by Alex Scarrow
Along the edge of the deck she could see Adam and his men, and one or two of the old men - Howard, Bill, Dennis - firing potshots across the void between platforms at the boys on the far side. They, too, were firing back, sparks erupting from the deck, from the vent stacks and deck lockers the men were huddled behind.
She felt a puff of air on her cheek, heard a metallic clang against the metal wall beside her head and a hot spark jumped onto her bare arm.
‘Ouch!’ she yelped before instinctively dropping to her hands and knees. She crawled across the deck until she was huddled beside one of Adam’s men.
She recognised his outline. ‘Bushey! It’s Leona.’
He turned and grinned manically at her before turning back to aim down the barrel of his assault rifle. ‘The little shites surprised us!’ He fired two aimed shots one after the other, the hot bullet casings almost landing in her lap.
‘Where’s my mum?’
‘Dunno, she’s somewhere along here,’ he said, firing again.
Leona craned her neck, looking down along the row of people cowering behind assorted cover, in two groups either side of the walkway cage. She picked out the huddled forms of Walfield, Howard, Sophie and one of her sisters and Dennis. She saw Alice and her friend Rowan both blindly flinging walnut-sized rivets across the void with their catapults. She picked out Adam in the group to the right of the walkway entrance, aiming and firing methodically, Martha loading up a dainty lace bra cup with another projectile.
She looked down the length of the walkway and thought she could pick out the detestable orange flash of those jackets, several of them, lying prone along the first thirty feet of it.
Bodies. They’d already made a first attempt to force their way across it and failed.
On the far side of the walkway, amongst the clutter of the drilling platform’s deck, she saw the strobe-flicker of muzzle flashes from their guns and heads bobbing in and out of sight.
They’re stuck. She found herself grinning. Adam was right. The caged walkways were turning out to be perfect choke-points.
The firing on both sides began to ease off.
She looked around for Rebecca, assuming she was still with her, but she must have gone to ground somewhere else. Leona decided to press on. See if she could find Mum. Taking advantage of the lull in firing, she crawled on hands and knees, from one huddled person to the next, then, waiting for a moment of calm, she leapt across the open space beside the walkway’s entrance and a second later joined the others, hunkering down behind a long and low mechanical store locker, gasping for breath.
Jenny looked down at her, panting on the floor beside her. ‘Lee! Christ! I thought I told you to stay back! Are you all right? You okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ Leona huffed, trying to catch her breath. She swallowed, sucked in more air. ‘What’s happened?’
‘They pulled up in a boat,’ replied Adam. ‘Maxwell tried distracting us. The rest of his boys were already waiting underneath. Then it all kicked off.’ He shook his head angrily. ‘We should have had everyone on that far platform instead of spread out. We might have spotted the rest of them sneaking under.’
Leona pulled herself onto her hands and knees and stole a look round the edge of the storage locker. ‘But they’re stuck there now, right?’
Adam nodded. ‘For now.’ Adam turned to Jenny. ‘There’s no way up onto the other platforms, right?’
She shook her head. ‘The other platforms are much, much higher. They’d need us to lower them something to get aboard.’
‘Then sod it, this is fine,’ he said, trying a reassuring smile on them. ‘We’ve got them plugged right here.’
Maxwell glared at Jay-zee. ‘Are you calling me a liar? Is that it?’
Jay-zee met his challenging stare. ‘Shit, man, you said this place was all powered up. That’s what you fuckin’ told us!’
A dozen of the praetorians crouching nearby glanced at them, eyes switching from Jay-Zee to Maxwell as they spoke.
‘Man, you tol’ us this place was lit up like some fuckin’ light show. All I see is the whole thing is dark as shit. There’s no fuckin’ power here!’
Christ. This is it, thought Maxwell. The bloody challenge. He suspected it was going to come from one of the older boys, if not Edward himself, but not right in the middle of a bloody battle. The alcohol from that sugary fruit crap mixed with what must be a tidal flood of adrenalin surging through his veins had made Jay-zee wired.
