The Stalking of Louise Copperfield

by Robert W Fisk

  Jayne only just made her flight back to Wahanui. It was Saturday afternoon. A rain storm had begun with the wind making take-off and landing marginal. As the plane bucked and jumped as it made its landing, Jayne was praying that she did not die just as she had finally become pregnant. The Wahanui Airport still used steps from the plane to supplement the air bridges used by the jet aircraft. Hers was a turbo prop plane so she had to scurry down the steps at the rear of the craft, then hunch over in the driving rain to reach the Arrival Lounge. She had seldom been so uncomfortable arriving at the airport. What she experienced was nothing compared with the deluge that was about to strike.

  THE DELUGE

  where matters come to a head.

  CHAPTER 77.

  For miles around Wahanui the air was a vacuum cleaner sucking sound and light upwards towards the black sky, exuding a strange smell reminiscent of when one leaves the handbrake on while driving, a metallic burning after-a-bomb smell of blackened firework shells that lie on the ground after Guy Fawkes.

  On Friday night the Deluge began. Hearing the rain on the metal roof of their single storey iron roofed houses, Wahanui people were joyous; the drought had broken. The patter on the roofs turned to a steady drumming, which turned into a roar as the rain fell in ever increasing quantities.

  The thirsty land drank the water, soaking it up through the cracks and crevices and the hollows and dry pond beds. Later, with heavy rain still falling, there was a reversal. The rain no longer disappeared as soon as it landed. Water began to pond in hollows in the fields, cattle moved uphill wherever they could, the rivers and streams that had been sucked dry and now had no fish began to rise. And rise.

  At first light on Saturday farmers who had not seen the weather that was coming drove out on tractors and farm bikes with dogs running alongside, barking excitedly at the urgency as their farmer sought to move stock to higher ground. Those who had prepared for a flood waited anxiously to see that their choices for safety for the animals had been correct. Even so, the rain was so heavy that many went out into the hammering rain to check on their stock.

  The streams and rivers and ponds rose and swelled in brown oily surges until they overflowed their banks. By dawn the drought had become a flood and the wind had become a gale. Television news commented that this was a common pattern in other parts of the world as a result of climate change. The reports sounded disdainful, annoying those whose loved ones were out in the maelstrom struggling to cope. Dips in the roadways became impassable as sheets of muddy water flowed out across the land. Warnings were issued that people should stay in their houses.

  The small team of detectives was needed as part of the Civil Defence procedures, which involve the police as Emergency Services personnel. Emergency Services began evacuation procedures in the lower parts of Wahanui, especially the Huatere area where houses had been built in old swamp areas that had been drained. Ever since that part of the town had been settled the Spring tides which flowed into the harbour had flowed up the pipes and cause minor flooding.

  It was a problem that the Council was always going to fix but the needs of this area of cheap housing always yielded to concerns of the more affluent areas of the town. This year, with the added pressure of the deluge, the surging tide flowing in added to the water trying to flow out to the sea, causing manhole covers to lift and storm drains to well up instead of drawing water down.

  As the flooding increased, the Emergency Services felt that their efforts were needed on the flat areas that had been reclaimed from the sea. The hillsides beside the two major valleys were not seen as high priorities because the older established areas had never had problems with water and the new housing development had sufficient slope to clear any amount of rainfall.

  As high tide neared, boats were used by Rescue Services to evacuate houses in the flooded flat areas near the waterfront. Fire appliances roamed other streets warning people of the dangers to come, as if people did not know already. While the roads south to Christchurch remained open many left without notifying authorities of their plans creating confusion for the police and the Civil Defence and Emergency Services. The two lane highway rose steadily until it reached the mountain pass where it became a single lane in each direction. Both lanes became clogged with south-bound vehicles fleeing to Christchurch or to friends and family en route. .

  The electricity supply shut down quite early when a power station, a key element in the reticulation of electrical energy to a major sector of the city, including Huatere Valley, became flooded. The power plant had an earth wall a metre high all around it to keep out any flood water. The earth dam had worked well in the past but over time the driveway to allow access to trucks and workmen had sunk a little.

  That was enough to let the rising wall of water pushed by the Spring tide flow over the tar seal of the driveway and into the yard of the power station. Well protected on one side by a waterproof membrane covered with soil, the earth wall resisted the rising water. The inside of the flood wall had no such protection. Flowing over the sunken driveway the swirling flood water quickly eroded the soft side of the barrier, which melted like a child’s sandcastle on the beach.

  Many people went to stay with friends in areas that were considered safe from the flooding. Relatives and friends crowded into houses that were high above previous flood waters. As night fell, all over the district people snuggled down in their houses, some with electric power but most without. Those without power made do with candles and camping lanterns. Wahanui people were hardy souls who knew how to survive bad weather.

  Rural areas were next to call on Emergency Services. The power went off over a large area. Bridges were topped by the brown surging waters flowing to the sea as fast as they could, pushed on by more and more water flowing from higher ground. Some bridges collapsed, isolating farms and villages. Cell phones could be used for a short time but in places the towers that relayed messages broke down because they needed electrical power. Many emergency generators were made inoperable as flooding on a scale nobody had seen before swamped the generating sheds.

