Outpost

by Adam Baker

  He lay on a sunbed for a while and woke up shivering. His parka had fallen open. He couldn't work the zip.

  He remembered where he hid cigarettes. Airlock 63.

  Jane and Ghost arrived back at the rig. They winched the zodiac into the boathouse.

  Ghost showed Jane how to operate a shotgun as they rode the freight elevator to habitation level.

  'You've seen it on TV a million times. Slot five shells into the receiver. Pump the slide. Pull it all the way back. Nice, firm stroke. Set the safety to Fire. And for God's sake don't put your finger on the trigger until you are ready to shoot.'

  'Cool.'

  'Press the gun to your shoulder. Brace your legs. Boom.'

  They took a shortcut. They crossed the deck and entered an airlock.

  Ghost took out his radio.

  'We're back.'

  'I'm in Frank's office,' said Sian. 'I'm watching the doors. Someone just opened airlock 27.'

  'That's us. We just came aboard.'

  'Watch your selves. You might run into him.'

  They opened the internal door of the airlock. Ghost surveyed the corridor, shotgun at the ready.

  'This feels a bit over-dramatic,' said Jane. 'This is Frank we are talking about. He's probably just confused.'

  'You saw that shit growing out of his hand. Want that to happen to you?'

  'Not particularly.'

  'Don't point that thing at me, all right? Point it at the floor.'

  Rawlins hugged a corridor wall. Dancing flashlight beams. Two figures stepped out of an airlock. Jane and Ghost. They carried shotguns.

  He padded behind them as they entered the pipe store. He stayed in shadow while they crouched and examined the floor.

  'This is where Sian found him,' said Jane.

  'Blood drips. Must have been squatting here a while. Wonder what was going on in his head.' Ghost took yellow spray paint from his pocket, shook the can and circled the blood drips. 'We'll have to clean this level room by room. Bleach the whole fucking place.'

  'Sian said his eye was black.'

  'Could be a haemorrhage. Not necessarily proof of infection.'

  Rawlins stood behind them. He fought rising bloodlust. He wanted to seize them. He wanted to bite. He wanted to rip and tear.

  He ducked behind a pillar as they stood and turned.

  'Might be worth re-checking Medical,' said Ghost. 'It's been a while. He might go back. He might want something for the pain.'

  They made their way to the accommodation block. Ghost pounded the blast door with his fist. He shouted into the intercom.

  'It's us. Me and Jane. We're coming in.'

  He hit Open. The door slid back.

  'Frank tried to get in,' said Punch.

  'Is he infected?' asked Jane.

  'I heard him. I didn't see him.'

  'He's alive at least.'

  'Look,' said Ghost. He shone his flashlight at the deck plates. Footprints on frosted metal. 'He left a trail.'

  'Where?'

  'See that?' he said, pointing at a cluster of prints. 'That's us, coming and going. But look here.' Bare footprints near the wall. 'That's him. Is Rye upstairs?' 'Yeah.'

  'Find her. Tell her to load a hypodermic with some kind of sedative.'

  'You want me to tag along?'

  'No. Just me and Jane. Keep the door shut, okay? We'll be back in a while.'

  They tracked footprints to the gym.

  'Looks like he took a nap,' said Ghost, examining a sunbed. 'More blood. Here and here.' He took out his spray can and circled the drips. 'He can't give us the run-around much longer. Not in this cold.'

  They tracked prints down a C deck corridor.

  'Boots,' said Ghost. 'Fresh.'

  'Sure it's not us?'

  'We haven't been down this way.'

  The footprints led to an open doorway.

  FUEL STORE

  'Put your safety catch on,' instructed Ghost. 'No shooting, all right? Don't want to blow us all to hell.'

  Ghost stood in the doorway.

  'Frank?' he called. 'Are you okay?' No reply. 'I'm coming in, Frank. Is that all right?'

  Ghost shone his flashlight into the storeroom. Stacked oil drums. Jerry cans. Tins of kerosene.

  'Frank? You there?'

  Ghost went inside. Jane followed.

  Rawlins was kneeling in the corner shadows. Jane saw him first. He was soaked in kerosene, an empty fuel can by his side and an unlit cigarette between his lips.

  'Hey, Frank,' said Jane. 'How have you been?'

