by Bryan Alaspa
The waves, growing in intensity from the storms forming to the east of the rig, drove the helicopter into the massive supports, breaking it to pieces against the huge structure. No one on the rig itself even felt the impact, but the helicopter itself broke into pieces, smashed again and again against the metal structure, until there was nothing but small debris, twisted metal and a spreading oil-slick.
7
Lazlo sat in front of the computer console and began flipping switches. Nothing appeared to be working. He soon disappeared around a corner, while Larry, Monica and Mark stood in the control room waiting. After a few minutes, the lights went back on, several of the computer screens flashed, and the computers began to reboot.
“Looks like a fuse was blown,” Lazlo said as he returned, “several of them, actually.”
He sat back down at the console and began typing into the computer. The screens along the wall began coming into life. One screen was a kind of drawing of the oil derrick, with a long line indicating the drill, the depth and location of the drill and the overall health of the drill and the derrick. Other screens showed temperatures in various pipes, pressure, and locations of things that Mark could not decipher or understand, but apparently all of it very important to drilling oil. He watched as one-by-one the screens came back to life, many of them filled with white numbers and letters that were in a language he could never understand. He watched as Lazlo became completely engrossed in his work, moving in a wheeled-chair from one console to the other, muttering to himself. Monica also joined him, talking to him quietly.
Mark turned to look at Larry, who was staring at data from a computer screen in front of him, his eyes narrowed, concentrating. He moved casually over to where Larry was and peered down at the screen. Again, this was meaningless to Mark.
“Are there cameras on this rig?” Mark asked.
Larry appeared not to hear him for a moment, but before he could ask the question again, Larry looked up at M ark. “Yes.”
“Do you have cameras that record action within this room?” Mark asked.
“Yes,” Larry said, “in case there is an emergency or disaster, we want to be able to see what was happening within the control room.”
“Wouldn’t you say that this qualifies as a disaster and an emergency?” Mark said.
Larry looked up from the computer at him. He stared blankly for a moment, as if unsure how to answer that question. Eventually he nodded.
“Where can we find the tapes?” Mark asked.
“Not tapes,” Larry said, “we use disks these days.”
“Whatever, can you show them to me?” Mark asked. “I’d like to make myself useful while you up here start things up and start reading your data.”
“Yeah, sure,” Larry said, turning to look at the screen again, then getting up from his seat. “Follow me.”
* * *
Lazlo sighed and ran his fingers through his sweaty black hair. He moved form one screen to the next, punching buttons on the keyboard, moving the various mousse and still staring, disbelievingly at what he was looking at. He turned to look at Monica, who was behind him, moving through her own bank of computers.
“What are you finding?” He asked.
“I’m seeing data that I don’t understand,” she said, “I should be seeing information about how far down the drill is, and I should be seeing temperature readings that make some sense. Right now, I’m showing final temperature readings, before the power went out, that are off the scale and, right now, I’m not getting any readings of any kind.”
“I’m not seeing anything either,” Lazlo said. “Let’s keep going back. I want to go back to when the drilling first started and then keep moving forward. Maybe we can try to synch things up with Larry and Mark when the look at the recordings. We need to get a sequence of events that makes sense. Start printing things out too, so maybe we can all watch the recordings and read the data.”
Monica nodded and went back to work, punching the keys in front of her. Lazlo did the same, looking up at the larger screens on the wall in front of him and shaking his head. The temperature readings were in the thousands of degrees before everything blacked out. Now, no data at all was coming from within the hole. He couldn’t really even read the depth of the drill.
“Let’s bring the drill up,” he said.
“You know how to do that?” Monica asked.
“I helped design this thing, remember?” He said.
Monica just shrugged. Lazlo stood up and walked behind Monica. He sat down at another terminal and called up the controls for the drill. He punches in commands for a few seconds and then sat back. The screen showed him that the drill was slowly retracting out of the hole. They had reached a depth of roughly nine miles and then everything had stopped. It would take a little while for the drill to make it back to the top. He was still not getting any data from the sensors that had been built into the drill bit and the area near the end of the drill.
“Here it comes,” he said.
* * *
Rhonnie Monticue stood looking at the conference room table, her arms crossed, wordlessly mouthing the equipment she had laid out. There were bandages, splints and various medications for dealing with pain and for knocking someone out fast. She had tape, gauze and scissors. There was even equipment for performing minor surgeries, but nothing too serious. She didn’t have any blood to give someone if they were losing it quickly and she would not be able to help anyone if they lost a limb or got themselves shot in a vital place.
Rhonnie had blond hair and wore glasses. She had an easy smile, and an attractive figure, but there was something behind her eyes, and most people who knew her for any length of time could sense and see it. There was a coldness there, behind the warm smile and the soft voice that seemed full of concern, that indicated all Rhonnie really cared about was herself, and if she had to slit your throat to get to it, well, she would just have to do that, so sorry.
