by Aline Riva
“They're climbing all over the rig!”
As Vicki's voice echoed about the corridor in panic, she reached the second door that led to accommodation and wrenched it open, yelled the message again and her sister opened up a door sharply, followed by Emma. Just then Hayley entered the corridor from the other end and as she saw the horrified look on Vicki's face, she ran up the corridor to join them.
“What's going on?” Emma said, unable to process what Vicki had meant.
“They're everywhere... under the rig... getting washed in on the storm... the guys are out there with two guns and there's so many of them... so many corpses!”
The colour drained from Emma's face.
“We need the flare guns.”
“Marc said we should grab what we can to fight them off.”
“The flares won't be enough,” said Hayley as she looked at the other three women, thought of the guys outside and the horde coming up against them. They stood no chance. None of them stood a chance in hell of getting out of this alive...
“We need weapons!” Emma turned to Hayley, “We need to grab everything we can find!”
“This way,” Hayley said, “We'll start with the maintenance area... hammers and crowbars... I think I can find a blow torch too!”
Amy turned to her sister.
“I want you to lock yourself in our room. Please, do it for me.”
Vicki shook her head.
“I'm coming with you,” she said firmly.
“We don't have time to waste!” Hayley called back as she headed for the other end of the corridor.
“Are you sure about this?”Amy asked, looking intently into her younger sister's frightened eyes.
“I'm coming with you!”
“Okay, let's go!”Amy said, hoping she had not made a bad choice as she wondered what would happen if she had to look out for her sister and herself if they were faced with the invading horde, which seemed likely considering they had little defence outside... She grabbed her hand and turned for the open door. Emma was already gone, hurrying on to catch up with Hayley as the two sisters followed, and outside, gunshots rang out and the sound carried on the wind.
On the platform, the corpses were still climbing, as if the rig had become infested with the earth's latest breed of parasite as they swarmed for the lower platform, dropping wet and trailing seaweed and snarling and shaking their heads as if to shake off the last of the water, but as lightning lit up the skies again, as Marc reached Greg's side and they stood together with their guns drawn, watching as the creatures rose from the floor of the platform and set their sights across the other side of the barrier, in the moment of the flash the skies had captured something they had only just realised – the corpses were covered in oil...
“They must have been caught in a slick,” Marc said.
He raised the weapon, taking aim, firing and downing two approaching undead, as he turned to see more of them gaining in strength and number as an oil covered body snarled and its long hair dripped oil and it ran at the two men. Greg turned and fired off his weapon, then turned again, still holding the gun in a two handed grip that was no where near as steady as his trained body guard. They were gathering speed now, oily figures roaming as lightning flashed and thunder rolled, piling up the walkways toward them, stumbling over the bodies of the shot corpses in their haste to reach the living. Greg's sights were fixed on the corpses as they approached. There was no where to run, the bullets wouldn't last forever...
“Oil?” he spoke loudly as a gust of wind ripped through the rig, “We can burn them!”
“And send the whole freaking place up? This in an oil rig, think about it!”
His best friend's words had just dashed his last hopes of making it through this night as a shriek echoed from the crowd of undead and another snarled. The sounds were rising as the two men backed off, picking up pace and venturing out on to the storm lashed platform as the rain hammered down and the wind battered the rig. The dead were swarming the platform, following the scent of the living as they sniffed the air and the strong winds began to dash aside thick cloud and moonlight spilled through, lightning the dead in silver as lifeless eyes set on the two men who were up against the machinery and maze of pipework and metallic structure on the far side of the rig. The rain was still falling but the wind was losing its strength, doing nothing to stop the dead from seeking out the living as they staggered, lumbered and even ran about the platform, all the while edging closer, with dead white eyes fixed on their prey.
“They know there's no way out for us!” Greg said as he darted in the maze of metal behind Marc.
The undead were in pursuit, but slamming into pipes and groaning and making sounds like angry wild animals as hands reached in, groping to grab at living flesh. As the two men went deeper into the maze and slammed their backs against hard metal, they were both breathless with guns poised, Marc's dark eyes filled with fear as he watched the moonlight for shadows and more movement. Soon, there would be nowhere left to run...
“The bullets are going to run out,” Greg said, and Marc saw a look of desperation in his eyes, “Maybe we should save the last for us... I don't want to die like that, not with them tearing me apart!”
The look in his eyes reflected utter desperation. Defiance burned in Marc's gaze as he dashed all fear aside, now resigned to fight through or die trying.
“We don't give up!” he said, hearing a sound above and looking upward to see a corpse sanding on the walkway on the next level, “There has to be a way out – and it's not by a bullet. Neither of us are dying tonight - there has to be a way through this!”
Just then hands thrust through gaps in the maze of metal and shadowy, oil slicked figures emerged. They were lunging, starving and snarling and so close the stink of death filled the air. Greg and Marc exchanged a glance, then both took aim at the approaching undead and fired off round after round, their only focus now was trying to survive – if it could be done...
