NaNo 17 Part The Next

Thought I'd pick up the pace a bit, so here are the next visits to Holly and Alice.

 – Holly –

She busied herself with some admin, though she had no desire to read any more paperwork today. The ageing computer hadn’t even been good when the museum opened, and nearly a decade of updates to both operating system and programs had brought the thing to its knees. Holly hated it. She didn’t care for computers or phones or most other modern technology, really, and avoided them unless she had to use them. Only insofar as it was useful to her. Or, in the case of this blasted machine, if duty required her to. The radio programs chattered away harmlessly, and she barely heard the brief news bulletin at the half hour. There was something about a small earthquake in East Yorkshire, but it made little impression on Holly.

She made another cup of Early Grey and turned the heater up a notch. If this was to be the end of all she had worked for, she’d make sure Mr Aaron Adams, senior partner of whatever the fuck they were called, had a very hefty electricity bill to settle by the time she was fired. She was also determined not to quibble with the decorator’s invoice.

Catching sight of Liam’s desk again, she felt the sadness return; it threatened to overwhelm her. She knew there was nothing else he could do in Frampton. There was only one shop left, and that was hanging by a thread. That was the worst thing about the last few years, she thought. Everybody started looking out for themselves too much.

Around 7, she got up and took a walk through the exhibits. Though most were covered with dust sheets, she knew where each piece was. She had placed them all herself, planned the route, and written the text for every one of the explanation boards. Holly lingered briefly at the photo wall, where images of the dig and the team had pride of place. There they all were, Howard, Peter, Jacquie, and Holly herself, standing beside the trench that had contained the four broaches. Lisa had found the first, and she lay across their arms, grinning as if she’d just been crowd surfing, holding the ornate piece of gold up to the camera. The keys were in her hands before she knew what she was doing; the lock was stiff from lack of use. The plastic cover swung back, and she gently pried the picture free. She took several more for good measure then, catching herself in the act, realised the gaps were now quite obvious, so she took a few moments to rearrange the remains.

She returned to her desk, took and piece of paper from the draw, found a working biro and, without really planning to, wrote her letter of resignation.

Beginning with ‘Dear lady Eastley,’ she finished the short note with, ‘yours sincerely, Holly Prentice.’

Holly let it dry, folded it into thirds, and sealed it in a plain, white envelope. She addressed it to Lady Eastley and placed it in the middle of the desk.

The milk in the fridge had turned to cheese, so she made the quick round trip to the village shop, only to discover they had not had their delivery this week. She made do with what they had and was soon back, armed with one pint of joyless skimmed milk and a box of Frosties. Undeterred, she poured a very large bowl and sat on the windowsill in the now rather warm little office until the sun was properly up. It was very pleasant, and she dragged her comfy chair over, sank into it and put her feet up on the ledge. She switched the radio over to 6 music and began to sing along.

It was in this position, at a little before half past seven, that Liam Hogan found her.

‘Morning, Holly,’ he said, nodding to her and hanging up his coat.

She looked round, still humming along to Perfect Day Elise by PJ Harvey. ‘Liam! Why are you here today? You know we’re not open. I gave you the week off.’

‘Yeah, well,’ Liam sighed, turned back to face her, ‘our net’s out again at home, and I’ve got stuff I need to do. Alright if I use your pc for a bit?’

‘It’s all yours,’ she replied kindly. ‘It’s slower than steamroller these days, but take as much time as you need.’

‘You sure? Thanks!’

She noted Liam had not asked why she was in work today. It was as much closed for her as for him. ‘Net out again? How many times is that this month?’ Holly asked.

‘I’ve lost count,’ Liam replied. ‘This letter for Lady Eastley… Want me to post it?’

Holly looked over abruptly. ‘Oh, just leave it there.’

Liam nodded. ‘Just gonna grab a cuppa while it boots up. You want one?

‘I’m good, thanks.’

He bustled off to the kitchenette and Holly watched the birds flying outside. There were rather a lot of them, she thought, and a curiously mixed bunch – gulls and crows, and she didn’t know what else. ‘Did you bike in?’ Holly called, not moving from her chair. Liam called back that he had, then returned just the jingle announced the 7.30 news.

‘What was that?’ Liam asked, sitting down and reaching to turn up the volume. The computer was still not ready. ‘Earthquake?’

