Farm Kill

by Robert W Fisk

  Richard West was returning from Fern Valley, north and inland from Christchurch, where he had been the temporary School Principal. The day before there had been a very pleasant ceremony to return stolen relics to ancestral Maori graves. Richard was rewarded for his efforts in resolving the problems of the district and for his part in the return of the Maori artefacts by the gift of a jade hei tiki, a Maori neck ornament. His wife, Alex, who was part Maori, was very proud of Richard receiving such an honour. Jo, their fifteen year old daughter, was in the back seat of the Toyota.

  Following an earthquake the road to Christchurch and then on to their home in Weatherston was still under repair, being restricted to one lane. Early January was the peak time for tourists to travel through the South Island.

  "Can we stop in Grantville for a cup of tea before the next long stretch?" asked Alex. "We could face long delays at the reconstruction zone."

  "It's too early. I'd like to get home," said Richard. "We haven't been on the road long. How about we get through Grantville and then take the bypass road. It's narrow but it's got a good surface. You do get trucks though."

  "It's the holiday makers and tourists in their motorhomes," said Alex. "They clog up the roads at this time of the year. They won't be on the bypass. Let's do it."

  Grantville had grown enormously since the Christchurch earthquake. It was on the coast north of Christchurch, with new port facilities. Richard arrived at the T-junction and signalled he wanted to turn right. He had to give way to a string of mobile homes and campervans driving from the Picton ferry to the north. His fingers tapped the steering wheel impatiently.

  "This is New Zealand?" he said impatiently. "When did our roads clog up like this?"

  "Most of our roads were made in an era when only two million lived here," said Alex. "Now there are more than double that."

  There was a gap created by a campervan that flashed its lights and slowed so that Richard could make his turn. Richard raised his hand to say 'Thank you.' He noticed the driver was an older man. Although the speed limit was one hundred kilometres per hour the line of traffic moved at seventy. A sign said 'Passing Lane 4 km Ahead' but when they got to it the line of traffic had accelerated and closed ranks so there was no room for him to go by.

  "The bypass is coming up," said Jo, reading from her cell phone. "Turn right, Dad."

  "How far?" asked Richard.

  "Two hundred metres."

  "Thank you, Navigator. Guns, can you keep a look out please?"

  "Yes, Chief," said Alex. "Look, the painted median strip. Pull on to it."

  Because the on-coming traffic was controlled some distance down the road by traffic lights or a series of workers holding 'STOP' signs, the traffic from the south was moving in blocks with gaps in between. They did not have long to wait for a gap in the traffic. Richard turned with no cars or vans following him. The bypass road via Mount Linford seemed empty.

  "Jo, are you sure this is our road?" asked Richard.

  "Sure is," said Jo. "There's not another for at least..." Jo tapped on her phone. "Fifty kilometres. And that road is gravel."

  The car made good speed, but the road was twisty and rose up and down as it led the way away from the coast to the rolling downlands of the interior.

  They passed a car, then a tractor and trailer, waiting each time until they had a clear road. Then they got stuck behind a truck and trailer. It was moving along quite fast. Although Richard wanted to get by the unit was too long to overtake on that stretch of road.

  There was nothing except rolling countryside, with here and there a grove of trees or a macrocarpa hedge sheltering a farmhouse. Two rural mail boxes belonging to opposite neighbours were sometimes grouped together, but more often than not mail boxes were a kilometre or so apart.

  "This is heartland New Zealand," said Alex. "Why would people want to live in a city like Auckland?"

  "For fun and movies and friends and shopping and hospitals and public transport," said Jo. "The turn-off to Te Kouka is coming up."

  "I applied for job there once," said Richard. "It had only two teachers. The Government has been closing down schools like that as quickly as it can. Shame. Damn good schools, they are, and the centre of the community. Didn't get the job."

  "Just as well," said Alex.

  "The internet says it has twenty pupils aged from five to twelve," said Jo. "It has one teacher. Boy, that would be hard work."

