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.”
“Ladies first,” he replied. “Let me see you do it.”
She nodded, paddling off toward the impact zone, timing her run so she could catch the next wave. With poise and confidence, she paddled into the midst of an already breaking crest, snapped to her feet amid the foam and punched her board out smoothly onto the open wave face. He lost sight of her as the wave crest passed. Thunder crackled above them and it started to rain again.
He took a deep breath and paddled further out the back toward the take-off zone. He waited for the wave set to finish, then paddled into the path of a smaller crest following shortly afterward. But the board stalled as he tried to stand up too quickly and the wave simply passed him by. He had more success on his second attempt. He paddled harder and at more of an angle to avoid losing control. He didn’t want the surfboard going vertical before he’d managed to stand up. Paddling at an angle meant he wasn’t travelling as quickly, but this time the wave was larger and it didn’t matter. He felt the grip of the swell as the board began to speed up. Clutching the rails, he jumped to his feet in a crouch, aiming to keep his centre of gravity low in the hope of staying upright. It worked. But he forgot to turn and shot too far in front of the wave’s energy pulse. The board began to stall again. He stood up straighter in an effort to turn the longboard. It was more stable than he’d expected, but nothing happened when he leaned over. The board had ground to a halt and he just fell into the water. Cursing his own stupidity, he flailed around and yanked on the leg rope to pull the board back so he could try again.
“Oh hell no.”
He was inside the tennis court enclosure. He wouldn’t be able to paddle out until another wave arrived to lift him over. Except now that would mean he’d have to paddle against the flow of the water.
A short distance away, he caught sight of movement. For one ridiculous moment he thought it was Mel swimming to his aid. But where was her surfboard?
Then he saw the teeth. A voice at the back of his head began to laugh. He didn’t have time for this. The shark’s mouth opened hungrily. Jesus, it had to be at least four metres long. In sheer desperation, Luckman punched it on the nose, hoping like hell this didn’t just make the damn thing angry. The shark veered away, but quickly began circling back. It was hungry.