Hell Rig (12 page)

It was their third day on Global Thirteen and already things were beginning to take shape. No one had been able to sleep after finding Bale, so they had worked well into the early morning hours doing small odd jobs such as stripping the ceiling tiles and preparing the areas for blasting and painting. The overtime had paid off. The main deck buildings and a large portion of the railings were now ready for priming. When the refurbish crew arrived at the end of the week, they would replace the tangle of rusty pipes, tanks and separators on the cellar deck, refurnish the buildings and give the platform its final coat of paint with the company colors of Sky Blue and Sand Buff. Re-Berth’s job was simply to make the platform habitable again.

Jeff thought of Lisa. He wished now he had not asked her out. It was spontaneous, brought about by their proximity and most likely a mistake. She was a wonderful woman and he did not want to screw things up as he usually did.

His relationships with women usually lasted only one or two dates before the edges began to fray. He was no psychiatrist, but he suspected it had something to do with his poor relationship with his mother, an overbearing alcoholic. She showed him no love or affection; therefore, it was difficult for him to respond to love. Sex was one thing; love another. It was easy to party hard, have a roll in the hay and move on, but more difficult to build a long-term relationship. He tried and failed numerous times until finally giving up on the idea. Why should he think Lisa would be any different? She was. He knew it.

The sound of the turbine slowing brought Jeff out of his reverie. He turned and saw Gleason motioning to him, his finger slicing cross his throat. The sign to stop sent a shudder through him and a bloody image of Bale’s lifeless body flashed in his mind. He set aside the blasting wand and removed his hood, surprised how cool the outside air had become.

“What is it, Clyde?” he asked as he stretched his weary muscles.

Gleason pointed to the empty pallet. “We need the other pallet of sand bags. I ain’t hauling them here on my back,” he growled. “You need to get your ass up in the crane and bring them over.”

Jeff sighed and nodded. Stripping off the suit, he realized just how tired he was. All of them had been working long hours with very little sleep for two days. The supply ship was due tonight, tomorrow morning at the latest. With its arrival, they could send a message to the mainland for more men. It would certainly make the job go faster. Short two hands, they did not stand a chance in hell of making their deadline.

“Yeah, yeah, I got you Clyde,” Jeff replied. “You hook them up and I’ll swing them over.”

As he walked to the crane, Jeff saw Sims standing by the crane’s engine housing with his flask in his hand. He turned it up and took a long swig before replacing it in his back pocket; then he turned and walked away.

“He could at least offer me a sip,” Jeff said to himself.

Inside the cramped control cabin of the Ram Luffing Lifting Crane, Jeff forced himself to concentrate. Sandblasting, spray painting, ripping out storm damaged furniture—these were muscle jobs, mindless and routine. He could space out, let his mind wander with no consequences. Operating a 30-ton crane with a 30-foot boom required a delicate touch and a clear mind. One slip of the finger could send a two-ton block and tackle crashing through a wall or sweep a person over the side for the long plunge to the sea below.

He had repaired the damaged hydraulic line, cleaned up and replaced the spilled oil, lubed and greased the bearings and performed a general maintenance check on the crane. It was operating at peak performance, all needles in the green. His hand melded with the pistol grip control as if made for it. He had earned his Offshore Mechanical Handling Equipment Committee certified EOC, Expertise of Control, two years earlier, scoring the highest in his class of thirty. Of all the jobs he did, operating the cranes was the one he enjoyed most, the one with which he felt the most freedom.

He watched Gleason signal him to boom out and lower the block, checked to see no one else was around and touched the controls lightly, stopping the hook just inches from where Gleason had pointed. Gleason hooked the cable he had run through the wooden pallet to the tackle, moved it around until he was satisfied with the center of gravity and motioned Jeff to lift slowly.

Jeff picked the pallet up four feet, just enough to see underneath it, and slowly swung it toward the sand blaster. All seemed well. He lifted it a bit higher to clear a stack of trash and boomed out farther to drop it close to the hopper. Gleason followed, holding a guide rope to prevent the load from swinging out of control.

