Frank Schatzing - The Swarm

The fjords turned out to be death traps.

When a tsunami entered a channel or an inlet, the water that was already being compressed from the bottom was suddenly restricted on both sides as well. Tens of thousands of tonnes of water squeezed into the strait. In Soigné Fjord, long but narrow in the mountains north of Bergen, the wave rose dramatically. Most of the villages alongside it were situated on high plateaus at the top of its banks. Jets of water sprayed towards them, but no serious damage was caused. Things were different at the end of the hundred-kilometre-long fjord, though, where several towns and villages were clustered on a flat spit of land jutting into the water. The wave obliterated them, then slammed into the mountain range beyond. The water shot up to 200 metres, scouring the slope of vegetation, then collapsing down. It continued its path along the fjord's tributaries.

Trondheim Fjord wasn't as narrow as Soigné Fjord and its banks weren't as high. That, and the fact that it widened as it went on, meant the water wasn't so constricted. All the same, the mound of water that hit Trondheim was big enough to sweep across the harbour and flatten part of the old town. The Nid broke its banks and spilled over into the districts of Bakklandet and Møllenberg. Avalanches of foam mowed down timber houses. In Kirkegata Street almost every house fell victim to the flood of water, including Sigur Johanson's. Its pretty facade gave way and the timberwork splintered, while the roof caved in on the wreckage of the walls. The debris was washed away, swept along by the raging torrent whose power and energy only let up when it reached the walls of the NTNU, where it swirled furiously, then began to flow back.

The Olsens lived one road up from Kirkegata Street. Their house, wooden like Johanson's, withstood the tsunami's assault. It trembled and shook. Furniture toppled, crockery smashed, and the floor of the front room sagged. The children were panicking and Olsen shouted to his wife to take them to the back. In truth he didn't know what to do, but since the wave had hit the front of the house he thought the back rooms might be safer. While his family took refuge, he made his way breathlessly to the front windows to see what had happened. As he crossed the floor, it sagged further, but held. Olsen clutched the window-frame, ready to rush back should another wave roll in. He looked out in stunned horror at the ruins of the city, the trees, cars and people bobbing in the water. There were screams and bangs as walls collapsed. Then explosions rang out, and red-black clouds rose above the harbour.

It was the most harrowing sight he'd ever seen, but he fought back the shock and focused on a single thought: saving his family. All that mattered was that his wife and children survived.

It looked as though the wave had stopped.

Olsen watched for a while then picked his way carefully to the back of the house. The barrage of questions started right away. He looked into his children's wide, fearful eyes, and raised a hand to calm them, telling them it was over and they needn't be afraid. Of course it wasn't over – how could it be? But somehow they had to leave the house. He had the idea of escaping over the rooftops to dry land, but his wife said he'd been watching too much Hitchcock. How did he propose to do that with four kids? Olsen didn't know, so that settled it. He returned to his post by the window.

This time when he looked out he saw that the water was flowing back, racing towards the fjord and picking up speed.

We're going to make it, he thought.

He leaned out for a better view. At that moment the house shook violently. Olsen clung to the window. The floor was splintering. He wanted to leap back, but there was nothing beneath him. The living-room floor was a huge gaping hole. Water poured in and Olsen pitched forward. At first he thought he'd been jerked through the window, then he realised that the front of the house was hanging off the walls. It was tipping him into the water.

He screamed.

The people of Hawaii had lived with the monster for generations, and knew what would happen when it beat its retreat. The receding water created a violent pull that swept everything into the sea, washing over anything left standing. Those who had survived the first act of the catastrophe died in the second, but their death was filled with agony. Their end began with the futile fight for survival against the raging water, the struggle to swim against the tide. Their strength would give out and their muscles would weaken. They'd be struck by debris and their bones broken. They'd cling to anything they could find, only to be torn away again, swept onwards with the rubble and the mud.

The monster of the deep came on land to feed, and when it returned to the ocean it dragged its prey with it.

The first Olsen knew of that was when the front of the house tipped towards the maelstrom. Then he knew he was going to die. As the wall tilted further, more explosions rang out across the harbour as the remains of ships and oil plants burst into flames. Almost every electrical system in the city had failed as one short-circuit triggered the next. Maybe that was how he would be killed – by the high-voltage current in the water.

He thought of his family. For a split second he thought of Sigur Johanson, and was seized with impotent rage. Johanson was to blame. He'd kept something back – something that might have saved them, the son-of-a-bitch.

With a deafening crash the facade of the house smashed down on a tree that was straining in the water. Olsen was catapulted head-first through the window. He clutched at the air and grasped leaves. A stream of mud raged beneath him. He dangled from the branch, as it swung madly up and down, then tried to pull himself up. Fragments of wood and plaster rained down on him from above, narrowly missing his head. The jet of water ripped chunks out of the timber wall. The front of his house warped, splintered and tore apart He tried to move closer to the trunk. Lower down, and a little to one side, there was a thicker branch that he could reach. Maybe he could rest his feet on it. The huge tree groaned, and he made his way forward, hand over hand, gasping for breath.

The remains of the wall crashed into the water, tearing branches and foliage as it fell. Olsen's branch jerked up. His fingers uncurled. Suddenly he was hanging from one arm. If he fell, his fate would be sealed. He turned his head awkwardly for a glimpse of his house – or whatever remained of it. Please, he thought, don't let them be dead.

The house was still standing.

And then he saw his wife.

She'd crawled to the edge and was on her hands and knees, staring out at him. There was a look of determination on her face, as if she was about to dive into the water to help him. She couldn't, of course, but she was there, and she was calling to him. Her voice sounded firm, almost angry, as though he should stop messing around because everyone was waiting.

For a moment Olsen just looked at her.

Then he tensed his muscles. His free hand stretched up and grabbed the branch. He dug his fingers into the wood and began to move forward until his feet were directly above the sturdy branch. Slowly he let himself down. Now he could balance properly. He stood up. His shoulders quivered. He wrapped his arms round the trunk, pushing his face against the bark and staring at his wife.

It took forever. The tree stayed put, and so did the house.

When the water had finally dragged its booty into the sea, he was able to climb down shakily into the wasteland of debris and mud. He helped his wife and children to leave the house. They took only what they needed: money, credit cards, passports, and a few bits and pieces of sentimental value, hastily crammed into a couple of rucksacks. Olsen's car had disappeared. They'd have to walk, but anything was better than staying put.