The vertical line jumped downward. The floor below below it seemed to cave in. The AUV remained motionless. He gritted his teeth and checked the sensor logs. AUV 2 thought it had detected a massive seismic event. So why wasn’t it—
“There we go,” he said. The AUV icon moved toward the gash and slipped under it. “And…” A metallic click echoed off the steel walls and a sizzling sound followed.
The front scoop of AUV 2 burned with intense white light. Catfish exhaled a long breath and then started to giggle. “Oh, Mr. Monster. I am going to fuck you up.”
#
The medical bay was pitch black and had been for hours. Sobkowiak had fallen asleep in one of the beds, but only until the fire alarms went off. After that, he was wide awake, and waiting to die.
He had already decided to take care of himself before smoke or flame could. Just a nice overdose of morphine. Enough to stop his heart before he had a chance to suffocate or burn to death. It’ll be like going to sleep, he told himself. Only you’ll never wake up in this nightmare again.
So he’d put the syringe on the instrument table and kept it close to the bed. And if he didn’t get a chance to use it? Well, then it would be over anyway.
His phone was charged and sitting on his chest. As soon as the lights had gone out, he’d plugged into the computer’s battery backup. It still had quite a bit of juice left.
He’d traded multiple emails with the CDC via PPE’s email address. They confirmed that the same organism was loose in Houston. They had so far managed to confine it to the lab’s building, but they weren’t certain they could contain it.
He’d told them about Harvey. He’d told them about the other three roughnecks that had been infected. He’d also told them what he saw in the stateroom. In a way, he wished he hadn’t.
They had stopped replying to his emails when he admitted he had no idea how to kill it. They’d used him for the information they needed and after that, there was no reason to keep talking.
He could still try to communicate with Vraebel and the others, but didn’t want to. If they were still alive, there was no reason for them to know that there wasn’t going to be a rescue. Leaguer was quarantined.
Thousands of miles from civilization and parked in over five and a half miles of water, the world had nothing to fear from the infected rig. And Sobkowiak was sure the CDC wanted to keep it that way. He tried to imagine the press release PPE would put out on the wire about their newest, most expensive toy. Would they claim Leaguer had sunk? Would they blame equipment? A tsunami? Negligent crew?
Sobkowiak sighed in the dark. The fire alarms had silenced some time ago. The only sound was the air conditioner. The doctor wondered just how long it would be before one of those things decided to enter the room through one of the vents. At least the smoke hadn’t been too terrible, although the bay still smelled like burned plastic and wood.
The surgical mask he’d worn while the smoke wafted through the vents had helped, but his lungs still felt like shredded cheese. The doc took a deep breath, nose wrinkling at the fetid air circulating through the room.
At some point, he’d have to make a decision. He’d either stay in the rig until the end, or try and find a way out of medical. The things were no longer scratching at the door and he hadn’t heard any movement in the vents for over an hour.
What are you doing? he asked himself. Preparing to die? Just staying in your little cage until what? The fucking world ends?
He picked up the phone and turned on its flashlight. Sobkowiak glanced around the room. He had multiple bottles of alcohol, but no way to ignite them. For the first time in his life, he wished he was a smoker.
He rose from the hospital bed and walked two of the strong halogen lamps to within a few feet from the hatch. That done, he slid the UPS out from under the desk and put it between the lamps. In the dim light from the phone, he managed to plug the lamps’ cords in. He turned them on. Bright white light shined off the hatch.
He adjusted the two lamp heads so their circles of light covered the bottom of the hatch. Although he had no way to create a flame, Sobkowiak grabbed a bottle of alcohol anyway. The full plastic bottle felt heavy in his hands, but he knew that was a joke.
Martin had told him the black burned like gasoline. Sobkowiak thought of that message and had to shake his head. Even though Vraebel knew the Doc was fucked, he was still trying to find a way to help his remaining crew. But the rig chief was kidding himself. There was no way out of this. At least he could try and make it to the deck with the others. If they were still alive.
