Part Three - Robin

i am. I think, therefore iamb.

Robin crouched under the shaking kitchen table and tried to remember what you were supposed to do in earthquakes. Her flatmate, Gretchen, skidded across the floor, lost her footing and thudded into the table leg. “What the fuck?” she said, or something like it. Robin shook her head in bewilderment – the TV was babbling random stuff at them, before degenerating into static. It blinked off once, twice, taking the lights away with it.

Robin grabbed Gretchen’s hand and hung on to the table in the dark. Then they were falling, in the dark, in a yawning void of downness.

Then they were still, and alone in the dark. At last, Robin ventured: “I think we should get out of here.” The way to the front door was blocked with a knocked over stove and crumpled kitchen shelving, so they ended up crawling out from under their table to the living room and onto to its little balcony. “What’s water doing on The Terrace?” Robin asked, for it was, lapping up the sloping street like a greedy cat – not, Robin realised, as a welling tide, but viscous fluid creeping up the street. Down the hill she could see people wading knee deep in the water, when by all rights it should have been over their heads.

“That’s seriously creepy,” Gretchen said.

“Yep.”

Night was folding over them softly. For a little while, everything was very still, the flickering street lights reflecting on the water, the shadows of the people wading in it blotting out the hesitant pools of light. Robin pulled her hand away from the balcony rail for a moment. When she placed her hand there again she could feel the vibration more clearly, the subtle repetitive thumping she was more used to feeling when the neighbours downstairs had the bass turned up. She looked back and up at their apartment building; it was twisted up and crumpled in on itself – their fifth floor balcony was overhanging the street only a few metres above the ground.

“I’m not staying here for another earthquake,” she told Gretchen, and began climbing out over the balcony, a comic figure in her pyjamas and fluffy bunny slippers. She was just looking up to see if her flatmate was following her when the building finished its lean into infinity and splashed down in the water.

.

i am.

The water was so very warm. A lavender scented bath, just barely above blood temperature; a baby floating in amniotic fluid; the yolk of a just laid egg... She opened her eyes beneath the salt sea and looked upwards at the shimmering interface between water and air. She thought about mermaids, about drowned girls in the lake, their hair floating outwards in soft tendrils, about being born. She didn’t want to leave the softness for the harsh bite of winter air in tender lungs, the shiver of south-laden wind ... much better to stay down here with the creeping tentacles of the Other. Around her, she could see others like her floating in the salt sea, pulled by the tide upwards into the world, saw them reach the shallows and stagger into a semblance of personhood. She fought against it, turned in the water, curled up into the corner of two fallen buildings until the pull of the tide receded and she could follow it down into the harbour.

The light was dim, but just enough for her to pass the old familiar buildings, the new familiar creatures that shared the warmth with her. Others had fought against the tide as well, and like minnows they dashed around the monuments of drowned Wellington. In the depths of the harbour they found The One, The Source, The Creator and she embraced it singing.

It was a time after that when she had to leave the water. Something sharp and heavy collided into her back and dragged her up screaming into the bitter air. She twisted and clawed at the thing eating into her side and then she was falling again, not to land in sweet water but a thing that was solid and hard and hurtful.

She ... it ... Robin scrambled to get upright on the solid crookedness of concrete. Making her arms and legs move properly seemed the hardest thing in the world and it was a long time before she could unpanic enough to look up. She was somewhere out in the middle of the harbour, on Carter Fountain maybe? and the world seemed to be coming to an end around her.

There was an enormous thing in the water, growing tentacles upward and spreading them over the city. There was a great pulsing sky that was lowering down to the water dropping ribbons of acid green and jerking them upwards with a vicious yank. Robin saw a person hooked by one of the ribbons fly up into the sky and disappear into the aether, and she curled into a ball and hid under the rim of the fountain to hide from the rest of them.

She wondered if the earth and the sky were coming together again, Rangi and Papa clutching for each other’s arms, heedless of whoever was caught in between them. She wondered if the kraken was waking from the deeps; or visitors from the outer darkness had come.

