Wild Shores

by Radclyffe

  Austin groaned, running both hands up and down Gem’s back. “You can’t ask me to be patient and then tell me something like—”

  Gem silenced her with another kiss, angling her head to take the kiss deeper, welcoming the heat and the hunger. When she sensed herself falling into the taste of her, seduced by the hard possessive grip of her hands, she pulled away. “You have to be patient. We have to get ba—”

  Austin’s phone rang and she jerked it from her pocket, her dark eyes swirling with such hunger Gem bit her lip to keep back a moan.

  Holding her gaze, Austin snapped, “Germaine.” She listened for a second, then said, “I’ll need twenty…All right. Tell her to follow the lights.” She closed the phone and buried her face against Gem’s throat, her breathing still uneven. “I have to go.”

  Gem’s throat tightened. “What is it?”

  “We’ve got oil on the surface.”

  “God.” Gem stood to let Austin up. “It’s the middle of the night with a hurricane right around the corner. Can you really do anything now?”

  Austin framed Gem’s face and kissed her slowly, as if imprinting the taste and feel of her. “We’ll start the burn as soon as we can get the projected area of spill.”

  “I’m the last one to suggest maybe you should rely on the booms closer to shore to contain it,” Gem said, grabbing a fistful of Austin’s shirt as if to keep her in place, “but this can’t be safe.”

  “We’re not letting it get to shore.”

  Gem slipped her hand inside the collar of Austin’s shirt, needing flesh to flesh. “Promise not to do anything risky.”

  Austin laughed softly and kissed her again. “I promise…where the job is concerned.”

  Wordlessly, Gem let her go and they started back to the beach. Night had fallen and the wind had kicked up a few knots. The marsh grasses bent and fluttered, emitting a sorrowful sigh. By the time they reached the shore, the blinking lights of the helicopter marked its descent.

  Austin jogged toward it, shouting, “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Remember, you promised me,” Gem called after her, feeling her words pulled away on the wind.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Linda Kane came trotting down the beach, trailing a cable and a cameraman. Despite the wind and mist, her hair appeared perfectly coiffed and her designer brand rain slicker looked to be tailor-made to accentuate her voluptuous figure. She wore sporty black pants and boots with low heels that sank into the sand with every step. Nevertheless, she covered the ground with alacrity.

  “Where’s the helicopter going?” Linda asked of Gem, a microphone boom thrust into the space over their heads. The soundman braced his legs to hold it steady as the wind gusted offshore.

  “Back to the rig,” Gem said.

  “That seems rather unexpected,” Linda said, “especially since it required an emergency helicopter pickup from the beach.”

  “I really don’t know anything about that,” Gem said. “Helicopter landings are not something I have time to worry about.” She gestured down the beach to the long line of FEMA personnel and volunteers spotlighted in the glow of the halogens standing on stalks like alien praying mantises with single glaring eyes and spindly metal limbs. Hoping to get some public support for the sanctuary, Gem continued, “As you can see, this stretch of coastline borders the Rock Hill marshlands, a section of the wildlife sanctuary along the Atlantic Flyway. That’s—”

  “I’m sure everything here will be well taken care of, now FEMA’s here and in charge,” Linda said, facing the camera with a wide bright smile. She made a swift cutting motion below the apparent sight line of the viewfinder. Turning her back to Gem, she said to her assistant, “Call Larry. We need to get up in the air.”

  Gem watched them rush back down the beach and disappear over the rise where their van must be parked. Emily, who’d been lurking nearby, joined her.

  “Did I just hear her say they’re going up in the air?”

  “Yes, I gather she’s chasing the oil story. She sure doesn’t care about the sanctuary.”

  “Bad time to be heading out there,” Emily said, pulling up the hood of her windbreaker and cinching it down. “But I guess that’s how they get the scoops.”

  “Apparently.” Gem sighed. “And they’re going to get a good one. Austin just got word there’s oil on the surface. They’re going to try to burn it off.”