  'Fucked-up day.' His fringe dripped like he just stepped from the shower.

  'Yeah. It's been a bad year all round.'

  Rawlins had taken off his coat. His arm and neck were bruised black and yellow. His empty eye socket wept blood.

  'So what do you say, Frank?' asked Ghost. 'How about we take you back to Medical for a while and look after you?'

  Rawlins gave a woozy smile and shook his head. He gestured to his mutilated arm, his missing eye.

  'I don't think Lemsip is going to help much, do you?'

  'Yeah, but I'd rather you didn't light up. You have to show a little consideration for others.'

  'There's no way home. We all know it, so why drag it out?' He stroked the black flesh of his throat. 'It wants things. This disease. It has an agenda.' He reached into the pocket of his ragged trousers. 'Sorry, folks.' He flipped open his Zippo. 'I've got to go while I'm still me.' He closed his eyes and struck the lighter. Blue flame washed over him.

  Jane and Ghost ran for the door. They slung the shotguns over their shoulders and snatched extinguishers from the wall.

  Frank was dead and burning. They trained jets of carbon dioxide at the fire, but the flames spread between oil drums.

  A propane tank blew. It ricocheted off three walls and burst a couple of jerry cans, triggering a massive fireball.

  'We've lost it,' yelled Ghost. 'Let's get out of here.'

  They ran for the door. Jane hit Close. The door dropped like a guillotine, blocking the tide of flame that threatened to flood the corridor and incinerate them.

  Ghost touched the door but quickly snatched his hand away. Superhot metal.

  'Let it burn. It'll drink all the oxygen soon enough.'

  They jogged down the corridor.

  'You okay?' asked Ghost.

  'Yeah. I'm fine.'

  An explosion punched out the fuel store door like a fist. The heavy hatch cart-wheeled down the corridor towards them, propelled by fire.

  They ran for the stairwell. Jane hammered the Close button with her fist. The blast door slid down as a juggernaut of flame rushed to meet them. Fire flickered round their boots as the hatch slammed shut.

  Fire

  Sian sat at Rawlins's desk. The lights flickered. Slight tremor. A pot of pencils toppled from the desk and scattered on the floor.

  Sian picked up the radio.

  'Guys? Ghost? Do you copy, over?'

  The lights flickered again.

  'Guys, what's going on?'

  A sudden alarm. A red ceiling strobe began to flash. A woman's super-calm voice:'... Emergency stations. Fire warning. Emergency stations. Fire warning . . !

  Sian checked the floor plan on the desk screen. The fuel store and adjacent corridor flashed red.

  'Folks, I've got multiple alerts in D Module. What's going on?'

  Punch ran down the corridor towards D Module. He fumbled for his radio.

  '. . . Emergency stations. Fire warning. Emergency stations. Fire warning . . '.

  'What's the deal?' he said, shouting to be heard over the emergency announcement.

  'Fire and monoxide alerts on C deck,' said Sian. 'Lots of them.'

  'Is this is a system fault or an actual fire?'

  'I'm going up to the roof said Sian. 'I'm going to check.'

  'Close the blast doors. Drop any left open. Close them all.'

  'What about Ghost and Jane?'

  Ghost and Jane ran up the stairs. They reached
the top just as a blast door closed, sealing them inside the D Module stairwell. Ghost jabbed Open. The hatch didn't respond.

  'There must be an override,' said Jane.

  'There is. A key. Punch has it.'

  He took out his radio.

  'Sian? Sian, do you copy, over?' No response. 'Fucking stairway. It's a refuge point. Thick walls.'

  'That's good, right?'

  Wisps of smoke from below. They leaned over the railing. The bottom of the stairwell was hazed with smoke. Ghost ripped open a fire locker. He ran down the stairs with an Ansul extinguisher. Jane followed.

  'These doors are supposed to hold back thousand-degree heat for twelve hours straight,' coughed Jane.

  'It's not the door, it's the conduits. Electrical fires behind the bulkheads.'

  Black smoke seeped from a wall-vent. Ghost discharged the extinguisher into the vent. The jet of carbon dioxide roared, sputtered and died.

  'Sian? Sian, can you hear me, over? Fuck.'