‘Oh, yeah…’ Holly said absently. ‘Yeah, I think they said something about that earlier? Somewhere up in Yorkshire, I think.’ They listened to the report, about how eye witnesses said they say tiles and chimney pots falling down, and the way it had woken people up. ‘Doesn’t sound like it was too much to fuss about,’ Holly concluded when the music returned.

But no sooner were the words out of her mouth, when a low, bass tremble suddenly coursed through the office and everything was shaking. Alarms all through the building erupted into life.

‘What on earth?’ She sprang up, knocking the chair over with a clatter. Liam hung onto the desk, but the rumble gave out a second later. ‘I thought they said Yorkshire?! We’re miles away from Yorkshire!’ Liam, both hands held over his ears against the roar of the alarms, looked nonplussed. ‘Right, you’re right, Liam. Come on, alarm boxes,’ and they ran out into the lobby. ‘We’ve got to turn these off fast. The police get called after sixty seconds!’

The building shook again; the decorator’s ladder tipped and crashed to the floor. Two tins of paint fell off the bench and their contents burst over the floor. Holly and Liam jumped back, just in time. It subsided again, the building was still. Holly and Liam stared around. A deep crack had cut through the opposite wall and bits of plaster was pitter-pattering onto the tiles floor.

‘Sod the alarms, Holly, we need to get out of here!’

He didn’t need to tell her twice. They ran pell-mell through the door and out into the little high street of Frampton village. It seemed everybody was outside, most still in their night clothes, gowns wrapped and feet slipper-shod. The chatter was worried, punctuated by shrieks whenever another tremor struck.

‘Did you hear the news?’

‘But we’re miles away from that earthquake. What’s going on?’

‘There’s no fault lines anywhere near us!’

‘Has anyone called the police?’ someone asked, but a neighbour laughed them down.

‘What are they going to be able to do about this?’

‘They’ve just said on the Today programme!’ someone called, running out of a nearby house. ‘It’s shaking in London, too!’

‘All the way from Hull to London?’ someone exclaimed in shock.

When someone else said he didn’t think there had ever been an earthquake in Britain, people laughed him down and listed half a dozen examples. The earth rumbled again. Car alarms were joining the clamour still echoing from the museum.

‘Holly,’ Liam asked her, and leant a little closer so he could lower his voice. ‘What do we do about the stuff in the museum?’

‘Well…’ Holly began, but they both backed away slightly to continue the conversation, though people around them were fixated on the woman now spouting the news channel from phone. ‘I mean, we have to lock it up, but what if this gets worse?’ On cue, the village shook again. Fresh shrieks rang out from the crowd. ‘Well, the police should be on their way, anyway,’ Holly said, hoping she sounded more reassured than she felt. ‘I mean, they’ve been going for about two minutes by now, so the call will have gone through automatically…’

Liam looked at her, frowning. ‘But…?’

‘Well, what if they’re not coming?’ she said, in an even lower voice. ‘If this is happening right the way down the east coast… if this is happening in London!?’

‘I know what you mean,’ Liam confided. ‘But d’you think it’s safe to pop back inside? I should get my stuff.’ Holly raised an eyebrow, but the discussion ended at once, as a police siren blared, and the squad car turned into the high street.

 – Alice –

Alice had one rasher of bacon and one egg left, and enough oil for one pan. Enough granules for a weak mug of coffee. No sugar. Well, she thought, you can’t have everything. Fishing a spoon from the cupboard (her landlord had not thought it worth fitting draws in her kitchen), she stirred the mug and with her free hand, kept the frying pan just over the ring. As the bacon sizzled, she wandered around, looking for things to tidy up. She had no desire to clean when she was home; she was doing overtime this evening as it was, and would be home well after dark. If there was time, she was planning a quick food shop, since she had just used the last of her breakfast ingredients. And, she remembered, there was the call from the landlord…

But the bed was already made, and her duvet lay folded behind it. She zapped the telly on and cast half an ear towards the breakfast news as she fried the egg. The reporter stood in Hull, so Alice took rather more interest. She had almost gone to university in Hull, but instead chose Birmingham. It wasn’t a choice she regretted, but she had been taken with Hull when she did the rounds of cities on her application list.