She and Larry had worked together before, just like the rest of the team he had assembled. She had been in the army, using her medical training in the hot weather in Iraq when he had approached her to help out on a special mission that he couldn’t give her details about at that moment. She ended up well behind enemy lines, gun in one hand, medical kit in the other, patching up the limbs of the other men Larry had signed up for this mission. The objective, Rhonnie couldn’t have cared less, she simple wanted something different, and figured Larry was the way to get there.
As she stood in the conference room she decided that what she needed to do was see what the rig had for a medical facility. Certainly a place like this had to have an infirmary, or some kind of hospital. There must be plenty of injuries waiting to happen in a place like this, and they must have some kind of medical facilities. Thinking about it, they must have been somewhere on the first floor because trying to carry an injured person up would have been a colossal pain.
With that in mind, and not bothering to notify anyone else, she walked out the conference room door and walked down the stairs. She hadn’t even noticed, until she reached the stairs, that the lights had come back on. She descended the stairs.
* * *
Karmen inched down the hallway, pausing at the first door she came too. Behind her, J.D. and Joe also were approaching doors. She reached out, touching the doorknob, and she twisted, then kicked the door open. She stepped into the open door, the gun pointing around the empty room. Desk, television, bed, closet. The room had a very college dormitory feel to it. There were pictures of a family, children, a wife, slotted into a mirror above the dresser. She stepped into the room, opened the closet door, saw the shirts and the pants hanging there, shoes on the floor. She used the muzzle of the gun to poke around the closet, nothing but a wall back there.
She turned, walking over to the desk, looking over papers that had no meaning to her. She found a wallet, opened it, and found a driver’s license, credit cards, a library card. She noticed something sitting on the desk and reached for
it, picking up the walkie-talkie, turning the knob on the top. Static burst from the speaker. She pushed the button experimentally, the static cutting off and then coming back as she released the button.
“J.D., “ she said, stepping back into the hall.
J.D. appeared in the hallway a second later. He was looking at her.
“Did you find one of these in there?” She asked.
J.D. nodded and walked back into the room. He came back holding a similar device.
“Why don’t we have these?” Karmen asked.
A look of dismay washed over J.D.’s face. “Christ. I hadn’t even thought if it.”
“I bet everyone on this thing had one,” Karmen said.
Joe emerged from his room, he too was carrying a walkie-talkie.
“Let’s gather up enough for our group and distribute them to everyone,” J.D. said, his face set into a tight grimace.
“Hey,” Karmen said, “no one else thought of it either. This whole situation is a little fucked up. Our minds aren’t thinking the way they should. Let’s just move past it and get on with it.”
J.D. nodded. The three of them walked further down the hall, each of them taking another door. They entered their rooms. Joe found himself looking at pretty much the same thing he had seen before. The people here hadn’t had much time to really settle in, so the rooms did not have a very “lived-in” feel to them yet. He found the walkie-talkie and stuffed it into another pocket. He nosed around the room, checking the closet and the desk. There was no sign anyone had ever lived here, save for the clothing and the various personal effects on the dresser and desk. Then he looked out the small window set above the bed.
“Jesus,” he muttered. Then he turned and ran into the hallway. “Hey! Hey!”
J.D. and Karmen came running, their guns ready. They saw the look of agitation on Joe’s face, and he was pointing at something in the room. J.D. ran to him, Karmen close at his heels, they both pointed their guns into the room, noting the emptiness.
‘What the fuck, Joe?” J.D. asked.
“Look out the window,” Joe said.
Karmen and J.D. looked. Karmen gasped. J.D. felt something sink hard and fast into his stomach. The ocean outside was rolling, smashing down onto the deck outside. Water rolled over the outside surfaces. The sky was darkening rapidly and rain was spitting against the window.
“Where the hell did that storm come from?” Karmen whispered.
“More importantly,” J.D. said, “where’s the fucking helicopter?”
* * *
Mark and Larry were just returning to the control room with the DVDs when J.D.., Karmen and Joe cam running back in a panic. Monica and Lazlo stopped in their tracks, jumping out of their seats. Mark and Larry dropped the DVDs onto a desk and whirled around at the sound.
“Where’s Rhonnie?” J.D. asked.
“Down the hall, I think,” Larry said.
J.D. looked at Joe, who nodded and ran down the hall.
“The chopper’s gone,” J.D. said.
Everyone started moving at once, talking at once. Lazlo’s face came over with a look of utter panic, and then it was followed by Monica, Mark and then Larry. They looked pleadingly at J.D. and Karmen, telling them they had to do something.
“Get the radio,” J.D. said, “find a way to get to the mainland, we’re going to need another chopper.”
“Where the hell’s Chun?” Larry asked.
“I don’t know,” J.D. responded, “but I’m going to go out there to find out.”
“She’s not there,” Joe called from down the hall.
“What?” J.D. said, sure he had misheard.
“She’s not here,” Joe said, “All of the stuff is laid out here, but she’s not here.”
J.D. looked into the room. “Did she come in here? Did she say anything?”
The blank expressions on everyone’s face were his answer.
“Goddamit!” J.D. screamed. “How am I supposed to keep you people alive when you don’t listen?”