  The bypass road began to climb just after they passed the Te Kouka turn off on the right. The truck and trailer kept its speed up for some time but then it began to slow right down as the gradients increased, the heavy load it was carrying forcing it to a crawl. The driver signalled with his left indicator and pulled on to the road shoulder. Richard pulled out to pass, raising his hand to thank the driver for his courtesy.

  "That's better," said Richard. "We'll make better time now."

  Richard pulled back on to the left hand side of the road as his Toyota gathered speed. Looking ahead, he saw that they were about to enter a cutting through the hillside. He looked in the rear view mirror. The truck was falling behind. Suddenly, the road in front of the car formed long rises and hollows like the waves at the beach. Richard thought he was having some sort of illusion or brainstorm. He put his foot on the brake. Then the car began to twist and lurch. Richard felt the car shake wildly as he struggled to bring it to a halt.

  "Flat tyre!"

  As the car stopped, Richard saw that it was really the road that was moving under the car, not the car moving over the road. Although now stationary, the car shook madly.

  "Don't get out!" he yelled at his daughter Jo, who had opened the rear door.

  "Shut the door, Jo," shouted Alex above the roar of the shake.

  The car was corkscrewing, going up at the front then down, and from side to side. Alex said, "We're going to roll over!"

  "Keep your seat belts on!" called Richard. "Even if we roll over, keep them on."

  The car was in a cutting, with steep banks going up on each side. In his rear vision mirror, Richard could see the truck he had overtaken. The driver had pulled in, just as Richard had. The truck was further down the hill, parked before the cutting. The driver put his lights on.

  As Richard reached for his light switch, Alex screamed, "Look out!"

  Richard looked up to see the right hand side of the cutting falling, its top surface curling over like a wave breaking. The cutting was a natural chute, a funnel with a car at its narrow end. The violent motion of the earthquake liquefied the mud and slush. The rocks seemed to melt into the liquefaction as the earthquake shook the falling rocks and mud, turning them to liquid. A river of liquid mud came down the road towards the car bringing huge rocks in its flow.

  Richard thrust the gear change into reverse but the landslide was moving too fast and the road was still rocking and rolling violently. The mud and the rocks hit their car with a bang, lifting the front of the Toyota and driving it backwards. The liquefaction rose over the bonnet of the car, where it rested for a moment before rising over the windscreen.

  To Alex, the mud and stones pressing on the glass in front of her were the inside of a taniwha's mouth, a river dragon intent on swallowing them whole. Its throat was a dirty yellow-brown as it swallowed the whole car and shut out the light. Jo screamed and Alex followed suit. It was pitch black. Richard could feel the car sliding backwards but he could see nothing. He released the brakes in the hope that the car would be carried down the cutting by the flood of mud. It appeared to be so, as the car began gathering momentum while it slid down the cutting. Then the mud flow reached the end of the narrow chute and spilled over the side of the road, carrying the car with it.

  "Hang on tight. Mind your head," yelled Richard. He held on to the steering wheel in desperation as the car rolled over, turning front over back. The car moved faster on its roof, gathering speed and swinging to the right then over the edge.

  There was a horrible two seconds as the car fell. Alex, Jo and Ric
hard felt weightless for short time. The mud surrounding them cushioned their fall, then once more the car turned turtle, throwing them against their seat belts as the back of the car rose over the front. The airbags exploded, momentarily covering Richard and Alex. As they fought their way out of the plastic sheet that covered them like a shroud, they both tried to turn to help Jo.

  They banged their heads against each other's.

  "Are you two all right," shouted Jo The side impact bags had protected her. For a split second Richard felt grateful for choosing a car with full safety equipment.

  "Yes, Jo," said Alex in a loud voice. Then she said, "Richard, do something!"

  16.

  The truck driver watched the right hand side of the cutting fold over like a wave that crashed down on to the road in front of the sedan that had overtaken him a few moments before. His truck was being moved all over the road as he struggled to keep it under control and bring it to a halt.