Robin hugged the comforting bulk of manmade concrete and steel. She was so very thirsty.

Part Three - Margaret

It was difficult to keep control of herself. The alarm was very loud.
No-one had told her there would be a drill. She hovered, watching the patrons rise from their seats.
‘Not those doors please,’ she said.
She said: ‘Not those doors!’
But it was no use, they either weren’t listening or they couldn’t hear. Dozens of them had walked down and opened the emergency doors.
She couldn’t remember what was supposed to happen. The last drill had been months ago. And to run a drill during business hours? – but perhaps it was children, she realised. Perhaps children had gotten into the fire alarm and set it off.
A patron stumbled into her and said:
Margaret turned to leave.
But the patron, a fat woman, took hold of her arm.
She said:
Margaret said: ‘Don’t touch me. I don’t know. You’ll have to talk to a manager.’
Impossible to hear anything over the alarm. It was deafening.
And the patrons were everywhere, going where they weren’t supposed to – Margaret had to stifle a scream.
It wasn’t supposed to go like this, she knew that. But she didn’t know what to do.

The noise was ringing through the whole complex. Ringing from above, ringing up from below. She looked around for the shift manager, but there were only patrons, milling shapes, dozens of people, hundreds maybe, pouring out of different theatres and rushing to the stairs and the escalators.
Bumping, jostling. ‘Watch where you’re _______ going, ____.’ A man had almost fallen down the escalator shaft.
She spotted uniforms, a couple of the girls hurrying out amongst the customers. Who was the shift manager tonight? She couldn’t even remember that.
Margaret limped into the staff room. The sound had driven all the thoughts from her head. You’d expect to leave it behind you, but you couldn’t get away from it - it was in here too, loud and immediate.
She checked the roster. It was Arthur. That was bad. As a manager Arthur was short tempered even under normal conditions. He’d said to her: ‘Margaret we don’t need to keep you on. We don’t need to pay you if you're not doing your job.’
The floor shook, she almost fell. It shook again, and again.

And the alarm rang and rang and rang and rang.
She'd thought that they'd come find her in the staff room, but when it was clear that they wouldn't, that she'd made another mistake – they were somewhere else, out on the
water
and she would invariably be blamed for not joining them – she pushed the table over to block the door. Then she crouched in a corner with her headphones on.

Finally the alarm stopped. She barely registered this; the sound had blasted itself onto her eardrums as a perpetual ringing, and the howling anxiety it brought with it had pushed her further and further inside herself.
The floor shook and shook. Margaret sat amongst a devastation of fallen paperwork and bulletin boards. She stared across the room at a poster on the far wall, a Coca Cola poster in which grotesque eyeless monsters bared their teeth at her, appeared to scream.
They made her think of the child, Shona's offspring, with its pistol and its evil face. “Blam blam”.
“You're dead you thirsty _____.”

Later the lights went out.
Time passed strangely in the black silence.
Flailing limbs drowned faces pressed up against the glass as the buses sank deeper into the blue black water.

Margaret roused herself, lifted her head.
Listened through the insulation of her headphones.
There was nothing. The panic had stopped.
The shaking had stopped.

She shifted onto her knees, then stood.
Painfully. She'd been sitting on her leg.
She fumbled through the darkness for a moment before she remembered her torch. The staff room was in a terrible state. She'd have to tidy it before she clocked off, but she didn't know where to start.
She shifted the beam across to the barricaded door, watched it with some apprehension.
No-one had told her there'd be a drill.
Pangs in her leg, threats of a cramp, she needed to move it.

