Hell Rig
Page 28
Jeff realized with a start he was laying beside the hole that was spewing natural gas. It lay in a thick, invisible layer across the deck. It was time to leave. Cracks appeared in Damballah Wedo’s ebony shell. White light broke through in blotches, eating at his flesh. With a sudden blast that seemed to rival the sun in intensity, the black shadow in which he had wrapped himself exploded away in layers. The natural gas erupted as Jeff leapt for the cable. He slid down the cable fending off pipes with his feet, heedless of the wire slivers slicing into his hands and forearms. He felt the heat of the explosion rush over him as he dropped beneath the level of the main deck. The crane swayed from the explosion but thankfully remained upright. He could smell the acrid odor of singed hair and flesh, noticing it was his own, but realizing also that he was alive.
Jeff uncovered his eyes and looked up as Damballah Wedo stood amid the raging flames. He was no longer a giant; he was a man, black and handsome with finely chiseled features wearing a white linen suit. He stared down at Jeff clinging to the cable with a wry smile.
“So you think you have won,” he said, his red eyes boring into Jeff’s. The Loa was not completely released from his own possession.
Jeff looked beyond Damballah Wedo’s shoulder at the approaching storm. The eye was closing. The Gateway shimmered less spectacularly now. In fact, it seemed to shrink even as he watched.
“I think I have,” Jeff answered.
“There is still time.”
Jeff saw figures moving in the clouds, storm Loas.
“Not for you,” Jeff answered.
Damballah Wedo noticed the direction Jeff was staring. He turned just as a bolt of white-hot lightning raced from the cloud to the standing figure. His scream was lost in the peal of thunder that followed but it echoed in Jeff’s head. Hands reached from the clouds and plucked the struggling Loa from the deck. He disappeared into the sky, writhing and screaming. Jeff let go of the cable and dropped twenty feet to the water. He hit feet first but the impact still stunned him. He sank quickly, watching the metal legs of the platform slip by. It was all over. They had won. Lisa was safe. The water embraced him in welcome. As his vision dimmed, Lisa’s face appeared before him and his heart swelled. He struggled to move his arms and legs. He would not die this way, not after all he had been through. He forced his way to the surface and sputtered, drawing in a lungful of fresh air. He looked at the sky.
Damballah Wedo was gone. The storm did not die—hurricanes are acts of nature—but Jeff could see it growing weaker as Damballah Wedo’s arcane influence lessened. It now looked like a storm, not an evil force. He knew it would miss New Orleans and strike the coast of Texas. People would die, but in a natural way, their souls would remain their own.
The platform began to tremble as the wind picked up again. The explosion had weakened the already unbalanced deck. The ominous sound of rending metal filled the air. Rust and small bits of metal debris rained down on him, becoming larger bits as the platform shook itself to pieces. He began to swim. The wind at his back helped as he pulled with all his strength for the TEMPSC. As he neared, the hatch opened and Lisa reached down to pluck him from the water. He crawled in, his wounded leg throbbing, and looked back at the platform. Like a crippled giant, it slowly crumbled and fell into the sea with the groan of a score of dead men. The water boiled for a few minutes and a black vapor erupted from the waves, which the wind dissipated quickly. The Hell Rig was gone and with it, the last traces of Damballah Wedo.
The Loa was not dead, Jeff knew, but it would be a long time before he could again accumulate so much power. He would be watched over closely by his fellow Loa.
Jeff crawled in, lay down and locked the hatch behind him. He looked over at Tolson. Tolson was awake. He still looked near death but had a smile on his face.
“Thanks,” Jeff said.
Tolson weakly waved a hand in dismissal. “I finally figured out how to use the damn thing,” he said, referring to the gris-gris. “You have to believe in it.”
Jeff looked back at Lisa. He had thought never to see her again. Her eyes were still wide with fright, as if she were not certain it was really over. He reached for her, pulled her to him and kissed her. She was shaking from fear as she melted into his arms, but he felt her trembling stop after a while. She looked up at him.
“I thought you were dead.”
“Not yet.”
She buried her head in his chest.
“Jesus,” Tolson exclaimed. “You two need a room.”
Lisa held out her cell phone to Jeff. A small smile creased her lips. “Look. It’s working now. I called the Coast Guard. They said they would send out a helicopter. We’re going to make it, Jeff.”
Jeff just nodded, unsure of how to reply. Outside, the waves grew rougher and the wind picked up. Hurricane Rita had switched directions and had lost energy, but she wasn’t dead. They were in for a rough ride for the next few hours, but now they faced a natural force, a creation of wind, water and heat, not a supernatural being. Lisa was right. They would survive. They would remember and be on guard for the next time.
About the Author:
JE Gurley was born in 1954 in sleepy Corinth, MS but lived half his life in Hotlanta (Atlanta,GA) where he was a professional chef and part-time Rock and Roller. After a brief stint in Pennsylvania’s Pocono Mountains where he became a full-time writer, he and his wife Kim moved to the desert outside Tucson, AZ with their cats Elsie and Shoes.
Visit JE online at www.jamesgurley.com and at www.jegurley.wordpress.com
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