Blank Read online

  “Just me and him. But believe me, you don’t wanna go out there.”

  He sighed. “Let’s try to stay calm.”

  “Don’t s’pose you have a Taser?” she inquired.

  “You’re Mel, I take it.”

  She nodded. He waited for more information. “Mel Palace.”

  “Pretty name,” he told her, stepping toward the front door. “Hello out there?”

  “Who the fuck are you?” an angry male voice demanded.

  “Captain Luckman, Australian Army. Are you, by any chance, Carter Pimford?”

  Luckman heard the man swear again.

  “How did you know that?” Mel wondered.

  Luckman looked back at her, noting the confirmation. “I’m opening the door Carter,” he called back.

  “That's really not a good idea,” Mel insisted.

  Slowly, Luckman pulled the bookcase, chair and washing machine away from the door. He unbolted the latch and opened the door, revealing a messy but otherwise empty hallway.

  “I’m coming out, Carter.”

  Five

  Luckman took one step into the corridor and caught movement in the corner of his eye. He threw himself to the ground in a commando roll, feeling a glancing blow to the back of his head. He willed himself to remain conscious because he sensed he was a dead man if he passed out. Fighting off dizzy nausea he leapt to his feet.

  Pimford dropped the fire extinguisher and ran.

  Luckman unzipped a pocket on his jump suit and pulled out a revolver, then followed Pimford down the hallway to see him run into another apartment and slam the door behind him. Luckman sized up the door to work out where best to give it a kick. Picking the wrong spot risked a broken leg or possibly getting stuck in a mess of plywood and cardboard. Both possibilities flickered across his mind as his boot hit the door. It swung open, slamming against the wall behind. He scanned the room before entering, steeling himself for another assault.

  “I’m pissed off now Carter,” Luckman called out. “And I have a gun, by the way, so it’s probably not a good idea to piss me off any further.”

  A head popped up from behind the couch in the lounge room. The same look; terror and guilt. Pimford retreated toward the balcony and pulled open the sliding door. Only one way out from there.

  “All right. Slow down. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Even though you deserve a good smack in the head, you stupid prick. Luckman lowered his gun.

  “Relax, all right? Talk to me.”

  But Pimford was way past talk. He started to cry in wailing sobs. He leapt over the balustrade. He was still holding on, but his intention was clear.

  “NO! Listen mate, we can work this out. Just calm down...”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Pimford let go and pushed himself backwards off the edge of the balcony.

  “Oh shit.” Luckman ran to the balcony and peered down. Pimford hit the water like a sack of cement. If the 60-metre fall hadn’t killed him instantly, he was most certainly unconscious and would drown in minutes.

  Mel was waiting in the hallway. “What happened?” she wanted to know.

  “He’s... gone,” Luckman informed her, as he put his gun back in his pocket.

  “Did you kill him?”

  “No!” Luckman roared, a little too loudly. “He jumped.”

  “But he’s dead. That’s the main thing.” She burst into tears.

  He tried to comfort her but she pushed him away. He left her to it and walked back inside her apartment to gather up his equipment.

  The storm was visible now. Clouds of driving rain joined the wild surf’s assault on the broken line of buildings along the old beachfront. She entered the room behind him silently. He saw her reflection in the glass and turned to face her.

  “Do you have a mobile phone?” she asked.

  “Phones don’t work,” he told her.

  “Since when?”

  “Since the Sunburst shut down the electricity grid.”

  She retreated into a bedroom and shut the door. He heard her sobbing. To relieve the nervous tension, he started to poke around her abode. It was messy, but not to the point of despair. Plenty of canned food in the kitchen, a few plastic bottles of water. There was an awful stench seeping from under the closed toilet door. He avoided looking in there and instead peered into the bathroom. The bathtub was maybe a quarter full, but it was starting to look pretty murky. He’d arrived just in time. Another day or two and she’d be getting sick.

  She appeared at his side. He hadn’t heard the bedroom door open.

  “So you found me,” she said.

  “Yeah. It's what I do.”

  “Figured.”

  The whistling chorus of the wind at the windows rose a few decibels. Mel ran to close the balcony door as the rain began sweeping into the lounge room.

  “Looks like we’re not going anywhere for a while,” she said.

  “I need to check the roof access.”

  “It’s locked.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’ll get it open,” he assured her. “Why don’t you use some of that bath water to clean yourself up? But don’t drink any more of it.”

  He ripped a bottle from a side pouch on his jumpsuit.

  “Drink this if you’re thirsty. I’ll be back in a minute, then we can talk some more.”

  She looked hurt. “Clean up? Am I that bad?”

  He shrugged and smiled sheepishly; she was a long way past bad, but he’d seen worse. “You’re alive,” he told her. “That’s one up on a whole lot of people.”

  He found a remarkable change in her appearance by the time he returned. She had rinsed her wavy blonde hair, tied it back in a ponytail and found a cute little red T-shirt and some shorts covered in a cheerful Hawaiian hibiscus print. It made her look 10 years younger and reminded him there were still things to smile about. He nodded his approval as he strained to hear Eddie Bell on the two-way radio.

