by Riva, Aline
He lowered his binoculars as the sunlight caught on the heavy gold chain around his left wrist and Zachary laughed again. The loss of one crate was no big problem – that boat had four others on board. Rounding up the dead had not been easy and had cost him a couple of his men, but soon it would pay off, when the delivery was made and the dead wiped out those on the rig, leaving it empty, then he could claim back his drug stash and maybe, if it was in a good condition, use the rig as a base for a while... As the boat sailed he watched it leave, his thoughts on the snake Greg Fitzroy who had stolen his goods:
“Not long now,” he murmured, “You're a dead man walking, Fitzroy...”
Chapter 5
Air seemed to be what was needed after the tension and the shooting and the added worry of the power supply and its difference between life and death in regard to the food supply in the freezer. The fresh North Sea air was reviving to Vicki as she walked over to the rail and looked out to sea and her sister stood beside her. The air was cooling now, the sun shielded by gathering storm clouds. The temperature had dropped sharply but it was refreshing and a reminder that she was still alive as the cold nipped at her flesh and her smooth skin rose in goosebumps.
“The sea looks rough,” Amy remarked, watching as the waves began to roughen with the change of weather.
“Those clouds look almost black in the distance. I think we're in for a heavy night,” Vicki added.
“This rig is built to cope with all weather,” her sister replied, feeling confident as she paused to admire the structure that right now felt like a metallic palace, tough and weatherproof, built to defy the sea.
Then the wind blew harder, almost a silent threat murmuring of its might and how easy it would be to hit two mere mortals with a heavy blast, enough to send them tumbling from the rig.
“We should go back inside,” Amy said, “It's getting a bit wild out here.”
Just as she said those words, in the distance the far off storm clouds rolled closer, carried by the wind, as a distant rumble of thunder sounded. The rest of the sky was slate grey, taking off the sparkle and making the water below look dull and sea green as it started to churn up. Just as they closed the door behind them and made it to the shelter of the residential block, the first spots of rain hit the platform of the oil rig.
By the time the rain was pouring down and the sound could be heard as tapping and then hammering outside, the rush and swirl and churn of angry waves below filled the air. This was the worst weather so far that any of them had encountered except for Hayley who wasn't bothered by it as she made her usual basic checks to ensure the heat and light was running without fault, then she returned to the kitchen where she met Amy, who offered to help with dinner. Emma had already stopped by and wanted to lend a hand with the food, she had loaded up the oven with selections from the freezer and as she had done that, Hayley had caught the look she had given the place, standing in the large, walk in storage area as she considered the size of it and the amount of food stored there, no doubt estimating how long it would last between six people before things got desperate – if the power lasted that long... But if Amy had thought the same, she said nothing about the food concern as she stood with her in the kitchen, enjoying a rare slice of something that resembled normality.
Hayley had already figured out why this area was her favourite place too and had been since the other workers had left the rig – it reminded her of the old days and old friends, of dinners together, socialising, watching TV in the recreation room, back when the thought of the mainland was warm and welcoming, before the dead had taken over. Now it was the little things that meant so much to them – cooking in a kitchen and talking about the weather as the rain poured down outside and the sea got angry. It was the closest to normality that existed now, but it was welcome respite from the reality that was too harsh to face beyond the walls of the rig.
Marc was in the recreation room and had been knocking balls around a pool table all by himself when Emma walked in. She had offered him a game and then after two games later, they were laughing and chatting and then playing a third game. While they were also distracted by a reminder of the way life used to be, Greg had just woken from a sleep that had been forced on him by the stress of the day. As he sat up on his bed he remembered it was still daylight, then the sound of the bullets hitting the rig echoed in his mind. He looked to the suitcases on the floor and gave a heavy sigh. Marc was right, they would have to wait this out. If Zackary came back, he was now decided on his actions - he wasn't about to cause any deaths, the drugs would be great for trade but not at the loss of those around him. They were strangers thrown together but in the brief time they had been on the rig, they had started to get to know each other, to tolerate the company of random strangers. They all had one powerful common link to bond them now:
People needed to stick together, because the dead were everywhere and unity was the only way to get through this...
As he thought on the matter he silently hoped none of them hated him, having a flare gun shoved in his face had shaken him as much as being shot at from the skies. While the rest of them had been furious to learn he was the reason for the attack, not one of them deserved to have taken a bullet because of him... He got up, went to the bathroom, freshened up then came out again, deciding a change of clothing was in order. It was then his heart sank.
“Oh no!” he said as regret felt like a sharp pain: Greg had just recalled he had two expensive suits...on the helicopter. Not only had they lost their way off the rig thanks to the explosion, he had also lost two top quality Italian suits...
“Can this get any worse...” he muttered, opening up the door and stepping out into the corridor beyond.
“Greg...”
As he turned to see Vicki standing there, she had just shut the door of her room and as she said his name, he looked at her apologetically.