  They ran upstairs. Ghost took breathing apparatus from the fire locker. One air tank. One mask. They buddy-breathed, drew lungfuls of oxygen as they passed the mask back and forth.

  'How much air is in this tank?' gasped Jane.

  'Thirty minutes, tops.'

  Sian vaulted stairs to the helipad. She forgot her coat. She ran outside in her T-shirt.

  Smoke wafted from the adjacent accommodation block.

  'We have a fire. A big one. C level. Are you getting this, Punch? Can you hear me?'

  Sian leaned over the edge of the helipad to get a better view.

  She was shivering with cold. Water gushed from beneath the burning habitation block and cascaded into the sea. A ruptured pipe.

  'Punch, I'm looking over the side. Heavy damage. We're losing water. There are flames.'

  '. . . Emergency stations. Fire warning. Emergency stations. Fire warning . . !

  Punch ran down the corridor to D Module. The hatch at the end of the passage had a porthole. Fire on the other side. A passageway clogged with smoke and flame.

  Think like Ghost. What would he do?

  Punch ran to the fire point. Breathing apparatus. He took out an oxygen cylinder and struggled to release the valve. He strapped it to his back and buckled the harness. So heavy he almost toppled backward. He tugged on the face-mask.

  Rawlins drilled the crew once a month. A three-step procedure in the event of fire:

  Seal the doors.

  Put on a mask.

  Find the nearest fire suppression wall box. Smash the glass. Pull the lever. Trigger the deluge system

  Punch ran to a wall box. He smashed the glass with his elbow. He yanked the red lever to On. Nothing happened. He tried it twice more. Nothing. The lever should have released the Inergen gas system. Ceiling valves should have flooded the corridors with an inert mix of argon, nitrogen and carbon dioxide, and choked the fire. Punch ripped off his mask.

  'Sian, why the fuck haven't the suppressors kicked in?'

  Punch unravelled a fire hose. He twisted the stop-cock. The hose swelled. He trained the low-pressure stream at the blast door. Water gulped and sputtered. It splashed against the hatch and fizzled like spit on a hot plate.

  'This is fucked,' he muttered. He threw down the hose and took out his radio. 'I'm coming up top. There's not much I can do down here.'

  Punch joined Sian on the helipad. He threw her a coat.

  'Nothing from Ghost and Jane?'

  'Nothing,' said Sian.

  'Ivan knows how to operate the crane. He can lower me on to the roof.'

  Punch stood alone on the helipad. He pulled a silver, fire-retardant proximity suit over his survival gear. The suit was comically big. He had to roll up the sleeves.

  He buckled a SCBA cylinder to his back. The sun had set. He looked up at a fabulous dusting of stars.

  Worse ways to go, he thought. Die fighting. Die for your friends.

  There was a heavy freight crane mounted on the deck between the accommodation blocks. Sian and Ivan could swing him from one roof to another.

  He could see them in the cab. Ivan at the controls. Sian crouched beside him.

  Punch waved. They swung the jib and lowered the hook. There was a cargo pallet hung from the hook, a wooden platform suspended by a chain.

  Punch pulled on his face-mask. He stepped on to the platform. He gave a thumbs up. They swung him towards the burning accommodation module.

  Jane and Ghost crouched in the stairwell. The air was thick with hydrogen sulphide. Ghost struggled to stay conscious. His eyelids drooped like he wanted to sleep. Jane crouched over him and pressed the mask to his face. She snatched the mask away and took a gulp of oxygen every few seconds.

  The blast door raised. A slight figure in an oversized silver suit. Punch, smiling through the polycarbonate visor.

  'Let's get out of here, shall we?' His voice was muffled by his mask.

  They hurried down the corridor. They supported Ghost between them. He started to revive.

  Ivan sat in the crane cab. Sian stood at his shoulder. 'Punch, do you copy, over? Punch?'

  The wind changed. The cab was enveloped in black smoke from the burning accommodation block.

  'We must go,' said Ivan.

  'Wait.'

  'I don't want to get caught up here. Nine-eleven. Jump-or- burn. I don't need it.'

  'Just wait.'

  They ran past Medical.

  'Wait,' said Jane. She ran inside. She flapped open a red body- waste bag. 'We have to save as much as we can.'

  She swept armfuls of drugs into the bag. Ghost opened a cupboard and filled a bag with dressings and hypodermics.