Maxwell looked at the others nearby. They were, all of them, wide-eyed, talking ten to the dozen, chomping chewing gum in a dry mouth, stoned on adrenalin and buzzing like violin strings; hungry little tiger cubs looking for a gazelle to pull down and tear apart.
‘You ever talk to me like that again, Jay-zee, I’ll kill you myself!’
The boys recoiled uncertainly.
‘The lights are all out, you idiot, because these people were warned we were coming. They didn’t want to stand out like some fucking beacon. That’s why everything is off!’
Uncertainty made Jay-zee waver; robbed his defiant posture of some of its challenge.
Something heavy pinged and rattled off a wall near to him. He flinched and ducked. His tall frame made him easier to see than anyone else. He crouched down to make sure his head wasn’t a target that could be picked out from the platform across the gap.
Another clatter nearby. Maxwell ducked this time. A nugget of pitted metal bounced and rolled across the deck and ended up rocking to and fro in front of his foot. Those silly bitches were throwing nuts and bolts at them like frigging peanuts. That would have been laughable if he hadn’t already witnessed one of his boys knocked senseless - left with a gushing cut across his scalp by one of those projectiles.
Jay-zee was still defiant. ‘This place ain’t worth this shit!’
Maxwell pointed up to a bulb dangling above the walkway entrance, and loops of sagging power flex dangling from ties all the way down the wire cage to the far side. ‘See the cables?’
Jay-zee looked up, frowned and nodded.
‘All of you boys?’ Maxwell raised his voice for the benefit of those crouching nearby. ‘Do you see these cables?’
They nodded.
‘It means they’ve got power. All right? Plenty of it. Why else would they be living out here on a bloody rig? They’re tapping oil or gas or whatever’s down there. And I’m telling you now they’ll have more fuel down there than we can ever use! All right?’
Some of the boys began to nod, reassured the Chief knew what he was doing and hadn’t led them down a dead end.
‘In an hour’s time we’ll have this place LIT UP LIKE A FUCKING CHRISTMAS TREE! ALL RIGHT?!!’
Some of their uncertain faces split with grins, the buzz of excitement flooding back.
Maxwell looked for Edward’s face and found him, listening in, and so far staying quiet.
‘Isn’t that right, Edward . . . Snoop?’
The boys all turned as one to look at him, studying his face, his reaction, wanting to know what to think.
‘Am I right?’ said Maxwell.
Snoop finally pursed his lips and shrugged. ‘Yeah, reckon they got power.’
‘Right then.’ Maxwell nodded towards the walkway. The bodies of three of his boys lay there, one behind the other. That little pit bull Notori-us was one of them, charging across like a rabid dog let off a leash, drawing fire and spinning like a cartwheel as he went down. If a few more of his boys had been equally fired-up and been following in his wake they probably would have made it across and already overrun those bitches on the far side by now.
‘So, boys. We need to figure out a way across that. They’ve got it covered.’
Snoop looked around the cluttered deck. Most of the boys were up here now, clustered in groups amongst the Portakabins and looking anxiously at him and Maxwell to figure out something for them. Snoop’s eye rested on a supermarket shopping trolley knocked over on its side, spilling its load of plastic seed trays fille
d with compost and little green shoots of something-or-other across the deck.
‘Got an idea, Chief.’
Chapter 84
10 years AC
‘LeMan 49/25a’ - ClarenCo Gas Rig Complex, North Sea
With no one firing right now, the only light was coming from the moon. Adam squinted to see what was going on on the far end of the walkway.
‘See anything?’ asked Leona, crouched beside him.
‘Those buggers are up to something, no doubt.’
His gaze swept either side of the far end of the walkway. He could see the occasional head popping up from behind cover and ducking down again.
He dropped back, resting against an exhaust bell. ‘I’m sorry,’ he sighed. ‘Sorry, we screwed up.’
Jenny hunkered down beside him. She pressed her lips together and smiled. ‘Don’t be, you’ve done all you could.’