Chapter 6
Now the wind had dropped and the sea was less rough, the rain stopped falling and the moonlight shone bright and clear between thinning clouds, behind those clouds its glow spread ghostly, making the sight of the corpses on the deck more hellish than before. As bodies glistening in oil slipped and slithered and lumbered in a horde, those who had moved first were already in the metallic maze, seeking out the living within. Three had slipped past pipe work, a fourth had stumbled through a narrow gap and impaled a hand on the edge of a metal railing, it tugged hard, tugged again and its whole body jerked as the metal cut through dead flesh, slicing off three fingers, but the corpse just grunted with the effort and staggered free, oblivious to the damage caused as something dark spilled from its wounded hand, then oil ran to cover it.
Further in the structure, corpses lay peppered with bullets and as Marc reloaded and Greg checked his weapon more creatures were approaching, slowed by the mass of obstacles in their way. They shifted as moonlit figures, darkly shining as their moans filled the air and their dragging footsteps and lumbering movements grew closer.
“What now?” Greg said, glancing in desperation to his best friend. Marc was looking upward, watching as an oil covered creature took another step up the stairway above. Oil ran beneath where it stood as it moved upward again.
He kept his voice low as he shifted aside to avoid a slop of oil that fell from above, it hit the floor and pooled dark and he lowered his voice as shuffling and groans sounded closer now as more of the creatures fought their way through the maze.
“We cut out to the side,” he whispered, “ then up the stairway – I'll take out the one above us...then we turn left, go across the next level and back down the other side, it will take us around the back of the accommodation block... then we have to hope they hear us and let us in.”
“Believe me, they'll all hear me yelling!” Greg said as fear reflected in his gaze.
“And so will that horde,” Marc reminded him, “We had better hope they hear us
and open up right away, because those creatures will head in our direction as soon as we make a run for it!” He glanced upward, then to the gap in the framework where the coast was clear.
“Let's go!” he said, and darted out and Greg stumbled out too, keeping a desperate grip on his gun.
The two men ran up the stairway, Greg slipped in oil and only a desperate grab for the rail saved him from falling, as Marc took aim and fired a single shot, then slammed against the rail and pulled Greg with him out of the way of the falling corpse as it hit the stairway and tumbled down. They made it to the top and on to the next level. As they looked across the rig, the many oil covered bodies were looming, banded together as they followed the scent of fresh blood.
“We have to be quick,” Marc reminded him as Greg looked the length of the next walkway, it turned off right near the approaching band of creatures and from there it was a sharp turn, a flight of steps down and a dash for the back of the accommodation block.
“We won't make it...”
“Yes, we will!” Marc said, and made a run for it.
As Greg ran off close behind, afraid to look back, he heard the sounds of the undead growing louder. Running towards the place where they were gathered was terrifying, his guts twisted in fear as they loomed closer, their bodies oil covered and shining darkly as they set their sights on the running humans. As the two men reached the end of the walkway and turned, the dead were giving chase. They ran on, down a flight of steps and headed for the back of the residential block, as the horde pushed on, gaining on them rapidly. Both men were breathless as they reached the back door and Greg hammered loudly as he heard a shot fire, then another, then as Marc was hit with the thud of wet clothing against him, he turned sharply, finger on the trigger, just in time to see Greg had bumped into him in panic.
“I'm out of bullets!”
“Let us in!” Marc yelled, turning around and hammering on the door again.
The creatures were closing in, some falling over the shot corpses and others climbing over them, as they started to tumble over the barrier of fallen and stagger to their feet, the first of many were picking up pace as they set their sights on the two men who were now desperately thumping on the back door of the residential block.
“Hurry!” Greg yelled as he looked back to see the corpses closing in, reaching out with hands that dripped oil. As the door opened and light flooded out and Marc grabbed Greg's arm and shoved him in first, he stumbled into the lit corridor, thankful to be back with the living. He turned back to the door expecting Marc to close it, but he had no chance now - dead hands had grasped the back of his sweater and oil stains were spreading where the fingers of the corpse held him as he struggled.
Hayley had been armed with a flare gun but dropped it and grabbed at Marc as Greg did the same, Marc raised his gun over his shoulder, feeling the drip of oil on the back of his neck and he blindly fired, hitting the creature in the face and sending it sprawling backwards.
Greg dragged him in and slammed the door shut, just then a heavy weight hit the door as many others outside slammed against it and the two men fought to close it as Amy and Hayley slammed heavy bolts top and bottom and then forced a third, heavier lock into place and then more thumps and pressure came, but suddenly stopped.
“I'm out of bullets!”
Greg had been the first to speak. Marc had just reloaded his weapon.
“I'm on to the last of mine,” he replied, casting a glance about the group. Amy was wielding a large chopping knife, Hayley's flare gun was still on the floor where she had dropped it and Emma clutched a wrench while Vicki held an axe. They all looked pale and shocked and as the sounds of more of the creatures surrounding the block resonated through the walls as scratches and more thumps, Hayley picked up the flare gun.
“How many of them are out there?”
Marc shook his head, knowing they were outnumbered.
“Far too many... I don't know how they all washed up on the rig like that, they were carried up with the waves during the storm.”