Outside the foyer, the snack counter and the escalator shafts were as dark and lifeless as the staff room. She went to the counter and found that the till had fallen over, as had dozens of bags of M&Ms and Maltesers, the pre-filled bags of popcorn, a dirty feast scattered across the linoleum.
She could hear the sound of dripping water from somewhere below.
But something strange was going on, because the films were still running. She could hear the familiar movies sounds, distant through the walls, of shouting and screams and thuds and thumps. Car engines roaring, glass breaking. The anonymous bass grumble of things being destroyed.
Had the patrons come back in?
Were they were running the films from where they'd left off? Surely they'd have done something about the lights. A chill ran across her shoulders, and a voice tried to warn her of something but it was quickly smothered.
She walked to the top of the steps, and of the escalators coming up, which had stopped.
Someone was lying there, on the steps. She lay in such a way that her head was on a lower step than her feet, with her hair spread out and her skirt hiked up immodestly. One of the girls, she realised. The one who'd told Margaret she didn't need to always watch the same movie.
Beyond her, down near the ground floor ticket counter, she again heard the dripping water. She moved the torch beam and it found a man standing there, in front of the big poster display. He had his head tilted down, and two streams of dirty brown water were pouring from his eyes onto the white tiles. Like a funny exaggeration of crying. He just stood there, and the water splashed out for a while longer. Then it slowed to a trickle.
Margaret opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it. She stepped back, a little quickly, and the torch "ting"ed against the metal railing.
The man looked up. His eyes were weeping black cavities. He said: _______ .
He staggered towards the foot of the steps.

Margaret limped past the queuing point and the ticket collection podium, into the corridor which accessed the theatres.
She considered the toilets, and the door to the large cinema, but decided on a cinema further down. Her theatre, the one screening Land's End.
Her shock-clouded mind cautioned her not to run. The man couldn't see. He couldn't catch up, and there was no danger of him finding her. To reassure herself she cast the beam back to the foyer, and while she could certainly hear his slow wet footsteps mounting the steps, the man himself had yet to materialise.
So no cause for alarm.
She swung through the cinema door and felt a cold draft on her cheek. The theatre was filled with faint bluish light, and as Margaret limped further inside it seemed for a moment as if the film had resumed playing, or a different film, a disaster film set on the waterfront at night. The used car lot behind the theatre complex lay in a ruin of upturned cars (although none were burning) and beyond that Te Papa had been gouged, as if a child had taken clumsy handfuls out of an enormous cake.
Margaret felt suddenly exhausted. She took short, shaking steps up into the back of the cinema, the loose end of her headphones cord trailing behind her.
The back rows were fully intact; she gratefully collapsed into a seat there.
Collapsed and waited to see if the man would find his way into the theatre. What was left of the theatre.
But if you let your mind wander, as Margaret did now, you could almost convince yourself that it was a film, that the screen and the cinema's front wall hadn't fallen away, and that what you were watching was part of the show, light dancing onto canvas.
“Only a movie”. A slow, quiet movie where often nothing moved, but elsewhere there was shouting and running, and distant fires which shone their amber light onto the rubble before her, and the smoke from which sometimes drifted into frame, momentarily obscuring the view.
And often nothing moved, but the devil was in the details. If you watched carefully you saw a section of the museum's wall crumble, and all sorts of strange items come tumbling out – mannequins, skeletons, the wing of an old aeroplane. If you looked closer you'd see the shapes of people moving within the innards of the vast museum – struggling, fighting.
And if you looked past that, further out to the harbour itself, you'd see silent masses of stringy matter lifting up from the water and weaving together, weaving themselves into enormously tall, monstrously thin spires. Like antennae. Like great knitting needles pointing up to heaven.

Part Three - Adam

Adam arrived at his apartment building panting, sweaty and panicked. As he had run, the voice in his head had been chanting ‘inland, got to get inland’, but his rational mind had interceded enough to work out that he should go home and pack some stuff. His rational mind hadn’t got any further than that, since his whole being was still bent on getting away from the ocean and the masses of people.

His flat was empty. He stripped off his sweat soaked clothes and tore through his drawers, putting on jeans, a T shirt and shoving other clothes into his backpack. Next he hit the kitchen, grabbed the box of muesli bars he had bought weeks ago and not opened, a bag of bread, the half empty jar of peanut butter and filled up a pump bottle with water. The water made him feel uneasy, but he told himself that this was fresh water from the pipes, not infested water from the sea.

