The Writers' Circle

A novel I am currently working on. This is rough draft, so excuse the typos and other niggly errors. 

Chapter One


Adam's mouse hovered over the 'call' button. Poker was an interesting game to play but he had difficulty making a decision to a set time frame, and not being able to see the other players. Online poker was second rate, and the player before him had gone 'all-in' with over a thousand credits. Fuckers who did that pissed him off. That wasn't playing a game of chance. Action like that forced most players out of the game. 

He had an Ace of Clubs and a Ten of Clubs and the river had produced two extra clubs; a King and a Queen, a Two of Hearts and a Five of Diamonds. His counter was running out. If he bet, he would be laying a lot of the turn of the final card. He couldn't see himself doing that. A Royal Flush was so rare...He folded and sat back in his chair waiting for the next game. 

The fifth card was turned. A Jack of Clubs. 

"Fuck."

He couldn't believe it. Fucking typical wasn't it? He folds on a dream hand. But he never took chances like that, a thousand credits was a lot, and they usually turned out bad in any case and he lost. It was more fun playing with Barry and Jamie. They hard the whole set-up, chip, cards, green felt table, and they always invited a few others around. It was fun. Hat, sunglasses and hoodies were in full use. Beer and friendly banter always added to the fun. Adam usually lost, but that wasn't the point, it was fun. Playing online was so different. He only had fun when he won, especially when he won a large pot with a pair of twos. Others were taking a change on the flow of the river. Adam didn't take chances. At thirty-five he should be more adventurous - take more chances. It wasn't even real money he used. Still, he waited for the first three cards to be dealt out, and if he had nothing, he usually folded. He would never hit the 100K group playing it safe. 

If he hadn't folded the hand would have potted him over six grand. Oh well, can't be helped. It was already done. 

A new game started. One card flew to his position. No other cards went anywhere. The programme froze. 

"Oh, come on." He glanced over at his router. All lights flashed, meaning the line was clear. He fit the "refresh" button, but the page didn't reload. The Firefox browser popped up a window, claiming the server could not be contacted and he should try again in a few minutes. 

Adam opened the bookmarks and clicked the Nanowrimo site. He hadn't done any writing but wanted to check up on his US buddies. That site was also down. Six other sites were down. His ISP had lost the US connection--again. With all these hiccups, he was tempted to change providers.  

Nachtmusik came from his cell phone. The BlackBerry sat next to the laptop. "Hello, Adam speaking." 

"Dude, turn on the TV." It was Jamie. His voice was filled with excitement, or fear. They were hard to distinguish without a visual representation. 

"Why?"

"Just do it." 

"Alright," Adam said, climbing out of his chair. "I lost the US connection again. Thinking I might move to cable."

"The TV will explain all that."

Adam wandered into the living room of his tiny flat. It was a sunny day outside. The sun beamed in through the open curtains, forcing him to blink until his eyes adjusted. The computer room was always in darkness. The screen emitted enough light. 

The remote control was on the couch. "What channel?"

"Any," Jamie said. He sounded distracted as if he was engrossed on the TV. 

Adam turned on the television. The cell phone slipped from his hands...





A news presenter was on the television, behind him was a picture of a nuclear explosion. Sweat glistened on his brow and worry was clearly evident. A red marquee ran at the bottom of the screen, but it was the presenter's words that terrified him.

"Just repeating: The United States is under attack. It is believed around seven nuclear warheads have struck several locations. Details are still sketchy at the moment. It is unclear who started this confrontation but recent news reports point to growing frustration in the Middle East and Pakistan." 

The news presenter looked off camera. He nodded. "This just in: it now believed thirteen nuclear warheads have struck the United States. The death toll is expected to be in the millions. The bombs struck in the early hours while most people were asleep."  

The presenter put a finger to his ear. He listened a moment, then looked directly at the camera. "Recent satellite reports retaliation has been launched. The coordinates point to Pakistan. A second barrage has coordinates leading to Russia and a third is headed towards China. 

"The police are urging all residents, not to panic. There is no evidence that New Zealand is under threat. It is advisable to stock up on water and canned food. Please look into the civil defence section of your telephone book. 

"We are trying to get satellite images, but there seem to be technical issues with several satellites. We are working on these problems and will have images as soon as we can."





