Slimer (2 page)

    'Leave him alone,' said Chris, 'it was an accident.'

    'Yeah, an accident of birth. The guy's a pinhead.'

    Paul sighed. He was about to tell them to shut up and stop squabbling but before he could say anything Linda started to rise to her feet beside him. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back down. 'Are you crazy? You'll tip us over.'

    'I saw something,' she said in a dazed voice. She pointed ahead. 'Out there! There was a break in the mist.'

    They all looked in the direction she was pointing. Paul couldn't see anything but the usual grey wall of mist. 'What did you see?'

    'I don't know, but it was big.'

    Then Paul saw it too. A massive shape loomimg over them; something the size of a city block standing on four giant legs.

    'It's an oil rig!' cried Linda.

    'Thank God, we're saved!' shouted Chris. The dinghy began to wobble alarmingly as everyone tried to get a better view.

    'Hey, you guys, take it easy!' ordered Alex. 'We tip this thing over and it won't matter what's out there.'

    'Alex is right,' said Paul, grabbing one of the plastic loops attached to the side of the boat. 'For once. Everyone calm down. We're gonna get the paddles out and head towards it nice and easy. In a half an hour from now we'll be sitting down to bacon and eggs and all the coffee we can drink…'

    

    

    As they got closer to the platform Mark saw it was bigger than he'd realised. He had always been impressed by the underside of fly-overs, with the huge sweep of concrete supported on comparatively thin pillars. Staring up at the rig produced a similar sensation.

    The platform was about 150 feet above the sea and consisted of five different levels, each one with a separate deck around it connected by a series of gangways and ladders. On the top level he could see four large cranes but dwarfing them were two large towers, one of which, on the corner of the platform, looked like a smaller version of the Blackpool Tower. This was the one he remembered from TV documentaries and commercials that always had a flame burning on the top - to burn off the excess gas, he presumed. But there was no flame on the top of this one.

    Nor was there any sound of heavy machinery being used. The rig was completely silent.

    Frowning, Mark squinted up at the platform. It had a very uninhabited look to it. He was reminded of an old derelict house he'd sneaked into as a kid for a dare. He knew the house was empty and he'd banged around making a noise to hide his fear. But the racket had disturbed an old tramp who'd been hiding in there. He came yelling out of a bedroom straight at Mark, who'd run screaming from the house and had nightmares about the incident for weeks afterward. Even now the memory of his terror made him shiver.

    'It's deserted,' said Linda, echoing his thoughts.

    'It can't be,' said Paul.

    They had stopped paddling now and were all staring up at the huge structure that was almost overhead. There was not a sign of anyone on the rig.

    Paul put his hands up to his mouth and let loose with an ear-splitting yell. 'Hey, up there! Help! Helllpppp…' The others joined in and for the next minute they were all yelling and screaming up at the platform. Then, breathless, they waited for a reaction.

    There was none. The only sound came from the waves lapping against the giant cylindrical legs supporting the platform. Mark noticed that the sea was beginning to get a little rougher. Perhaps they had got to the rig just in time.

    'It is deserted,' said Alex resentfully. 'They must have pumped the field dry and abandoned it.'

    'No way,' said Mark. 'Even if the field's not being worked any more there is sure to be someone still up on the thing. A couple of caretakers at least. If you leave a rig empty anyone can just come along and claim salvage rights.'

    'Okay, wise guy,' said Alex, 'where are these caretakers of yours?'

    Mark shrugged. 'Asleep maybe. How should I know?'

    Paul pointed at the sign visible on the nearest side of the platform. 'The Brinkstone Oil Company,' he read aloud. 'Never heard of it.'

    'I have,' said Alex. 'It's one of the smaller American outfits. Owned by one guy, I think.'

    'We can't just sit here,' said Linda. 'We've got to get up there…'

    'But how?' asked Rochelle, 'you see any escalators?'

    She was right. Neither the four supporting legs nor the network of girder struts between them offered any visible means of climbing up to the platform.