He pocketed his phone and stood in front of the hatch. He put his ear to the metal. It was warm. Sobkowiak clucked his tongue. Could be the residual heat from the fire. Or maybe that black shit was still trying to get in.
Doc put the plastic bottle of alcohol in his other pants pocket. It bit into his skin, but he hardly noticed. He put his pudgy hands on the metal wheel and took a deep breath. With a deep exhale, he spun it.
The wheel squeaked as it spun. His already thumping heart increased its beat at the sound. The wheel stopped spinning with a groan and a loud bang. He pulled open the door and peered into the hallway.
The warped floor had buckled. The black had destroyed all the sheetrock and most of the studs holding up the ceiling. The overhead lights were out. His halogen lamps were the only ones still working.
Sobkowiak stared at the floor. There was no way it would hold his weight. He was completely trapped. He started to close the door and then stopped. Something moved in the wall. He aimed one of the halogens directly in front of him.
The hallway filled with the sound of pork fat burning in a fryer. What he’d thought were shadows was the black. An entire river of it. It hung on the fractured uneven wall like paint. It bubbled and rippled as smoke rose off the illuminated spot. A gout of flame licked upward from the smoking swatch of black.
The creature split itself into three pieces. A large ribbon moved one way, a larger ribbon the other. Detached from the large portions, a foot wide sliver of darkness burned and crackled.
Sobkowiak shook his head and closed the hatch. He cycled the wheel until it stopped moving. He turned his back to the door and slumped to the floor. There was nothing left. No way out. Nothing.
He eyed the syringe of morphine sitting on the metal table by the medical bed. Sleep sounded like a good idea. With any luck, he’d be gone before the thing found a way to get to him. He turned off the halogens and walked to the bed to lie down. A little pinch from the syringe, and Doc took a flight into true darkness.
#
Lifejackets. Lifeboats. Safety tethers. Prayers.
That was the priority list Vraebel had given the remaining crew. Calhoun didn’t know what the creature below the ocean floor would do when the shots went off. Hell, none of them did. But it was a fair bet it wouldn’t be happy about it.
Once the shots were loaded, the team poured as much concrete casing down the pipes as they could. The casing would provide a backstop for the shots and hopefully increase the downward thrust of the explosion. If, that was, it didn’t just blow the drill string apart.
Red emergency lights created paths to the lifeboats. Everyone, including Catfish, wore a lifejacket. As for the safety tethers, Bill and another roughneck were still setting them up.
Catfish and Shawna had taken one of the Zodiacs out to drop the AUVs. They were towing AUV 5 and AUV 1 out of the rig’s shadow. They were the first two robots to fully charge. Catfish had performed his surgery on them and hooked up the strips of magnesium to the scoops.
Calhoun had only planned to dissect five flares, but after Catfish had told him how the flame burned and that there was no guarantee the lighting mechanism would work on both AUVs, he’d decided to pillage the rest of the flares from the lifeboats.
He and Vraebel had torn through over thirty of them and extracted the magnesium from the red flares’ casing. When that was done, Calhoun felt like his fingers were going to fall off. But
if it worked, it would be well worth the pain.
When Shawna and Catfish returned, they’d begin the countdown. Catfish had programmed the AUVs for a swift descent. It would still take them at least half an hour to reach the ocean floor. Before they passed into lower midnight, they’d squirt status data to the string. Based on their velocity, the robots would forecast their arrival at the planned coordinates. Calhoun wished he had a cigar. Just one last cigar and maybe a nice snifter of Highland Park 18. His mouth watered at the thought.
He glanced at the drill table. The drill crew was taking a break beneath the derrick. The falling rain barely touched them, but the wind gusts tore at their clothing and hardhats.
OCD to the last, Vraebel had insisted everyone wear hardhats and their safety gear. Calhoun thought the rig chief was making one last effort to protect his men. Laudable, but unnecessary. If Thomas was right about the thing living beneath the ocean floor, he had little doubt it was going to rock the rig into the water. They’d all be lucky to live another two hours.