  “The engineers say it’s not safe to land. They want me to use the winch.”

  “Bugger the engineers,” Luckman replied angrily. “The building is secure and it’s just the two of us. You can be in and out again in 30 seconds, over.”

  “...when I get there, over.”

  The bad weather was breaking up the transmission.

  “What’s your ETA?” Luckman asked him.

  “... minutes, over.”

  “Say again, over.”

  “For......inutes.”

  “Was that 14 or 40?” Mel pondered.

  “Probably 40 – or longer. He’s not supposed to fly in a storm unless it's life or death.”

  “Um, hello?” she answered, again with the minstrel hands.

  As if to underscore the point, thunder and lightning exploded deafeningly right outside the window. Mel screamed in shock.

  “That hit the building,” Luckman realised. He threw open the balcony door and peered over the edge to where the building met the sea. The gale blew sheets of rain sideways and they slapped into his face like a rebuke.

  This was what happened when you didn’t take the weather seriously.

  Six

  The swell was huge and the tide had risen sharply. More water than usual would be pounding through the building’s lower floors. He held his hands to the exterior superstructure – he could feel the impact of the waves. Lightning flashed close by again. And then he felt it; a tremor reverberated through the concrete superstructure. Their time had run out.

  She grabbed his arm. “This isn’t the moment for sightseeing, Captain.” She was simply trying to drag him out of the rain but caught the look on his face. “That bad?”

  He tried and failed to think of a suitable response. “Do you know how to abseil?”

  She grimaced in bewildered surprise. “I do, actually.”

  He could have kissed her.

  “But can’t we just take the stairs?” she suggested.

  “The building’s ready to collapse. We can’t wait for the chopper. We have to get out of here now. I don’t want to be in a stairwell when that happens.”

  They would have a fighting chance. He began to tie his two ropes together. They should be able to make it down to a couple of floors above water level. It would have to do. He glanced at his watch. Half past four. Two hours of daylight left. Every second felt like one too many as he checked and double-checked his knots. He could feel the fear slowing his movements down.

  Breathe, Stone. Relax. Keep it together.

  She reappeared in a long-sleeved rash vest and a pair of Dunlop volleys.

  “You’ll have to go first,” he told her.

  “Why?”

  “So I can keep an eye on you. You’re gonna have to walk down face first.”

  Her eyes widened. “I’ve never done it that way.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s easy. And it’s actually much safer. You can see exactly where your feet are landing.”

  She started to say something then stopped herself and just nodded. Luckman checked the balustrade and decided he wouldn’t bet their lives on it. Instead, he fed the rope around a pillar near the kitchen. That meant they’d finish one floor higher, but it was probably the least of their worries. He pulled out a climbing harness from his rucksack and helped her into it. His spare glove was too big for her hand, but as long as she didn’t let go of the rope she’d be fine.

  “Get as far down as you can, but for God’s sake don’t fall off the end of the rope. We’ll work out stage two when I’m down there with you.”

  She nodded. She knew what was to come.

  “I’ll be watching,” he told her. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  He helped her over the balcony.

  “Oh God, my feet are tingling,” she said nervously.

  “Here’s your brake,” he said, handing her the rope. “You remember? Hand out to your side to stop, hard into your back to go forward again.”

  She leapt into space and instantly lost control of her descent as the relentless wind swept her off balance. She slammed hard into the side of the building and started to slide wildly for a moment before remembering to brake her fall. Luckman winced.

  “You OK?” he called.

  She didn’t reply. She stood up and kept moving, but she had lost her glove. She must have let go of the rope. Miraculously she had grabbed hold of it again without falling but from now on the movement would be burning her hand. She started moving again, slower than he would have liked, but at least she was moving.

  A stronger vibration shook the building. He wasn’t sure if it was a wave impact or a shift in the structure itself. As he considered the options, he looked away for just a moment.

  When he looked back she was nowhere to be seen. For a split second he thought she’d fallen into the water. Then he saw her arm waving back up at him. She’d made it down to a balcony.

  He attached himself to the rope in seconds and began to descend so quickly that he might have overshot her if she hadn’t been hanging onto the end of the rope. He swung himself around in mid-air and landed on his feet on the balcony in front of her.

  She was impressed. “You’ve done this before.”

  “Once or twice. How’s your hand?”

  She showed him. “A bit sore. Not too bad.”

  It looked terrible. And it would hurt like hell once the adrenalin rush wore off, but he said nothing. She’d find out soon enough.

  “Actually it does hurt like hell,” she said.

  He raised an eyebrow. “You did well.”

  “So – surf’s up.” she replied.

  He sighed, hoping his voice wouldn’t crack. “Yeah, it sure is.”

  “We’re in luck,” she said, pointing to a stash of surfboards on the balcony floor. “Can you ride?”

  He peered out at the waves peeling past about 10 metres below their feet. The swell was building, and from here the sound of its crash was mighty. “It’s been a while.”

  She smiled. “So, now the master becomes the student.”

  “Was that supposed to be Yoda?” he asked her. She nodded.

