NaNo'17-11

 – Dean –

Dean found it difficult to remember most of the rollercoaster ride up the wave front, and he was ready to be thrown off into the churning sea at any minute. He and the other trawler men were clipped onto a coil of steel chain that ran across the deck. Dean was no mountain climber, but apparently these things could fully support the weight of two or three people. He was stood between the captain and the other most junior member of the crew, a young man called Paul, and everyone held tight to a rope. First mate Carson was at the wheel.

The deck reared, tipped, and he felt gravity trying to overwhelm him. His hands and arms ached from the strain. The sound of the wave was horrible; sucking and churning and crashing all at once. But the deck righted itself, the horizon came back into view, and the Blackwater Star settled on the sullen North Sea.

The crew raised their heads carefully. They could hear Carson whooping and hollering from the bridge; Dean thought the man was either delirious or mad. Or both.

The captain stood first, and Dean saw him taking a headcount, then immediately handed out tasks. Most of the crew were sent to inspect the vessel for damage, and they darted off, before he finally turned to Dean.

‘Lad, I need you to get down to the comms room and put out an emergency broadcast. You’ll find the process in the manual,’ he added, seeing Dean’s worried, confused face. ‘We might be the first people to have run into this wave, so I need you to get the word out.’

‘Right, captain,’ Dean said, though he still felt unsure and it must have shown, because the captain leant forward.

‘Don’t worry, they’re not going to care if you don’t get the call signs right, or some other bollocks. Not if you save lives. That’s all that matters now, Dean.’

‘Got it,’ he said, turning for the hatch and unclipping his carabiner. He walked quickly for the hatch and descended the ladder. The room was quite a mess, but the important fixtures were screwed down, so he plucked the radio manual from the draw and flipped through it until he found the emergency procedures. But, try as he might, he could not get through. He checked again; was he on the right frequency? The guide said emergency broadcasts could be made on any channel, so he cycled through, hoping to get hold of someone.

The minutes passed, however, and he heard no voice in reply. Panic filled him; was he was doing something wrong? He tore through the book, eyes raking the pages for any reference that might help in the event that nobody was answering on any frequency. Nothing jumped out at him, and he returned to sending out the form of words he had now settled on; their identifier, their position, their situation.

There was still no reply. Dean dropped the book and the handset, and turned for the ladder. The captain was back on the bridge, and Dean heard the first mate’s voice as he approached.

‘We’ve got some buckling on the bow, but I think we’ll make it back to port.’

‘Very good, Mr Carson,’ the captain acknowledged. ‘Come in, lad,’ he added, when he saw Dean in the entrance.

He shuffled in, feeling like this was like a trip to the head teacher’s office. It always felt a bit like that. The captain was clearly a man who commanded respect, and Dean certainly respected him, but he was also a little bit intimidating, though he thought that more his problem than anything the captain did deliberately. But this was unlike any visit to the head teacher’s office he had ever experienced – there had been a couple of instances he could recall, though none had been for anything more serious than being in a few fights – but none he could remember where he had delivered bad news.

The worst news.

He saw Carson leering behind the captain. He wouldn’t be put off. He needed to be clear.

‘Captain, I’ve broadcast on all the frequencies, but nobody’s answering.’

He heard a small cough of disbelief from Carson, but he kept his eyes fixed on the captain. However, the captain’s reply caught him off guard. ‘Dean, thank you for trying, but I think we now know the reason for that,’ and he gestured out of the starboard window. Dean looked, not really understanding what he was seeing.

‘W-what…. What are those things sticking out…?’ he asked, and he surprised himself when he heard how quiet his voice was.

‘That’s Lowestoft, lad,’ the captain said quietly. ‘Wave must have carried us further than we thought.’

Dean simply stared. He couldn’t believe it. The sea lay all over the land, broken only by little clusters of roofs and the upper floors of some taller buildings. He clutched the rail very tightly. Out at sea, with the wave bearing down on them, he had been afraid. Holding onto the rope as the deck lurched upwards, he had been frightened. Trying to raise the alarm without hearing anything back had made him panic.

But seeing thousands of homes under fifteen feet of North Sea water, terrified him. He didn’t need to ask why his messages had not been answered. The reason was as clear the bright, sunny sky, looking down upon the inflated ocean.

He didn’t move for an hour.

– Anthony –

He came to, still looking at the sky, though it was noticeably lighter than the last time he had seen it. He might have expected to be looking at the ceiling of a hospital ward, or the inside of an ambulance, but this lack of either surprised him.

‘Tony, mate, you there?’

It was Steve. His back felt wet; he must still be lying in the grass verge. ‘What’s going on?’ Anthony managed to mumble. The paramedic swayed into his view again.

‘Back with us, Tony? Come on, let’s get you sat up and ready for the trip.’

‘Trip?’ he wondered. His brain felt very slow.

‘Getting you off to the Infirmary,’ Steve said. ‘I’ve let Kayleigh know. She’s meeting us there.’ Anthony tried to stand, but the paramedic laid a restraining hand on him.