  Punch stood by the door. The floor felt soft and sticky. He lifted his boot. The rubber sole of his shoe had begun to melt. He crouched and held his hand over the deck plate. Fierce heat. The level beneath them must be ablaze.

  'Folks, we need to leave this instant.'

  'Go,' said Jane. 'I'm right behind you.'

  They ran for the roof. Ghost pushed Punch on to the cargo pallet.

  'You go,' said Ghost. 'I'm waiting for Jane.'

  '. . . Emergency stations. Fire warning. Emergency stations. Fire warning . .

  The crew mustered in the canteen. They kicked off their heavy boots and zipped themselves into survival suits: insulated wetsuits designed to keep a man alive if he fell into the sea and was immersed in heart-stopping cold. Each man checked his buddy's suit seals and life jacket.

  Nail zipped a deck of cards into his suit. Essential supplies. He instinctively retreated to the gym equipment in the corner of the canteen. His territory. His kingdom. He was joined by Mal, Gus and Yakov.

  'Any idea what's going on?'

  'Keep seeing Punch run back and forth,' said Nail. 'Fucker won't look me in the eye.'

  He sniffed.

  'Smell that? Burning plastic. If we all sit here waiting for someone to kiss it better, we'll choke.'

  'Can we kill that fucking announcement, at least?' said Gus. 'It's driving me nuts.'

  Nail ran to Rawlins's office. Empty. He sat at the desk. He checked the screen. The adjacent habitation block flashed red. Fire alerts on every level. He switched on the PA and grabbed the mike.

  'All stations. All stations. Abandon rig. Abandon rig.'

  The cargo platform swung towards the helipad. Punch touched down.

  He ran down the stairwell towards the canteen. Thick smoke. Alarms and strobes.

  '. . . All stations. All stations. Abandon rig. Abandon rig . . !

  We're going to lose the whole fucking refinery.

  What would Ghost do?

  Punch stood on a chair in the canteen and clapped for attention.

  'Okay, folks. We're out of here.'

  He led the crew down the smoke-filled stairway. They coughed. Their eyes streamed. He counted them off as he pushed them into an airlock. One man down.

  He found Nail lying unconscious on the stairs. He gripped Nail's ankles and dragged him to the airlock.
r />   They sealed themselves inside. They were choking. Three men puked.

  Punch shouldered the exterior door. They whooped freezing air.

  'We need to get to the boathouse. The elevators are out of action. We'll have to use the ladders.' The evacuation order was relayed to the crane cab.

  'We must go,' said Ivan.

  'What about Jane and Ghost?' said Sian.

  'I am sorry for your friends.'

  He climbed down the ladder to the deck. Sian stayed in the cab. She sat in the operator's seat and tried to make sense of the controls.

  'Ghost? Jane? Do you copy, over?'

  Ghost ran to Medical. Acrid smoke.

  Jane was still throwing drugs and equipment into bags.

  'What the fuck are you doing, girl?'

  'Help me.'

  They hurried up the stairs. They dragged bags.

  Alarms. Smoke. Warning strobes.

  'Who gave the evacuation order?'

  'Sounded like Nail,' said Jane.

  'I saw people down on the docking platform. They were climbing into the zodiac.'

  'We can't abandon the rig. Without it we are fucked.'

  'We don't have a choice,' said Ghost. 'There's plenty of octane distillate left in the pipes. Soon as the fire reaches the injection pumps this place will detonate like a fucking H-bomb.'

  They reached the roof.

  Driving smoke. They couldn't see the crane cab.

  'Sian? Ivan? Do you copy?'

  Ghost checked his radio. Low battery warning.

  He stood at the edge of the roof and yelled.

  'Sian. Ivan.'

  He looked down. White furnace heat.

  Eight men in the zodiac. The boat rode low in the water. Overloaded. The outboard laboured. They weaved between pack ice.

  They reached the island. They lifted Nail ashore. They carried him up the jetty steps to the bunker door.

  The crew camped in the tunnel mouth. They lit a couple of storm lamps. They huddled round a hexamine stove for heat. Nobody spoke. They were all thinking the same thing. They were dead bodies. The refinery was life-support. Without the supplies aboard the rig they would last less than a day. Once the stoves burned dry, they would all freeze.