#
The Zodiac skipped across the waves. Shawna had strapped herself into a safety harness. For the first time in his life, Catfish had too. He’d never run a boat in this kind of weather. JP usually did the honors regardless of the size of the waves.
Shawna had tended the boat while he’d dropped into the cold water to perform a last spot check on the AUVs. He’d untethered each of them from the tow-lines and then lingered. AUV 5, the bitch, and its well-behaved brother, were going to their doom. The robots didn’t know it, but they were hopefully going to save everyone on the rig. Well, the nine that were left anyway. Catfish had chuckled to himself behind his mask as he opened 5’s status panel and made sure all the lights were green. Maybe you’ll save the whole fucking world.
Satisfied his babies were ready for their mission, he closed the panels and patted their hulls. Swim well. And go kill that fucking thing, he thought. He swam to the side of the boat and waved a hand. Shawna must have seen him and hit the remote, because a second later, AUV 5’s screws began turning. The sound of its engine was a quiet hum. The ballast pumps took on water and a few seconds later, it disappeared from sight. AUV 1 followed close behind.
A wave crashed over him, but Catfish didn’t care. The cold, the fear, he’d left it all behind. All that mattered now was seeing this through. And at least now, they had a chance.
Driving the Zodiac back to Leaguer took far too much patience. He wanted to be on his laptop to monitor his robots’ progress as they reached lower midnight. Not for the first time, he wished he could ride with them to the ocean floor, see the fish up close, and watch as the world turned into darkness that not even deep space could match.
Catfish slowed the boat. The rig was lit up like a Christmas tree. Atop the bridge, red LEDs glowed and blinked. The oil derrick had green lights near its bottom, yellow lights up its middle, and the upper section was all red. From out in the ocean, he’d even been able to see the work lights on the deck.
Shawna turned her head. Her hair was a mess of salty moisture. “We there, yet?” she asked with a smile.
He grunted as he motored to the mooring. The bright bay halogens dissipated the shadows and he let out a sigh of relief. Returning to the rig was both terrifying and comforting. At least he knew what was on the rig. In the water? Impossible to know if one of those things was waiting for someone to fall in.
The white nylon line hung from the wall. Catfish wrapped it tight around the boat’s cleat. “Okay, Shawna, let’s—“
She hissed at him. Catfish turned and looked at her. Her jaw was stiff, cheeks hollowed, and her eyes were fixed on something above his shoulders.
He raised his eyebrows at her, but he already had a damned good idea of what she was looking at. Slowly, he moved a hand to the flashlight clipped to his wetsuit. She nodded to him and did the same. Light in hand, he flicked its switch and turned as fast as he could.
The light jumped up the superstructure wall. It sat perched on a piece of gleaming steel. Its eyestalk shuddered as he pointed his light at it. Even with the sound of the waves and the howling wind, he heard the sizzling. The thing flowed to the other side of the steel beam.
“Go, go!” he yelled at Shawna.
She dropped her harness and climbed up the boat launch. Catfish kept his eyes focused on the beam and played his light over its surface. The entire beam was clean and shined as though polished.
Another light joined his. “Get up here, dammit,” she said.
He didn’t wait to be told twice. He backed away and climbed up to join Shawna. Her light searched the beam as his had.
“If you need anything from the AUV bay,” she said, “you better get it right fucking now.”
Catfish shook his head. “Let’s get to the deck and shut this thing in here.”
“What if it gets in the water?” she asked. “What will it do?”
He shrugged. “No idea. But we can’t kill it if we can’t find it. And I’d rather it not find us first.”
She nodded. “Okay. Let’s move.”
As they headed up the stairs to the rig deck, he was reminded of the trip into the superstructure. Cluster fuck. Everything was turning into one today. He reached the top of the deck and his light fluttered as he found his footing.
Something down in the bay moved. He turned his light. The thing crouched on AUV 3 just behind its yellow fin. “Yeah, you stay right fucking there,” he said to it. He gave it one last blast of light before closing the bay doors behind him.