‘Easy there, Tony,’ he said. ‘Just take this nice and slowly. Air ambulance should be here any minute.’

‘What about…’ Anthony began, thinking back to when he had arrived at the plant. Thinking seemed problematic at the moment. ‘What about the ambulances you came here in?’

‘They’re all wrecked, mate,’ Steve put in. ‘Whole plant blown to bits and four fire engines along with it. A couple of police cars and ambulances, too.’ Anthony felt very wobbly again.

‘It’s all gone?’ he managed to ask.

But any response was lost as the air filled with the thud of rota blades. Steve and the paramedic shielded Anthony from the buffeting, and when the craft touched down on the road, they helped him stand. With their support, he hobbled to the helicopter and the paramedic strapped him. Steve got in the other side, and Tony accepted the oxygen mask that was handed to him.

He thought about what had just been said. ‘Did you say you called Kay?’ He could hear her voice even now, fretting and worrying, as she had a few hours ago. 

‘Yes, mate,’ Steve confirmed. ‘She said she’d head straight for the Infirmary.’

Anthony nodded, and stared out of the window. Kay had said not to go, that it wasn’t his week and he should stay in bed, but seeing the blazing wreckage of his place of work, he thought he couldn’t have done anything else but come out here and try to stop it. He had just been too late, that was all.

The helicopter turned west and flew over the city. He stared down at row after row of damaged houses, shops, pubs, and offices. Blue flashing lights marked the major junctions. Steve wondered why all the roads were shut, but he couldn’t see why from his window; Anthony’s faced south and, by the light of the advancing morning, he could see the tidal bore racing up the Humber, topping over the docks and washing around the Deep. In the distance, he could see the water sloshing over the Lincolnshire countryside and right through Immingham. Ahead, he saw more flashing lights at either end of the bridge, where looked to be leaning at a funny angle.

He shut his eyes and concentrated on the oxygen mask, breathing as steadily as he could. He didn’t want to look down there anymore. It was the wave that scared him most of all; how may had been driving innocently along, minding their own business, only to find their route suddenly inundated? How many were dead?

How many were missing?

He felt his breathing becoming difficult again. How many would blame him? Well, he thought, not just him. He just worked there, of course. But the protestors’ chant from a few hours ago – “planet-killing bastard” – kept playing out, over and over. He knew what Kay would have told him – what she would surely say when he next saw her – that he worked hard and was doing his best to minimise the environmental impact. They took extensive scans, she would remind him. They were careful with filtration and emissions. He knew she was only repeating his own reassurances back to him, but he had always found it comforting before. Helpful before. It put his part into perspective; he was doing his best for the country in this difficult climate.

But now, though he couldn’t be completely sure, he had a horrible suspicion that, if the brief explanation he had had from Steve – that the shale pocket they had been extracting had somehow been acting as a lid on an even larger reservoir – then this catastrophe could very well be attributed to him. Or at least, to his employer.

Though, as the protesters proved, they were not above directly targeting employees.

He braved another look just as they came into land on the Royal Infirmary’s rooftop helipad. The waves were not running down Anlaby Road, and he breathed a small sigh of relief. It was the only good bit of news from the last few hours. Kay should be able to get to the hospital without running afoul of flood waters.

They wheeled him off to a private room, though Anthony was indifferent to special treatment, but he could see plenty of movement in the ward beyond, constant silhouettes dashing across the curtains that blocked out his room. A nurse delivered a prescription of pills and a jug of water, and said she would check back in an hour. They weren’t massively concerned, and he would probably be discharged tomorrow.

Kayleigh soon appeared, looking more scared than he could have imagined. She flung herself at him, and he briefly thought she might hit him; he had promised to call at the first sign of trouble, and if he was completely honest with himself, that first sign had been the fleet of emergency vehicles at Mytongate.

But she simply threw her arms around him, whispering things he barely caught, though he knew her tone was relieved.

‘I understand why,’ she eventually sniffed, and he looked into her tear-filled eyes.

‘I had to go,’ he said simply. ‘Steve was right… it was serious. And maybe I could have done something about it. Could have changed it, somehow. But I didn’t get there quick enough.’ He had though how best to put his regret into words ever since the helicopter had taken off.

‘I just wish you hadn’t had to,’ she breathed, and he pulled her a little closer. ‘I wish nobody had had to.’ His mind was suddenly back in the plant carpark, listening to Steve stumbling over the words; Chirag was dead, probably crushed by falling rock and metal. He’d just been doing his job, he didn’t deserve what had happened.

His chest spiked unpleasantly at this thought. He needed a distraction.

 Kay was leaning so far forward, she was practically lying on the bed, and they remained like this, in silence, for several minutes, listening to the bustle outside. It sounded very busy out there.

‘You got your phone on you?’ he asked. ‘How bad is it?’

She sat back on the chair and retrieved her mobile from her bag. ‘It’s very slow,’ she said after a moment, but eventually got through to the news channel and set it playing.

It said nothing good.