The Rig 2: Storm Warning (2 page)

“There’s an aircon vent.”

Sheila sighed at the interruption and looked up as well.

“Yes. There is.”

She stated it matter-of-factly, but was slightly puzzled by what he was trying to say.

“There’s no fire in them. It leads to the outside, but if there’s no flames coming through, then it’s still shut. We might be able to reach the corridor.”

Sheila stood up and gazed at the vent, then at Wes.

“Do you think you can lift me up? I could go and get help.”

Wes looked at her and shook his head.

“There might not be any help. Maybe I can reach it.”

He walked up to the vent and jumped, but just scraped it with his fingernails. He tried again and was able to grab the raster. He clung on to it and reached up with his other hand. He held the bars with both hands and then tried to pull down on it. He shook and whipped his body down again and the raster moved. He tried again and it gave way. Wes fell backwards and landed on his feet. With the vent now opened before him, he looked around, picked up the shower curtain that had fallen to the ground, and tucked it into the back of his trousers.

Wes jumped up again and his fingers clasped the edge of the vent straight away. He hauled himself up and into the vent. When he was inside, he turned and took the shower curtain into his hands, bracing himself.

He beckoned to Sheila.

“Grab a hold of the shower curtain. I’ll haul you up.”

He felt when the weight was added to the shower curtain as Sheila took a hold of it. With all his strength, he tugged at it, praying it wouldn’t rip. He used his whole body, pulling with his arms and slowly moving his body back as far as he could. He pushed off gently with his legs so that he would not lose his foothold.

Sheila’s face appeared in the vent hole and then the rest of her body. When she almost lay on top of him, he let go of the shower curtain. He clambered backwards and turned around. He looked left and saw the flames flickering at the end of that passage as they licked through the small gaps of the closed vent. Right was the way out, so he turned there, heading away from the heat. He noticed the metal was hot under his touch again and he looked behind, knowing Sheila was practically naked. “You alright?” he asked, not stopping.

“Just keep going.”

Wes could hear her gritting her teeth and biting away the pain of the hot metal against her skin. But he saw another raster in front of him. It was in the side of the tunnel and as soon as he reached it he looked out. It was the corridor, but the vent was not straight above the walkway. He swore. There was no other way out, and he knew they could not stay where they were. Sheila especially would be in serious trouble if they did not move. He went past the raster and turned onto his back. He kicked the raster out and heard it fall a long way, then looked at Sheila.

“I’m going first. Drop out legs first, onto your front and hold on. You’ll need to swing to your left. I’ll grab you.”

Wes turned onto his front, not bothering to double check with Sheila whether she had understood. There was no time. He let his legs go out the gap and slowly followed with his body until he hung by just his fingertips. He looked and measured his swing and drop, then he swung left and let go. He hit the walkway and bent through his knees, rolling forward once to land against the door of one of the apartments.

Sheila slowly lowered herself through the gap and barely dared to watch. She dangled from the gap and began to swing left, but suddenly, fear gripped her. She couldn’t find the strength to let go.

Wes came to the very edge of the walkway and leaned over the balustrade. As Sheila swung toward him, he reached out and grabbed her legs. He held them in his arms and knew he would either pull her back onto the walkway or fall down with her.

“Let go!”

Sheila made another swinging movement and let go, pushing herself toward him. He pulled and together, they fell onto the walkway. They were safe, for now.

Chapter Three

Dave stroked his hand over Joy’s blood-streaked face.

“Joy,” he whispered.

At least, he thought he whispered it. He could not hear anything but a persistent buzz.

“Oh please, Joy, don’t be dead, please.”

He was close to tears.

“Oh Joy, wake up!”

They had been behind the counter of one of the bars around the Central Plaza. It was a sheltered corner, which had been their good fortune. But the blast in the Plaza had dislodged one of the shelves with bottles at the bar and it had sailed toward them. It had tilted and the flat of the plank had hit Joy in the head, knocking her out.