Adam changed channels. All four stations showed the same presenter. He picked up his cell phone. "That's some heavy shit, man." There was no reply. He looked at his phone's screen and it showed the date and time, no caller connected. The phone slipped into his shirt pocket and he sat down on the sofa, the shock having zapped his energy to do anything but watch. 

The madness was at hand. The third world war had arrived, and it was in full force. There were warning signs: the new president, wars, US armed forces stretched thin. Oil disputes and a world recession. NATO disbanded, Russia's further invasion of Georgia, China's assistance with North Korea's arms increase and the UN's sudden lack of power. 

Hindsight was a good thing to put a puzzle together, but laid out one by one as timed events to the casual viewer, amounted to naught. 

Thirteen nuclear warheads.

It was too much to take in, but he had to listen, keep up to date. And pray nothing would head this way. He curled up on the sofa and turned up the volume of the television. Outside he heard arguments and car horns blaring. Neighbours car alarms joined the noise. 





"The New Zealand police are again urging the public not to panic. While on the streets, mini riots are breaking out and gangland feuds have burst out onto the street. We go now to Cathy at the scene...Cathy?"

"It's pandemonium in Central Auckland, Greg. Several stores have been burglarised and violence is running the streets red. If you look behind me, you can see black smoke rising from the CBD. In local areas, dairies have been looted, some owners in been seriously injured, while two have reportedly been killed. Ambulances are having a hard time getting through to those injured." Cathy held a finger to her earpiece. "Two ambulances have been discovered one their sides." 

The scene changed to a helicopter view, the only sound was the rotary blades. The otherwise silent footage showed the ambulances on their side, the windows smashed and the rear doors open. Two bodies were sprawled on the ground. One moved a leg. The other didn't move. Several youths with baseball bats and tire irons ran at the smashed windscreen and attacked the medics inside. 

The footage was suddenly cut and Cathy was back on screen. She wasn't prepared but soldiered on with her prewritten report, unaware of the youth gang approaching. The camera dropped, a glimpse of running feet, and the feed snapped back to the news desk. Unmanned. 

A commotion erupted off camera. Adam picked up words of calm down, relax. It had to be pretty loud for the boom to pick it up. Suddenly a lady presenter took the seat. She started off with the same banter as the previous reporter, so he lowered the volume. There wasn't much noise outside anymore; it was as if everyone had finally calmed down. He assumed things in the major cities like Auckland and Christchurch would be slowing returning to normal. Order took place as fears dissipated. The horrors of the day a hot topic for a week, then blame would be laid, and in a month people would forget. 

"In other news, the CERN project is in full swing. The project is expected to reach full potential within the next few days. David Long has been with the project from inception to present day. David?" The scene cut to a lean man in a long white coat and white hard hat. Next to him, leaning against the wall, was a bicycle. 

The phone rang, startling Adam from his zoned out state staring at the television. It took five rings before he reached it. He snatched up the receiver. "Hello?" He listened. "Yeah Mum, of course I'm fine, are you? ...Uh huh ... Yeah, it's a major shock ...I didn't know that, but I'm sure Uncle Bill is fine ...No, there's been no mention of Canada's involvement so far." Adam carried the phone into the kitchen and grabbed an apple. "I hope not Mum. I think our government needs to stay out of this one. And I don't care if Australia's sending a million battleships. We should not get involved." He took a big bite out of his apple. "To be honest, Mum, I don"t know exactly what I feel. I'm shocked, worried, saddened this had to happen, mournful of the lives that are, and will be lost, but mostly, I'm worried about us and our lives. If dad were alive, I'm sure he would have a solution." Another bite. "...Yep, for sure. I haven't called Sally. ...Why not? Well, we broke up three months ago. I think that's a good enough reason." He spat the partly chewed bite of apple into the garbage disposal and checked the rest. He wasn't listening to his mother now. Sally had always been her favourite and claimed not to understand their reasons for the split, and Adam didn't want to ruin her image of Sally by telling her the truth. "Hey Mum, I gotta go, check up on some friends. I'll call you later, okay? ...Sure thing, I'll call Sally and check on her. Bye. ...Yeah, love you too." 

He hung up the phone and went back to the kitchen. The apple had several bumps and bruises. He couldn't stand discoloured fruit; apples and bananas were the worst. Checking his watch, he was surprised to find it was just after five. The sun was still bright outside. Adam locked the front door, closed the windows and decided on an early shower. Later he would read the news on NZ sites and then tackle some writing for Nanowrimo. It was doubtful if the US site would be up and running anytime soon. Thirteen Nuclear warheads. God, he hoped it wasn't as bad as the news made it out to be. 