  Emily caught her breath. “Damn. Well. I guess that means we’re going to need more sandbags.”

  “Maybe not. Apparently burning is very effective, so I guess there’s still hope.”

  Emily squeezed her arm. “Hey, Austin’s an expert, right? So we’ve got more than hope on our side.”

  Gem nodded, searching the sky for a single sign that the cloud cover might be breaking. If the moon was out there, she couldn’t see it.

  ❖

  Austin keyed her mic and gripped the ceiling strap with one hand as the bird rocked from side to side. “Getting rough up here.”

  “Wind’s picked up and shifts direction every couple of minutes. Air pockets pretty much everywhere.”

  As if on schedule, the bird bucked and dropped ten feet inside a second. Austin’s stomach lurched as Benny pulled up. “I thought you and Rio were getting your birds back to the mainland.”

  “We plan to, but we’ve still got crew on the platform.”

  “As soon as we land, round everybody up. I want everyone gone ASAP.”

  Benny glanced at her. “Roger that. You’re heading to the ships?”

  “As soon as we get everything coordinated with the burn crews.”

  “Just don’t wait too long. Getting a launch off the platform might be tricky on these seas.”

  “I hear you.”

  Benny set down with a jolt and the helicopter skidded a dozen yards as a blast of air lifted the undercarriage. “I’ll have to tie her down until we get ready to leave.”

  “Make it fast.”

  “You need to get your meteorologist out here too,” Benny said.

  Austin shoved her door open, and the wind tried to shove it back. She braced it with an arm. “She’s still here?”

  “Yeah.”

  Mentally cursing, Austin said, “I’ll see to it,” and tugged off her headset. She forced her way out onto the platform, leaning into the wind and pushing toward the office.

  Claudia was the only one inside. She stood at the counter, a laptop by her right hand, a chart spread out by her left, and an aerial with a tiny red dot denoting the rig projected on the monitor in front of her.

  “You’re supposed to be gone,” Austin said abruptly.

  Claudia didn’t look around. “With oil on the surface, I need to do current projections so we can chart the direction of the drift for the ships to set the booms.”

  Under ordinary circumstances, Austin would’ve agreed. Two containment ships would isolate the oil within a U of fire-resistant booms, congregating the oil into a thick layer for an optimal burn, and tow it away from the rig. If the oil drifted too fast, it escaped the burn. If it thinned out too much, it wouldn’t burn at all. The ships followed courses predicted by a marine meteorologist like Claudia who mapped the currents, the wind speed, the wave height, and a host of other variables. In a lot of ways, this was Claudia’s game right now.

  “We’ll be lucky to get even a few hours’ burn with the weather we’ve got. You’ve done all you can do. You need to evac.”

  Claudia looked over her shoulder, an annoyed crease between her brows. “Really? Aren’t you being just a little bit chauvinistic here? Reddy and Tatum aren’t going anywhere.”

  “You can track the situation from land,” Austin said, smothering a grin. Claudia was probably a little bit right, but she was a desk jockey, not a roughneck. “Whatever happened to ‘I’ll be the first one off’?”

  “I’m still going to be the first one off. And if you’d be quiet and let me work, I’ll be off a lot sooner.”

  “As soon as you send
your projections, pack up your gear. The birds are getting ready to leave. Everybody’s going with them.”

  Claudia finally turned to face her. “All of us?”

  Austin lifted a shoulder. “Everyone except Tatum, Reddy, and me. We’ll deploy to the ships as soon as the evac here is complete.”

  “And how exactly are you going to do that?”

  “We’ll take the shuttle launch.”

  “On this sea?”

  Austin waved a hand. “We’ll be fine. Would you please get ready to go.”

  “All right, all right. I’m packing.” Claudia finished typing a message and began shutting down her computer with one hand while gathering papers from the counter with the other.

  Satisfied, Austin said, “You should make it off the island in plenty of time.”

  “Where are you going to be?” Claudia pushed folders and a pile of papers into her briefcase.

  “I’ll stay ashore so we can get back out here ASAP when the storm passes.”

