Christchurch earthquake: On torn feet, we walk

Walking through the destruction would've felt like being in a disaster movie. Photo / Mark Mitchell

It is 12.51 pm when the earthquake strikes. I have just finished my coffee, am halfway through a toasted sandwich and my girlfriend has just asked me how my day has been.

As I start to answer, I feel a slight rattle. Then a sideways jolt. The floor shifts, then everything explodes.

Instinct kicks in and I leap for the door. I don't even think to cover my head with my hands, but somehow I notice that I am bleeding and wonder how this is. I stumble out onto the shaking street, tripping on my four-inch heels as the buildings around me start to collapse.

There is masonry flying. There are piles of bricks in the road. There is the shrill shatter of glass smashing. There are people screaming. I have never seen anything like it. The street I am on, I have known all my life, but I can't recognise it.

I am so shocked I cannot make a noise. I stagger back to the cafe and find my friend. She comes toward me and grabs me hard. I start to shake. "Was this bigger than the 7.1 in September?" I ask her repeatedly. It is crucial to me that I know this.

"Yes," she replies. "Much bigger."

I am strangely relieved. I can't bear to imagine that there could be anything worse than this.

It's like a disaster movie set. It doesn't feel real. There are people crying and dazed walking by us. I realise I am one of them. As we walk among the rubble, Amanda tries to convince me to walk with her. I refuse. All I can think about is getting back to work so I can tell my boss that I am taking the rest of the day off.

Amanda leaves me reluctantly and as soon as she disappears into the crowd, I want desperately for her to come back. Instead I head for my workplace and see my colleagues gathering by the river. They see my blood and make me sit down.

Someone places chocolate in my mouth. I feel like I am going to vomit. I see that I am sitting opposite the police station. I see policemen filing out of the station, horror-stricken. It frightens me to see that they are as scared as I am.

The river is rising. The city is falling.

Among hundreds of equally terrified people, I am alone. I know at this moment, I have to get out of the city. I take off my boots and start to walk. I look at my socks and am absurdly glad that they match. They are my favourite socks, black cotton with love hearts.

There are bloodied bodies lying on the riverbank. I barely glance at them. I am resolute in my walking.

I think I hear someone calling my name, so I turn and see an old boyfriend, who I haven't seen for decades. I run to him and he hugs me tight. He feels like an angel.

I look down the road to the centre of the city. For over a hundred years, the Cathedral has stood tall in the square, beloved by all its children. Its mighty steeple has fallen. The heart of the city has collapsed. My mind will not accept what my eye is seeing.

"The Cathedral, Zak," I say, pointing at what I cannot describe.

"I know," he says. "Let's walk." He takes my hand and carries my boots and we start to walk out of the city.

We walk and walk and walk. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we don't. We pass people sitting on their lawns, afraid to be inside their homes. They have no power, no water, no words. We tell them what we have seen and they tell us of lost pets, broken homes and missing children.

I can only feel fear. It courses through me along with adrenaline. I feel like I am trying to escape an invisible monster. I want a cigarette, but I am on the edge of panic and my brain tells me that I need every bit of air I can get. My cigarettes stay in my bag.

I try and try to get a dial tone to call my mother, safely in another city. It goes to answerphone. As I hang up, the phone rings immediately. It is my mother. Her voice is cracking as she breaks down across the line. "I thought you were dead," she cries.

"I thought I was too," I say, tears flowing freely.

As we walk, the ground thuds beneath us. We zigzag across the roads, hoping to outrun the next jolt, taking care to avoid holes, power lines and deep wounds in the earth's crust.

Zak has a wife and three babies he is desperate to get home to. I am amazed at his kindness and calmness as we walk on, towards God knows what. I cannot imagine what he is going through. I am just immensely grateful he is with me.

Everywhere we look, cars have been abandoned. We walk over the road between the city's sewage ponds. The air is thick with flies, the tar is stretched liked chewing gum between the broken seal on the road.

In the distance, I hear my name being called. It is Bon, my mother's oldest friend, come to find me. She has a severely injured leg and is riding a bicycle. She has ridden over uneasy ground and broken bridges to find me. She sobs when she sees me.

My loveheart socks are wearing thin and I can feel my feet tearing up with stone bruises.

We finally arrive at my sister's house. She is safe. She gives me milk to drink. I tell her I am leaving the city right now. She tells me I am in shock. I tell her I don't care, I am leaving.

She gives me shoes.

When I arrive home, I cannot even enter my house. I know my cat is in here, somewhere, in the wreckage. I choose to leave her. I whisper a 'sorry' as I take my dog and put her in the car. I know that I need gas and that my phone is dead and that the sky is darkening. I pray as I drive - a single, hopeful word: Please. Please. Please.

I pass great sinkholes that have swallowed cars whole. I drive around them on loose and shifting black silt and close my eyes with every judder. I pray and drive. Pray and drive.