  He saw the resulting mudslide engulf the car ahead. He used his radio to call for help but there was no reply. He guessed people were too busy sorting out their own salvation. As a quake, it was a big one, one that rolled on and on. That was the most damaging kind, the sort that had destroyed the centre of Christchurch.

  The mud moved like cold lava, down the road and over the car. The stream divided, one arm continuing to his truck, while the smaller flow swung to the truck driver's right and poured down the steep incline. Rocks as big as his truck were pushed along like pebbles, and smaller ones bashed against his truck. The mud came up to his doors. He was trapped and could not get out to render assistance. Just as well, he thought. It would have been stupid even to have tried.

  His name was Brendan Geddes, 25 years old. Because his partner Rose was expecting their baby in May, Brendan was working all the hours he legally could, plus more that he could not declare in his log book. He had volunteered to drive during the summer break and was using three different log books.

  Brendan reached into the side pocket of the door and drew out the log books. He found his own and checked the last entry. It showed he had finished his last drive at one in the morning. He checked Martin Dupree's log book. Dupree was overseas with his family and had passed his log book to Brendan to help the young guy along. The entry said he had left Grantville at 9 a.m. He might get away with a reprimand as it was eight hours between drives not the required ten.

  Hurriedly, he wrote the time in his own log book then put all three books back in the side pocket. Brendan picked up the CB microphone and put out a general call.

  He was answered immediately by several truckies.

  "Lonny. Big earthquake," said Ronny. Ronny could not make R sounds on a regular basis so everyone automatically changed what he said.

  "I know that, said Brendan. "I'm caught in it. Axle deep in mud. Can anyone get Rescue Services?"

  "Through Wellington only," came a stranger's voice. "Ironman. I'm north of Kaikoura, heading to Blenheim and the ferry. I have cell reception. What is your situation?"

  "BeeGee. Car ahead of me drowned in mud. Folks will have only a short time before they run out of puff. Can't get near them, can't get cell reception, can't raise police or Rescue by radio. "

  "Will relay BeeGee. Co-ordinates?"

  Brendan checked his GPS and read out the figures that pinpointed his location. He knew that the Christchurch Office had his location sent to them automatically every fifteen minutes. They would know he was parked up. Or wrecked. As they hadn't called him, he guessed they were busy with the aftermath of the quake.

  Their call came in shortly after.

  "I'm fine," Brendan replied to their query, "but the truck is stuck. There was a mudslide. Took out the car ahead of me. Licence plate was LLM 446. They're gone-burgers by now."

  Susan rang through to the Rescue Services. They made direct contact with him. It did not take Rescue Services and the Police long to realise that the family was that of Dr Richard West, who had failed to arrive in Weatherston as planned.

  The New Zealand Police notified Richard's parents in England. Robert West had been a teacher in New Zealand until his retirement, when he and his wife returned to what they had always called 'Home'.

  Through the shipping agency, contact was made with Mr and Mrs Paki-Paki to tell them the sad news about their daughter, granddaughter and son in law. Then they released the news to the media, initially through the national television station, Television One.

  SUSAN IN THE OFFICE was soon on the radio to Brendan. She said she had called Rescue, the recently organised Fire Brigade which now answered calls to attend road accidents as well as cats stuck up trees. The chances of an appliance getting to Brendan's truck to search for a buried car were remote but she would try anyway.

  "It was a big one," said Susan. "No deaths so far, except for your buried car, I suppose. Grantville is okay. New buildings, of course. The shake was more inland. You must be near the epicentre, I would think. Are you safe there?"

  "As safe as houses. I've got food and water, radio works on AM, and I can chat with you. I'll be okay but it would be nice if someone would get me out of here."

  "Any chance you could drive the truck out of it?"

  "Nah. The mud is setting now. Like cement. Be concrete soon."