    'There has to be a way to get up there,' said Paul. 'They can't just use helicopters all the time to get on and off. What if they want to transfer people or equipment from boats…?'

    Unexpectedly, he got his answer. There was the sound of an engine suddenly starting up somewhere on the rig and then one of the cranes began to move. In startled silence they watched as the arm of the crane swung out over the top of the platform holding a large metal cage. Then they all started to cheer as they realised what was happening.

    The cage was swiftly lowered until it was suspended just above the water a mere ten yards or so from their boat. As quickly as possible they paddled over to it. The cage was about eight feet wide and had only three sides. The fourth side was open, apart from a chain stretched across it.

    Getting from the boat into the cage was a tricky manoeuvre and all of them were soaked to the waist by the time they were inside and clinging to the wide steel mesh of the sides.

    There was a jerk and the cage began to rise rapidly. Mark watched the lifeboat get smaller and smaller as it drifted away. It looked a disturbingly fragile little vessel seen from above in this way and he wondered how much longer they could have survived in it, particularly as the sea was beginning to turn ominous.

    The cage continued to rise and Mark felt a wave of dizziness overcome him. He didn't like heights at the best of times. Swallowing hard he shut his eyes and clung tightly to the mesh, hoping the others weren't noticing his distress: 'Now I know what a fish feels like when it's hauled out of the sea in a net,' he heard Linda gasp.

    Then came a jarring bump and he opened his eyes. The cage was now sitting safely on the top deck of the platform. Nearby were three huge chimneys and looming overhead was the boom of the crane that had rescued them but there was no sign of any welcoming committee. The place was deserted.

    They got shakily out of the cage and stood looking around. After all that time at sea it felt strange to be on something solid again.

    'Where is everyone?' asked Chris.

    Paul was staring up at the driver's cabin on the crane. Sounding puzzled, he said, 'I can't even see anyone inside that thing.'

    'There's gotta be!' cried Alex. 'You think it picked us up all by itself?'

    'Then where is he?'

    'I'll go see,' said Mark suddenly and hurried over to the ladder leading up to the cabin. It wasn't too high and he was anxious to make up for his display of weakness in the cage. While the others watched he began to climb.

    Halfway up he knew he'd made a mistake. The familiar dizziness swept over him and he was forced to stop and shut his eyes for a few moments. But then he forced himself to continue on and, to his relief, he finally made it to the open cabin doorway.

    He was so thankful to have got up there the fact that the cabin was empty didn't sink in at first. Then, when it did, he stared around the cramped interior with a growing sense of confusion. It was crazy! There was no way the driver could have got down the ladder without them seeing him. So where was he?

    Then Mark saw the overalls. They were lying in a corner at the rear of the cabin. Mark frowned as he bent over them for a closer look. There was something strange in the way they were lying there - as if someone had spent time arranging the arms and legs instead of just dropping the garment on the floor.

    He picked up one of the sleeves then recoiled with disgust as a black, oily tendril of slime slowly dropped from the cuff onto the metal floor. A horrible smell filled the cabin and Mark started to choke. He knew he had to get out of there and fast.

    

    

    Mark came down the ladder so fast he almost fell. The others hurried over to him and saw that he was white and shaking.

    'Mark, what's wrong?' cried Chris, 'what's up there?'

    Mark was taking deep breaths, his face screwed up as if he was tasting something awful. 'There's nothing up there,' he gasped finally, 'just a pair of overalls. But they stink something horrible…'

    'Is that what all the panic is about?' sneered Alex. 'A pair of smelly overalls?'

    'You go up and smell them,' said Mark angrily. 'It's like something's been dead and rotting up there for weeks.'

    'But you didn't see any sign of the driver?' asked Paul worriedly.

    Mark shook his head.

    'Then where did he get to? How come we didn't see him come down?' asked Linda.

