the City South Hospital, demanding clinical treatment for the Desert Sicknesses. The attack came mere hours after alarms sounded the passing of the city's latest dust storm."

The footage continued, a montage of images reminiscent of those that had made the news projections in the lead up to the March Massacres – tear blotted faces screaming, fists punching the air and using every day kitchen implements, garden implements and handheld factory tools to smash glass windows and anything else that looked like it might break. Police hid behind shields while using tear gas to subdue the most violent individuals—detain and force them into secure police vehicles one-by-one.

"While the connection has been made between this most recent outburst with the March Massacres," Harsh continued, "hospital staff and authorities have since been commended for the professionalism at which they diffused the situation and used non-invasive techniques to manage the angry protesters.

"Unfortunately, despite police efforts, the incident is believed to be the first of an expected many as shockwaves about the mutated virus increases paranoia in our communities. Though a public statement has been issued dispelling rumours regarding the recent rise in Desert Sickness cases, police are on standby for further incident. Should you like to report any disruptive behaviour of this sort, please call the police on 114 to help protect your community against violence."

Vision cut back to the green room, and Hersh appeared behind the news reporter's desk looking more sweaty and rotund than usual. Dec thought of Teegan and failed to understand the appeal of his sizeable midsection.

"More on the hospital attacks soon. But for now, moving on to sport."

Tommy grabbed Mel's arm and started flicking the stations from her palm pod. "No, no, no..." he said. "That can't be it." Dec hadn't seen him get up from the couch, he'd been so quick.

Mel tore her arm away. "Ouch, Tommy!"

Tommy, oblivious, began pacing the square meter space between the kitchen table and the back of the couch. "Fucking Chook," he growled.

"Chook?" Mel said.

"Chook was supposed to break into the Nightly News headquarters and swap the footage for tape recordings of Southerners whose family members have died of the Desert Sickness, but whose deaths have been covered up by the police. Did you know more than three hundred people died of the illness last year? That's almost one a day. And the police put their deaths down to heart attack and suicide. It's the cover up of a century."

Mel shook her head, wearing the same expression Dec might've worn during one of Tommy's rants a week ago. "Doesn't make sense. The authorities would never get away with that."

"Wouldn't they?" Tommy snarled, causing Mel to step back in shock. She, unlike Dec, had never seen Tommy like this before. "Sorry to burst your happy little bubble Mel but the authorities can do whatever the hell they want. We're living in a ticking time bomb. They want us dead. That's the truth of it. And they're picking us off, one-by-one with this sickness."

"Nice conspiracy theory Tommy, but interviews with families doesn't prove anything. It's not the Northerner's fault if they carry an immunity to the disease. If what you're saying is true and Northerners are killing us on purpose, then by all means, start your civil war. I'll even take up arms and fight too. But you need proof, or else your argument falls face first."

Tommy rolled his tongue over his teeth before saying in a low tone, "I thought you'd be more concerned, with Adele being sick and all."

Dec stepped forward. "Tommy ... " he growled.

Mel's face turned red, and her lip quivered. For a second, Dec thought she would cry. Then, she did the unexpected. She bunched her hands and glared at Tommy so fiercely, it was enough to make both of them step back. "How dare you bring my mother into this." She stepped forward, so now there was barely an inch of air between her and Tommy. She jabbed him hard in the sternum. "Proof, Tommy. Find proof."

She strode towards her room and disappeared behind the dividing screen. The springs of her bed squeaked as she threw herself on it.

Tommy, for the first time in his life, deflated in the wake of the argument. He glanced at Dec, then down at his feet. "I don't have proof," he said, in one soft exhalation. "But I believe the storm has made people sick. Lazar has had reports of people suffering severe hallucinations from all over the city. I believe him, Dec. I don't know how it spread so fast, maybe via the spores of dust, but I think somehow the North is really trying to kill us. " He paused. "I'll find proof. I just hope it won't be too late when I do ... " His words trailed away but Dec heard their insinuation loud and clear.

Too late for Adele, Tommy had meant.

"Tommy ..." Dec said, catching and holding Tommy's one-eyed gaze. He wanted his friend to know he finally understood his anger. The past two nights had opened his eyes. It was clear Southerners had no say in government. The police were corrupt, even the armed naval forces were working with the North. And all the while, the sun was slipping away from their memories so that soon, they'd forget what it was like to feel true warmth on their faces, or the true vibrancy of colour in their eyes. Children would be born into darkness, never having known the light. It couldn't go on.

He opened his mouth as the decision formed on the tip of his tongue. The NYR was something real, concrete, something he could understand—unlike the voices in his head and the things he'd seen Rain do. The Captain thought it was best, and now he was starting to think he was right. He only hoped this decision would finally put an end to all of the strange things that kept happening to him.

"I want to join the NYR." He said it under his breath so Mel wouldn't hear.

Tommy studied him carefully. "What about your job at Overlands?"

"I got fired."

Tommy sucked in breath. "Does Mel know?"

Dec shook his head. "And she doesn't need to know. She already wants to quit school and get a job."

Dec was relieved when Tommy nodded in agreement at this. Tommy said, "I could get you a job at Quarry Cove. My parents might know someone who's hiring."

"I want to work for the NYR," Dec repeated.

Tommy frowned. "I thought you hated Lazar."

Dec cast him a steadfast look. If he couldn't tell Tommy about his father's ultimatum, he could give him his the next best reason for wanting to join. "I saw the sun." The image of the port flashed in his mind, the blue of the sky, the sparkle of the water. He could feel the injustice simmering like hot coals beneath his feet.

He didn't need to say anything else to convince Tommy of his sudden change of heart. Tommy tapped his palm pod and brought up Lazar's line. "When do you want to speak to him?" Tommy said.

"Now," Dec said.

Tommy looked up. "Are you sure you want to do this? You were right about one thing. Lazar wants us to do some pretty illegal stuff."

Dec stared back. At first, his only intent to join the NYR was so the Captain would believe he was keeping out of trouble. But now he knew he wasn't doing it for the Captain at all. He was doing it for himself, and he had no intention of playing it safe. "I'm sure."

Tommy studied him for a moment, his expression giving nothing away. Then, a wry grin split his lips. "It's good to have you back." He touched connect on Lazar's number and let it ring.

While they waited for Tommy's call to connect, Dec had to bite his lip so as not to lose his resolve. Lazar's voice finally drifted between them.

"Tommy, I've got an assignment for you," he said. "One that I think will finally give us some traction against the North."

Tommy smirked. "I hope your assignment can accommodate two."

Silence, then, "Certainly."

They discussed a time and place to meet. The Lady Josephine, it was decided. 12PM. By the time Tommy hung up, Dec had chewed a hole on the inside of his cheek.

"Let's blow this North Wind back where it came from," Tommy said, his pleasure at the thought of causing him to rise on the balls of his feet.

At that moment, a memory flashed into Dec's mind—of how Rain had tended his mother when he'd been too afraid to touch her, for fear of contracting the illness. Then there was the softness of her voice when she'd sung away his claustrophobia.

He let the thought bead off him like water down a window pane. Rain was like every other Northerner. She believed in lab rats and following orders. Which was fine because soon, if not already, she'd be on a ship heading North and out of his life for good.