Okay, so I thought this chapter was where it would all start, but it's actually quite long, so I broke it up. Next chapter, most of everyone's questions will be answered. Yey.

Practicing how to understand simpletons,

Kelsey

CHAPTER 39: INSTINCT

There is nothing—nothing—that prepares you for saving the world from a forced apocalypse.

All thoughts had dried up except for a quiet, prodding interior monologue that was seeping into Laura's mind as she flew down street after street. She started out ignoring the agonizing pulse of pain in her knees, investing all of her energy into yelling at the top of her voice, screaming a warning that fell mostly on deaf ears.

Nothing. When was I ever prepared for this?

Her legs throbbed, not having run so fast in years. She was surprised she could even get them to function! The way she was pushing herself now, she wondered whether or not (if they survived any of this) the stress would render her immobile for good.

No sense in worrying though, she thought to herself. Atonement was all that rattled through her brain: forgiveness in exchange for their lives. She could easily afford that, even if it meant excruciating pain. An 'I'll save you if you let me say sorry' mantra: was that justifiable?

But to the task at hand…

Some things, life just prepares you for!

For certain responsibilities, such as…

For a career.

For falling in love? Perhaps not. I'll get back to that later.

For marriage? Once more, a rain check, please.

For taking care of a baby? I suppose. Shouldn't that be natural? Damn it all, who knows.

And for ditching any pride that you once had, taking to the streets, launching a makeshift career in evangelical preaching tactics, and trying to convert the world to thinking that they are about to die from earthquakes and flooding, all by screaming about it on sidewalks?

No, nothing: there is no preparation for that. Especially that.

And, especially for the realization, that you almost single-handedly caused the whole thing. That it was all your fault, all done under your nose. Your runny, juvenile, idiotic nose.

No prep for that…

She stopped momentarily and doubled over in pain, her chest heaving as she breathed in raggedly. Resting her hands heavily on her knees, she tried to inhale slowly, but only coughed as bile snuck up her throat. She swallowed hard, doing her best to keep from vomiting all over the walk. Her sides ached enough to split, and barfing seemed a reasonable reaction to the thought.

Looking around, she felt a hollow, stinging disappointment, no one believing her story enough to evacuate the area.

"No one's…listening…to me…" She saw a car pull into a driveway to a narrow townhouse that she hadn't hit yet. "You! You lot! Didn't you feel that tremor? That was an earthquake, and if the tsunami comes this far inland…" They just stared at her as they closed their car doors and hurried to their house, slamming the door behind them. "Apparently you didn't get the memo?!"

'They're all going to die! Dumbasses!'

It had been five minutes since she left the Professor and the kids behind, but she'd covered five short streets already. How did she do it? Her legs quivered and threatened to fall apart right there in the middle of the road. People outside continued to merely stare; a few even called back at her, shouting crude comments and blasting her as a religious fanatic with apocalypse on the brain.

What good was any of it…

"You bloody idiots!" she screamed as a retort, hobbling away as quickly as she could. "Don't you know what earthquakes like this will do?!"

But she shoved imminent failure out of her mind and took to running full speed again towards the next houses. Despite her optimism peaking, she cried out as she tripped on a crag in the sidewalk, scraping her knees and palms on the rough concrete. At first it was a cool sensation, then a cutting pain as air licked her wounds. She turned her hands over and watched the sanguine liquid seep out around specks and smears of black dirt. As embarrassing as the situation was, the physical pain was exponentially worse than the mental stab. Her lab coat was already sullied, so she wiped up her wounds as best she could with it, staining the once bleached-white garment with rusty stripes. It didn't matter anyway. She'd probably drown in it, dirty or not.

In that moment, a very slight but persistent vibration coursed throughout the road, the sidewalks, the ground. Then the earth growled and shook, Laura swaying as she tried to stand. The road, houses, trees all blurred as everything vibrated. She ended up grabbing onto someone's upended trash bin for support, but then it all ended just as soon as it had started.

She looked around, waiting with stale breath for more after-shocks. The main quakes would have happened along the Atlantic coast, in the North Sea, anywhere a drill was located. What she wasn't sure of was when the results of such quakes would hit…

"We're so many meters inland, and with an estimated force…how much water could travel the distance…how quickly…" Calculations spilled in her mind, some muddying up others, all becoming a big mess of botched numbers and guessing.

After a few minutes' rest, she resolved to finish the street she was on before going back to look for the Professor, Luke, and Flora. Guessing wouldn't prevent anything. What was done, was done.

"I have to hurry…"

And then, the rush.

It was like an intense static—a wet, surging roar—as a deluge of water wove its path through the city streets. The fluid crashed and seethed, whipping around everything like a pair of greedy hands; clawing and tearing at houses, apartments, buildings; sweeping up cars, post boxes, and other debris in its wake. People were no exception, and everyone still on the streets after Laura's mad warning down the avenue was knocked off their feet and carried along by the crashing flood. A few screams managed to cut through the chaotic sound.