    'Good question,' said Paul, staring around the empty, deserted-looking deck. The wind, as it blew over the tops of the three squat chimneys, made an eerie whistling sound. He shivered. He was beginning to feel cold again. The psychological warmth generated by their rescue was beginning to fade. And he could tell that his companions were experiencing a similar feeling of anxiety. Linda, tall and slim with her dark, tight-curled hair tumbling to her shoulders, was looking like a nervous deer about to bolt towards the nearest cover; Mark and Chris were holding onto each other and Rochelle, edging closer to Alex, looked much younger and vulnerable than usual. Even Alex wasn't bothering to conceal an obvious nervousness. For some reason Paul found this the most disturbing thing of all.

    'Well, guys,' he said with a forced heartiness, 'this isn't getting us anywhere. Let's get under cover and start looking for our bashful hosts before we freeze to death.'

    Alex suddenly snapped his fingers and said, 'Remote control.'

    Paul looked at him blankly. 'What?'

    'Remote control. That's how they ran that crane routine. I'll bet all the equipment around here can be operated by remote control,' he said triumphantly, sounding like his usual self again. Then he pointed. 'And look. That's how they saw us.'

    Paul looked in the direction Alex was pointing. He saw what appeared to be a small TV camera attached to a pole near the crane.

    'And there's another one!' cried Alex, pointing towards the circular helicopter landing pad that extended out from the far corner of the roof.

    Paul nodded. 'You may be right,' he admitted reluctantly. 'But that doesn't explain why they haven't made an appearance yet.'

    Alex shrugged. 'Maybe there's only one caretaker on the rig and he's busy or something. How should I know?'

    'Come on,' said Rochelle, 'let's go find out before my tits fall off from the cold.' The wind was whipping her pink-streaked hair and her lips were almost the same colour as the small blue jewel on the side of her nose. Paul couldn't help glancing down at her nipples which were clearly visible - hard and swollen - behind the thin fabric of her shirt.

    He grinned and nodded. 'Yes, you're right. We'll go down to the next deck and see if we can find a way inside.' He gestured towards the top of the ladder that led to the deck below. 'Alex, why don't you and Ro lead the way?'

    Alex seemed to be about to argue for a moment but then apparently changed his mind. 'Okay,' he grunted. 'Come on Ro.'

    As Alex disappeared from view down the ladder Paul turned to Mark and Chris. 'You go next, Linda and I'll bring up the rear.' But Mark wasn't listening. He was staring up at the empty driver's cabin on the crane. Paul realised he didn't look well. There was a darkness under his eyes and his cheeks seemed sunken. 'Hey, Mark, you in there?'

    Mark blinked and looked round at him. Paul didn't like the look of him. In all the years he'd known him Mark had never been particularly healthy but now he was a physical wreck. His weight was down to about nine and a half stone and his skin had a yellowish pallor to it. It wasn't just due to the privations of the last three days; Mark had been losing weight before the shipwreck. Paul had tried to find out what was wrong with him but everytime he brought the subject up Mark had sidestepped it.

    'Mark? Are you okay?'

    'Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm okay.' He returned his gaze to the crane cabin. 'Paul,' he added quietly, 'There was something in the overalls up there.'

    Paul frowned. 'In the overalls? What do you mean?'

    'They were full of slime. Black slime. Horrible stuff. That's where the stink was coming from…'

    Chris was looking at him worriedly now. 'Mark, are you sure you feel okay?'

    'What do you think it was?' asked Mark, ignoring her.

    'The slime? Probably just grease,' said Paul. 'That's what overalls are for - to get grease on. And this is an oil rig after all…'

    'But inside?'

    'It probably just soaked through. Mark, why are you making such a big production over a bit of grease?'

    'You don't understand,' persisted Mark, shaking his head. 'It wasn't just…'

    At this point he was interrupted by a yell from Alex. 'Hey, you guys! Come on down! We found a way in!'

    'Okay! We're coming!' Paul yelled back. Then he turned back to Mark and said, impatiently, 'Well? What were you going to say?'

    Mark sighed. 'Forget it. It was nothing. Just my imagination I guess.' He gave the crane one last look then headed for the ladder. Chris hurried after him.

    
He's definitely close to cracking up,
thought Paul sombrely as he followed them.