Atlantis

“Come inside,” I hear her voice from behind me. “It’s not too late.”

I swirl my gin lazily in one hand, listening to the ice cubes clink against the glass.

I’ll need a top up soon. Doubt she’ll fetch me one.

“Of course it’s too late,” I sigh dreamily. I look out across the lake and the morning sun peeks back through the pine trees. Dewdrops glisten like fairy lights.

Birdsong echoes through the trees in blissful ignorance. Funny, I'd always thought animals had ways of knowing about these things.

 “You should wake up the kids, it’s beautiful out here,” I murmur. Not much longer now, I figure we may as well make the most of it.

She doesn’t say anything for a moment. I bet she’s folding her arms, tapping her fingertips against her elbows, the way she does when she’s annoyed.

I just wanted them to be happy. What’s wrong with that?

I’m folding my arms too; it’s windy and the air is bracingly cold. I should have dressed in warmer clothes. Ah well, never any point in looking back.

Don't look back

It's supposed to happen a little after sunrise. I was watching a countdown livestream on my phone but it stopped playing some time after 4am. Too many people using the site, or maybe the satellites have already gone down. I don’t know, I’m not a scientist.

“Come inside,” she says to me again. Strangely, she doesn’t really sound angry. Just sad. Everyone reacts to tragedy in different ways, I suppose. At least she’s not in denial.

I set down my glass on the lawn and stretch my arms before sitting up in my deck chair. It’s brighter now. A warm orange glow reflects off the surface of the water. Waves lap against the grass, having already passed the docks.

They're under the water now

I find myself remembering last summer, the last time we came to the cabin.

Benjamin giggling as he chases his little sister across the jetty. His small hands reaching in front of him, covered in green-brown goose muck. Annie screaming in delight as she waddles onto the grass, all puffed up in her bright pink buoyancy-aid.

I tie up the boat and laugh as my wife stomps out from our home on the top of the hill, yelling at them to stop running by the water. Yelling at me to watch them closer. To keep their gear zipped up. She starts running away too, once she is close enough to see the state of Ben’s hands

That was us all over, myself and Caroline. I was the fun one, the one who couldn’t say no. I was the dad who cried at Ben’s kindergarten graduation ceremony, who heard Annie raiding the pantry in the night but covered for her when Caroline found the empty pack of cookies in the morning.

So I let Caroline be the bad cop.

Calm, capable Caroline. Unflappable and stern, but always kind. She held the phone camera steady with a grin as Ben proudly strutted across the classroom in his oversized graduation gown. She scolded Annie for eating all the cookies, and me for lying.

She watched us sailing on the lake.

The birdsong has stopped.

But the noise is really picking up now, like a jet flying just above our heads, like thunder, and I struggle not to cover my ears. The news had said to wear ear-plugs, though I hadn't seen the point. I never was one to worry about health and safety.

Don't look back

I gaze blankly at the sky, and sip the watery gin from the bottom of my glass.

I wonder how my parents are doing. We haven’t spoken since the news first broke and the riots began. You have to laugh really, it’s the kind of thing that’s only supposed to happen in movies, the kind of thing that only happens to dinosaurs.

Annie loves dinosaurs

“You should get the kids,” I shout above the noise. “Ben will want to see this.” 

I feel Caroline drape her tired arms around my neck, feel the warmth of her head next to mine, the grease in her hair, and I notice that she is crying.

Her voice cracks. "You know I can't."

She could choke me right now if she wanted to. I think I wish she would.

But instead she just whispers in my ear. “It wasn’t your fault,” she says softly.

I know she doesn’t believe it.

“It won't matter any more,” I reply. “Just wait and see. ”

Muddy lake-water sloshes about my feet, on the horizon a wall of brine is rumbling over the pine trees.

The smell of salt and silt

“They’re gone,” she whispers. “Please don’t leave me too.”

I don’t dare turn around. I’d rather watch the world end than see the way my wife is looking at me right now.

Don’t look back

“Go inside Caroline, go to the cellar. Or the attic, I don’t know," I hear myself say back, "maybe you’ll be okay."

She knows I don't believe it. 

Benjamin proudly guiding the rudder as we glided across the lake

I tell him he is a sailor now, and he beams at me.

Annie perched on the front of the boat, playing with her zip

Her arms are no longer around my neck. I don’t even hear her leave as she walks back up the hill to our empty house.

The boom swings towards my head

But I can’t go after her. I have to stay with them. 

Her bright pink life-jacket floating on top of the water

The rumbling is getting closer

His small hands reaching up from the lake bed

It’s too bright to look up now

I’ll be with you soon

I watch the moon's reflection on the lake where I let my children drown, watch it fall to pieces in the sky

I close my eyes as the waves block out the sun

and wait for the water to take me home