She sat with the tray on her lap – the table was still covered in boxes – and watched the updates. People were describing how the buildings shook and there was footage of the damage to go with the odd piece if shaky footage. Alice always though this sort of stuff looked rubbish; it was far too difficult to tell what was going on, because whoever was holding their phone up attempted an overambitious pan.

Teeth brushed and hair combed, Alice pulled her winter coat from the wardrobe and turned to leave. The street was busy with traffic, but few pedestrians, and Alice understood why as her yawn produced a great plume of mist. She was already tired, and there were twelve hours of office drudgery ahead, but she comforted herself with the thought that the weekend was just around the corner. Though her friends were mostly out of town at the moment, she already had a few plans.

It was a bright morning, yesterday’s clouds blown clear by the night’s strong winds. She followed the familiar route without thinking about it. Her mind was still on the email from her mother. Alice had tapped out a quick reply, thanking her mum for the message. She was really looking forward to the pictures and dad’s stories from the Ashes – she would have TMS on, of course – and that she would reply properly at lunch.

She vaguely wondered at how few people she passed. It was a Friday, true, but the poor saps who made this weary trudge to the soulless industrial park every day were usually pretty regular. She passed the self-storage facility and noted that it was not open. She glanced at her watch and noted that she was a little early; it was not yet 7.45. She was simply early. The greasy spoon was packed with early morning labourers and drivers, and there was a steady stream of people emerging from the newsagents, copies of their favourite tabloid rags tucked under their arms. She passed a line of yawning, grouchy looking people disembarking from the shuttle bus.

As she turned into the newest part of the estate, where large, square offices lined up behind freshly mown grass verges, Alice stumbled, and grabbed the nearby lamppost for support. At first, she thought the heel of her right boot had given out – just one more bloody bill – until she realised the whole street was shaking. Parked cars and vans rocked on their springs, and a couple of windows in the adjacent office shattered. A van, already coming round the corner a little too fast, teetered and fell, smashing down into the kerb.

Alice darted between the parked cars and dashed over to the stricken van. Its wheels were still spinning madly.

From the adjacent street came the sounds of other accidents. Horns wailed and there was the sound of shrill voices on the air.

‘God! Are you okay?!’ she called to the driver, peering in through the cracked windscreen. He looked disorientated. ‘Can you hear me? What’s your name? Are you alright?’ She pulled herself up and tried to open the driver’s side door, but it was jammed. The window was already broken, though, and she could see glass powder all over the man inside. ‘Give me your hand!’ she instructed.

‘Road… moved,’ he managed to say, but he was looking around now, and appeared surprised that his van was lying at the wrong angle. ‘Where… who?’

‘Just give me your hand,’ Alice repeated. Although she thought moving a man who’d just had a crash was probably a very bad idea and her paramedic best friend Sophie would be screaming at her to leave him alone, she could still feel the ground moving. She did hesitate, though, and pulled her phone from her pocket. Fingers poised over the 9 button, she felt a sudden tingle in her bones and looked up. About twenty metres away, a tree suddenly swayed alarmingly, then vanished from sight. Despite everything she had heard and experienced today, this was extremely odd, and she peered over the top of the beached van.

What she saw there made her blood freeze. The manicured verge, adjacent to the office with the now shattered windows, was disappearing into the ground, falling in, and the hole was expanding with mesmerising efficiency. The next second, the posh BMW by the kerb upended and sank out of sight, then the Audi followed suit. Most of the verge was gone now. The whole piece of pavement she had been standing on not fifteen seconds before, had been swallowed. The corner of the office was starting to crack Water erupted from the chasm: a main must have burst, she thought.

She redoubled her efforts, painfully aware of the cracking, churning sound of earth falling away. A great chute of mains water was falling all around as a freezing mist. Alice wiped her suddenly sopping wet hair from her face. The driver was now alert, and had unclipped his belt. His bloodstained hands came out and she grasped them, trying to stand on the wheel arch for balance. He was halfway out, but the van was starting to slide; the whole street seemed to be slipping towards the sinkhole. She toppled back, the man came free, and they landed on the shivering tarmac as his van, with a creak of metal, wobbled and toppled away, down into the expanding maw.

Alice barely knew what she was doing, nor where the strength came from, but she hauled the man up, threw his arm across her shoulders and staggered away from the swirling, growing vortex as fast as her feet could carry her.