At first, he ignored the low moan that whispered in his ear. It sounded vaguely human, oddly distorted as if through some savaged throat, but he knew it had to be the hydraulic pump, probably air in the line. He would have to bleed it again.

A cold wind swept through the cabin. Jeff shivered from the sudden chill. Then he noticed the windows frosting over. A vibration he felt in his buttocks more than heard worried him, especially moments later when the entire crane began to shudder. He paled as he saw the jib line vibrate like a plucked guitar string. The upper sheave began to bounce noticeably. He throttled the power down but to no avail. The engine continued revving as if the controls weren’t even connected. The entire boom trembled as it began to swing and buck. He put all his weight on the foot brake, but it, too, refused to work. Fighting panic, he hit the kill switch. It did nothing. He stuck his head out the door of the cab and yelled a warning to Gleason.

“Get out of there, Clyde!”

Gleason could not hear him over the revving diesel engine of the crane, but did notice the wildly bouncing boom. He looked questioningly in Jeff’s direction and yelled something Jeff could not understand just as the boom above him swung a few feet in Gleason’s direction. As Gleason turned back toward the load, the pallet, like a pendulum, swung back and clipped him in the head, sending him sprawling to the deck five feet away. He landed on his face in the garbage pile between two reels of rusty cable.

With an ear-shattering shriek, the steel cable supporting the pallet splintered and began to unravel. Within seconds, it snapped. The load of sandbags tilted to one side and fell on top of Gleason. Jeff watched in horror as two tons of sand exploded and deluged him. The entire rig shuddered when the pallet hit. Dust billowed into the air like an explosion. The crane engine died of its own accord. Jeff leaped out of the cab and rushed to Gleason.

The reels of cable had saved Gleason’s life. The pallet landed on top of them and shattered. Sand spilled everywhere but enough of the pallet held together to protect him from its full weight. Jeff saw McAndrews running cross the deck to help. The others, drawn by the noise and vibration of the falling load hitting the deck, followed closely behind.

“How is he?” McAndrews asked as he knelt beside Gleason’s unconscious body, barely visible through the sand. Dust almost blinded him and the odor of garbage assaulted his sense of smell. Jeff looked up at McAndrews. McAndrews scowled at him, visibly angry. “What the hell were you doing, Towns? Couldn’t you see the boom bouncing like that?”

Jeff’s concern over Gleason immediately turned to anger. He flared at McAndrews. “Of course I saw it. I couldn’t stop it. I throttled back but it just kept swinging.”

McAndrews ignored him as he dug through the sand and found Gleason’s leg. He felt for a pulse at the ankle. “He’s alive,” he announced, and began to dig frantically. Jeff helped him. Together, they uncovered Gleason. His face was pale with a wide gash on his forehead that bled profusely, but it seemed to be a shallow scalp wound.

“At least it’s not too deep,” Jeff said, relieved at the apparent extent of injury.

McAndrews looked at him as if he were stupid. “That could be bad. He might have a severe concussion.”

They struggled to pull Gleason’s 280-pound unconscious body from between the reels that had saved his life.

“Is he alive?” Ed huffed, out of breath from rushing to the scene. Jeff could see the concern on Ed’s face, but whether it was concern for Gleason’s health or the prospect of losing another man, Jeff couldn’t say. He decided to give Ed the benefit of the doubt.

McAndrews quickly glanced at Ed, and turned back to Gleason. “Yeah, but he’s badly hurt. He needs medical attention.”

Lisa arrived and gasped when she saw Gleason. She had been clearing out damaged equipment from the radio shack and was covered with dust and pieces of broken circuit board stuck in her hair. “What happened?”

“Towns here almost killed him with the crane,” McAndrews snapped, staring at Jeff.

Jeff swallowed hard. “I didn’t do it. The crane went wild, started vibrating like crazy. It wouldn’t throttle down.”

“Is that right?” Ed asked.

“I don’t know,” McAndrews admitted, looking down at Gleason. “All I saw was Jeff at the controls and the crane going wild.”