There wasn't any local news coverage, which was unusual. How was the capital holding up, he wondered. Maybe later, he would take a ride through town and some suburbs and check out the situation for his own morbid curiosity. 

Adam muted the television, but left it on. Heading out of the living room, he paused and looked at the phone, considered calling Sally, then flagged it as a bad idea. She was probably too busy texting her friends and drinking wine. 





The shower felt good. The hot water cascading down his body revitalised him. It temporary washed away the fears and worries of the coming weeks, months. After towling off, he stepped into a pair of blue jeans and got out the shaving kit. On closer inspection he figured he didn't need to shave, his face was covered in stubble but it could wait another couple of days. 

The house moved. At first it was a gentle sway, then two sudden jolts pitched Adam left and right. He grabbed the sink edges to hold himself steady. Left to right the apartment jerked. A rumble grew in volume. The shaking softened but persisted. 

Christ. Adam snatched his brown Nanowrimo t-shirt and bolted to the computer room and dived under the computer desk. It was a mammoth L-Shaped desk with a self, two cupboards, CD and DVD racks and a printer rack. It had Divoom speaker screwed to the upper levels, for superior sound. His laptop was a 21 inch widescreen with a full 101 keyboard and it was a bitch to carry. 

He could hear the laptop bouncing on the desk. It wasn't well balanced, sitting on two tape cases and an external fan, to help keep it cool. 

A sudden jolt brought his printer and several DVDs crashing down.

The window shattered, littering the floor with pointed shards. Adam wriggled his toes. This was going to be interesting. He moved as far back as he could and kept his body away from the edges of the desk. 

With a loud thump, the computer toppled half way to the floor. Its power cord and plugged in speakers held it suspended off the desk. It dangled in front of Adam. He reached for it. The desk jolted, windows shattered through out the apartment, his elderly neighbours screamed for help, but there was nothing he could do. Car alarms screamed and the Civil Defence siren whirred into life. 

Glasses, cups, mugs, plates crashed to the floor. He heard artwork and photos hit the floor, wood creaked. A loud crack shook the building. Adam was almost thrown from the safety of his desk. 

Plaster rained down. He heard sections land in the bathroom, and a smaller section smashed into his desk and snapped off. 

Suddenly, all was still.

Car alarms stopped. Dogs barked. The Civil Defence siren filled the air. Someone cried for help. 

Adam waited. His whole body was shaking. He took several deep breaths trying to calm down, but nothing seemed to be working. His hands twitched madly and his breath came in tiny bursts. His heart thumped hard and slow in his fear-tightened chest. He was waiting for aftershocks. 

His mind was a mess of information, childhood memories returned of what to do in an emergency. They all said to stay put, and somebody would find him. But that could take days, maybe even a week or more. 

Raising his arm to check his watch, Adam found it missing. He remembered taking it off and putting it on the washing machine for his shower. Desperate to know the time, he reached forward and gingerly touched it, hoping it was a death trap, hanging precariously by two wires. 

No shock came. Turning it around to see the screen, he sighed in annoyance more than anything else. The screen was smashed, well beyond repair. The blank canvas seemed to mock him with its cracked front. A spider web of lines spread out as if something hard and pointed, hit it. And he had no idea what that was. In frustration he tossed the laptop away. The speaker wire and power line stopped its arch and swung it back. 

Fuck. Adam threw his arms up to deflect the ensuring blow which didn't come. He heard the computer crash to the floor. The speakers followed. The power line hung limply over the edge to the desk. 

Something slapped the side of the apartment. Adam scrambled out from the safety of his desk and was greeting with destruction. The light was shattered leaving only the steel rim inside the socket; parts of the ceiling had fallen. At least ninety percent was on his desk. The window was history. 

Something slapped the side of the apartment a second time, then and third and a forth. Growing faster. It suddenly stopped. Adam drew open the curtain. A power line snaked towards him, sparks flying like squirting blood from a severed artery. He backed away from the window aware of the live wire dancing dangerously close to the window frame, but his focus was on the scene outside, past the live wire. 