“Maybe it's too much of a coincidence,” Greg added as he gave a shiver, “Think about it: High seas, the best way to wash the undead up to the rig...I'm not saying it is Zackary's work, but...I don't know, maybe I'm just being paranoid... All I know is, that's too much of a coincidence - and where the hell did they come from? We haven't seen any sinking ships, there's not been a ship for miles...”
Hayley had been thinking deeply on the possibilities.
“If they came from a ship, it would have been a long way out and the tide would have scattered them. You'd better hope this is deliberate.”
Greg's eyes widened as he stared in disbelief at Hayley.
“Why?”
“Because if he sent the corpses in to take us out, that means he's coming back soon to wipe out the undead and then take the stash. That means there's a boat. We have a way out!”
He was still staring at her, listening to the sounds of the invading horde outside as the whole scenario seemed impossible to survive.
“We'd have to fight through the corpses to get to the boat,” Greg added, “Then take out Zackary - or more likely, his men. I can't see him joining them until the dirty work is complete. They'll have more bullets than us, we're out numbered but it's better than no chance at all.”
Vicki was trembling as she looked to her sister.
“I'll take what ever chance we have.”
Just then there was a crash and the sound of glass breaking.
“We have to bar the windows in the canteen!” Hayley said, “We need to use the tables...”
Then the group hurried off, still clutching weapons, knowing this was going to be a very long night and one they were not sure they would live to see come to an end...
As they reached the canteen, the sounds within carried through the closed door, crashes as more glass was shattered, then thumps and moans, then the door was violently jolted. Hayley and Marc slid bolts into place, then they turned back to the others.
“We have to shut off this corridor,” Hayley said, “They're already in. We can go through to the next hallway - that leads to the medical room. There's a window in there but its small and nothing will get through it. We'll need to cover it and then lock the door and wait.”
“It's a better plan than nothing,“ Marc agreed.
Then more glass shattered, this time the sound carried from the accommodation area.
“This way!” Hayley said, and she led them quickly to a doorway that branched off to another corridor, they went inside and she locked the door behind them firmly. As they headed down the corridor, then up a short flight of steps, a crash came from above. Hayley shot Greg and Marc a glance.
“There's a filing cabinet to the left when we go in – grab it and slam it up against that window.”
“Got it,” Marc confirmed.
Then they reached the door and she unlocked it and as it swung open, they were greeted with the sight of a snarling corpse with an oil covered face smeared up against broken glass. As a jagged shard hooked an eyeball and it popped free of the socket, it kept on snarling with one arm through the window as it lashed out at thin air on first sight of the living. As they went in, the guys grabbed the cabinet, and between them slid it across the floor and then slammed it up against the window, blocking the view of the corpse. Its arm was still inside the room, trapped between the wall and the filing cabinet, grasping at nothing in desperation. The swing of an axe sliced the air, the blade lopped off the arm and blood ran dark and blackened down the wall as the arm lay on the floor, the hand still flexing, opening and closing and showing no sign of stopping. Vicki stood there with the bloody axe at her side and stared in disbelief at the arm that refused to stop moving.
“Oh shit...” she whispered, then Marc gave the arm a kick and it hit the back wall with a thump, where it stayed, still making its grasping movement.
“What now?” said Amy as the moans of the dead carried from beyond the blocked off wind
ow.
“We wait until dawn,” Hayley replied, “If that invasion was a set up, they'll take the corpses out before they board the rig. Maybe they won't come by boat, maybe it will be a chopper...”
“But the sound would draw them,” Greg pointed out as he pulled up a seat – one of only two in the room – and sat down heavily beside the desk, “Anyone who gets dropped in from the air is as good as dead. They can take a lot of them out by air but not all. Going by the state of the world when we left the mainland, even Zackary wouldn't have that much man power he can afford to waste.”
As the others sat on the floor except for Emma, who grabbed the only other seat, Hayley picked up a holdall from beneath the desk, then went over to the storage area, unlocked a cabinet and reached inside to fill the bag.
“We need to take all medical supplies with us,” she said as she began to stock the holdall, “Where ever we go – assuming there's a way off this rig – we might need it.”
“Good idea,” Emma murmured, her gaze on the blank wall opposite as she silently wondered if any of them would live to see the dawn. They were all poorly armed except Hayley and Marc, and she doubted one gun and a single flare could hold off much at all...
The night went on, filled with the cries of the dead and the sounds of their wet, oily bodies thumping and slipping about the deck, their fingers scratching and tapping and hands hitting walls, to those inside, it seemed the rig was crawling with the creatures, all desperate to get deep inside the complex, hungry for the warm blood that carried on the wind tormenting them as they refused to give up on the scent of their prey.
By the time darkness had given way to the first light of dawn breaking through a crack in early morning skies, the sounds that had carried through the night were suddenly broken by gunfire.
As several bursts of machine guns were heard, Amy sat up sharply, blinking away sleep as Vicki looked fearfully to the blocked up window. The others were on their feet now, as Greg looked to his best friend his voice was filled with alarm.
