Matt Eaton - Blank

Inside, the surge of the swell was less vigorous. They paddled around in what was once someone’s lounge room. The place now bore little resemblance to human habitation. Furniture piled up in corners of the rooms was covered in algae. The front door, furthest away from the balcony, was almost totally submerged. Luckman slipped off his board and dived under the water to try the door handle. It turned, but the door didn’t budge. He came up for air and resisted the urge to curse out loud.

“How’s it look?” she asked.

“Give me a moment,” he said, disappearing back under the water. Bracing himself on either side of the door frame, he gave it everything, pulling with his arms and pushing with his legs. It didn’t move a centimetre.

He spluttered back into the air. “I think the water level’s lower on the other side. The door is acting like a water lock. I’ll never be able to move it.”

“Great. So now what?”

Luckman didn’t have an answer for her.

“Wait a sec, I just thought of something,” she said, diving into the water.

She surfaced holding the leg of a metal dining chair. “Here we go.”

“You need to sit down?”

“No, I need you to shove it – up there,” she said, pointing back out toward the balcony. “Smash the glass on the balcony above us.”

“Do you have any idea how tough that stuff is?”

“You’re a big strong man, you can do it.”

Standing on the semi-submerged balustrade on the floor below, Luckman swung the chair at the glass. It bounced off. He tried again, and this time heard a crack. Three more swings seemed to weaken it further, but he was rapidly running out of oomph.

“Here, give me a go,” she told him.

“No, you won’t be strong enough,” he insisted.

“Cut the macho crap and give me a go,” she told him.

He was too tired to argue, and slumped down onto the watery balcony, where the water was waist-deep. He handed her the chair when she was in position.

She glass shattered on her first swing.

She grinned down at him, eyebrows raised as if to say, ‘not bad for a girl, eh?’ He couldn’t help smiling.

“You loosened it,” she offered.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Somewhere above them, an alarm went off.

“What the…?”

Mel began to laugh. “We better be quick, the cops’ll probably get here any minute.”

Luckman climbed back up on the balustrade, swinging the chair one more time to clear a persistent spider-web of shattered glass. He shoved the chair upside down into the gap so they could use the bottom of the seat to cover the broken glass. She gave him a boost, and then he pulled her up from above.

As she climbed to her feet, she threw her arms around him in exaltation. It felt as if the alarm was sounding their victory.

“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear.

He hugged her back. The warmth of her body was like a drug. They stood there for what felt like a long time, staring toward the hole in the sky where the Focal building had been standing. The rain had begun to fall again, clearing the dust cloud and revealing glimpses of the jagged remnants. Waves pounded over what was left. Further out to sea clumps of ruin poked through the water, but there was remarkably little to show for the collapse of a 32-floor high rise.

Survival against the odds seemed to be his gift. For the briefest of moments he felt invincible. Not superhuman, because clearly his own weaknesses had almost spelt the end on several occasions. He was no superman, but he sure as hell felt unstoppable. And in that exulted embrace the touch of her flesh felt like his prize. Desire burst open inside him like a revelation. He literally felt his knees weaken. It was like the hormonal rush of a teenager’s first sexual encounter and he found himself unexpectedly at that point when release became the only thing that mattered. The floor would do. He could have her now, she wouldn’t object. She owed it to him. She was his now – she belonged to him. It was as if his entire existence was reduced to one atavistic urge, the need to find pleasure in the wreckage of so much pain. She felt it too. He heard her almost imperceptible moan.

But he was not like that. He retained reason above instinct, and to lose that battle now might be the beginning of the end. He recognised the darkness in his compulsion, the sense that had led him closer toward self-destruction on more occasions than he cared to remember. Behind the wall of physical demand he saw something that wasn’t right; a future in which he would rue this moment.

She wouldn’t thank him. Might even hate him, or call it rape. She felt his arousal, and part of him hoped she’d move away even as the weaker part of him held on to her tighter. She nuzzled her head into his shoulder and said something he didn’t catch because the alarm’s claxon was still deafening.

Instead he shifted away from her, reached out for the metal chair and swung it wildly above his head. It crashed into the alarm unit, which smashed into a hundred shards but doggedly continued to sound, albeit with a voice now sick and broken. He hit it again and it finally stopped, silenced by his violence. Instantly he felt ashamed of his rage and turned to gauge Mel’s reaction, but something else had caught her attention. She pointed down at the water.

“Holy mother of God – the size of that thing.”

It was the shark that attacked him. It gently nudged the surfboards they had left behind then rolled in the water, its dull black eye staring right up at them. The damn thing knew where they were.

“Sharks can’t do that dolphin leap thing can they?” he asked.

“Only if you’ve got a fish in your pocket,” she replied.

“That is one nasty looking animal. Don’t know about you, but I think I’m done with surfing today.”

“Hot shower would be good about now,” she decided.

“Or maybe a cold one,” he muttered. To his enormous relief, she smiled.

“All right then Captain, I guess the only way is up.”

He nodded, but a worried expression swept across her face. She began patting his breast pockets. “Where’s your two-way?”

“Must’ve been torn off.”

“How will your pilot know where to find us?”

He grinned, unzipping a pocket from which he pulled a small electronic EPIRB. “I’ll page him.”

Luckman absently began to whistle Billy Don’t Be A Hero as he pushed a button and a red light began to flash.

“Any chance you’ll listen to me next time I tell you a building’s dangerous?” Bell asked.

“Probably not,” Luckman admitted.

“Didn’t think so.”

Luckman finished strapping Mel into the chopper, then closed the hatch and sat down beside her. “All set,” he told the pilot, who immediately took off and banked sharply to the north-west.

Luckman stared at their passenger until she turned to face him. They held each other’s gaze for a long time before words even seemed necessary. There was a lot he wanted to know but he barely knew where to start.

Mel got in ahead of him. “How come you knew about Carter Pimford?”

“He radioed the Army two weeks ago. He had some sort of two-way set up.”

“That’d be right. Never told me about that, the bastard.”

“He said the building was clear, that he was the only one alive and that he’d found a tinnie with a working outboard. We told him to stay put, that we’d come and get him. But he said the building was going to collapse and he was heading for one of the nearby buildings. When we didn’t hear back we just thought…”

“The sharks had got him.”

“Or he’d drowned.”

“You didn’t think to search the building anyway?” she inquired accusingly.