To Be Human
Jonathan Walker
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Jonathan Walker
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is dedicated to my family, most especially of all John and Julie Walker, my parents, Stefan and Richard, my brothers, for were it not for them I would not be where I am today, so thank you from the bottom of my heart.
And to all my friends, whom I feel lucky to have bumped in to on a planet of over 6 billion people, you have all had an amazing effect on my life, and I am honoured to call you friends.
To Woei-Xian and Ruth you will always be remembered for giving me the inspiration to keep going.
To Katie, thank you for taking the time to read my work inspire me to keep going. It is because of you that this work is now complete.
‘Mankind’s greatest tool is the imagination’
You see things; and you say, “Why?” But I dream things that never were; and I say “Why not?”
‘Back to Methuselah, part 1, act 1’ by George Bernard Shaw
Man's cleverness is almost indefinite, and stretches like an elastic band, but human nature is like an iron ring. You can go round and round it, you can polish it highly, you can even flatten it a little on one side, whereby you will make it bulge out the other, but you will NEVER, while the world endures and man is man, increase its total circumference.
‘Allan Quatermain’ by H. R. Haggard
TO SEE THE WORLD IN A GRAIN OF SAND...
Prologue
“What do you see when you look up at the stars?”
A young girl and boy lay atop a grassy knoll, hand in hand, their fingers entwined. There was no other sound save for the gentle breeze rustling the leaves of a small tree. Far below the grassy knoll, the lights of the town twinkled like the stars above. The night sky was velvety black and away from the town the girl and boy could see the Milky Way and the billions of stars stretched across the vastness of space. The young boy squeezed the girls hand a bit tighter. The young girl squeezed back.
“I don’t know” replied the boy.
“Yes you do, think”
The boy glanced over to the girl, and she stared back. Her blue eyes glowed with starlight, with life, and they seemed to shift from blue to green and back again. The boy could not help but smile.
The boy, who clung to that young girl’s hand staring into stars that were so close to home, did not realise that a year from that date he would be stood at the young girl’s funeral. A light drizzle of rain would be coming down from the heavens. A wooden oak coffin slowly lowered into the ground.
As if from some far off place he would faintly hear the solemn voice of a priest saying, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...”
The boy would watch it all, his tears melding with the rain, and as his heart broke he would hear her voice from that long time ago.
“What do you see when you look up at the stars?”
***
The snow-capped mountains of Norway flew by below. Stars twinkled overhead, millions visible against the clear night sky. The Aurora Borealis shimmered like a thin veil between the mountains and the stars. Travelling down the craggy mountain side as if riding a rollercoaster, and over a stringent forest covered in a white blanket. A few birds twitted and an owl hooted, but visible signs of life could not be seen. The forest gave way to a snowy plain and a slow flowing river. It went on for miles and miles. Villages and icy roads swept past. Still, no living creature stirred.
The city of Oslo grew closer and closer, fire and smoke was drifting up from the ruins. Nearer and nearer, screams and shouts and gunshots ripped the air asunder. Through the shattered streets and past the smoking buildings, what looked like black smoke whisked through the city on the heels of the fleeing survivors. Up close the smoke took shape, creatures from the stuff of nightmares pounded down the streets. Some took the shape of werewolves and vampires, ghouls and goblins. Others became dolls, scurrying faster than cheetahs, over and under the debris, malevolence seeping from their eyes. Some even took the shape of dogs, foaming at their mouths. They kept changing shape, never staying the same, playing on the fears of the human’s running for their lives.
As the city drew away, the screams of the human’s grew dim and eventually fell silent. A steep side of a mountain drew close. A stream trickled down it, the sound soothing to the mind. A small tree grew next to it, thriving on the water and the fresh air. Close by stood a woman, her brunette hair ruffled in the breeze, and her right hand held a man’s who stood facing her, his dark brown eyes staring in to hers. They had been deep in a conversation when a white light seemed to emanate from the man’s left hand. The man whispered a few words to the lady and the light begun to engulf his body.
“See you in a few hours,” the woman cried, still holding his hand
The man smiled sadly for the woman knew not that he would be less than a memory.
The white light flashed and the world fell into darkness.
Chapter 1
7:30 a.m. Time to get up. The alarm-radio was playing Louis Armstrong’s ‘What a Wonderful World’. Sunlight poured in through the drawn beige curtains, too thin to be doing its job properly. A boy blinked, ignoring the headache he usually got from waking up because of the sunlight. He let out a loud yawn and stretched.
Geez, I hate school, he thought, getting out of bed at a snail’s pace.
“Max! Get up! Your toast will be ready in a minute!” the boy’s mother shouted from downstairs.
“Right,” Max managed to call back, grumbling, he slunk off to the bathroom.
Downstairs in the kitchen, his mum was preparing breakfast for not only Max, but his two brothers, Christian and Salvatore, fifteen and thirteen years old respectively. Max was the eldest, seventeen years old, standing at what he thought was an impressive six-Foot two-inches.
Max went about his same old regular routine in the bathroom, finishing with a quick check in the mirror and left in search of breakfast. He stumbled down the stairs, dragging his tired legs behind him. Each step felt like it required too much energy to conquer. He sniffed the air. The scent of toast wafted in to the hallway from the kitchen.
His mother was at the kitchen counter, pouring milk in to bowels holding his brother’s morning breakfast cereal. Upon hearing her son enter, she greeted Max with a smile, so rare to see from people in the morning.
“Morning honey, there you are,” said his mum, Isabella Alfonso, holding out a slice of toast on a plate. Max grunted his thanks as he usually did in the morning. Isabella Alfonso, like her husband, was Italian and the reason behind Max’s dark hair and Mediterranean complexion. She was on the short side, which was one aspect Max was grateful he didn’t inherit. After Max took the plate of toast from her free hand, Isabella headed back to the kitchen to get his brother’s their breakfast. Isabella Alfonso was an age-old household wife. She had originally graduated from university and worked several years as an IT Consultant before meeting and marrying Max’s father. Max always thought of her as the most wonderful mum in the world, running around taking care of him, his brothers and his dad whilst making sure the house was always in tip-top shape.