He turned, running down the hallway, checking the room that Joe had just checked. All of the medical equipment was laid out, but the room was empty of everyone but J.D. and Joe. J.D. motioned for Karmen.
“Get downstairs and check for her, please,” he said.
Karmen vanished down the stairs, her legs pumping, carrying her down the stairs rapidly.
“Let’s get out on deck before the weather gets too bad,” J.D. said to Joe, “I want to see if we can figure out what happened to the helicopter.”
J.D. and Joe made their way down the stairs and through the short hallway. The door at the end of the hallway was banging against the frame with increasing frequency. Now that they were listening, they could hear the wind rattling against the frame of the building. Beyond that noise, you would never know there was a storm going on out there.
They opened the door and the wind hit them both in the face like a kind of hand. Both men flattened back inside the door, looking at each other.
“Christ!” Joe said.
“He may be the only one that can really help us now,” J.D. said quietly.
J.D. opened the door again, bracing himself. He stepped outside and the wind just about knocked him over. A wave crashed down on the top of the oilrig, sending water spraying over his legs and chest and face. He closed his eyes and hunched into the wind, walking forward. He looked back, seeing Joe was doing the same, with the same posture.
They moved forward, the wind slowing them down, making their clothes stick to their bodies. Water cascaded all around them, filling their shoes, soaking their clothes and their skin. They reached the landing pad. There was a slick of oil, running around the surface, but any debris or any sign of the helicopter had been washed away by the waves. J.D. moved towards the edge of the landing pad.
The sight below was like looking over the lip into Hell. The waves were constant, undulating, and all topped with whiteheads. The smashed into the supports and scraped along the bottom of the rig. J.D. felt a hand suddenly in his belt, and was about to turn around when a huge wave smashed into the rig, bringing what felt like tones of water down on him and Joe, hard. J.D. felt his legs give out.
Suddenly the world went topsy-turvy, turning around and around. He saw the rolling clouds of the sky, the landing pad, the rig, water. He felt like he was floating, the hand fell away from his belt, and he was spinning, tossed, carried towards the edge of the landing platform. He reached out his hand and felt only water, beneath that, the smooth surface of the landing pad. He opened his mouth and tasted salt water, it ripped down his throat and into his lungs. He coughed, dropped his gun, flailed with both hands, waving them helplessly as he felt his feet swing out over the edge of the landing pad, more water pouring down on his head. Then, hands grabbed his.
He looked up, his eyes stinging from salt water. Lazlo had grabbed Joe and was holding onto one of the large metal pipes that criss-crossed the surface of the rig. Joe had grabbed hold of J.D. As J.D. watched, still helpless, he saw Mark and Larry appear, grabbing hold of the doorway and then extending Larry out to grab Lazlo. The string of men pulled as one, and J.D. felt his feet come back over the edge of the landing pad. He managed to scramble to his feet and run, just as another wave smashed into the rig, sending a wall of water that sent them all scattering sideways, into the side of the building.
“The chopper’s just fucking gone!” He screamed. “We need to get back inside.”
He looked up at the dark sky. The clouds were black and he heard thunder. He could see lightning in the distance, lighting up the sky. The ocean seemed to be getting higher all around them, more water washing over the face of the rig. He helped Mark get to his feet, and they all held together as they reached for the door. They piled inside, the door shutting behind them, Joe locking the door, and they collapsed in the hallway, soaking wet, breathing hard, exhausted.
“Where the fuck did that storm come from?” Lazlo asked.
“Right out of nowhere,” M
ark agreed.
“How much can this thing take of weather like that?” Joe asked.
“It can handle a hurricane,” Lazlo said, “and it can take a pounding from the most powerful hurricane you’ve got. We should be fine in here as long as the building can stand the pounding and water doesn’t start getting in.”
“That doesn’t really reassure me” J.D. said. “Where’s Karmen and Rhonnie?”
“Right here,” Karmen said from behind them.
They turned as one to look back. Rhonnie was coming with Karmen, standing behind her a few feet, her arms loaded with more medical supplies. She looked supremely surprised that anyone had been looking for her.
“I went to find more medical supplies,” she said.
J.D. stood up, his clothes dripping, his face running with seawater. He walked over to her, standing well above her, the look on his face one of supreme anger. Rhonnie took a reflexive step backwards, dropping some of her supplies and she swallowed. J.D. reached out and grabbed her face in his hand.
“You ever disobey me again,” he said, “and I’m throwing you over board into that ocean. We stick together and we tell each other where we’re going, is that understood?”
She bared her teeth. “Get your fucking hand off of me!”
She dropped her supplies and smacked his hand away. Any trace of the passivity that had been there before was gone, and she looked ready to fight.
“Who the fuck are you to tell me anything?” She screamed
“I’m in charge here,” J.D. yelled back, “and it would do you all a hell of a lot of good to remember that. It might just prevent you from getting killed!”
“Oh really?” Rhonnie said. “You have a way to stop a storm, do you? You have a back-up helicopter in your back pocket? How are you going to save anyone? You can’t even save yourself right now.”