The power of the earthquake was evident. Mother Nature was at her worst, reminding mankind of the power in her control. Several houses were nothing more than rubble; another house lay on its side, a car was overturned at the bottom of a long driveway. He could see an arm sticking out from where the door used to be. Fires raged in the rubble. People were walking around dazed and some covered in blood. 

Through a gap in the still standing houses, Adam saw a guy in a suit light a cigarette. A moment later an explosion tore his body apart. 

The Civil Defence siren stopped. 

A baby cried next door. The house was barely standing. Parts of the wall were gone, the roof had caved in. He couldn't see any movement. 

Adam backed out of the room and through the hallway, climbing over the rubble that was his ceiling and entered the living room. This was chaos. The last few years of his life lay at his feet, smashed, dented, ruined. The west wall had a crack wide enough to see through and slabs of plaster hung precariously from the cracked roofing frame. He was on the second floor of a four block apartment, another apartment below him, two behind. His footfalls were soft as he headed to the door. Every step produced a jab of intense pain. Looking down, he saw blood and a shard of glass sticking out between his toes. 

Limping against the pain, almost hopping, he made it to the sofa and cleared a spot on the armrest to sit. In the madness he had forgotten he was holding his Nano shirt. He was holding it so tight, his knuckles were white. Brushing dust off his chest and arms, he put the shirt on. It was summer, and hot outside, but inside it was cooler. Besides, it had to be around six o'clock by now. 

He grabbed the shard of glass. The slightest touch sent a jolt of pain across his nerves. Taking a deep breath, he yanked it out and was surprised by how small it was. A nervous laugh escaped him. It was only a centimetre or two long, yet it felt like a mean bitch under his skin. He ran his hand gently over both feet and was pleased not to find any more. 

Still hanging on a hanger balanced on the curtain rain was a pair of socks. How they remained up, when a slight breeze could blow the hanged off, baffled him. The socks were dry enough to wear and he put them on. From the shoe box he grabbed a pair of sneakers. Putting them on, he looked for a clock but in the chaos he could find it and the TV was under a pile of plaster, also with a cracked screen. 

It was painful seeing all this destruction. If he had insurance, it probably wouldn't hurt so much. But he didn't and the loss amounted to a physical pain in his chest. He had grown up with nothing, and now, after years of working an saving, he was back to square one. Like most others he assumed. 

The mess.

 Jagged pieces of timber jutted from damaged homes, broken brinks, and fires, protruding metal bars, cracked pavement and more greeted Adam when he opened the door. Sneakers were not going to handle the terrain. The cries of the injured edged him on, but in this footwear he was putting himself at risk as well.

Adam looked toward the hot water cupboard.  Didn't he have a pair of old Cherokee hiking boots in there? He was sure he did. He hadn't worn them in ages. They were scuffed and with split soles, but they were better than his current choice.   

Managing a course to the boots was a challenge. Adam had to move chip and clapboard, lumps of plaster and a few ruined personal items to finally clear the doorway. 

Inside, his boots sat waiting like old friends and the moment he put them on, he realised he had made the right choice. They were comfortable and the soft innersole was gentle on his cuts. They still hurt, but he could help others and hopefully find some plasters along the way. The civil defence should have supplies. 

On that thought, he realized, the Civil Defence siren was still silent. He recalled it stopping a few minutes ago, but surely it should have started up again, unless they were using the new system via helicopter. 

As if it had waited for the thought to occur, Adam heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter and automated voices over a loud speaker system. It was too far away to clearly hear the information being passed, but he was certain it would soon arrive overhead. 

A low hum filled the air and vibrated through the apartment. It danced along the walls and the floor, reaching Adam's bones. He turned slowly to look out the East side window towards the hills and Oriental Bay. 

The helicopter came over the hills. It seemed to sway and then it jerked upwards. The door opened and someone jumped. Adam saw the other pilot fighting the controls. A wave of air, like heat coming off a hot sealed road, enveloped the flying chainsaw. It washed over it, through it. A splash of red exploded from the cockpit and covered the windscreen.

Adam backed away from his window. He wanted to turn and run but was transfixed to the scene unfolding before his eyes. 

The helicopter was close as it plummeted downward, like a hammer dropping from a construction site, it fell hard and fast, straight through the roof of an undamaged house. The explosion rocked the air. A ball of orange flame flew into the sky and wave of heat wafted in through the smashed window. 