He went out onto the balcony, to see what was happening outside. It was dark already, the streets busy with people heading inland. Some of them were dripping wet, moving strangely, making a noise that hurt Adam’s head. He shuddered, the sweat on his body had cooled now, and the fear made it much worse. Fascinated, Adam watched the mob move through the street. He started to think that he was safest up here, in his secure apartment six floors up. He wondered where he had thought he was heading before, to Brooklyn? Newtown? If you kept heading in that direction you just ended up at the sea again anyway. It would be easy to stay here, safe. He heard the sound of breaking glass, it was looting. There were two guys over the road who had actually smashed the window of a shop and were taking stuff out of the windows. It doesn’t take much, Adam thought, for it all to turn to shit. Best to stay up here, where there’s just me.

He went back into the apartment. He locked the balcony door even though at six floors up no one was ever going to try it from the outside. He tried to sit down but he was up again in a moment, back at the window, he had to know what was going on. He saw a flash of red in the crowd below, he leaned into the glass to focus in more and yes, it was a red haired woman. Gretchen? Could it be Gretchen out there, lost in the crowd? He went back out onto the balcony to get a better look.

Then the ground moved. He thought it was an earthquake, but then he heard a noise. It wasn’t the dull under-the-Earth rumble of an earthquake. It was a howl torn from the throats of hundreds of people. It was the screeching, mind bending roar of a movie monster. He turned his head, inevitably, towards the ocean again. There was something wrong with the sky line. There was a bulk there that was new, wasn’t angular like a building. For ten long seconds Adam looked and looked and couldn’t comprehend.
Then his concept of reality shifted and he saw that it was true, there was a gigantic horror-movie monster in Wellington, moving through the streets of the CBD like Godzilla. He couldn’t make it out in any detail, he could just see a dark shape, silhouetted on the night sky, and that it was organic and it was moving. It was moving towards him. For another ten seconds Adam stood and stared, teeth grinding together and a fresh sweat drenching him.

He checked the crowd again, this time he was sure of it, the flash of red in the crowd was a girl, definitely a girl, and she was being jostled to the side, squashed into a doorway. She wasn’t able to push back into the flow, to get away. Adam had to get down there and help Gretchen, tell her about getting inland. Then he’d be a hero to her, not the pathetic latte guy anymore, but someone who had saved her life in extraordinary circumstances. Movies had told him that this was the sure fire way to get a girl to fall in love with you.

Taking up his backpack, Adam left the apartment and went down to the street. He was shaking with fear, but being a hero was all about doing something even though it scared you, right? The ground was shaking too, the monster, the Godzilla shape in the darkness, it must be walking around. Getting closer maybe.

The street was chaos. People of all ages were running inland as fast as they could, carrying bags and small children. Some of the people were the wet ones. Adam’s breathing was coming through ragged, he avoided the eyes of the wet people, trying instead to push his way through the mob. It was insanely difficult to go against the flow, he was swept along with it for several metres, but he kept pushing forward, across the stream and to the other side. The other side where Gretchen was waiting for him, depending on someone to help her, in this night where no one was looking out for anyone but themselves. These thoughts kept him moving.

‘Adam?’ a voice said, cutting through his determination. He looked around for the voice, someone in the rush had stopped and taken hold of his arm. Adam blinked for a moment and then recognized possibly-Bonnie. She was soaked to the bone and her eyes were wide and staring.
‘Bonnie?’ Adam said, ‘are you alright?’
‘Thirsty…’ Bonnie said, ‘I’m just really, really thirsty.’ Adam shook her hand off, not wanting to share his meager supply of fresh water.
‘Look, you’d better keep going, I think it’s safer the further you are from the water.’ He kept pushing through to the other side of the road. Finally he emerged from the mob and fell into a wall, he cast around for Gretchen and saw the shop sign she had been hiding under. He felt his way along the wall, keeping out of the flow of people and found the alcove.
‘Gretchen! Are you alright?’ he said, pulling himself around the corner and coming face to face with not Gretchen at all. It was a young man, pale and wide eyed. His long hair hung lank down his back, he was crouching against the wall and trying to light a cigarette.
‘Leave me alone man,’ the stranger said, bending again to shield his lighter from the wind.