  The truck began to shake as if someone wanted to wake a sleeper.

  "Whoah!" yelled Brendan. "Here we go again!"

  The aftershock took the form of a rapid vibration. There was a rapid up and down motion as if a golf ball was running down a sheet of corrugated iron turned on its side. The liquefaction which had been hardening suddenly turned into liquid again. It began to flow down the slope and as it did so, the level of mud around the truck dropped.

  "Susan, the stuffs melting!" said Brendan. "I'll try to drive out."

  He fired up. That took time. When the truck was ready, the mud had sunk down to a depth between six inches and a foot. Brendan got out of the cab and went to release the trailer. There was no way he could turn with that in tow.

  The mud was very sticky and clung to his boots. Like a lot of truckies, he had loosened the laces for comfort when he drove. He put his feet on the step one by one and tied his laces tightly. Then he set about releasing the trailer and parking it up where it sat.

  The rest was easy. The truck managed a respectable turn round, although it took several attempts to accomplish. Brendan let Susan know he was mobile, then set off down the road.

  The road was a mess. The surface was twisted and broken. At slow speed, the truck lurched and corkscrewed. Then Brendan brought it to a halt a few metres from a deep chasm. The truck was going no further.

  17.

  Alex, Richard and Jo were still in the car. It had become incredibly stuffy. The trio had gathered up what they thought they might need if a chance came to escape, but nothing had happened. Instead, the mud covering the car had begun to solidify, looking more and more like a concrete casing as time went by. The casing covered the car completely, over the roof and over the windscreen and the windows.

  "How long till we run out of air?" thought Richard.

  "Dad, how long have we got?" asked Jo.

  "Some time yet," said Richard. Secretly, he thought less than fifteen minutes. "I think we'd better tackle the sun roof soon. The problem is, we don't know how deep the mud is. Or how long it will take rescue teams to get here."

  "They're not coming," said Alex. "There will be no rescue teams for us. That quake was humungous. The rescue teams will be dealing with the towns first."

  "But the truck driver must have seen us," said Richard. "Either he will get help for us, or try to get to us himself."

  "I wouldn't count on it," said Alex. "Let's try the sun roof. Either what's on top of us will fall in and flood the car and we'll be set in concrete, or what's on top of us is a thinner layer we can break through."

  "Right," said Richard. "The longer we leave it, the more the liquefaction will harden. Let's do it."

  The aftershocks had
been happening every few minutes. They were quite severe, mainly undulating or zigzagging. Then there came a new form of aftershock, a rapid vibration as if someone was shaking a gigantic salt shaker.

  "Hold on," said Richard. "Brace against something solid."

  Alex and Richard braced their legs against the floor and put one arm out to brace against the dashboard. Jo lay on the backseat with her legs pushing against the door. The mud which had been hardening began to crack across the sunroof of the car.

  Then the mud turned into liquid again. As it flowed off the sunroof of the car, the glass remained opaque but they could see light filtering through the film of mud that was left.

  The car began to move again, pushed by the liquid mud further down the gully into which the car had fallen. Then the car stopped.

  The driver's mirror had caught on the edge of a concrete culvert pipe. The lower part of the circle of concrete was below the window level, with mud thick and grey tumbling out of the bottom part of it. The area above the mud was empty.

  "We can get into that pipe," said Alex.

  "We'll go out through the sunroof," said Richard."

  The electric motor whirred and strained against the friction. The sunroof juddered open a fraction. Alex got her fingers in the gap and helped push the glass along. The smell from the mud was nauseous.

  "Pooh! What a stink!" said Jo. Richard could smell nothing, the result of a blow to the head and the resulting concussion a few weeks before.

  "Jo, you first." Richard's tone was uncompromising. "Leave that stuff."

  Jo scrambled on to the roof and into the pipe, still carrying an assortment of objects.

  "Alex."

  Before Alex could comply, there was a rushing and roaring noise, a rumbling and a sudden rush of stale air.