Max wandered into the living room and plonked himself down on the free two-seater sofa. His father sat across from him in his old armchair, sipping at his morning coffee.
“Good morning, son,” Giovanni Alfonso greeted him, his eyes fixed on the television which was currently displaying the BBC news.
“Mornin’,” Max muttered, chewing on his toast.
“Long day ahead?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Not very talkative are you,” said his dad, chuckling.
“Not in the morning anyway,” Max said, “Too tired.”
His dad shook his head, a smile on his face, and stood up to leave.
“Here,” Giovanni said, handing Max the remote, “You can watch what you want, I’m done. Have to go get ready to send you three to school. All I am is a bloody chauffeur to you lot these days.”
“Thanks,” Max mumbled through a mouthful of toast.
Max enjoyed watching the news. He was always fascinated by the idea that no matter what he was doing at that point in time, someone, somewhere else in the world was doing something completely different, experiencing things that Max would probably never get to experience. Watching the news Max was also glad that he sometimes never had to experience any of what he saw. The news was reeling off one story after another, each spinning a more woeful and terrible tale than the last.
Someone watching this would think that the world was a mess, thought Max, and they’d be right. Hmm, and people wonder why no extra-terrestrial life has contacted us, I mean they’d take one look at the way we live and turn in the other direction.
What annoyed Max most of all, whilst watching the news, was the way religion seemed to be playing a major part in most of the bad press. Max wasn’t religious and his dad may as well have been an atheist. Yet Max could appreciate that religion gave people hope, gave them a sense of purpose, that there was a point of trudging to work every day or sacrificing their lives. No, the problem Max found was that given the billions of star systems overhead and the billions of planets around those and the likelihood that some of them were populated, if most of the confusion is over which religion is the right religion on Earth, what happens if one of those other species had a totally different belief system from the next? At which point Max usually chuckled to himself at the absurdity of it all.
Ain’t life on Earth grand?, he thought as he finished off his toast, turned off the telly and hurried to get ready for school.
Max hated school, what kid didn’t? But lately it’d been getting a lot worse. The work needed for A-Levels was piling ever higher the closer the summer holidays drew near. He never had time to go out with friends; usually he was piled under with homework. Sometimes he managed to catch the odd glimpse of something on television and if it wasn’t for that he would swear he’d lose his mind.
His parents were always telling him that he should be revising. Max kept arguing that he was doing as much as possible. As great as he thought his mum was, Isabella was always remarking that she expected top grades from him. Max never made that promise; only ever promising that he would try his best. If there was ever anything Maxwell Alfonso was good at, it was keeping his promises.
Max looked out the classroom window. It was a warm day at Whitby Community College. The radiators had broken and were pumping out heat, so the windows were open. He could see the clear, blue sky and not a single cloud. Sometimes Max would look up and watch the odd seagull or bird fly by and wish that he was up there, flying, the cool summer breeze in his face, laughing at all those trapped on the ground. How he wished he could fly, the ultimate form of freedom.
With regret he turned his attention back to the classroom. You really realise how prison-like school feels after looking outside, thought Max, I wonder if it’s more cruel having windows than none at all.
“Right, so who can tell me the attitude’s and values of The Scarlet Letter?” asked his teacher, Ms. Medina.
Several hands were raised and Ms. Medina chose the lad at the back of the room.
“Well you see Miss…”
Max sat and listened to his classmate reel off a whole list of attitudes and values that he had garnered from the book. Of course the whole class knew them, this being a revision session a couple of weeks before the exams. Max himself knew the answer, but didn’t put his hand up. He rarely did. Max wished he wasn’t as shy and as quiet as he was. He knew he was quite smart and wished he just had the confidence to back it up. What bothered Max most of all was the times when another pupil answered a question to which Max knew the answer and could have answered had he raised his arm. But he remained silent, watching and listening as his classmates gave out answer after answer.
When the school-bell finally rang for lunchtime, Max was glad to be able to get out of the classroom - and English was his favourite subject. Max walked through the bustling corridors of the school, jostling to get past the student in front of him. He could feel his stomach growling away at him, demanding to be fed. He just hoped that no-one else could hear it. Max finally made his way out of the corridor and through the doors leading to the sixth-form common room. The room was full of people, some he knew, others he didn’t. Max was a shy and quiet guy, but he did his best to talk to people around him, especially if it was just a one-to-one encounter as he hated uncomfortable silences.
The funny thing was Max was never like this at home. There he was always bubbly, charming, completely over-the-top, a side of him that Max sometimes wished he could express in school. Now and again he found that that side of him would break through the surface, but for whatever reason it usually remained suppressed.
Finally he spotted someone he did know and talked to occasionally.
“Hey Don,” greeted Max with a smile.
“You all right, mate?”
“Yeah I’m good, you?”
“Not bad, but god History was boring. I have no idea why I ever took up that subject I keep falling asleep in class,” laughed Don, “If it wasn’t for Sebastian I’d never get through it.”
“Well I’ve got it later this afternoon,” grumbled Max.
Don chuckled and slung his backpack beside the pile of everyone else’s that was building up in the corner of the room.
“So where’s Anthony?” Don asked.
“No idea, not seen him yet,” said Max.