“I'm so sorry about what happened today. When I took the stash I was thinking about survival – that's all any of us think about when we have to run from danger. I didn't know I'd end up here, stuck on an oil rig with a handful of strangers. I certainly didn't think Zackary would be after me. I thought he was dead. Most people were dead, I saw death everywhere on the day I left,”he shook his head, “It's not something you can for get, is it.”
“I know what you mean,” Vicki replied, “We had to fight to get to the car, people were out in the street, killing each other, corpses tearing people apart...some of them were neighbours me and sis grew up with. But we managed to drive away to the coast and reach the yacht. It's crazy, every time we run we think we'll be safe but it never seems to work out that way. Something always happens. It makes me wonder if there's any real point in trying.”
He looked into her eyes, trying not to notice how pretty she was as her long fair hair framed her face and she stood there with a perfect figure. She was in her early twenties, until now he hadn't thought about anything beyond surviving each day but even though his usual type was closer to his own age, he was suddenly aware of her. He didn't want to be, he didn't want to think about things that didn't matter any more. The world was wrecked and nothing made sense but still Vicki was pretty and he knew he didn't want to see such a look of deep despair in her eyes.
“Don't think we won't get through this,”he said kindly, “We will. And I'm truly sorry I've caused so much trouble. But you never know – maybe those suitcases might buy us transport off this rig. I'm so desperate to get out of here I'd hand them over in exchange for all of us getting away!”
She smiled at last and he felt there was a fraction less sadness in the world for seeing that.
“Don't blame yourself,” she told him, “You didn't know this would happen. By the way, thanks for looking after me on the chopper when I was bleeding.”
Their eyes had locked, their gaze unbroken. He realised and looked away as his face flushed.
“No need to thank me,” he said, “I'm not exactly a hero, as you know...I'm just trying to make
the best of a bad situation, I think that's what we are all trying to do.”
“We should head down for dinner,” she reminded him.
“Right,” he replied, then as she turned and went up the corridor he followed, trying not to think about the fact that he had just felt attracted to a woman who was not his usual type. Under these circumstances he didn't want to be thinking about anything other than getting off the rig – but they were stuck here together, it was a close community now whether they liked it or not...
He walked with Vicki to the canteen, taking his place at dinner and then making conversation with Marc, who was keen to tell him about the pool game with Emma, and as they talked, he looked right at his best friend, avoiding all chance of eye contact with Vicki.
By nightfall, the sea was wild with high, rough waves as the wind blew a gale and heavy clouds were chased over to slam together. Thunder rumbled over head and lightning forked the skies. The decision had been made at dinner before it grew dark that with the rough seas it made sense to have a watch on the lowest platform, where within the open square, the sea below was lashing high waves upward to hit the rig. The risk of any corpses floating in and being washed up was not a chance they wanted to take, not after the incident with the oil covered creature.
Marc had offered to take first watch but Greg, keen to make amends over the shooting, and keen to watch over his best friend, insisted they took the whole shift together.
“And what about in the morning if the storm's still about?” Emma had asked.
“I'll take over,” Hayley replied, “I'm used to this weather. You guys do the night shift and I'll take it on at dawn.”
When the arrangements were made and they left the canteen, finally Greg had glanced back at Vicki. She gave him a nervous smile and he smiled back.
“I saw that,” Marc said in a bemused tone, “She's a nice girl.”
“Too young for me. She's in her twenties, not my type...”
“Greg,” he replied as they went up the corridor and he kept his voice low, “It's the apocalypse in case you've not noticed... your type may not be out there any more, and if they are, they're probably stumbling around killing us living folk! I'm just saying, keep your options open.”
Suddenly the idea of being attracted to Vicki didn't seem so odd at all.
“Maybe I'll listen you your advice this time,” Greg replied as they headed to their rooms to double up on layers of clothing and put on thick sweaters, “Not right now, but sometime, later – if we ever get off this rig.”
Then he went into his room to get ready for the night shift as Marc laughed and shook his head.
“That sounds like some time never!” he remarked, and then he went inside and closed the door.
The route to the lowest platform was under cover, shielded by the floor above. The wind blew cold and damp and salty and the sea sounded like a roar that joined chorus with the wind as Marc and Greg, wrapped up against the chill, made their way towards the concrete barrier. It was waist high and the drop below into churning water made Marc's head swim. He placed a hand on the barrier and drew in a breath, trying to fight off the sensation of the crazy world around him turning violently.
“Are you okay?” Greg asked.
Marc blinked, turned his back to the sharp wind and looked pale as he gave his reply.
“It's just... being this close to the sea...I can swim but deep water turns my guts over. Being this close, thinking about three miles down to the bottom...”
At this moment Greg was able to lend him some confidence, and he was glad to be able to help after all Marc had done for him since they left shore.
“Listen, that water is deep but we're on the rig and it's designed to keep us above water. I'm not scared of the sea – there's life jackets if we need them, I saw them in a room near the accommodation block...”