“I swear I didn’t do it. The damn thing had a life of its own. It started bouncing and wouldn’t stop. The damn cutoff switch wouldn’t work.”

“It’s haunted, I guess,” McAndrews sneered.

Jeff resented at McAndrews’s insinuations. “Look, I don’t have to take that shit from you. I told you what happened.”

McAndrews stood. So did Jeff. They stood toe to toe, facing each other, fists clenched, McAndrews towering over him by four inches. Jeff felt a wave of apprehension at taking on the bigger man, but was too angry to back down.

“Hey!” Lisa broke in. “Maybe you two jocks would like to help get Big Clyde to a bed before you start pissing on each other’s territory.”

Jeff felt a rush of shame. He unclenched his fists and relaxed. So did McAndrews.

“I saw a litter in the radio shack,” Lisa suggested.

“I’ll get it,” Sims volunteered.

Jeff looked over at Sims. He arrived unnoticed like a shadow, hanging back in his quiet manner. His volunteering was a surprise. Jeff watched Sims walk away as he backed away from his confrontation with McAndrews to cool off. He wondered if Sims had anything to do with the crane’s going wild, but other than his earlier proximity to it, couldn’t think of a way he could have done it.

When Sims returned with the litter, Jeff watched as Ed, Tolson, Sims and McAndrews lifted Gleason’s massive body on the stretcher and carried him back to his room. Tolson shot Jeff a questioning look that Jeff took to be more concern than accusation.

Lisa stood there after the others had gone and stared at Jeff.

“You okay?” she asked after a long minute had passed. Her eyes held sympathy, but he did not need sympathy right now. He needed answers.

“Yeah, better than Clyde anyway.” He pointed at the four men carrying Gleason’s unconscious body. “Mac thinks I did it on purpose or something.”

Lisa shook her head. “I’m sure it was an accident.”

“No, it wasn’t like that. It’s like…it’s like the crane moved on its own. It came alive.”

He watched Lisa’s face go blank as she struggled to believe him. He held out his hands imploring her to believe. “I know it sounds crazy,” he admitted. “The controls didn’t respond. It just started bouncing. I went over that thing earlier with a fine-toothed comb. It was in perfect condition.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I saw Sims…” He shook his head. “No, he couldn’t have done it.” He started to cover his face with his hands and saw they were bloody and filthy with dust. With a sigh, he dropped his hands and rubbed them on his jeans, wiping off Gleason’s blood. “I don’t know,” he repeated.

Lisa cocked her head and stared at him for a moment, made a half-hearted attempt to smile and said, “I have to go see if I can help.”

He nodded. “Yeah, yeah, go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

He could tell by the set of her shoulders that she did not believe him. She thought he had messed up. So did the others. Did he? Did he let his mind wander, even for a fraction of a second? He was tired. No one had slept well. No, damn it! He was focused and in the zone, man and machine working as one. Something happened to the crane, something that should not have. Something…inexplicable. He had felt it, felt the sudden freezing cold.

He shook his head and whispered. “Damn. I’m letting this place get to me.”

As he walked to the main building, he felt a short, almost imperceptible vibration and heard the crane squeak as it moved slightly, recovering its balance. He eyed the machine.

“I’ll be watching you, bastard,” he said.

He walked directly to the shower clothes and all, and let the cold water wash away the dust and blood and soothe his troubled mind. He did not notice the bank of gray fog rolling toward the platform.

* * * *

Gleason’s wound was not as bad as it first looked but McAndrews was still worried about a possible concussion. Gleason took quite a wallop to the noggin. He was a big man but that didn’t help much where head injuries were concerned. A hematoma inside the skull could exert pressure on delicate brain tissue, causing permanent injury or death.

They had no x-ray or CAT-scan equipment. They had nothing more than a first aid kit containing bandages, gauze, aspirin, painkillers and eyewash solution. He cleaned the wound with the sterile eyewash solution, applied a liberal amount of antibacterial gel and stitched it closed with a needle and thread borrowed from Lisa’s sewing kit. He did not bandage it so he could keep an eye on the wound, watching for swelling.