Max had known Donald for the last four years. He was the first friend Max had made since his family moved to Whitby from Italy. It had taken Max a long time to get to know anybody in such a close knit school community, but was glad when Don introduced himself. Donald Davidson was a rather short fellow standing at least a Foot or so lower than Max. He was good-looking, as far as Max could tell, all the ladies seemed to love him. Donald was also the athletic type, in to football and also in to girls. He was good-hearted and loved a laugh. Although sometimes Max saw a darker side to him. If you got on the wrong side of Don it could get nasty. He also had a bad habit of smoking. Donald Davidson was what one might call a proper ‘lad’.
Don finally spotted Anthony coming through the common-room doors, who greeted them both with a big grin on his face.
“All right lads, waiting for me?” Anthony asked.
“Ant-man we’re always waiting for you,” replied Don.
“Don, I’ve told you since we were kids to stop calling me that,” said an exasperated Anthony, dumping his bag alongside everyone else’s, “Ant-man not only sounds lame, but is quite possibly a terrible name for a superhero”
“I’m only messing.”
“Ah ha ha,” laughed Ant, sarcastically.
Before Don could defend himself Ant had launched over to Don and ruffled his brown hair
“Ge’off,” yelled Don, stumbling backwards.
Max and Ant laughed as Donald vainly sorted his hair out. Of course, Anthony was much the same. Max had long ago realised it seemed to be a growing affliction amongst men, they didn’t want people touching their hair in case it got out of shape. Every strand of hair had to be in its place, less a lady think you looked like a mess and were unfashionable. Max didn’t particularly like this sort of attitude, reflected in the way he kept his long dark hair.
Anthony Hendrikson was similar to Donald in many ways, which probably explained why they got along so well. They had been friends since they were ten-years old. Anthony was an only child, whose parents travelled on business often. Donald was like a brother to him. The only difference between the two was that Don enjoyed football whereas Anthony loathed it. Ant had staggeringly bright, blond hair and deep blue eyes. The girls were always fawning over him but Ant was spoken for. His girlfriend, Emily Watson, was a beautiful brunette. She was confident and well-spoken. Secretly, Max held a deep affection for her. He had never met another woman like her in a very long time. Emily Watson, reminded Max so much of someone very dear to his heart.
After Don had finally got his hair back in to the style he wanted, the three of them set off to grab some lunch from town. By now Max’s stomach was growling so loudly it felt like it was eating itself.
Ant and Don walked ahead of him as they usually did. Maybe it was a confidence issue, Max wasn’t sure. Sometimes he’d try and walk side by side with them but most of the time he walked behind. It was the same when they were talking. It was a rarity for Max to ever start a conversation, often only throwing his two cents in and letting Ant and Don talk.
The two of them were always chatting about cars, girls, music, anything and everything. It was only ever on the subject of film’s or game’s that Max decided to join in. His brother’s often called him a geek, not like they could talk. Christiano and Salvatore played as many games as he did and watched the same films he did.
It’s not my fault that I seem to be able to remember stuff about films or games, thought Max, and so what if I take such an interest in this geeky stuff. The whole world is being taking over by geeks anyway. You could be a sports geek, car geek…there’s loads of types.
And you’ve just made yourself sadder by trying to reason. Smart, Max, real smart…
Shut up.
“Oi Max!” shouted Ant.
Max snapped out of his trance.
They were standing before a fish and chip shop, the smell of battered fish wafting out in to the street. Don was standing by the door a cigarette in one hand, the smoke, thankfully, blowing downwind and away from Max. Ant was standing in the doorway of the shop waiting for Max to reply.
“Yeah?” asked Max.
“Finally, bloody hell, what do you want from the chippy?”
“Uh, just a portion of chips with gravy”
“Right, same as Don then,” said Ant, and disappeared in to the shop.
“You all right Max?” asked Don, tossing his cigarette to the ground before stubbing it out with his foot.
“Yeah I’m fine,” replied Max, “You know you shouldn’t smoke those.”
“Yeah, yeah so you keep telling me,” said Don, waving away the remark.
“I can smell it on you, you know. It doesn’t smell good.”
Max guessed at that point Donald had stopped listening as he was busying himself with a gum wrapper. Max took the hint and decided to shut up about Don’s smoking habit. Max leant himself up against the wall, content to watch the locals and tourists walk by. He found he usually did that, even sat in cafes Max would stare out the window watching the people and the world go by.
He found it fascinating watching all this life. Each person that passed was unique, each one heading somewhere completely different from the other. It was a shame you’d never really get to know most of them. A lot of encounters you do make tend to be completely random.
“Here you go, Max,” said Ant, appearing with a portion of chips and gravy.
“Thanks man, I’m starving,” said Max, taking the chips from Ant greedily.
“Yeah, I know. I could hear your stomach rumbling from inside the chippy,” laughed Ant, handing Don his portion, before disappearing and reappearing with his own.
“Come on then,” said Don, through a mouthful of chips.
They walked steadily, Don and Ant chatting over the Bugatti Veron and the Aston Martin DBS. Max listened intently, eating his chips and making sure not to walk in to anyone as they headed down the street.
Max had no idea where they were going, but he wasn’t too bothered. The sun was shining overhead, the seagulls were only beginning to amass, and there was a slight breeze in the air.
Whitby wasn’t busy yet, the usual seasonal influx of tourists had only just started. It would be crowded in a couple of weeks. At which point the locals tended to disappear. Max’s parents themselves hated that time of year, preferring not to venture in to town when the tourist’s arrived.
They walked past Whitby’s famous swing-bridge, which had opened to let several boats out of the harbour. People lined up by the side, watching the boats sail past, some waiting with fascination for the bridge to swing shut. Max smiled, you could always tell the locals from the tourists. The tourists always crowded around with cameras to watch with fascination, whilst the locals stood impatiently waiting to cross or just ignored it completely.
“What do you reckon, Max? This idiot here thinks the Aston pales in comparison to the Bugatti,” said Don, as they walked towards the west pier.
“Have you never watched Top Gear?” exclaimed Ant, “The Bugatti is clearly the superior car! It beat a plane from France to England, hands down.”