The hum grew louder, the vibration more intense. It seemed to come from the direction of the hills, and it felt bad. 

What if that had caused the crash?

Adam backed into the entrance to the hallway. He didn't notice how far he backtracked until he bumped into the wall. 

There was something wrong about the hum, very wrong. It was like a shockwave but moving slowly, as if purposely passing over every house, bathing it in that maddening, droning sound; suffocating the air around it. 

The hum suddenly became tremendous as it slid over the neighbour's house. Adam saw roof tiles buckle and flow like a Mexican Wave. The exterior wall trembled and crumbled and half the house crashed to the ground. 

His apartment was next. It felt like a physical blow the instant it touched. Adam lost his footing and hit the floor, rump first. Wallpaper peeled, concrete groaned, cracked. He crab-walked to the bathroom, trying to keep in front of the sound, but already he had lost. There was nowhere to go. 

He regretted his decision not to go into town until after his shower, or the second the Civil Defence siren began to wail. In wide open spaces, he had room to manoeuvre. Here, his back was against the sink and he faced the bathtub. 

The side wall vibrated. 

A migraine started in the centre of his head, drilling into his eyes. 

Adam crawled over to the bath tub, as plaster fell from the bathroom wall, and pulled himself in. With the headache clouding his thoughts, he wasn't quite sure why he had done this, but he recalled scenes in action movies where a metal bath saved the heroes from a bomb explosion. 

Foolish to follow movies, but he couldn't think of any other choices. His options were more than limited. 

The bath was still wet from his shower, but he barely noticed the cold water soak through his shirt and jeans. Closing his eyes, he heard the hum rip through the bathroom. Thumping hard in his chest, his heart beat a double drum, while Adam waiting for the inevitable. 

Sounds surround him. 

Wood exploded. He felt shrapnel hit his head. 

A loud crack filled the air as the porcelain sink succumb. 

The squeal of twisting pipes. 

The gurgle of water.

Pressurised water through a cracked pipe.

A loud crash as the toilet snapped and the tank came down.

Shattering glass.

Sections of plaster striking the floor to the left of the bath. 

Plywood cracking. 

Silence. 

The odd creak from structural damage. 

More silence. No birds, no dogs, no cats, no cars, no screams, no crying babies. 

Adam slowly opened his eyes. The entire bathroom was a disaster zone. Everything was destroyed. Water cascaded down from twisted, cracked pipes. Smashed porcelain littered the floor with jagged edges. Wallpaper hung to the floor, the bathroom window no longer existed. But he was fine. 

Grabbing the bath edges for support, he rose on shaky knees and ran his hands across his body, searching for damage. Apart from a few slivers of wood stuck in his hair, nothing had happened to him. 

Still jittery, he got out of the bath tub and stumbled across broken chunks of wood and porcelain to the bathroom door. 

Looking back at the mess, his bath tub snagged his attention. The white paint was stripped off, leaving only the steel form. What the fuck? Somehow, the bath had saved his life, like in the movies. Apart from a few slithers of wood in his hair, nothing else, including the torn ceiling touched the tub. Everything landed to one side. 

It had to be pure luck. There was no other explanation for it. Nothing else made any kind of sense. Luck saved his life. 

Carefully, he opened the bathroom door and stepped into the hallway. His living room was gone. Metal support poles bent downward, broken chunks of concrete weighing them down. 

His floor and walls had dropped into the apartment below. 

A gentle breeze caressed him on its way out through the spare room window directly behind him. The hum must have ripped that door off as well. He couldn't see it anywhere. The window was smashed, and in the distance he saw a ball of swirling blue heading his way, moving rapidly, it approached fast, almost upon him, growing larger and wider by the second. 

A red thin line pulsed from the ball, shot through the window as if directed at him, like energy searching for a source and slammed into his chest. 

The strike lifted him off his feet. 

This is it, flashed in his mind, yet no real thoughts occurred. 

The wave of the pulse, carried him over the neighbour's house, ran out of steam and dropped him in the back yard, inches away from a set of metal swings. 

Adam gasped for air in wheezing gulps. The blue sky was dotted with white fluffy clouds that started to spin, slowly at first. Their speed increased as a wave of darkness approached. He welcomed the darkness, the rest. He was so very tired. Enough was enough. 

As he closed his eyes...the screaming started.