  There had never been weather like this. In the early fifties on the Huatere side of the spur on which Cadiz had been built, torrential rain had caused a landslide that smashed a house to pieces and moved others from their foundations. A playing field was built there when the mess had been cleaned up, the same field that Larcombe had acquired to build the shopping mall. That was then. Now thoughts turned to Huatere, to the hillside where rumour had it that the ground on one side of the valley was unsafe.

  CHAPTER 78.

  Jon Sargeson was a writer. He had published several novels and a biography of a notable New Zealander, Sir James Wattie. He had purchased the first of the houses on the Huatere Valley Housing Project, a two bedroom house with an iron roof. On his visits to see the building of his new house, Jon had been happy with the quality of materials and the workmanship of the carpenters. Now in the storm he felt secure, being above the flooding valley floor, in a new house that felt solid and secure.

  Jon had read widely. He knew of the need to pin the foundations to bedrock where there was a slippery clay overload, and he knew that the ring and slab foundation would hold the house together in an earthquake. In the spare bedroom that he had converted to his study he worked through the day, unaffected by the fierce storm that blew around him. As the day grew dark, late on Saturday, a Civil Emergency was declared. The Civil Defence forces were led by police and rescue services and comprised volunteers from organised clubs like the rugby and pony clubs. Among the helpers were Charlotte’s parents, Tom and Alice Hoar, riding their horses where vehicles could not go.

  School halls became evacuation centres staffed by volunteering teachers. The hospital prepared for casualties by recalling doctors and nurses who were on leave. However, staffing was tight because many health officers had already left for the Labour Weekend holiday. St John’s Ambulance and Red Cross volunteers supplemented the staffing, especially for caring for those with
mild hypothermia or needing bed rest. The elderly were evacuated by road and over water to safer areas further inland. The Polytechnic was used as a control centre to co-ordinate the many aspects of the Civil Defence operation.

  Where the roads could not be found under the sheets of water, police used Rigid Inflatable Boats to rescue people in need, relying on the Wahanui boat and fishing clubs for materiel and personnel. There was already a network in place in the rural community, which had always been proud of its ability to look after itself. This community had to rescue not only vulnerable people but also animals caught in the flooding. The Agricultural and Pastoral Association made its pens and corrals available to house rescued animals. Small animals and pets would be cared for by the RSPCA and local veterinary surgeries. Wahanui stood strong, ready to fight the elements come what may.

  Morning came late under the dark mantle of black clouds that continued to pour water down on to the land. More people were affected by the spreading failure of the electric power supply. They settled down with candles and storm lanterns. Many wisely turned off their mobile phones because they realised that once the battery went flat, the phone could not readily be charged until power had been restored.

  Jon Sargeson’s house was the lowest on the new subdivision. It sat above and further up on the left of the hillside from the Huatere Shopping Mall, which was on the flat area at the toe of the ridge.

  Jon felt a tremor running up his chair. At first he thought it was an earthquake but an earthquake unlike any other he had known. As he stood up to stretch he felt a distinct lurch. At first he thought it was him, needing to take a break or his vivid imagination in which he saw the whole house sliding downhill. The sensation was of a slow rolling earthquake slipping and sliding over itself like a wave in a sea made of mud. When Jon looked out of the window to view what was happening he saw the house on the opposite hillside moving up the valley. For a moment Jon was disoriented, as sometimes happens when one train travelling on parallel rails moves and the other stays still. Then he realised that the house across the valley was not moving up, his house was moving down.

  Jon thought of those in houses beyond his, the young family two houses up, the old lady next door, the teenaged kids at home alone while Mum and Dad worked in the town itself. He threw on a rainproof parka and grabbed his largest torch. Running out of the house he was nearly blown off his feet as ferocious wind and horizontal rain hammered him, rattling on his parka with such force that he could not hear any other sound, hurting his face with the blows of the heavy rain drops.

  Jon banged on the door of the elderly lady. There was no response. The ground shook under his feet as he ran to the house next door. His banging was answered by a frightened young woman holding a baby in her arms. She shielded the baby from the wind and the rain.

  “Mr Sargeson, help me please,” she cried. “I'm frightened. Max hasn't come home and I'm alone with the kids.”

  “You've got to get out,” said Jon. “My house is starting to slip.”

  Amy Kotua knew Jon as a near neighbour. She knew he was telling the truth and had herself felt her house move just a little.

  “Mrs Dawson. Next door. She's away,” she said. “I think the Ferguson's are in town but they have a son, Mark.”

  “You get your kids ready, I'll get Mark and come back for you,” said Jon.

  He ran next door. He could see the blue light from the television through the glass in the door. Mark quickly answered his hammering knock.

  “We've got to get out,” said Jon. “Warm clothes, go over and help Mrs Kotua with the kids. I'll be back.”

  Mark had been worried by the constant rain. His parents should have been home by now, but then perhaps they were helping evacuate elderly people from vulnerable houses and rest homes. That was the sort of thing the Fergusons did: he was a psychotherapist and she was a Department of Conservation guide.