“Yeah, but Ant, the Aston is Bond’s car. I mean you just have to look at it and it oozes class.”
“Well, what do you think?” Ant asked of Max, tossing his remaining chips in to a litter-bin.
Before Max got a chance to answer there came a cry from up ahead.
“Ant!” shouted a lady from across the street.
Ant looked around for the source of the voice.
“Over there,” Don pointed, “It’s Emily. Oh, and Sarah”
Emily waved them over. Her beautiful smile accompanied the wave. Her dark brunette hair was being blown by the breeze, and along with her clear blue eyes, it made her look angelic, at least to Anthony – and Max, who felt his heart skip a beat just looking at her.
Sarah Tyler was, perhaps, not as angelic as Emily in Max’s eye, but no one would deny that Sarah was striking to look at. Her fiery red hair, along with her no-nonsense attitude, made her stand out from the crowd. Her nails were painted a multitude of colours. Her clothes were bright and cheerful, and around her neck she wore a sea-shell necklace. Sarah had been Emily’s best friend for the last four years. Sarah had been new at the college when she had met Emily. It had transpired that Emily had fallen foul of several other girls, who had taken to starting rumours and bullying Emily outside of the classroom. Sarah had stepped in and, in a bout of fury, had grabbed the girl leading the pack by the collar, slammed her up against a wall and told her if she ever came within an inch of Emily Watson again she would go from looking like Cinderella to Quasimodo in a second. The girls never came near Emily again. To put it simply if it hadn’t been for Sarah, Emily would still be bullied - likely to be broken by the years of enduring torment, and Emily would never have met Anthony.
“Hey ya babe,” greeted Ant, bouncing over to Emily, a skip in his step. Don grinned, shaking his head at the sudden transformation in Ant’s usual swagger.
“Hey yourself,” Emily smiled, kissing Anthony as he reached her.
“What you and Sarah up to?” Ant asked, once he had released Emily from his tight, loving embrace.
“Just been getting some lunch, gone to the arcades,” Emily answered, moving to one-side as an old man squeezed past them.
“Just hanging around basically,” said Sarah.
“Uh-huh. So, how come you didn’t wait for us?” asked Ant, pretending he was hurt by Emily’s forgetfulness.
“Because you were still in a lesson”
“Could have waited”
“Ant, I was not going to wait for you for an hour”
“I would have waited for you babe,” Ant teased.
Emily gave him a quizzical look, and laughed, “Yeah right. I know what you and Don are like, you two probably couldn’t wait to get out of the school.”
Ant looked at the ground sheepishly.
Emily smiled at him, “See, I knew I was right.”
“So, where are you three going?” asked Sarah, clearly getting bored with Ant and Emily’s banter, and nicking a chip from Max.
“No idea,” replied Max.
“Probably for a nice, relaxing walk across the beach,” said Don, wistfully.
“Well I hope you three don’t get washed out to sea,” Sarah joked.
“As if, we know how to swim,” said Don.
“Yeah, but you’d be too weak to swim against the current,” said Sarah, trying to goad him.
“So, you’re calling us weak then?”
“Not in so many words,” smiled Sarah.
“Unbelievable…” Don muttered.
“Don’t know why you hang out with these two duds, Max,” said Emily, laughing.
Max fumbled for words, uttering a slightly inaudible, “Yeah…”
“Right, well we’ll leave you three to have a romantic walk along the beach. We’re off back to college. Don’t be late Ant,” said Emily.
“I won’t be,” Ant grinned, planting a kiss on Emily’s cheek.
The three of them waved Emily and Sarah goodbye and turned back towards the beach. Max could hear it as they got closer - the beautiful sound of the waves crashing against the shore. He found that noise relaxing. It reminded him of being on holiday with the sun, the sand and the blue sea, no cares or worries in the world. As they fought their way through the jumble of people hanging around the arcades, located at the bottom of the West Cliff, they could see the pier stretching out in to the North Sea before them and just before it the sand-covered ramp leading down to the beach.
Max chucked his chips in to the nearest bin. The seagulls had begun to get numerous and were all hovering like vultures above, waiting for some sign of food they could scavenge. Max didn’t like the idea of one doing their business on top of his head. Also, the local newspaper had recently reported of occasions when people had been attacked by hungry seagulls. Thankfully, it had never happened to him – yet.
They walked down the slippery and sandy slope to the beach. Luckily the tide had receded leaving enough sand for the three to walk along. Their talk turned to comic-book films, a topic Max could readily join in on. They argued over the quality of films from Marvel and DC. The sky above was beginning to darken and Max could feel a storm coming.
“Look, Max, I know what you’re saying about Spider-man Three, but the first two were brilliant, especially the second one,” said Ant, bending over to pick up a stone. He looked it over and tossed it back on the beach.
Max followed suit, ignoring the dark clouds amassing. They were looking for flat stones to skip along the water, so far no luck.
“I know, Ant, I like that film myself, but DC has had an overall better track record than Marvel,” Max replied.
“Ah-ha!” hollered Don, brandishing a flat stone in his hand, “You guy’s got one?”
Max spied one lying by his foot and Ant, after a bit of scavenging, found one of his own. Donald tossed his in to the sea, watching it skip, once, twice, three times, before finally plopping in to the water.
“Ha! Beat that!” laughed Don, gesturing for Ant to step up to the plate. The two of them were always in competition with each other, they never said it, but Max could see it in the way they acted and talked. Max smiled to himself. It was small moments, like skipping stones out across the water that made Max happy. It was the simple things.
Ant was just preparing to skip his stone, when the ground beneath their feet shook. It felt like the whole earth was moving. The cliff shook violently, sending loose rocks cascading down its face. Seagulls, who had been nesting comfortably along the cliff, took flight calling out in panic. A café’s tables, alongside the pier, rattled and moved along the ground. Inside, glasses and cups smashed upon the floor, the staff running to and fro, avoiding the glass and trying to save what they could.