  “Then I’m staying too. Where can I get a room?”

  “Don’t you already have one?”

  Claudia winced. “Unfortunately, yes, I do, it’s in container number thirty-nine on the far end of the platform. However, that’s not going to work out any longer.”

  Austin squeezed the bridge of her nose and shook her head. “Jeez. I can’t believe you’ve been bunking out here with Tatum and Reddy and that crew for the last—”

  “Far too many days,” Claudia said with a wry grin. “Is there any chance I can find someplace ashore?”

  “I doubt it. If the locals are leaving, they’ll be closing up their businesses. If they’re staying, they’re probably full. Either way, you don’t have much time to find out one way or the other.” She fished in her pants pocket and pulled out her room key. “Here, take this. It’s the Gulls Inn on the east end, room number five at the back. You can use my room.”

  “Oh, that’s okay, I don’t want to put you out.”

  “I won’t be using it very much anyhow. You might as well have a place to keep warm and dry, but it’s close to the beach, so keep an eye on the weather.”

  Claudia cocked a hip and smirked. “You didn’t really just say that to me, did you?”

  Austin grinned. “Yeah, I did. Now would you please hustle out to the bird and get out of here.”

  Claudia shrugged into her raincoat and picked up her briefcase and laptop case. As she passed Austin, she slowed. “Be careful, will you? Saving the company a few million dollars isn’t worth getting hurt for.”

  “I don’t think you want Eloise to hear you say that.”

  “Oh, Eloise…she’s not that hard to handle.”

  Austin stared after her, trying to imagine anyone handling Eloise. Maybe Claudia Spencer was just the person.

  ❖

  “Well,” Eloise said with a resigned sigh, “we pretty much always knew this was coming.”

  “Did you get the permits to burn?” Austin asked, walking around the control center and shutting down equipment as she talked.

  “Yes, when I advised the various agencies, I put the paperwork through just in case. Do you have any idea yet how big it’s going to be?”

  “So far the surface accumulations are pretty small, but they’re steady. We’re set to corral them with the booms and start the burn. I’ll give you an update when we do.”

  “How long do you think you’ll be able to keep it going?”

  “You know the stats. Once the wind gets over twenty to twenty-five knots or the waves hit five feet, we’re not going to be able to contain the oil. We’ll try skimming and whatever else we can as long as we can.”

  “We need Tatum’s crews to get that external shaft in place,” Eloise said. “No leak, no spill, no burn. Make that happen.”

  “Hurricane, Eloise. There’s a hurricane coming. I’m evacuating the rig.”

  “You might have discussed it with me.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss. You know the projections as well as I do. Time’s up.”

  “Damn it,” Eloise said quietly. “All right, just keep a lid on things.”

  Austin thought of NBC News camped out on the shore. At least they were fifty miles away. “Right, I’m on that.”

  After a last look around, she picked up a two-way radio from the console on the counter, shut off the lights, and locked the door behind her. Time for the endgame. She flicked open the channel to Tatum. “Ray, it’s Austin. Are your crews away?”

  “The last bird just left. It’s only us fucking pigeons left behind.”

  Austin chuckled. “Are the ships ready?”

  “Under way.”

  “I guess it’s time for us to rendezvous.”

  “The launch is ready to go.”

  “On my way.” Austin clipped the two-way to her belt, zipped her jacket, and grabbed a fire emergency pack from the on-deck emergency bin. Slinging it over her shoulder, she jogged across the rig, slowing at the sound of a helicopter circling overhead. She shaded her eyes against the glare of the floodlights on the upper sections of the platform, wondering why Benny or Rio had returned. They had no reason—

  “Damn it,” she muttered. The colorful news logo flashed on the side of the helicopter, its spotlights scanning over the surface of the rig. Even from a distance, she could see it buffeted in the wind. The news pilot was probably experienced, but she doubted he had much practice being this far out to sea with the kind of unpredictable tailwinds they were looking at over the next few hours.

