MUD. INHER MOUTH, HER NOSE AND HER EYES. MUD IN her hair and caked on her neck and her arms. Mud filling her shoes and seeping through her clothes. She lay sprawled on her side, a garbled, barely distinct sound coming from her: 'Jaymartinjaymartin'. One eye opened, then the other. She coughed, spat, tried to clear her throat. Mud was stuck to her tongue, her gums and the top of her mouth. Still she said the words 'Jaymartinjaymartin'. She tried to sit up, but her left shoulder and arm ached and needle-sharp pain stabbed her fingers, her palms and the backs of her hands. Sand and stones tormented her broken skin. She fell back. She pushed herself up on her other elbow. 'Jaymartinjaymartinjaymartin.'

Her world was mud and pain.

* * *

'What's your name?' A boy was sitting on a kitchen table floating in a muddy pool.

At his feet was a child's doll, the head lolling to one side. Hair as pale as straw hung off the scalp, its eyes loose and drooping.

'Jaymartinjaymartin.'

He stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face. 'Shut up that stupid talk.'

She fell sideways, her body shaking. She covered her face with her hands. Light rain was now falling.

He went back to his table.

The girl turned away from him. Screeching seagulls swooped out of the low grey cloud. She heard crashing sounds and voices calling as she dragged herself up onto her knees. Like a swarm of scavenging animals, men were pushing aside planks of wood and sheets of tin. They moved around the broken walls of brick. Then came the roaring, deafening sound of a helicopter, blades whirring, turning above them. Huge up-drafts of wind tossed mud and water flying. What did it mean? What was happening?

He asked her again, 'What's your name?'

'Name?' Her voice was oddly high-pitched like a small child's. 'Jaymartinjaymartin,' she began and then stopped. This time the boy repeated, 'Jaymartin? What do you mean, Jay Martin? James Martin?'

'I don't know.'

'But that's a bloke's name. It can't be yours.'

She spat mud from her mouth. 'Have you got any water? A drink.'

He nodded. 'Water. What a joke.' He held his arms out to the rain. 'At my place. You can come with me, if you like.'

Like? What did he mean? She felt nothing.

She dragged herself free of the mud like someone crawling out of quicksand. She followed him past a wardrobe with the door hanging loose, a cupboard spewing folders and sheets of paper, a couch with its cushions floating on the sea of mud.

Everywhere people were bent over the mounds of brickwork that had been houses. They were pushing aside smashed-up stairs, digging at heaps of battered machinery and twisted metal. Everything tossed and broken.

Over the soft sound of rain came the cry of a lone dog and the constant harsh call of gulls.

* * *

She walked slowly, every muscle in her body screaming out to her to stop. What had done this? Earthquake?

Bombs? She stumbled over mounds of rock and mud, leaning for a moment against a tree trunk torn from the ground.

The boy kept turning his head to look at her. The rain ran down over his head and plastered his straggly brown hair to his back. He led her around more muddy pools, past an upturned boat to his place: the shell of someone's house, roofed with sheets of tin.

'My palace,' he said, and he bowed low as if he was showing off something fantastic. She stepped around the upturned bath and the broken filing cabinet and flopped down onto a sandstone block. Across from her, a car was wedged where a wall had been, as if someone had driven it into the house and then couldn't back it out. The bonnet was crushed and one of the wheels was twisted and buckled.

'That's where I sleep,' the boy said. 'Better than the hard ground.'

He bent to pick up a bowl of water and passed it to her. Ignoring the pain that racked her hands, she gulped it, as if she hadn't drunk for a long time. Some of it splashed down her front.

'You hurt me.' She touched her face where he'd slapped her.

'You were talking rubbish, babbling that name. Who is he?'

'I don't know.'

'What's your name?'

'I don't know.'

What was her name? Why was this other one in her head? Jay Martin. James Martin? She started again, softly, saying it over and over.

Whack. The boy came forward and slapped her again.

She fell back.

He seized her elbow and dragged her onto her knees.

'Shut up! Stop your gabbling. You sound crazy. You're gunna have to use your brains.' He squatted, his face in close to her. 'There's lots of people everywhere dead and missing and everything's wrecked.'

She noticed the blue shadow of a bruise down his left cheek.

'What's your name?' she whispered.

'Peri.' He drew back from her. 'Sorry about that. I had to get you to shut up. But I'll do it again if you start.' He pulled his wet T-shirt off and wrung it out. 'You've got blood on your arm and you should clean up your hands. Bathroom's over there.' He waved his hand to the opposite brick wall, where buckets filled with water were lined up.

She went slowly across and chose one, scooping up water and splashing it on her face and on her arms. Thin brown trails ran over her pale skin as the caked blood washed away. She poured some of the water into another small bowl and soaked her hands. Peri came and crouched beside her. 'Looks like you put up a fight against a barbed-wire fence.'

Slowly, wincing, she washed dirt and sand from the cuts and torn patches of skin.

'You've got blood too.' She pointed to his knuckles and an angry slash across his hand.

'Nah, it's nothing.'

When she had finished she sat back on the block of stone and blew on her aching fingers. 'Where is everyone? Why is everything wrecked? What happened? Where are we?'

'Well, it is Sydney, though it doesn't look like it. I dunno what this suburb was. It rained and it rained,' he said. 'I saw on this big screen last night that they reckon there was this cyclone like the ones they get up north. It was out at sea and then it turned and huge waves came roaring up over the beaches and the land and it just took everything for nearly a kilometre. It never happened like that before, not round here. There're lots of people dead or missing and injured and everything's smashed up. The army's been called in to rescue people, and the SES.' He paused. 'There were some people, police and rescue mobs, came through yesterday and I reckon there'll soon be a whole gang of soldiers. Be good. Get rid of some of the scavengers.'

'Who?'

'Those people we saw. They're just looking for stuff so they can make some money.'

'Maybe they used to live there. Maybe that was their smashed house.'

'I reckon all the people in the house would be dead under the rubble or washed out to sea.'

'Why wasn't I washed out?' Her voice trailed away. Shivers ran from her chest, down her arms to her hands till her whole body was shaking. She couldn't stop. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, entwining her fingers despite the pain from her cuts and torn skin. Backwards and forwards she rocked, teeth chattering. Who had she been with? What happened to them? Was it her mum or dad? Brothers or sisters?

She took a deep breath and slowly steadied herself. 'What will the soldiers do? Will they help us?'

He shrugged.

'Do they take you somewhere?'

'Probably to a...