Ant, Don and Max struggled to stay on their feet as the sand seemed to shift beneath them. Children clung to their mothers, as others tried desperately to stay upright.
Finally, after what seemed to last an eternity, the ground stopped shaking. It was quiet, completely quiet, except for the crying of small children. Max’s heart was racing, pounding furiously beneath his chest. Donald and Anthony stood rooted to the spot, their breathing heavy. The stone that Ant had held lay on the ground, his arm was shaking.
It wasn’t until the seagulls had landed, that one of them spoke.
“Was that an earthquake?” Don asked, shakily.
“Yeah…yeah,” replied Ant, sitting down, his legs felt like jelly.
“I thought earthquakes couldn’t happen here? In Geography they say you’ve got to be on a fault-line to feel that,” said Don, who was trying desperately to understand what had just happened. His mind was racing, his thoughts confused.
“They teach you half-truth’s while at school,” replied Max, turning the stone in his hand around and around, “well that’s what my cousin says.”
Ant seemed to be calming down, his breathing steadied and his body stopped shaking. He sat down on the ground, lest the earth started moving again.
“I remember my mum told me that they’ve had an earthquake round here once before,” Anthony said, “They tend to be minor things.”
“That definitely wasn’t minor,” muttered Don, shaking his head.
“How would you know?” asked Ant, “We’ve never experienced an earthquake before this.”
Don fell silent and sat down beside him.
They didn’t talk for a few minutes. Max was running through what had happened in his mind. The way the whole world had started to shake, it had felt like the ground was going to suddenly open up and swallow them whole.
Falling in to a never ending hole.
Max shook that thought away; it sent a chill down his spine.
“I suppose we best be getting back to school, eh,” suggested Max.
Don and Ant nodded their agreement and stood to leave. Everybody was going to be talking about that earthquake up at the school. Max turned to look at the sea, he let the sound of the waves wash over him, calm him. Letting out a deep breath, he tossed his pebble in to the sea. He watched it skip once, twice, three times.
It’s going for a fourth! Max thought in amazement.
The pebble skimmed across the surface of the water, ready to skip a fourth time, ready to feel the cool water upon its smooth surface.
It landed in the sand.
“What the hell?” Max exclaimed.
“What is it?” asked Ant, turning back to see what had provoked Max’s reaction.
“Holy -” Ant grabbed Don’s arm swinging him round
“What you doing, A -”
The three stood, jaws to the ground, watching the sea go out. The sea was receding at a great pace, like a blanket pulled from a bed. The stone lay on the wet sand, unbeknownst that the sea was no longer there. They watched as fish and swimmers alike were left stranded on dry land as the sea passed them by.
“What the hell is going on?” asked Don, looking on in amazement.
Ant stood, breath held, the quietest anyone had ever heard him, but Max didn’t notice. His mind was working furiously, watching the scene unfold before him, the sea disappearing past the pier, trying to understand. Then suddenly, like an electric shock or the snapping of two jigsaw pieces together, he came to realise what was happening.
“Oh my God,” he breathed.
Max had seen the pictures on telly, read about it in newspapers and in geography textbooks. The earthquake, the sea retreating. He could hear it coming, like a terrible roar made by a giant. He could see it coming.
People screamed. Those with children picked them up and they ran for cover. It would be no use. You could see it from miles away. It towered higher than any cliff, higher than any skyscraper. It charged with fury, with unrelenting rage and power.
Max screamed for them to run. He knew it was fruitless, yet they ran. They would never make it to the ramp. The shadow fell over them, over the cliff. Like a dog, it snapped at their heels. Max closed his eyes, waiting.
The water washed over him. It felt like a sledgehammer had swung against his back. Max was lifted off his feet. The next second he was tumbling, around and around. He was gasping for air, his lungs screaming for oxygen. All around him were bubbles, his mind frozen in panic. He needed air. It was like being stuck in a washing machine, water swirled round him.
He broached the surface, gulping for air, sucking it in desperately. Water was in his eyes blurring out his vision. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t even hear. The roar of the water drowned out all the sound.
The water went over his head again. He tumbled over and over. If he could, Max would have screamed, but he knew he had to keep his mouth shut. Max didn’t realise it, but his brain was shutting down and was going in to shock. His last thought was, God please don’t let me die.
Then he blacked out.
The tsunami swept through Whitby, unrelenting and merciless, killing and destroying as it went.
Chapter 2
Max woke in a splutter, his mouth ringing of salt. He shivered, drenched in the ice cold sea-water. He ruffled his matted down hair and sat up. The ground underneath him was bare rock, and from the pitch-blackness and sound of water Max ascertained he was underground. He shivered even more violently at the thought of being trapped.
What’s happened to Don and Ant? Max worried, trying to wipe his face and suddenly realising how futile it was tried to stand up and found he couldn’t. The cave was far too small and Max had to squat in fear of banging his head.
“Donald? Anthony?” shouted Max, in the hope someone would answer.
No one did. Max sat back down. He could feel the tears forming in his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. He didn’t bother wiping them away.
Suddenly, a voice travelled down an unseen tunnel towards him, “Max? Max, is that you?”
A flickering light appeared in the darkness, dancing before his eyes. As it got closer Donald appeared out of the inky blackness.
“Who said smoking kills?” Don smirked. He held his cigarette-lighter in one hand, the fire twinkling like a star in the darkness.
A faint smile broke out across Max’s face, “For once I’m glad you smoke”
Don returned the smile, “I bet. Follow me, I found Ant back there; I’ve left him in the dark.”