Laura turned and watched in horror, a true deer-in-the-headlights expression pasted onto her pale face. She'd never felt helplessness and fright so tangible as those few seconds when she stood there stupidly, her feet planted firmly on concrete ground, a tidal wave of truth staring her in the face—both literally and figuratively.

'It actually is happening…'

For those few moments, the white crests of the greedy waves caught the sun brilliantly, but Laura wasn't appreciative at the moment. Without another thought, she turned on her heels and lunged forward, trying to outrun the oceanic monster that was now nipping at her heels. She took in one large, final breath before the thing caught up with her, slamming the air from her lungs, capturing her—

Instantly, instinct had already kicked in, every cell in her body vying to find air. THE GOAL. GET TO THE GOAL. I NEED AIR. The cold sea water coursed around her, enveloping her in a rush of blue and brown and whatever other colors raced past her still-open eyes. She closed them, but not before the salty water stung. In the matter of mere seconds, she had spun and spun, head over feet multiple times, trying frantically to use gravity to make herself upright. Her mind was in disarray, cognizance failing except for basic functions…save breathing.

Laura's arms flailed mindlessly in front of her as she tried to cut through the liquid, seeing nothing but the black behind her eyelids. All of a sudden she was slammed into something hard, something unwavering in the flood. While grateful (if anyone could feel gratitude while being tossed about) that the dizzying tumbling had ended, she had to transfer all her energy into fighting off the pain in her elbows and fingers that had struck the hard surface first. She attempted to scale the wall, but was held fast against whatever she was being pushed up against.

'I'm…I'm going to black out…I need—I need air—'

With the flood still pounding around her, she somehow was pushed upward, and her head broke through the turbulent surface.

Instantly, she sucked in a much appreciated breath and clung to the wall like a long lost relative, previously thought dead. A few times her head was pushed back underneath the surface, but after inhaling enough air to regain proper consciousness, she pulled her hair from her eyes; it wrapped about her face like stringy seaweed. Examining her surroundings quickly, she realized she had been struck against a house. Looking up, she smiled as she laid eyes on a second story window, just above her. She pressed her entire body to the wall, spread-eagled, using every stretched muscle to put the sill within reach.

'If only…I could reach it!'

As she reached, Laura felt her heart sink as something on the wall buckled, just below her feet. She was pulled under the water once again and sucked into the house as one of the ground floor windows crumbled under the water's pressure. The forced vacuum carried her into the house and into what was formerly a living room. Now, it was becoming a human fish tank, the couch and tables collecting against a wall like underwater monuments. She half-scrambled half-swam wildly over the mound of furniture and found a staircase before the water rose high enough to cover her again.

Thankful for her luck, she barely had enough time to clamber up the steps before the water began seeping in through the front door and busting through other windows. The whole building groaned, protesting the wave's brute strength. The walls creaked loudly, Laura praying that they would hold against the ocean's power.

She ventured into a second-story room—never thinking about who actually lived in the place—and gazed out the window, unbelieving of the sight now below her.

"Oh my God…"

She looked along the strip where the road used to be, getting a quick feel for her surroundings, although her initial reaction was to just sit in the corner and try to fall asleep, try to forget everything. Perhaps she could just die peacefully and no one would know what happened to her...

NO.

She hobbled throughout the upper level, looking out the window of a room that faced the back lawn of the premises. What was before a beautiful garden was now a turbulent pond, swirling and choking the turf. And then something large and white caught her eye…

With a triumphant gasp, Laura opened the window and leaned out, trying to grab onto a large floating object that had unceremoniously floated and rammed into the back wall of the house. It looked like a simple fishing dinghy, stained with orange rust and chipped paint. The water was high enough now that it almost put the boat right outside the window, as if it were a loading dock.

"If it would just…come this way a bit…more…"

With a final stretch, arm muscles feeling like they were tearing underneath the skin, she ground her fingernails into a small indention on the side of the boat and pulled it with great trouble towards the window. She felt her nails peeling away from her skin, the ocean water burning into the fresh wounds. Finally she managed to secure it near the window with a wet rope left in the thing. Huffing, she looked around the room for something she could use as a makeshift sail. What felt like hopelessness initially, soon turned into disgust as Laura became irritated that she had completely abandoned her wit and creativity in the face of fear.

"I'm such an idiot!" she laughed, shaking her head. Her grin seemed to attest that she was oblivious of the destruction going on around her. Briefly, she might have been. "But of course. If the answer's not right in front of me…

'Then I'll build one.'

The Professor wasn't a runner: he wasn't limber, he wasn't athletic, and with all things considered, he wasn't very malleable in any way. His teaching style remained the same day to day in the lecture halls, he hardly exerted himself physically…so running around screaming like a fanatic preacher wasn't exactly his forte.