Leona was still studying the far side. She couldn’t see anything now that the firing had ceased, just flitting silver moonlight across the deck, cabins and pipes. ‘They seem totally fearless,’ she uttered. ‘Afraid of nothing.’
‘They’re boys, it’s all just a big game to them,’ replied Adam.
‘They remind me of the gangs that were partying in London. Were you in London during the week of the crash?’
‘I was. We were manning the dome’s perimeter.’
‘You must have seen your share of the riots?’
‘Oh yeah . . . we saw a lot of that.’
‘I still have nightmares,’ said Leona. ‘Teenage boys stabbing, shooting, raping.’ She nodded. ‘You’re right, it was some sort of a game to them . . . like some bloody computer game.’
‘Young men never change. Two powerful ingredients at work inside them: the arrogance of youth and testosterone. Mix those two with a dose of anarchy, and yeah, they’ll want to party.’
‘Party . . . part-eee,’ Leona whispered and shuddered.
‘Truth is, they’re still just boys,’ he continued. ‘Just boys. If you can get them to shut up and sit still for five minutes and actually listen to you, they quickly become children again.’
Leona made a face. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘Seriously, Leona. They’re just kids. You forget, I know them. I’ve lived with them for years. They’re children. It’s just that that crazy twat Maxwell has indoctrinated them into thinking they’re super-soldiers.’
‘Right,’ said Jenny. ‘Just kids. They just need someone to pull their trousers down and smack their legs.’
Adam laughed. ‘Maybe.’
‘Maybe we should—’
‘SIR!’ it was Bushey. ‘There’s something on the walkway!’
Adam grabbed his gun and poked his head above the locker. He could see movement, something wobbling towards them. He could hear a tinny rattling now, getting louder.
‘Torch! Someone get a torch on it!’
Walfield snapped one on and aimed it down inside the wire cage of the walkway.
‘Fuck!! That’s . . . that’s Harry!!’
Adam squinted. It was. It was Harry, straddling what looked like a shopping trolley. ‘HARRY?’ shouted Bushey. ‘Mate? You all right?’
Rattling closer to them, Adam could see that he wasn’t riding it; he was stuffed onto the shopping trolley like some home-made Guy Fawkes, tied on. Clearly dead. He was perched on top of another body. And another.
‘He’s already dead!’ said Adam.
The trolley was halfway across now, and craning his neck to look down the length of the walkway’s cage he could just about see around the side of the shopping trolley; dozens of legs and bobbing orange jackets crouched stealthily behind it, trailing all the way back to the far side of the walkway.
Oh shit-shit-shit.
‘It’s a shield. They’re right behind it. FIRE!!’
Bushey turned to him. ‘It’s Harry! We can’t—’
‘He’s dead already! FIRE!!’
Walfield opened up on the trolley, his bullets thudding into the stacked corpses. Harry’s body rocked lifelessly as puffs of crimson and shreds of shirt erupted from his chest. From either side of the walkway, those armed with catapults launched their projectiles at the wire caging. Most of their nuts and bolts rattled off the side and disappeared down into the void, but some whizzed through the grilles, some even finding targets.
Adam aimed down the gap between the loaded trolley and the sides of the walkway cage, and fired off three or four single shots. His bullets found a shin, shattering it, causing a boy to shriek and drop down onto all fours.
But the trolley was still coming and they were nearly all the way across.
‘Bushey!’
‘Sir?’
‘Sound the horn!’
Bushey picked up the horn and pressed the trigger. Compressed air made it bark deafeningly, right next to Adam’s ear. Two long blasts.
‘EVERYONE BACK!’ screamed Jenny. ‘BACK TO THE NEXT PLATFORM!! HURRY!!’
They scrambled to their feet, a panicking flood-tide of women and a few old men, streaming back between the Portakabins and obstacles, legs tangling with pipes and each other as they raced towards the next walkway and the temporary safety of the far side.
The night lit up with muzzle flashes once more as the boys yet to file onto the walkway behind the rattling supermarket trolley fired across from the drilling platform.
Adam could see the trolley was nearly at the exit and the boys were going to spill out of the wire cage onto the deck. If they stayed put a moment longer, they were in danger of being overrun.