Don turned round in the tight space and Max followed him on all fours. It wasn’t comfortable crawling along the rocky ground. By the time they found Ant, the skin on Max’s palms had been scraped off and his jeans had holes over the knees which were red-raw.
“I have no idea how you managed to do that twice in a row, Don,” muttered Max, trying not to scrape his hands or knees anymore.
“Skin as tough as wood,” joked Don.
“Yeah, with a mind as thick as wood too,” replied Ant, who could be seen by the flickering light in the dark.
Max chuckled, and it echoed down the tunnel. It was a strange sound in such a terrifying place and it took even Max by surprise.
“Looks like we’re trapped here then,” said Max, staring at the small flame from Don’s cigarette lighter.
“Not quite,” said Ant, shifting uncomfortably on the rocks, “I think I got washed further down the tunnel than you two did. I’m pretty sure it actually widens up and branches off.”
“Then how’d you find Don?”
“Pure dumb luck I stumbled across him,” answered Don.
“Well, then, maybe there is a way out back there. I mean the water had to disperse somewhere,” reasoned Max, sitting up again, “Plus, it’s got to be better than sitting in a damp cave waiting for your lighter to run out of gas.”
Don smiled faintly, “Look at you being all proactive. Guess you’re right. Hell, nobody’s gonna find us down here anyway.”
Don led the way with his lighter in front, Ant hurried after him. Max took a quick glimpse at his raw hands, just as the light disappeared, and sighed.
Luckily they didn’t have to crawl far and much to their relief there was eventually more than enough room to stand, even for Max’s six-Foot frame. Yet, the same inky darkness greeted them and here the cigarette lighter did little to pierce it. They walked slowly on, not sure if they were heading out or further in and nary a word passed between them.
“What happens – well you know if there’s a dead end?” wondered Ant, not visible in the dark, his voice shaking either from the cold or the fear.
Don and Max didn’t reply. If there was a dead-end then that would be that. They would have to pray that somebody would be able to find them.
Preferably alive, thought Max.
“And then what if -” Ant continued, wringing his hands.
“Look, Ant, if you keep thinking ‘what if’ it isn’t going to do us any good. Trust me,” said Max, not overly confident, his life had been full of ‘what if’s’, “Besides, I believe as long as you have hope -”
Don and Ant didn’t hear the rest of what Max had to say as there was a hard thud and a whimper of pain.
“Max?” said Don, waving the miniature light around. He found Max on the floor.
“You should watch where you’re going, Max,” said Ant, hoping to brighten the mood and gave him a hand up.
“Really? I’ll remember that next time...Bloody tripped on something. I don’t think it was a rock because I stubbed my toe,” whinged Max, caressing his foot.
Don bent down to have a look and the light cast back the shadows over a rail-track.
“Well, well, well this could be a good thing,” commented Don, rubbing his fingers over the rusted track.
“What is it?” asked Ant, unable to see the small pocket of light.
“It’s a rail-track,” Don replied, “Which means -”
“Which means we’re in a Mine,” muttered Max, “Depending on how far the wave took us, I hazard a guess, we must be in one of the old Potash Mines my dad’s told me about once or twice.”
“So how exactly does that help us?” asked Ant, fear still ringing with every word, “I mean if this is an old Potash Mine, there isn’t going to be anyone down here.”
“Actually it might even be worse. It could mean the exit, or rather the entrance has been sealed so no one can get down here,” said Max, sighing glumly and scratching his forehead in resignation.
“Well, let’s find out shall we?” said Don, trying to act confident but falling far of the mark.
“Yeah that brings another problem,” said Max, glumly.
“Oh you’re just full of problems,” said Ant, shaking his head in misery.
“Which way is out?” continued Max, ignoring Ant’s jibe, “left or right?”
There was a minute’s silence, until Don uttered, “Bollocks”
Max sighed, “Yeah life’s like that. There’s always a bloody choice.”
“I guess we toss a coin,” Ant joked, and they laughed meekly.
They sat on the ground, afraid they might get lost if they began pacing up and down, and tried to figure a way out of this mess. The hopelessness of their situation began to sink in as the minutes ticked by. Max had memories of all the times he’d been happy running through his mind.
Like the time my dad built a snowman. The head was way too big and it crushed the body. Geez, we had to start all over again.
Max smiled.
“You never realise how precious life is until you look back on it,” Max muttered, and breathed in shakily, “C’mon then guys. We have to go one way eventually. Let’s go left.”
“Just like that?” Don questioned.
“Why not? It’s better than sat here waiting to die of starvation or dehydration,” said Max, and stood up, hoping to encourage the other two into moving.
“All right then,” Don sighed, picking up the lighter, “We might as well try. We have a fifty-fifty chance. Time to see how lucky we all are.”
“Yeah, or die trying,” said Ant.
“Yeah, thanks Ant. Personally I prefer not to die,” said Max, as they headed down what they hoped was the right passage. The darkness was suffocating and the silence unbearable. They tried talking so as to break the feeling of dread that seemed to stalk them through the dark. Their voices echoed down the tunnel, sounding strange in such a place which hadn't seen life for years. If the walls could talk they might have given praise to the way three seventeen-year olds handled their absurd situation. They followed the small light in Don’s hand ever onwards.
Suddenly, a small shaft of light was spotted up ahead, beaming down from above. They rushed forward, forgetting the lack of visibility, and smacked into a wall. The sunlight was upon their faces as they looked up; Max could feel the warmth of it and breathed in deep at the feeling of comfort. A rope, frayed and well-worn, dangled down from on high. Don tugged it and heard the boards far above creak with age.
“Now we got to think of a way of getting up there,” said Don, “Quite frankly I don’t fancy the rope.”
“Great, another problem,” said Ant with exasperation.
“We could always climb?” suggested Max.
“You’re joking? Do you see the rope, Max? I don’t think it’ll support your weight,” said Don, a questioning look on his face.
