Tsunami

Chapter 2 On top of the roof

  Down the tree.

  Past Noah's cubby-house.

  Across the grass.

  Through the back door.

  Along the hall.

  Into Gran's room.

  "Wake up, Gran," shouted Noah. "The moon birds are telling us to climb up onto the roof."

  "Why ever would they say such a thing," said Gran, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

  "Something bad is going to happen -----. Come on," urged Noah, "let's go!"

  Out of Gran's room.

  Along the hall.

  Through the back door.

  Across the grass.

  Up the tree.

  Past Noah's cubby-house.

  The bark felt rough on Noah’s fingers. The tree’s strength flowed into his feet and hands. Toes and fingers.

  Squeezing his attention away from fear and into climbing, Noah said, "We're nearly there, Gran. Just a few more steps."

  From the top-most branches Noah leaned towards the sloping roof, grabbed hold of the metal guttering, and then carefully stepped over onto the roof.

  "Now it's your turn, Gran," said Noah.

  Gripping the corrugated iron with his toes, Noah reached out his arms and helped his grandmother step onto the roof. The moon disappeared behind a cloud. Noah shivered deep inside himself as a sudden blast of cold air slapped his face.

  Noah and Gran lowered themselves carefully into a sitting position. They listened as the ocean hissed and crashed in front of them.

  Window panes rattled. The roof iron creaked. Thousands of moon birds swooped low over the roof. Flapping their wings then gliding. Chuckling noisily. Crying out in alarm.

  Noah was scared. Very scared.

  Within minutes though, the full, fat moon sailed out from behind dark swirling clouds. Against a backdrop of glittering stars, moonlight fell on the ocean in a shimmering silver sheen.

  The roof lit up like a stage. And there, illuminated like a monument was a small boat. Centre stage.

  "When your grandfather put his dinghy up here," Gran commented, "everyone said he was losing his marbles."

  From a distant place, Noah heard a strange, rumbling roaring sound, as if a monstrous train was coming towards them, full speed. He felt the earth tremble. Saw the ocean quiver and shake.

  "What's happening?" he asked, as a shiver passed down his spine.

  "I don't know," said Gran, watching as the face of the ocean breathed in and out. Out and in.

  Noah focused on the moon birds. His mind flew free as the birds circled, drifted and swooped around his grandmother's house.

  His ears pulsed with their haunting song. A song about oceans, continents and islands. About fluffy chicks in burrows. About a long migration flight to Alaska and the Bering Sea. And back.

  Noah’s nostrils breathed in the tang of rotting seaweed and the musky odour of birds. Suddenly though, the moon birds wailed mournfully and began swooping Noah's head. He felt the rush of their claws, beaks and feathers.

  "Get into the boat," they cackled and cried. "Danger is coming!"

  Noah untied the knot that tethered the dinghy to the roof then, with one hand gripping the wooden seat and the other clasping his grandmother's hand, Noah helped her step into the boat. Finally he climbed in himself.

  In the cold, white light of the moon they watched the approach of waves, with their patterns of white frothy foam. Moonlight on water.

  But they were ordinary waves. So why were they sitting in a boat on top of his grandmother's roof?