“If we go in the water we drift out to sea -”
“You're not going in anyway!” Greg exclaimed, “One day, when this is over, I'll take you on my next holiday to the Caribbean. You know I used to go there every year, I had a private beach and I used to go diving every day!”
“Three miles down?”
“Not that deep but deep enough and I'm still alive!” he laughed, “So does this mean I'm your bodyguard now, Marc?”
That made him raise a smile.
“Oh, very funny!”
The wind was still howling. They stepped away from the edge, still in plain view of the churning sea below but under shelter, away from splashes of wild waves. Just then a door opened up and a distant voice called to Greg. He turned to see Vicki in the doorway holding a flask.
“I made hot tea for you both!” she called out.
“Thanks!” Greg replied with a smile.
“Go on, talk to her, I'll be fine here,” Marc said.
Greg was still smiling as he shook his head.
“You go.”
Marc chuckled.
“Scared of a girl, Greg? I'm going to have so much fun taking the piss when we get off this shift!”
Greg slapped his arm.
“I'll fire you!”
He laughed again.
“I think we all quit our jobs a while back... I'll go and get that tea...” Then he walked off, heading for the distant doorway, as Greg turned back to the water, watching the wild waves as somewhere above the howl of the wind and the roar of the sea, he thought he heard a boat engine. Then he shook his head, guessing too much time alone out here was enough to drive anyone crazy... He could see nothing but dark water and lashing waves as thunder rumbled overhead. It was going to be a long night...
Below the rig as the waves churned, the tide was conspiring with the men on the boat, lashing towards the platform as the boat sat in its shadow, unseen as the rain lashed and the storm clouds obscured moon and stars. As the crates were unlocked and shoved into the water, the sound they made as each one hit the surface was masked by the roll of the tide. Even the sounds of moaning and snarls from the dead within were snatched up by the wind as the crates were carried on a powerful wash, grazing the rig as they bounced off the structure and the undead spilled out into the water, filling the sea below the platform with corpses as dead hands reached and groped at other dead who floated past, snatched away by the flow of the violent tide.
The last crate was sent in and the boat turned around, rocking in the heavy seas, making a quick retreat from the eye of the storm and the oil slick washing in with the tide that was covering the undead as it rolled over them and gathered them up. The boat would shift out to calmer seas, leaving the dead to do their work and then return when the storm cleared. Come morning, a boarding party would go up with machine guns and wipe out the corpses. Any living on the rig tonight stood no chance, at least, that was Zackary's plan... Now all four crates were open and floating loose, washing out and away with the tide and a few stray corpses as the rest were gathered in the swell of a storm stricken sea, and with another roll of the tide, the first of many were swept upward, slamming against the lowest platform of the rig...
As a violent wave hit the barrier and salt water splashed over, Greg looked back, saw a pool of water on the floor and felt thankful he was at a short distance away, under cover and not within soaking distance. The violence of the waves brought home just how rough the North Sea could get. Tonight the rig was in the middle of a storm, exposed to elements of air and water and it was getting wild as the weather worsened...
Just then multiple forks of lightning lit up the skies and reflected on dark water, the light carried in ghostly, brief as a camera flash and Greg's expression turned to one of horror at the sight of waves awash with corpses, all reaching and grasping through the water as they were carried beneath the rig on a violent roll of tide. He turned sharply, looking to the door where his best friend was still talking to Vicki as they sheltered inside the open doorway.
“Marc!” he yelled as his eyes went wide with panic, “We've got trouble!”
Marc heard a mu
ffled yell on the wind and turned, saw Greg's expression and his own face took on a look of shock as another wave washed high, sending corpse piled on to corpse reaching up for the rig. Dead hands were already clinging to the barrier, bodies were climbing over each other to cling on and get over and board the rig as another wave dashed the swell away, only to return it with force as more piled on and others washed out, grasping in vain at the water that carried them as their cries and moans rose up and mingled with the howl of the wind. Now Vicki had seen them too, piling in as shadows that lit up garish and chilling as wet bodies rolled over the barrier. Her jaw dropped and her face paled. The flask in her hand clattered to the floor.
“Get inside and lock the doors!” Marc ordered, “Fetch the others, get the flare guns.. find anything you can use as a weapon....Vicki?”
She was frozen to the spot, staring in horror towards the far off place where Greg had drawn his gun as the corpses rose up dripping on the platform and more waves rolled in, and others started to make the climb.
He grabbed her shoulders and gave her a shake. She stared at him.
“We're dead...”
“No we're not, do as I say! The doors, lock them! Tell the others...GO!”
She nodded and stepped back, slamming the door shut and locking it behind her. With his gun in his hand and finger poised on the trigger, Marc headed for the barrier, breaking into a run as in the distance, the dead were rising and Greg stood alone, backing off as he took aim.
