Guten tag! (I think that's German – I could be wrong since I never did German at any level of education). For all Germans, if I'm wrong, I apologise now.

Sorry.

Anyway, this is another chapter of this good ice age story, and in case you have forgotten, Chris works at the railway station that just so happens to be… next to the docks!

Cheers!

P.S. www.joinme.info

Aberdeen, Scotland, November 2004

Well this isn't good, Chris thought, watching out of the huge glass windows of the Lemon Tree café across the concourse of the railway station. What he could see disturbed him enormously. Water. Water, which had filled in the railway lines and was now lapping at the very edge of the platform. The station had been essentially shut to all trains since ten o'clock this morning but the manager of the Lemon Tree had kept them open all day, during which time Chris had mainly found himself mopping up the cold, dirty water which was backing up through the grills in the toilets.

There had been precisely two customers, and one of them had been CJ who had come in for his lunch break to get his usual mug of free tea and the opportunity to read all the newspapers other people left behind. And the other had been the old homeless guy who came in to shout at the furniture. He and Kathy had spent their time being alternatively bored by the lack of work and worried by the rising waters. They were sure it wasn't going to be long before the water spilled out from the tracks and over the platform.

Chris knew that today was the most pointless day in the history of retail sales. Quite why Dave the manager had kept them open all day was utterly beyond him. So now all he wanted to do was go home, because it was cold and miserable with all this water around and he just ached for some whisky and warm food. And his twat of a manager was making him work all the way through until ten bastard thirty at night. If he wasn't so desperate for money he would down tools and quit without a seconds hesitation.

But here he was, watching the platform and waiting for the water to roll over his feet. He supposed this all had something to do with the fact the railway station was just a few feet above sea level, along with a huge semi-circle of low-lying land around the docks. So he reckoned that the moment his feet got wet, and then he had better leave because the sea probably wouldn't be far behind.

He drummed his fingers idly on the window, while at the same time whistling Biffy Clyro's 'Bodies In Flight'. The urge to be somewhere else was almost overpowering, he could feel it as a little piece of instinctive electricity crackling through the primal animal part of his brain. For some reason his mind flashed back to the mad flight of the birds he'd seen three days ago and he shivered involuntarily. It hadn't stopped raining in three days and he was beginning to feel ill.

Suddenly Kathy burst out of the ladies toilets in a state of high agitation.

"You have to come and see this," she gasped. Chris was sufficiently startled by the urgency in her voice that he sprinted past her and ran into the toilets fast that he was unable to stop his feet skidding out from under him as he splashed into the ankle deep water that had flooded the bathroom. As he landed painfully on his backside his eyes opened wide at the sight of the porcelain toilets overflowing.

"Shit!" He tried to get to his feet, but once again he was unable to keep a firm footing and fell down, this time with his head catching a glancing blow on the corner of one of the sinks. As he hit the floor he clutched the sudden explosion of pain in his skull, and experienced a surge of panic as blood flowed from his forehead into his eyes.

He lay on his back, dimly aware that the water flowing around him was getting higher. It was almost peaceful, his stunned brain decided. It was only when the water began to run into his ears that he realised that this was a bad thing and he hauled himself upright using the sink as an aid. He discovered that even the taps and the plughole were emitting a steady stream of filthy brown water.

Right, he thought sternly, I quit.

Pressing the ball of his hand against the gash in his head he staggered out into the café. Water was ankle deep in here. He looked to his left, and saw that the whole concourse was awash. Once more the panic swelled in his chest.

"Kathy!" he shouted. "We're leaving!"

"Let me get my coat," she said sensibly, too worried to even notice the veritable river of blood pouring from Chris' head.

"No time!" he said, reaching for her with his free hand. "We're going now."

Kathy was quite calm now, but Chris was being fuelled by the strongest gut sensation he had ever known. He didn't know what it was or where it was coming from, all he knew was that he had to be somewhere else right away, or he would be in serious trouble.

With one hand stemming the flow of blood and the other dragging a disbelieving Kathy behind him, Chris splashed swiftly though the ankle-high water. It was only when he got to the entrance to the railway station, leading out to the deserted car park, did either of them notice that the water was in face rising. It was shin-high now, having gone up several inches in just a few minutes. Something terrible was happening, Chris knew, and the pair of them were slap bang in the middle of it.

Without really y engaging his brain he pulled Kathy out into the driving rain and together they waded across the car park and onto Guild Street with the intention of going up Virginia Street and then onto Union Street via Bridge Street. Through the storm they could see the lights of a huge red ship blaring into the night. It was, he realised, the only light for miles in every direction. Aberdeen had been suddenly plunged into darkness, and Chris and Kathy staggered on through wind-whipped water that was almost up their waists now.

It took them the better part of ten minutes to wade the quarter of a mile to Bridge Street, and by the time they got arrived they were utterly exhausted by a draining mixture of exertion and freezing cold. Now it was just a few hundred yards uphill and they would be amongst the clubs and pubs of Union Street, and from there a taxi out of this hell.

It was they started up the slope that they heard it. Kathy tugged Chris' arm hard as a deep base rumble rose up from behind them. Both of them wheeled round in the water and gasped at what they saw.

The lights of the ship they had seen earlier were rising into the air as picked up by the hand of some angry god. This incredible sight was then topped by a scene from the end of the world; a wall of water, easily thirty feet high, bearing down them with the unstoppable motion of an avalanche. There was a sudden piercing shriek as a huge dockyard crane was torn from its foundations and began the inevitable slow-motion collapse to earth.

Chris didn't even think about running. He just did it. He had to be above the level of that wave and he had but a brief span of seconds to do it. With pounding legs and burning lungs he hauled himself up the pitch black, pavement, away from the water of death which he knew was just poised to crash down upon him.

It was only after he was two thirds of the way to safety that the word Kathy flashed across his mind. Instinctively he turned to make sure she was still following him and was instantly blown off his feet as the surge swept over him…

Freezing water was all around him. He didn't know which way was up or down. His right leg crashed into something with the force of a train hitting a mountain and he screamed, the remaining air in his lungs escaping in a frantic stream of bubbles. He span around again, seeing nothing put utter darkness around him. There was something in his chest, trying to burst its way out.

With a kind of sleepy peace, he decided it must be his lungs. He saw the face of Donna appear before him, and he figured that he had died…

About time too.

Suddenly, with a feeling like a car crash, he hammered into solid asphalt. The shock of the impact caused his eyes to fly open. He was dragged along the rough surface of the road, the pain was incredible, a terrible weight was pressing onto his body, squeezing his insides with an unfathomable pressure, he wanted to scream but he had no breath with which to make a sound.

Then it was gone, the weight, the pressure. His stunned senses could not make out what was going on. All he knew was that he was motionless and utterly freezing cold. He tried raising his head, but he was overcome by a sudden rush in his throat. He hauled his battered body over to one side, and felt the burning of dirty water vomit from his mouth. It was then he realised that he was laid up on Bridge Street. The wave that had hit him had deposited him to safety.

He was safe.

And on that thought he passed out, the stern lights of a ship looming high over him.