  “Can you drive?” asked Jon.

  “Yes, but I've only got a Provisional,” said Mark, referring to the year's probation young drivers needed before qualifying for a full driving licence.

  “Mrs Kotua can't drive but her husband Max took the Peugeot and left the four wheel drive. Get them all in the four wheel drive and follow me up the street,” said Jon. He now had a plan. The new road ran along the hillside, climbing as it went and coming out just below the ridge line where there was a lookout over the sea. From there Observatory Road led down the ridge to Cadiz, which the locals pronounced ‘kay-deez’, with very expensive houses on the seaward side. The slippery back clay was left behind.

  Jon zigzagged his car across the road knocking on doors, and Mark with the Kotua family in the large Nissan tooted the car horn constantly. People came out of their houses thinking the police had come with a message. Behind the two cars and the walkers were two riders on horses, Tom and Alice Hoar, bringing up the rear to ensure everybody kept together.

  Mark told people to walk immediately beside the two cars to the lookout, but to take nothing with them because speed was of the essence if they were to escape before the soggy ground slipped down the hill. It turned out to be not quite that simple. The end of the road had not been formed. It simply ended in a rough cul-de-sac. From the ten houses Jon had collected fifteen adults and five children. The children were crammed into the two vehicles while the adults walked beside the cars, trying their best to escape the ferocious wind.

  Jon thought of Mark as an adult. He was certainly acting like one, assuming a leadership role that calmed others. He was pleased to have the assistance of Tom and Alice. Their presence was very reassuring to the residents and made Jon’s task easier.

  It took some time, with the adults hunched over like Scott’s men in the Antarctic, battling the wind and rain, but finally, with tyres spinning more and more as the ground turned to jelly they reached the end of the formed road. The cars could go no further. The evacuees assembled in the lee of the cars while Tom rode ahead to find a way to the top.

  As they stood in the howling wind and driving rain the ground took on a different vibration. There was a rumbling and shaking below them, where they had just come from, and a large whooshing noise, accompanied by crashing and cracking as the houses they had just left slipped away. One moment they were there, and the next they had slipped away like the upraised arm of a drowning man.

  Then there was silence.

  As if on cue, people began cheering and clapping and slapping Jon and Mark on the back, as they realised that any later, or any delay to pick up precious possessions, and they would have been doomed.

  Tom returned and waved his arm for the group to follow in his track. The adults got the children out of the two vehicles. In the driving rain and wind that threatened to blow them over they now faced a steep and muddy climb to the lookout. The cars were moving sideways slowly down the hill as the muddy ooze was pulled by the laws of gravity to join the mess below.

  Tom Hoar took the lead on his horse, followed by Mark and then Jon who shepherded the people in single file, an adult, a child then an adult, the fifty or so metres up a track leading to the lookout on the top of the ridge. Alice Hoar brought up the rear. They reached the top of the ridge and began the walk down to the houses at Cadiz.

  They were noticed by a journalist who took a photograph of the long line of evacuees led by a man on a horse with another rider at the rear. When communications were restored, the pictures made headlines across the world: ‘Horse Sense’, Back to Basics’, ‘Saved by Old Tech’. There were photos of Tom and Alice, the close-ups of which Alice was not proud because they both looked old and tired.

  “Which I guess we are,” she said,” but I really don’t want the whole world knowing.”

  Radio New Zealand later interviewed them regarding their experience in which they gave a brief matter-of-fact description of realising the floods were too severe for vehicles to get to some places so they took two horses in the float and went to help wherever needed, after first checking that their adult daughter was
safe as Frank her partner was in Australia and Charlotte was alone in the house.

  The shopping mall at the foot of the valley was very busy as people bought candles and bottled water and food supplies while the roads were still passable. Throngs of people smiled and joked while they waited at the checkout counters. They did not see and did not hear the wall of mud and water and debris rushing towards them. They had no warning before the walls of the mall collapsed and the roof fell in.

  “It started with a kind of drumming noise,” said a woman who survived. The camera facing her zoomed in for an ultra-close up.

  “How did you feel?” asked the young reporter.

  “”I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t know what it was. Sort of like before a tsunami I s’pose,” the bedraggled female survivor said. “I saw the wall, the outside wall I think it must have been, moving at the bottom, and water seeped in. I ran to a counter and climbed on to it.”

  “Did you realise what was about to happen?” asked the reporter.

  “No way!” replied the woman. “I just did what I did. Next thing, I thought it was a truck crashing into the wall. The concrete wall fell down and this huge, I thought it was a ship, wall of brown came towards me like brown melted plastic. I felt the counter move under my feet as the muddy water moved quite quietly across the space. It wasn’t very deep, just below the counter top I was standing on and then the crashing began as the wall on one side of the gap fell over, and the next one did and the next and then the lights went out.”

  “How long did that last?” asked the reporter.

  The woman seemed to be lost in the story, continuing as if she hadn’t heard the question. “Emergency lights came on and I could see the mud taking people’s legs from under them. Even though it moved slowly the force of the mud stuff was huge. I saw a really strong man go under holding his wife’s hand. They didn’t get up. They just sort of disappeared into the mud.”