Up on the deck, the roughnecks stood beneath the derrick. The portable halogen work lamps bathed them with white light. Off to the side near the tool areas, Vraebel, Bill, and Calhoun stood talking. Calhoun noticed them and cast a glance their way.
Catfish nodded to him as he slid the bolt through the bay lock. If that thing wanted to get up on deck, it’d find a way. But for now, at least, it was in the bay and trapped by all those halogen lights. At least he hoped.
#
He stifled another yawn. The urge to open his mouth and roar a long one was becoming impossible to rein in. The rig rocked slightly beneath the punishing waves. Sheets of rain fell from the sky. This far from the halogen deck lights, it was darker than he’d ever seen.
Bill stood ten meters away from the superstructure. Some lights still worked on the first floor, but the second and third floors were dead. He wasn’t even sure electricity was still working up there.
Once they had finished loading the shots and casing the drill string, he’d taken up sentry duty. That was more than an hour ago. Keeping himself occupied and awake was becoming difficult. But every time he felt as though he’d fall asleep standing up, he thought of those things filling the hallways of the superstructure and being trapped in there with them.
Just to be safe, he’d dumped the flashlight’s batteries for fresh ones and taken another flashlight with him. The spare was clipped to his belt and waggled in the wind. The tight beam of light played over the steel door that led into the rig’s superstructure.
They’d already closed the other hatches. The creatures had no way to get out onto the deck. Unless, of course, there was something they’d forgotten.
Bill had been thinking about that for several minutes. Well, they felt more like hours. His mind raced over Leaguer’s blueprints trying to find a way for the things to get to the deck. And really, he couldn’t think of any.
He continued flashing the lights around the lower deck trying to find any point of ingress. He was so tired and so focused on doing just that, he never thought to look up. From the bridge windows, a continuous stream of black oozed down the metal and to the lip which he, Sigler, and Vraebel had used to escape. The viscous fluid pooled and waited. Eye stalks popped up out of the sludge and began watched the deck crew. It took several moments for it to notice Bill. When it did, it began to move.
#
On the ocean surface, the waves continued to grow. Wind whipped across them spraying white froth. J
ellyfish and Man O’War were caught in the continual advance of the storm surge. A pod of whales rose to the waves, took deep breaths, and headed back under for protection from the howling wind and rain.
AUV 5 filmed every movement as it plummeted toward the ocean floor. AUV 1 was a few meters behind it doing the same. This depth of the ocean didn’t notice the sun slipping below the horizon. Thanks to the storm, its rays hadn’t penetrated far into the water all day. Darkness was all AUV 5’s camera’s picked up until it ran across a school of lantern fish.
The ugly, alien looking creatures had risen from lower midnight in a frenzy of self-protection. Something was wrong with their ocean floor home. Very wrong.
As the robots swam deeper, the school broke apart in terror. They had seen the robots before and on some level, knew they weren’t a threat. But now everything was a predator. An ancient instinct borne of millions of years of evolution told them to swim for their lives. AUV 5 caught pictures of them as they passed.
Other creatures, more ancient than even the lantern fish, were leaving the ocean floor as well. Some would survive the journey to the upper depths. Others would explode when the pressure they’d lived with all their lives began to subside. But all of them were obeying the same basic instinct: flee.
AUV 5 circled the drill string as it descended in a lazy spiral. It approached the 18k foot mark. The subroutine monitoring depth and pressure broke out of its sleep. AUV 5 sent a burst of data to the drill string. AUV 1 followed suit. The subroutine reset itself and waited for the depth to reach 27,320 feet. At 26,000 feet, it would begin monitoring for seismic disturbances.
The robots continued their swim to the bottom in complete darkness. Their creator would have been proud of the spiral course in which they moved. As they made their way into lower midnight, there were no fish to be seen, no life at all. The only life left in the trench waited for them.
#
The laptop beeped. Catfish had been staring at it for over half an hour as he tried to keep his stomach from rebelling. Vraebel filled the ballasts beyond the safety line to keep the rig stable, but the waves didn’t seem to care. They kept coming and each one battered the rig’s aft section.
The Black Page 25