‘Danny! Bushey!’
Both men turned to look at him.
‘Fallback positions on the far side of the deck, now! We’ll buy Jenny’s people time to clear the walkway then follow them. Got it?’
They nodded.
‘Let’s go!’
They scrambled to their feet, abandoning their positions on the edge of the deck either side of the walkway cage and retreating several dozen yards back until they found new covered positions.
‘Fuck it! Stop here!’ shouted Adam. He dropped down onto one knee behind the fat curve of an exhaust pipe. ‘We can take them as they emerge.’
The other two nodded and dropped to their knees behind cover.
A moment later the shopping trolley, with Harry’s corpse lolling lifelessly on top of it, rattled out of the cage and onto the deck, orange-jacketed praetorians spilling out after it.
Adam, Walfield and Bushey fired targeted double taps that picked off the first four of them emerging from the cage. The rest of them spilled out in their wake, diving for cover and firing back at them; full-clip volleys unaimed, yet in their general direction, which had them ducking down out of sight as showers of sparks cascaded off the metalwork and deck clutter around them.
And even more of them were streaming out of the walkway cage as they cowered.
Shit.
Adam popped up and fired three more shots to slow them down. Returning fire zeroed in on his muzzle flash. Flakes of rusting metal and paint stung his cheeks. He poked his gun over the top and fired the last four rounds in his clip blind. Then the gun was clacking on empty.
One more clip, then I’m down to firing bolts from a bloody bra-cup catapult.
He pulled the last ammo clip out of the thigh pocket of his khakis and rammed it home.
‘Danny, Bushey . . . new position. Far side of the deck where the walkway—’
Walfield was gone; splayed out on the deck several yards from him with a sizeable chunk of his head missing; one foot lazily twitching from side to side as if he was enjoying some tune over an iPod.
Bushey was staring down at him.
‘Come on, we’re going!’
He grabbed the lance corporal’s arm and tugged him to follow. They rounded the main process control cabin, weaving their way through a row of water butts, and stumbling through several rows of bamboo tepees up which a wall of beans had done a good job of climbing. Adam’s legs tangled with somethin
g and he went head over heels amongst them.
Bushey pulled him up roughly. On his feet again, they left the clatter of bamboo poles behind them and vaulted over a waist-high junction box, finally reaching open deck. Ahead of them was the walkway; the last few people pushing each other to get into the wire tunnel. He tried to see whether either of the Sutherland women were amongst them, but the moon showed him little more than a press of dark bodies stretched out along the walkway.
‘Here!’ said Adam. ‘Here. We’ll have to slow ’em down again here.’
Bushey nodded, found himself a niche of cover to squeeze into and readied his aim on the way they’d just come, around the right side of the platform’s central building module.
Adam did likewise and set his aim up on the left hand of the module. Already, he could hear the boys coming. He could hear jeering voices, hoots of delight. Getting closer . . . And the flickering glow of several flashlights arcing like light sabres amongst the pipes, gantries, junctions boxes, exhaust stacks.
‘You ready?’
Bushey nodded.
‘Just fire enough to make ’em duck for cover. Then we’ll scarper, too, okay?’
Bushey licked dry lips and pressed out a grim smile. ‘Right-o, sir.’
Adam aimed down the trembling sights of his assault rifle, waiting for the flash of enough orange jackets to appear to make his shots count.
Bollocks, I fucked this up.
He’d been banking on the boys turning tail and rabbiting at the first exchange of gunfire. Maxwell must have got them totally stoked up somehow, or got them all stoned on coke or something. Or maybe he was right. Maybe the boys really were convinced this was just one big computer game; that a shot landing home wasn’t actually going to hurt them.
‘Sir!’
‘I see ’em. I see ’em!’ replied Adam.
He caught the pale flicker of a baseball cap, a head poking around the corner of the module to check the lie of the land ahead, then ducking back. He saw more heads now, emerging from the maze of buildings, pipes and exhaust bells. Cautious steps forward towards the open area of deck and the walkway.