Max stepped forward, taking the rope in one hand to examine it closer. It was definitely well-worn and he, too, doubted it could hold his weight.
Hmm, maybe for a bit, thought Max, tugging at the rope.
The boards above creaked again. Max wondered what the rope was actually attached to and whether that too could hold his weight.
“You’re not seriously thinking about climbing that are you?” asked Donald, his arms crossed.
“Well, unless we go back the other way, does anyone else have any idea how to get up there?” Max asked, secretly hoping that one of them would come up with a better suggestion.
No-one replied.
“Anyone else going to volunteer?” Max asked, half-hoping someone would.
Again no one replied.
“Okay then,” said Max, letting out a deep breath and gripping the rope tightly.
“You’re nuts, you know that?” Don stated, looking up at the rope swaying above.
“Well, if I fall make sure you catch me,” Max told Don, before he started pulling himself slowly up the rope. The rope groaned under Max’s weight. Max paused, eyes shut, waiting to hit the floor. It didn’t break. He kept going.
“You do realise if I try to catch you I could break my arms if you fall from too great a height” Don decided to point out.
“We all have to make sacrifices, Don,” Max said, through gritted teeth. He hated rope climbing. He struggled all the time with it in gym lessons. After ten minutes Max began to wonder how in the world he had managed to find himself in this situation.
Must keep going, Max thought.
Unfortunately, by the time he was half-way up Max was already tired, his arms ached from the strain of holding on.
“Keep going Max!” came the cry of encouragement from below, though it seemed a long way off. Not daring to look down Max kept climbing. His hands, still raw from crawling in the tunnel, felt like they were on fire as the rope cut into his hands. Eventually, he reached the top and to his dismay the shaft was boarded up. Max would have wept with contempt if he wasn’t holding on for his life.
Trying to catch his breath, Max carefully let go of the rope with one hand and slowly pushed against the weather-worn boards, praying silently that they would crack. To his utter relief he was able to push them up with relative ease. Suddenly, he felt the rope jolt downwards, and Max almost let go of the rope in surprise. A sound from above. Max looked up. The girder the rope was attached to had rusted away and the sound of twisting metal felt like his swan-song. The rope gave another sudden jerk. Max could feel his heart hammering against his chest. Another jerk. Max swung on the rope. The girder gave one last cry as Max grabbed on to the lip of the shaft. The rope went slack in his other hand. Max released it as the girder crashed onto the ground above him.
“Max! Are you all right?!” came the concerned cry from below.
Max tried to reply, but his adrenaline was pumping and he could only utter a grunt. He hoisted himself up over the edge with great difficulty. Panting, Max knelt there on the ground and breathed in the fresh air, basking in the warmth of the sun, and as he opened his eyes to the world the sun greeted him, as if he were a blind man that could see for the first time.
“Thank you, God,” Max muttered under his breath and looked up towards the blue sky.
“Um, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, me and Ant would like to get out of this Mine now,” shouted Don from the shaft. He, too, could now see the blue sky and longed to be under it rather than under rock.
“Oops,” muttered Max, remembering to look for something to pull them up he got to his feet and looked around.
What remained of the mining facility was in ruins. Tools and vehicles were scattered around. Old mine-carts were tipped over. The Potash containers were still standing, but had rusted through. Scaffolding and half-finished buildings brought eeriness to the place even in the light of day. Max ventured forth looking for anything strong enough to hoist his friends up. Everything he found was both rusted and broke apart easily. Max decided to try out one of the buildings.
If they had been under construction perhaps the builders left some stuff, wondered Max. Though, he was beginning to get worried that he would never be able to find anything. As he approached one of the derelict buildings some other dreadful thoughts crept into his head. For instance, what would happen if one of these were to collapse on top of him? They didn’t look very stable.
“Not only would I be screwed, but my friends are going to be trapped down the shaft for quite some time,” thought Max aloud.
Plucking up whatever courage remained in his body he ducked under a scaffold and entered the building. Most of the floors inside had collapsed inwards, due to the weathering on the wooden beams. Here and there old building tools poked out of the rubble, but nothing substantial. A rat scurried past and Max jumped. His heart felt as if it could have leapt out of his throat. Max scrambled up some rubble, hoping to see if there was anything on the second floor. As he reached the peak of the rubble he saw something which could only be described as the most wonderful thing he had ever seen - a cable.
Max grabbed at the cable and pulled. Unfortunately, it was stuck in the rubble.
This had better be worth my effort. I bet anything it’ll be two feet too short, thought Max, tugging harder at the cable and taking care not to fall.
After much tugging and pain, his hands still raw, the cable came loose so suddenly Max flew down the rubble and landed as a dusty heap upon the floor. He lay there for a few minutes, eyes closed, gasping for breath from his ordeal. He jerked upwards, coughing from the dust. Max looked at the cable now resting in his hands.
“Honestly, there’s always something,” said Max, shaking his head at his misfortune. He got to his feet and headed in the direction of the mine shaft.
“Is that whistling I hear?” Max shouted down the shaft as he pulled in the long stretch of cable.
The whistling stopped.
“The canary’s just died, so you mind hurrying up?!” came the reply from Ant.
Max tossed down one end of the cable, the other tied to a metal railing which he had made sure wasn’t rusted through. He felt the cable go taut as someone started climbing up.
“I’m guessing from the weight it’s you Don,” Max said, as he heard the girder strain.
“I refuse to dignify that with an answer,” Don replied, the cable cutting into his hands as he climbed towards the daylight.
It took several minutes before Don appeared at the lip of the shaft, and Max gave him a hand up.
“Oh sweet, sweet air!” Don gasped, as he collapsed to his knees.
Max leant over the hole and called down to Ant, “All right mate, your turn!”