Adam stared at the man for a second, it had all been for nothing then. He turned back to look up at his balcony. Maybe it wasn’t too late, maybe he could still get back up there where it was safe. As he watched something happened to the buildings on the far side of the road. They looked like they were buckling, moving around somehow. Once again Adam had to readjust his perception of the world. He looked further up and saw the huge thing, it was leaning on the building, or maybe it had fallen against them. The concrete walls were bulging out.

‘Oh my fucking God. The buildings can’t…have to run,’ Adam managed to say. He grabbed the arm of the red headed man and yanked him out onto the street. ‘Get away!’ Adam screamed, and he started sprinting through the mob of people.

It was too late, the crashing noise had started, the horrible rumble of skyscrapers falling down.

Part Three - Seth

Seth was in the water, his hair swaying gently in the ebb and flow of the icy sea foam that pooled around his head then retreated rhythmically. When the water slipped away the roof of the car was covered in stars.

No, not stars. Tiny squares of broken glass. Safety glass. And blood.

It had all been so beautiful on the wharf, the city crouched behind him expectantly, the dark waves in front of him, a mass of cheerful people around him peering into the water. Faces had leapt out at him, their cheeks glowing with joy, their eyes sparkling. The detail and depth of the world had been achingly beautiful, richer than it had ever been before.

A piece of glass rolled towards his eye as the foam lapped a little higher and Seth coughed, choking slightly as a drop of seawater went up his nose. No time to remember, better get moving.

He turned his head as best he could, surveyed the car. It was upside down, that much was obvious. It was in the water but not under the water. He was propped up, his legs pinned under the driver’s seat and his shoulder against the door. His hands were cuffed. The guy next to him looked pretty dead, in that his neck was twisted at a weird angle and he was slumped face down in the bloody water. The metal grate that separated the back seat from the front had buckled, and Seth could see one of the cops who’d arrested him in the front. He looked even more dead than the guy in the back. His window was broken and the jagged rock which had apparently shattered it had also made a mess of the cop’s head. It wasn’t pretty.

Seth pulled his legs free of the seat and collapsed in a heap on the roof of the car, safety glass crunching under his weight. The more he came into contact with the water the greater his sense of dread and panic grew. Got to get out. Get free.

He swung himself round and began to kick the metal grate, forcing it loose enough to allow him to clamber into the front seat. He did his best to avoid the dead cop but couldn’t help brushing against his shoulder. He twitched at the contact, a shudder running up the length of his body. His hand closed on something cold and he dragged it with him past the driver’s seat and through the windscreen. With a final effort he pushed himself out through the shattered windscreen and into the space between the bonnet and the rocks. Sea foam swirled around his hands and legs as he knelt for a moment breathing heavily, relieved to be out of the car but still far from safe.

The cold thing in his hand was a gun. The cop’s gun. The one he’d tried to grab earlier.

The voice had been whispering to him, unintelligible but alluring. Then someone had grabbed him, spun him around, nearly thrown him into the water. The voice had become suddenly clear, insistent. “Gun. Get the gun.”

The crowd around Seth had faded into dull grey except for one figure, a police officer in a crisp blue uniform, leaning against his car at the edge of the wharf and watching the crowd. The gun at his hip had glowed and pulsed with a reassuring light and Seth had been drawn to it, had to have it.

It wasn’t long before he was being manhandled into the back of the car, in cuffs. He'd watched helplessly as people began to throw themselves off the wharf, into the water. People disappeared under the waves, between the shadows, then after an impossible time they surfaced, walked out of the water and back through the crowd, dripping and sloshing and smiling their way into the city. Then… then something had happened. The car had lurched and slid and flipped into the water, bodies flying around it, and the screaming had started.

There was no screaming now.