  “It sounded more like Jar Jar Binks.”

  A violent shudder shook the floor and Mel stumbled into his arms. A look of mortal terror flickered ever so quickly across her eyes before she regathered her composure and stepped nimbly toward the surfboards. She chose a longboard and handed it to him then grabbed a shorter board for herself.

  “Strap the leg rope onto your ankle before you jump,” she told him. She did likewise, ripping off her tennis shoes.

  She thrust her board at him. “Here, hold this for a sec.” She climbed over the balcony. He was gripped with a terrible sense of Deja vu as he fed the surfboard out to her over the railing.

  “When you jump,” she yelled, “hang onto the board until you’re just above the water, otherwise it could spring back and hit you in the face.”

  She waited for a wave to pass then took the plunge, piercing the water cleanly like a high diver. She surfaced, then beckoned to him. Talk about cool head in a crisis. If they survived the next few minutes he could grow to like this girl. He considered taking his boots off, but decided against it and clambered over the railing. One boot slipped on the wet edge and electricity spasmed through his toes as his adrenalin surged at the peril. Luckily he was holding on.

  He had promised himself he would never again set foot in the ocean. It had taken everything he’d ever held dear. Storms he could deal with. The ocean couldn’t be trusted.

  But this wasn’t about him. “Faaaark,” he screamed, leaping into the air.

  As his feet hit the water, he saw he was in the impact zone. It occurred to him he had just taken one giant step beyond his level of competence as a rescuer. He desperately yanked on his leg rope and threw himself onto the surfboard. He saw Mel paddling furiously a moment before he noticed the wave looming. He lost sight of her as she paddled over the back of the crest. Luckman tried to do the same.

  He didn’t make it. The board flipped backwards and the world disappeared.

  He was upside down when the concussion of the breaking wave hit him like a sledgehammer. His head smacked against the board and he almost lost consciousness for the second time that day as the shock sucked the air from his lungs. He let go of the board to avoid being hit in the head again and tumbled head over arse as the vacuum pounded through his chest. The water pressure and his damned boots were pulling him down. The seconds felt like days and he didn’t know which way was up. But his leg rope yanked – the longboard was still in the grip of the wave and dragging him along. Flailing toward the surface he grabbed a mouthful of air before the board dragged him under the foam again.

  He heard rather than saw what happened next. The terrifying crash of ripping metal and pulverising concrete tore through the water all around him. When the spin cycle finally released him, he hit the surface and snatched a lung-full of air, hurriedly pulling the board back under his body. He searched the sky and saw to his relief the building was still upright.

  But it was impossibly tilted. It was going to fall any time now, and from what Luckman could see they were directly in the path of its descent.

  Seven

  Luckman started paddling furiously in what must certainly be the wrong direction. He looked up again, but couldn’t be sure of what he was seeing. Seconds ago, the building had been looming down over him like a concrete giant. But the sea was rough, and he’d taken a blow to the head. He was way too close to the foot of the high-rise to get a true sense of the vertical. And he was still doing battle with the ocean’s implacable barrage.

  “MEL!” he called, as loudly as he could manage.

  She probably couldn’t hear him. His neck was strained backwards on the surfboard as he gazed around for her, and it constricted his vocal chords. The panic tying knots in his throat probably didn’t help. With relief he spotted her paddling in his direction. Another wave rose between them and this time he managed to scramble over the back of the lip just before it collapsed in a roar of foam and wild white water. The suction from the water’s impact again dragged his board toward the turmoil but he avoided another tumble over the falls. This was insane. He was like a cork in a bathtub.

  She reached him a few seconds later. She was actually smiling. “Nice day for it.”

  But Luckman had nothing left in the tank for humour. “Look, I’m pretty sure that building’s coming down on our heads any time now.”

  He saw her eyes widen at the note of panic in his words. He felt a sting of embarrassment that he'd let his own fear become so obvious.

  Her eyes offered reassurance. “You have to ride. It’s the only way.”

  She pointed to an area of calm water some distance away. It was alongside another shattered building directly in front of them. “That used to be the QT Hotel. We need to get around the back of it. See that chaos at the front? Don’t get caught in there.”

  A white water vortex swirled and thrashed around what had once been the hotel’s famous Japanese restaurant. Waves washed against the crumbling walls and through its punctured roof cavity. Luckman was sure he once took a woman to that restaurant. It had been a night to remember, although he was damned if he could remember her name now.

  “Avoid the Teppanyaki bar, gotcha. I’m not real hungry anyway.”

  “One more thing...” she continued, “right in front of us – see that fence? That used to be our tennis court.”

  The top of the court's rectangular enclosure was poking above the waterline about 10 metres away.

  “The fence is still intact. And I’m afraid a rather large shark has been trapped in there for a couple of days.”

  There was another explosion beside them as a wave pounded into the building. It was a call to action. They had drifted behind the tower and into a small area of calmer water. But the surf was still pounding past them ferociously just a few metres away.

  “When you take off,” she told him, “turn your board before the drop gets too steep. When you feel the wave grab you, stand up on the tail and turn toward the open wave face. Keep your nose up.”