He was just about to let go, when he heard an ominous creaking sound above him. He managed to turn his head and look up to see all the wrought iron chandeliers swaying in unison, like some bizarre metronome. He could see that the plaster around where they were fixed to the ceiling had cracked and large pieces were starting to fall onto the marble floor below him.
He held his breath, closed his eyes and let himself drop. The first chandelier smashed to the floor at exactly the same time he did and with similar consequential damage. It had landed just three feet from where he now lay, spraying him with shards of glass as it disintegrated. It was such a loud crash that he almost hadn’t heard his own leg snapping. The pain shot through his body instantly, causing him to let out an involuntary animalistic shriek that echoed around the vast hall. His body shivered uncontrollably and he started to perspire despite the wintry temperature.
They had passed under the First Bosphorus Bridge, which spanned the continents of Europe and Asia, by the time Giyas had secured the nets and joined his father in the cramped wheelhouse. The spray from the waves lashed at the windows and the small windscreen wipers were struggling to clear them sufficiently enough for them to see where they were going.
‘If it gets much rougher, we’ll have to call it a day,’ his father said, peering through the smeared glass.
Giyas pulled on the green woollen hat his grandmother had knitted him and went out on deck to see if he could get a better view, but he couldn’t. Looking back at the suspension bridge, he could see the headlights of the commuters on their way to work. A distant rumbling could be heard over the boat’s engines as they strained to cope with the pitching sea. Thunder, he thought. They would definitely be returning to port early.
Another wave smashed over the side, drenching him again. He was past caring now, as he didn’t think he could get any wetter. He wiped the salt water out of his eyes and stared back at the cars. The bridge appeared to wobble, almost imperceptibly; Giyas knew from experience that the sea could play tricks on your eyes. He watched intently, another wobble, this time more pronounced. The sound of the thunder grew louder. Vehicles were slowing down; a lorry at the front braked, which concertinaed through the line of traffic causing a jam in the middle. He could see motorists switching their hazard lights on as they joined the orderly queue.
Then, suddenly, a shudder travelled from one side of the bridge to the other, like a concrete Mexican wave. The bridge started to oscillate up and down, slowly at first, but then seemed to gain momentum. The majority of the cars on the bridge were now stationary; some motorists had abandoned their vehicles and were running to the relative safety of the shores.
Giyas wanted to run to tell his father, but his feet were rooted firmly to the spot, his eyes transfixed on the bridge as the undulations grew more and more violent, throwing cars, buses and trucks high into the air as though they were toys, and landing on the terrified pedestrians as they tried to flee. Then, one of the central suspension cables snapped, like an overstretched rubber band, followed by another, then another and another, in quick succession. The oscillations turned into a violent torsional twisting motion, like a demonic skipping rope, hurling vehicles and their passengers off the side of the bridge.
As the cables failed, one by one, two gaping fissures appeared at either end of the structure, which spread rapidly along the full width of the road; Giyas could see slabs of concrete falling from underneath the bridge in their wake. And then, with an almighty crack, which could be heard well above the sound of the raging sea and the rumbling of the earthquake, the whole middle section fractured, plummeting some two hundred feet into the Bosphorus, creating a thirty-foot wave as it disappeared into the murky depths, taking with it the remaining vehicles, their contents and anyone unfortunate enough not to have made it to the sides.
The wall of water came crashing towards the small fishing vessel releasing Giyas from his spell. He turned to warn his father but, as he did so, the first wave knocked him off his feet and slammed him hard onto the deck, winding him. As he lay there, trying to catch his breath, he could see his father in the wheelhouse struggling to retain control. The second, larger wave engulfed the boat, capsizing it. Giyas tried desperately to cling onto the nets, but the force of the water ripped them out of his grip and tossed him into the freezing sea.
Giyas struggled to the surface but there was no sign of the boat or his father. He trod water as the waves pounded down on him, hoping that his father had somehow managed to survive, but he knew in his heart of hearts that it was unlikely. He would only be able to last, himself, a few minutes in these conditions, a combination of the exertion he had to put in just to stay afloat and the extreme cold that would soon deplete his energy reserves.
Then, bobbing up and down in the swell, he spotted one of the fishing buoys that had been hanging over the side of the boat. He swam over to it and managed to reach out and grasp the rope it was tethered to before being swamped by another wave. This time, he was determined not to let go. As the water receded, he quickly pulled the float towards him and wrapped his arms tightly around it. The relief was instant; his newfound buoyancy meant that he could save his energy as he didn’t have to fight against the troughs and peaks.
He knew his chances of being rescued were slim; some of his best friends had perished in milder weather conditions than these, but as long as he could stay afloat he still had a fighting chance. His toes were the first to go numb, then his fingers, then his legs. He recognised the symptoms immediately and clung tighter to the buoy. He was so tired and couldn’t keep his eyes open.
He wasn’t afraid to die, he just felt sorry for his mother. He could picture her being told by the harbourmaster. She would get a knock on the door in the early evening after the boat had failed to return to port. She would have a headscarf on and be wearing an apron, having spent the afternoon preparing a steaming hot stew, ready for when her men returned. She would open the door and be surprised to see the portly frame of Mr Levent standing there, head bowed, cap in hand. He’d look up at her with sad, bloodshot eyes and she’d know that he’d been crying. She would ask him in… that was the last thought Giyas Macar had before he succumbed to hypothermia, slipping gently below the waves to join his father.
Hamil had managed to avoid most of the falling debris as he made his way across the marble floor towards the nearest side entrance. A large piece of masonry had landed on his damaged leg, which must have made him black out because he woke up covered in rubble. Not knowing how long he’d been out for, he shook his head to clear the fuzziness and a cloud of dust from his hair made him cough.
He raised himself onto his good knee, then transferred all his weight onto his outstretched arms before pulling himself forward, whilst dragging his broken leg behind him. He’d invented the technique after twice trying to stand on his good leg and hop, but both attempts had ended after just one jump, the ground shaking so much that it was impossible for him to keep his balance, and both times he’d landed awkwardly on his fracture, making him cry out. So, while the hand-pull method was excruciatingly painful (his palms and knees were encrusted with blood and dirt from cuts he’d sustained from the shattered glass of the chandeliers that now littered the floor) and exhausting, it was the lesser of the two evils.