Seth lifted the gun and inspected it briefly. It was just like the ones he’d seen in movies, safety on the side, sliding action with the top bit to get a bullet into the chamber, cool as all hell. And reassuring. Definitely reassuring.

“Gonna be a writer… working on a script…”

The low voice wasn’t the whisper, wasn’t in Seth’s head. It was out on the rocks somewhere out of Seth’s line of sight, and worse it was familiar. They were his own words, words from the night before floating back at him on a watery girl’s voice.

“Spare a drink for a lost soul?”

A different voice, the same taunting repetition of his words from the previous night.

Seth inched forward, peered out from under the bonnet of the cop car. He was at the water’s edge, large rocks jagged beneath him, the water spilling over them insistently. Behind the car was carnage, broken wood, twisted floating bodies, and the city watching silently in the failing light. People were moving, sirens were wailing in the distance, but it all sounded far away, unimportant. Sounds heard from beneath the water.

“Let me guess, no ID?”

Seth turned slowly, cliché from a horror film in action, knowing that he didn’t want to see what was behind him, didn’t want to know, should run, but he had to look. Had to see.

Beyond the boot of the car, out in the water where the rocks fell away into swirling depths with deceptive speed, three girls in school uniform were watching him. They were standing knee deep in the water, their scarecrow bodies made up of odd angles. The water was far too deep for them to be that high up. Their heads hung limply and their eyes were overlarge, shiny, their skin pale. If they hadn’t been repeating his words Seth would not have recognized them as the sirens from Aro park. They were schoolgirls? Seth felt suddenly dirty, as though his sleazy old man routine was the worst of his problems.

“Come and join us,” one of the girls said, raising a stiff arm like a marionette. Her index finger curled and relaxed in a series of jerks, beckoning Seth toward her.

“Shouldn’t have taken the acid,” Seth mumbled, looking around and biting his tongue, trying to spot an inconsistency that would show this whole sorry mess to be a hallucination. Nothing changed.

“Joooiiinnnn usssssss….” The three girls chorused, rising another six inches out of the water. Their calf-high white socks were stained with mud and muck and blood, and their limbs dangled loosely.

Seth began to scramble backwards up the rocks, out of the water, stumbling and slipping as he fought for purchase against the handcuffs and the bulk of the pistol in his hands. As he did so he saw the three girls waver for a moment, then suddenly rear up out of the water and into the air. Running up the back of each girl’s legs and under her clothes was a tentacle, dark and pulsating and impossible to focus on. Seth found tears springing into his eyes as a dark shape in the water lurched forward, flinging the girls toward Seth like a child throwing rag dolls. He closed his eyes and screamed, his finger squeezing the trigger of the gun.

When nothing happened, Seth opened his eyes tentatively. He was warm, which was a pleasant change, and it was sunny. The creature in the water was frozen, still difficult to look at. Through a pulsating shimmer Seth could make out tentacles and eyes and fangs or horns or barbs of some sort. He blinked away his tears, tried to focus.

The water was still, waves half crashed but not moving. The three girls hung in mid air, their limbs askew, tiny drops of water halted in mid-air around them Behind him the distant bustle and activity had stopped. A break in the clouds above had let a single shaft of dying light through and Seth was bathed in its warmth. The world was silent.

“Don’t fight now. Just run,” the whisper in the back of his head instructed. It was close now, intimate, warm. Seth looked over his shoulder at the ruins of the wharf and saw with sudden clarity a path through the chaos, a twisted but ultimately safe way through.

He felt the tension in his finger returning, felt the trigger of the gun pull back. In a sudden rush the gun roared and bucked in his hand and the middle of one of the tentacles exploded in a cloud of green mist. The three girls crashed into the rocks around him as the severed tip fell into the sea. Seth scrambled up the rocks and into the remains of the wharf, leaping from broken support pole to pile of corpses to dangling support cable, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the things in the water.

Abruptly the terrifying sound of a city in chaos closed in on him, the sirens and cries and groans of torn steel and wood, and all around the sound of breaking glass, car alarms, heavy impacts and screaming.

The light was gone.