“Way ahead of ya”
It took Ant a while to clamber up the rope. Don and Max grabbed his arms and pulled him over, collapsing in the dirt.
“Well I hope that never happens again,” smiled Ant, glad to be in the open again. He looked around and turned back to face the other two, “Oh this is a grand place we’re in. Where’s the bloody exit?”
“Didn’t realise you wanted to leave so quickly. I was getting used to this place,” said Don, waving his arm to the surroundings.
Max shook his head and pointed behind him, “I’m guessing the exits that way. I doubt it’ll be by the cliff edge and the sea.”
“Don’t talk to me about the sea,” Ant muttered glumly.
They walked slowly, picking their way through the clutter hoping not to stand on anything sharp. They passed buildings and huts. There were vehicles with either no wheels or engines. A big eight-wheeler truck was stranded to the far right, over-turned on its side. They passed by a barbed wire fence which stood in tatters. The gates had rusted from their hinges and lay in the dirt.
As they walked up the grassy slope to the main road Max could hear his stomach grumble and his tongue felt parched from thirst, but there were no refreshments to be had. So, Max put a wall up in his mind as best he could to block out the calls for food and water, lest he complain and never stop. As they crested the hill they half-hoped the sound of cars would greet them, travelling past as if everything was normal, but it wasn’t. There were no cars, no vehicles of any kind, travelling upon this road. There were no signs of life, but for the cows grazing in the field. Dejected at this sight, Don and Ant were ready to resign and sit on the grass.
“Anyone got a mobile?” Donald asked, feeling in his pockets for his, but not finding it.
Max shook his head.
“I’ve got mine,” piped up Ant, brandishing a phone which glimmered under the afternoon sun.
“Call someone will you,” Don told Ant, picking at the long grass around him.
Max and Donald waited for a few minutes whilst Ant pressed various buttons on his phone.
“You forget how to dial a number?” Don asked, half-jokingly.
Ant gave him an annoyed look, “Did you forget we were just struck by a tsunami? The mobile doesn’t work once its’ been under water, well that much water anyway”
“Great,” muttered Don, dejectedly, bowing his head, “Well I suppose we could wait till someone comes along.”
“And if no one does?” asked Max.
“Well there’s got to be emergency services rushing towards Whitby and Sandsend,” said Don, not sounding entirely confident of this idea, “You saw how big that wave was, it could have wiped out the whole of Whitby.”
“Maybe,” Max muttered.
“There’s no maybe about it”, said Ant, feeling more miserable by the minute.
“Either way we can’t just sit here. We could be here for hours, and the sun’s going down, and I’m getting hungry,” said Max.
“What do you suggest then?” asked Ant.
“Why do I have to suggest something? You guys are the one’s always coming up with plans”
“Because we have no idea what to do...” Donald muttered.
There was a pause as Donald’s comment sunk in. Max had no idea what to do either. Three seventeen year olds sat by an empty road, their clothes dripping sea water into the long grass, unsure as to whether their homes and lives still existed. What would you do?
Max looked out over the horizon, over the cows and sheep grazing in the nearby fields.
“We walk back to Sandsend, at the very least” Max suggested.
Don and Ant shared a look of complete exasperation. They were still tired and shaken from the whole ordeal. Max couldn’t blame them. He would be the same if he were to sit down now and give up, which was why they had to keep going. Keep hoping that when they got to Sandsend everything would be all right, that emergency services would be there tending to the wounded, and that someone somewhere would tell them what the hell had happened.
He stared down at them, waiting, “Well?”
Max didn’t expect them to agree. Despite having no suggestions of their own, Ant and Don were both head-strong and stubborn when they wanted to be.
“All right,” they both said, sluggishly getting up off the floor.
Clearly the event had shaken them deeper than Max ever thought. People always say that you act differently given a situation. That people break or change. Maybe that was it, maybe Max was just stronger willed and it took something like this for his true self to breach the surface, or maybe it was the blind hope Max held that everything was going to be all right.
Chapter 3
The small seaside town of Sandsend lay in ruins. It hit Max hard to see such a quaint place left as a pile of rubble. The wall by the town car park lay upon the ground, the roads and pavements cracked. The bridge, across the river that ran through the heart of the town, lay as bricks and mortar on the riverbed. Large pools of water had collected in areas where it hadn’t been able to drain out. The sea had returned to its calm self once more, hiding the monster that had risen earlier. Looking at it, Max no longer felt that familiar, calming sensation he used to have.
“Where are they?” Ant asked, “Where is everyone? Where’s the help?”
Max and Don didn’t answer. They couldn’t. There were no ambulances, no police, and no fire-engines. No one had come to help. Would they come at all? How long till anyone outside of town would realise what happened here? As they walked amongst the ruins they listened and prayed for the sound of a siren.
As for the people of Sandsend, Max, Don and Ant dared not to think of what sad and tragic fate had befallen them. To drown or to be crushed is a terrible way to die. They couldn’t hear any cries for help. Max thought about shouting out to see if there was a reply, but every time he tried his voice caught like a lump in his throat.
“Do we wait here?” asked Don, looking questioningly at Max.
“Why are you asking me?” Max’s tone was harsh.
Don didn’t reply, and looked about the town with sadness in his eyes. Max knew why Don had asked him, but Max didn’t want to be a leader. He just wanted them to keep going, to find something, someone, anything that would raise their spirits from the pit that they had sunk in to. They picked their way over the remnants of the bridge, eventually dragging themselves on to the opposite side of the river. The town’s local watering-hole, The Heart Inn, was just like the rest of Sandsend, a mockery of its former self.
“We might be able to find something worth driving in the car park round back,” muttered Don, scurrying off to have a look. His dad was a mechanic, and from a young age Don knew the ins and outs of most vehicles, explaining his love for cars. If there was a car out there that was even remotely serviceable Don would be able to get it chugging over.