"No one's listening, Professor!" Luke cried out, his mousey hair dark where sweat caked his scalp; it was starting to leak down onto his face in several weak tributaries. "And I'm losing my breath…"

Flora covered her mouth, suppressing the urge to wretch. "I can't run anymore, Professor… We should have—hyerk—used the car."

"There's no time for that!" Layton snapped, and he instantly hated the situation for getting the best of him.

'But…this really is useless…Do I really expect to save anyone like this? Running around and yelling something so inane? Would I actually believe someone who was doing what I am doing?'

He looked down at the children; they clutched their chests and panted like overworked dogs. He'd been so caught up in warning everyone, worrying about himself, worrying about Laura and her reputation, that he forgot about how Luke and Flora felt.

Hardly teenagers, still child-like, their minds were green and fresh. What would these circumstances do to them? How were they handling such a catastrophe? Was it really worth the experience and education, working alongside him while forcing them to grow up and fear the reality of the world so…so quickly? So readily? And—as of late—so willingly?

"Professor."

Luke's voice broke the chilling silence.

"What is it, dear boy?"

"I'm not afraid." Building confidence as he talked, the boy glanced at Flora, unsure of whether she felt the same; she merely gawked at him with vacant eyes, bile swelling up her throat.

"You…you're not?" the older man stammered stupidly, as if he was questioning the boy's English.

"No. Maybe I'll be afraid right before I die—"

"—Don't say such a thing, Luke!"

"—but I'm not afraid now," Luke mumbled. He set his cap straight. "All I can think of is helping as many people as possible. Even if it's just one, at the end of all things, I did a good thing." He held up an unwavering finger. "Even just one. So you can't give up either, because that's what a gentleman does!"

Layton wasn't so sure he could keep his own hands from shaking. Truth be told, he was scared. He was frightened for his own life. What prepares a person for death chasing after them? The black! The dark! The unknown! If he thought hard enough about it, pushing emotions aside, he was unwilling to see others die: the innocent citizens, Flora and Luke, Laura…

But the thought flashed through his mind several times: water—heavy and cold—snaking its way into his body, clenching his chest, bloating his organs, curing his skin with that salty brine… The blackout, the pain of his lungs without oxygen, his mind fading to nothing…

And there were no credits. Everything was final.

He shook himself back to the currently sunny street, full of rich air, dry without so much as a drop of dew. How ironic.

Again, he eyed the boy.

"Well, you'll have saved more than 'just one', Luke," the Professor whispered, kneeling to hug the boy close. He pulled Flora to him as well. "Thank you for being strong, you two. Your maturity speaks volumes. Even us adults can get carried away by our worries, can't we. Our responsibilities cloud our minds, but your pure and unburdened hearts remind us of what's the most important. Whatever happens, thank you for being my friends."

"You're welcome, Professor," the girl said quietly next to his ear, squeezing him tightly as she returned the embrace. She swallowed hard to dam the vomit but her hands were clammy. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more. But…I don't feel so good…"

"You do as you are meant to, Flora. We can only do what we're honestly capable of. And at the moment, that needs to be more than standing here condemning ourselves.

"So, before all, let's—"

The wind changed. The air became damp, and loud. Intuition piqued, Professor Layton pushed Luke and Flora forward towards a random house.

"Get inside, now!"

The boy rattled the door handle, Flora pounded on windows, but all entrances denied them. Then, the Professor spotted an emergency ladder on the side of the house, ending at a second story window.

"Climb!"

Flora and Luke looked at him, perplexed. "But—!"

It was a strange sensation, but as the boy felt himself hoisted and thrown towards the metal ladder—Flora soon following in the same way—he realized Professor Layton had more brawn than brain in that moment. They ascended without further protest and waited for the top hat to appear over the rusty floor's edge.

And as the Professor clambered onto the platform, temporary rapids surged through the neighborhood, creating an angry river. It was perfect timing.

"How…how did you…" Flora mumbled clumsily. "That wave…"

Luke wheezed, "How did you know, Professor?"

"We aren't safe here," was the response.

The Professor had removed his shoe, holding it carefully but purposefully against the window. Without warning he pulled his arm back and slammed the heel against the pane as hard as he could, wincing at the kickback. Crack crack. After a few more slams, the glass shattered, littering the floor inside with a thousand pieces of sharp, broken window. The shards snapped underfoot as all carefully entered through window, their clothes catching on the remaining pieces still lodged in the frame.

There the Professor, Luke, and Flora stood stock-still, motionless in someone else's bedroom as they listened to the muffled wailing of those swept up outside; to the snarling of the misplaced ocean; to their hearts beating in their ears. As much as they hated being caged—birds with sodden wings—the most they could do was wait until something happened. Would the house crumble or be carried away? How many would unknowingly drown, their families wondering where they ended up?

And for once—staring into a haze, lightheaded and silently distraught—Professor Layton could do nothing about it.

END. Don't forget to review, please.