  A cone of light raced across the rig and focused on her. She made a go back motion with her arm, but the helicopter continued to hover. Shaking her head, she joined Tatum and Reddy at the top of the lift.

  “Who the hell is that?” Reddy asked.

  “That would be the news,” Austin said.

  Tatum muttered, “Well, fuck me.”

  “Yeah.” Austin had to agree—an audience was not what they needed right now. Eloise was so not going to be happy.

  Ignoring the hovering craft, Austin climbed into the lift bucket and held on as the cage descended to the platform. The thirty-foot launch was moored to the side, and Reddy took the wheel while she and Tatum cast off.

  “Hold on,” he shouted, “it’s gonna be a rough ride.”

  The launch arrowed across the chop toward one of the big containment ships, and Austin sheltered behind the cockpit as much as she could. Icy water whipped across the deck, drenching her all the same. The news copter followed them, undoubtedly filming all the way. Two ships circled slowly several hundred yards apart, the booms strung between them, enclosing the area Claudia had mapped out as the locus of the surface oil accumulation. Once they started the burn, the ships would close the loop and slowly drag the confined puddle of burning oil away from the rig. All that remained was for Austin to give the final word to start the burn.

  When they reached the ship, an elevator descended along with lines to secure the launch. The captain and Phil Renuto, the burn chief, were waiting for them on deck.

  Austin shook hands with the captain and Phil. “All set?”

  “Ready to go. You want to take a look?”

  “Yeah,” Austin said.

  Renuto glanced overhead. “I guess we’ll have company for the whole thing.”

  “It looks that way.”

  He grunted. “I wonder if they know they’ll be breathing smoke up there in a few minutes.”

  “Somehow, I doubt it.” When she’d finished reviewing the protocol with Renuto and was satisfied with the boom placement and the direction the ships would drag the burning oil, she climbed back down to the launch. As Reddy steered them toward the spill, she gave Phil the go-ahead.

  Austin braced both arms on the rail, the helicopter trailing them, as they set the sea afire.

  ❖

  Gem poured coffee, her tenth cup of the endless evening. At just after midnight, her body felt as if she’d been shoveling for a year. Her arms ached, her back ached, even her ass ach
ed, but she reminded herself she ought to be grateful. They still had another twelve hours to reinforce their barricades, at least if the present predictions held. She closed her eyes, leaned against the counter, and sipped, not even caring about the taste. Hot was good enough. She hadn’t heard from Austin, and even though she hadn’t really expected to in the midst of everything going on, the silence was unsettling. The disconnection, not knowing where she was, set her adrift and an uneasy tension simmered in her middle.

  Emily and Joe came in, trailing a few FEMA guys, comparing notes as to what was done and what needed to be done, and Gem opened her eyes. Austin was a pro, she’d be fine. Too bad her stomach didn’t quite believe it.

  “Hey,” Emily said, heading straight for the hot chocolate.

  “Hi,” Gem said.

  Joe flicked on the news on the small television.

  As he walked over to get coffee, Gem glanced at the screen. Her heart jumped. “Wait! Can you turn that up? Hurry.”

  Joe spun around, grabbed the remote, and jacked up the volume.

  Linda Kane’s image, a still photo, appeared beside video of two ships and a column of blazing orange against a midnight sky. Kane’s voice-over exclaimed with a trill of excitement, “This is Linda Kane, reporting live from over the Atlantic. GOP, one of the world’s largest oil companies, has just commenced an open ocean burn to contain an oil spill from Rig 86, an offshore drilling platform just miles off the coast of Maryland. As you can see, we are presently circling above the containment ships, and the oil leaking from the drill shaft continues to explode to the surface.”

  Gem stared at the two ships that seemed to be steaming ahead directly in the ring of fire. She knew that couldn’t be the case, but her stomach tightened all the same. A group of smaller craft circled around the edges of the burn. Austin was out there.

  “God, that looks insane,” she murmured.

  Emily rested her hand on Gem’s shoulder. “They know what they’re doing. They planned for this, you know.”