Lunch time at the RedSeed office. A pretty general term really, it’s not like we all sit down and share a meal together; some are out getting exercise, while Glen is most likely tucking into his third spaghetti toastie. I’d gone with a wholemeal ham roll from Trocadero Bakery down the road, having opted for the exercise/lunch option (walking 100 metres down Cashel Street to the bakery). On the way back I notice the crack in the seven story DTZ building directly opposite ours, a stark reminder of the September quake. The event is still pretty fresh in our memory but it’s getting to the point where a lot of Christchurch residents are starting to relax. I’ve even been sleeping through ‘4.5‘s’ over the past few weeks as my internal seismic-radar has become more precise.

I finish my ham roll and flick back to the computer. I have a book review to finish off for our newsletter and I’m energised after my lunch and 200 metres of brisk walking. I manage to squeeze out a couple of paragraphs before the day suddenly takes an unexpected turn, and this is where the story becomes a little more difficult to tell. If you’re from Christchurch and experienced the September or February quake I’m sure you’ll be able to relate to the barrage of emotions and senses that an event like this evokes. It’s hard to take it all in and equally hard to describe.

When you’ve experienced a few quakes your internal process changes. Initially as the shake comes, often introduced by a low rumbling, you tend to pay attention, but with little to no fear. When you realise the shake isn’t going anywhere soon you tend to shift into second gear, and you start asking questions: “Where am I?” “Where’s the exit?” “Do I need to run?” But this shake was different, violent from the beginning and quickly building in a ferocious crescendo. Code red.

I’ll tell you what I remember. Blurred vision, lunging to save my monitor from falling off the back of my desk, a wall of sound; crunching, alarms, shouts and screams, accompanied by the drone of the quake’s low rumble. Solid ground beneath my feet suddenly feels like liquid, and my mind flashes to third-form science, where my teacher is telling us how insects can stand on the meniscus layer of water. Another second and I’m considering my mortality. My wife, pregnant with our first child, where is she? Then we’re running. Someone whose voice I don’t recognise yells “Everyone out of the building!” and we’re running down the stairs into a crowd of Cantabrians. The level of panic is obvious and a quick glance to my left reveals an impending cloud of dust reminiscent of scenes from September 11. Buildings are down and still falling and there’s people emerging in many different states. I see a man smiling as he walks out of the dust. Why was he smiling? A van is half buried in rubble and I’m back to thoughts of mortality. The miracle of September’s quake was that nobody died, but my heart sinks as I realise that this time this can’t be possible.

I’m slightly embarrassed to admit that I drive a scooter to work, a blistering 50cc’s of power. I decide to check on the beast to see if it’s still whole. It is. The DTZ building has ejected a substantial amount of it’s windows on the road around it but I realise that it’s going to be my ticket out of the city, so I go back to consult with the team. Anya has bravely gone towards the carnage with the intention of helping where she can. I find her nursing a man who’s in particularly bad shape. Brendan’s car is in the Lichfield Street building so he won’t be getting that out, and Glen’s bike is upstairs so they’re trying to work out what to do. We brace as a substantial aftershock comes through bringing down more brickwork and hailing screams from the masses. Glen decides to go back into the office to get what he needs and I follow, trusting the earthquake strengthening our landlord has invested in. I grab my laptop and helmet, check in with Glen to see if he needs help, then bail. I’m scared, really scared, and I’m running on adrenaline.

I decide I have to go, have to find my wife, and I’m starting by going home. Brendan’s asked me for a ride on the back of the scooter so we take off together. The roads are filled with stalled traffic but the scooter gets us home, although the devastation becomes apparent as we pass by crumbled buildings and panicked masses. We weave through the traffic through substantial bodies of water: afterthoughts of burst mains pipes, and our old friend liquefaction. The roads look like they were liquid, shunted to swells and suddenly frozen in time; there’s no speeding traffic today because Mother Nature has made her own speed bumps.

Our property is a swamp, water up to my shins and liquefaction everywhere. Our wee dog is highly anxious and the inside of the house is like a bomb site. I’ve since heard from my wife, she’s been knocked around a bit and has had some contractions, but medical staff have cleared her. She wasn’t in a good place either. Buildings came down either side of her and every car except ours were crushed on that block. She loaded it up with people and got out as fast as she could. Brendan hasn’t heard from his wife yet and his daughter is very young, so I fill up the scooter with gas and send him on his way.

That’s sort of where the action ended and the emotion began. It was nearly two hours before I spoke to my wife and nearly five before I was able to hold her. It took nearly a day to find out my family were safe and days before I was able to hear from all of my nearest and dearest. Of course there were casualties and losses too. An old friend’s mother had died in the CTV building and another closer friend suffered serious head injuries and is still recovering. I was lucky, we all were really. Three people died in the bakery I bought my ham roll from and numerous people lost their lives under the eves I walked past on my way back. Ten minutes earlier and who knows what would have happened.

All the RedSeed team are well and have been back in operation for the past couple of weeks. Although our building has since been ‘green-stickered’ meaning it is safe to go back into, the seven story DTZ building on the other side of Cashel Street is not safe and too close to ours to allow us access. We’re operating from Anya’s house having set up a makeshift office and are pretty much at full capacity. We’ve had numerous friends and clients checking in on us and we’re very thankful for their consideration, and we’re still on track to make 2011 a great year.

-Ben VT