There was a noise from the other side of the bridge. Richard whipped around to see a man on horseback suddenly emerge from the darkness. The horse was virtually upon him when the rider pulled it up abruptly.
‘Can you be a-helping, sir?’ the man beseeched from the horse. He was breathless and soaked to the skin.
‘What’s the problem?’ Richard asked indifferently.
‘Haven’t you been a-hearing the storms? Most of the cottages on the shore are down. People be trapped there and the tide be a-racing in faster and higher than I ever did see before. We been trying to help, but more keeps a-falling down. Joe Lovekin and Henry Weller have catched hurt.’
Richard’s green eyes narrowed in concentration and he tried to seek the horseman’s face through the torrents of rain. Had he heard correctly? That Joe Lovekin was hurt? Just a few moments ago he was behind the bar in the Black Horse. ‘Joe Lovekin, you say?’
‘That’s right—we could be a-doing with your brawn down there.’
‘Let me up,’ Richard instructed, reaching hold of the leather saddle-back.
The rider shifted forwards and hauled Richard up behind him.
‘You ready?’ he asked.
‘Yes, go,’ Richard shouted.
The horse jolted after a sharp kick from the rider, then began galloping down the narrow passage back towards the sea.
With his eyes shut and his head bowed forward, Richard tried to control his breathing and excessive heart rate as the horse flew past the Black Horse and the Lovekin home, before slowing to a canter. He looked up in astonishment; just forty feet away, waves higher than he had ever seen in his life were slamming into the row of shoreline properties, tearing them apart effortlessly piece by piece, like a voracious raptor ripping into its prey. Under the blackest of skies, just two obstinate stone cottages remained intact; the wooden tenements that had once stood between them had capitulated to the waves, their fractured remains scattered and strewn across the beach. A group of men, sodden and some of them clearly injured, were holding lanterns and shouting instructions to each other over the deafening sea. To the other side of the buildings, Richard could just make out the American flag lashing back and forth in the air: rebellious, provoking and defiant.
‘Where’s Joe Lovekin?’ Richard called to one of the men.
‘He be trapped in there,’ he yelled back, pointing at the stone cottage furthest away, sitting heavily in the mist. As the words left his mouth, another giant wave rose up and smashed into the cottage, before withdrawing in on itself. The defiant house stood like an empty skull, with no windows, roof or door remaining.
‘I’m going in,’ Richard declared.
‘You can’t be a-doing that, it be too dangerous,’ the man hollered back.
Richard ignored the comment and focussed on the sea, timing the brief lull between each wave surge. If he could just make it inside, the structure itself would afford him some protection; it was reaching the cottage which was the most dangerous part. With good fortune, he could time it correctly. ‘Can I borrow your lantern, please?’ he called.
The man shook his head. ‘I ain’t be a-sending you to your death. It’s too yeasty out there!’
‘Give it to him—he’s from the Corporation,’ the man beside him urged.
‘Listen to him. I’ll go in without a lantern, if I have to, but I don’t stand as much chance finding Joe,’ Richard said.
Another wave hurtled into the cottage, flushing through the voids where the windows had once been. His plan had changed. If Joe Lovekin is inside there and still alive, it’s a miracle, Richard thought. But I need to know, either way.
‘Time’s running out,’ Richard warned, extending his hand towards the lantern.
The man looked hesitantly at his young friend, then passed it over to Richard. ‘I don’t be a-thinking this is a good idea,’ he bawled.
Richard disregarded him and moved forwards into the sea so that the freezing water lapped over his shins; he now needed to focus and bide his time.
The largest wave that he had seen so far on this treacherous night stretched up as if it might devour the entire cottage, before suddenly curling its white foamy jaws and biting down into the opening where the roof had earlier been.
Richard knew that he had just a few seconds to reach the cottage before the sea would mount its next assault. Using every ounce of energy in his body, he waded as fast as he could through the water, battling the undercurrent that wrenched and pulled at his feet. In his peripheral vision, the sea was rolling backwards, just moments away from launching its attack.
The water suddenly became shallower and he was able to increase his stride.
He was almost there.
He turned and felt his legs go weak at the sight of the monster rising up beside him.
The cottage doorway was just a few feet away, but it was too far and he knew it.
He wasn’t going to make it.
The final dregs of water around his ankles were sucked down over the cackling pebbles and he knew it was over.
Time solidified almost to a stop as the colossal wave reached over the top of him, scooped him up and wrapped him in its dark, icy underwater cloak.
Richard thrashed and reached out, trying to grasp something—anything to stop him from spinning, but there was nothing more that he could do other than to surrender.
Over and over he rolled beneath the immobilising waves.
His limbs were becoming heavy and too cold to move.
His lungs were starting to ache.
He flipped back over on himself and suddenly his side smashed into something hard and solid that held him firm. But the water kept pushing aggressively against him, trying to force him through the object. He steadied himself—and realised that he was being pinned against a