Joy was bleeding from the scalp wound the shelf had delivered to her and Dave was beside himself. She had kissed him earlier today, something he had wished and hoped for since he had met her, and now she looked like she was dead. He could not believe that. He pressed his fingertips into her neck to check her pulse. She was alive at least. He let out a sigh of relief. He looked around the bar and saw the carnage. The bartender had risen from behind the bar, clearly alive. His face was torn open by shards of glass, as were his hands. He must have been in shock, because his eyes were glazed. He should have been in agony, but did not seem to feel a thing. The rest of the bar was like a scene from a horror movie. Most people had been hit by the shattering glass from the windows and by anything that could be carried along in the blast. One of the benches that had been in the Plaza had flown right into the front of the bar and slammed into a number of people at head height. The bench was right in front of him and he could see red, jellylike mush on it, with white shards and hair mixed in. A man was shivering in a corner. He did not look like anything was wrong with him, but when Dave looked closer he saw the red pool that had formed between his legs. A splinter of wood from a table stuck out from his groin. Dave closed his eyes and turned away. The man would be dead soon. He would certainly bleed out.

Joy stirred and opened her eyes. Dave squatted down beside her. He looked in her eyes and could see them rolling. The moment she moved, she vomited. She rolled over and rested her head beside the puddle of sick.

Dave knew she was concussed. He did not need a doctor to tell him that; it was obvious.

There was a door at the back of the bar he had never really noticed before. It was hanging from half a hinge. Dave went to the door and pulled it away. There were stairs behind it. He looked back at Joy to check if she was okay. Again, she was not moving. He went up the stairs and found a storeroom. It was filled with shattered wine bottles and toppled stacks of cases.

A door led from the storeroom and he could see an office. The window of the office looked out over the Plaza and was shattered. But in the corner of the office there was a bed. He supposed the bartender or the manager slept there sometimes, or possibly took girls up there.

He went back down and got Joy to her feet. It would be better to lay her down in the bed than leave her there in the ruins of the bar until help arrived. He half carried, half dragged her up the stairs and laid her down on the bed. Dave stroked her hair and stayed on his knees by the bed for a while. Then he heard a noise out in the Plaza. He walked out to the window and he heard the noise again. He looked around to find out where it came from and he found it. A man was walking around the Plaza, looking confused. He had a gun tucked into his belt. Dave recognized him as the man who had been setting up the stage that day.

Then the general public address system sprang to life.

Chapter Four

Smith and Garcia probably had the only phones that were still working on the rig. They were shocked when the second blast rocked them. They had arrived on ‘The City’ earlier that day with the ship that had come in from Los Angeles.

The call from the mainland came right as they were both in a frenzied panic. They had meant to wait a moment and then go up to the Central Plaza, where they would begin their investigation. Both men would make sure the media was going to be briefed properly when they inevitably came on board. Then the two would slip away as soon as the cavalry arrived. But the fire was unexpected. They knew they were stuck on the burning rig and it freaked them out. They had never been in the line of fire before; that was not their job.

But their boss was right. The fire was not planned and the whole situation was a big mess that needed to be fixed.

As Smith took the call, Garcia walked around the dock, looking over every piece of equipment. He tried to keep himself busy and stop himself from panicking. Many of the boats there had been shaken up by the blast, tumbling from their frames and rolling onto their sides. Those in the water looked a bit worse for wear, as they had crashed into each other. But one thing had remained in its frame. It lay there still, under a brown tarp. Garcia went over and ripped the tarp away, only to find something that made him smile.

“John!” Garcia shouted to Smith. “Look at this. I think we’ve just found our way out.”

Smith was just finished with the call and he went over to look at what Garcia had just found.

He laughed.

They found themselves looking at one of the small research submarines that were used by the geologists, oceanographers and marine biologists on the rig for their research.

“This should allow us to dive to the hatch low in the dock and get out that way.”

Smith nodded.

“Yup, but not now. We have to stay here to clean up this mess.”

He clapped his hand on Garcia’s shoulder.

“Let’s go see whether or not Fatima has done what she was supposed to do.”

The elevator was out of commission due to the fire, so they used the stairs. Smith was huffing and puffing after only five minutes, but it took them nearly fifteen in total to climb the winding stairs to the Central Plaza. The door to the staircase was just beyond the restrooms.

Smith almost collapsed as they came out the door.

“Fuck this; I really need to work out more.”

Garcia nodded and hauled him to his feet.

“You do. And you need to smoke less and…” He gave Smith a meaningful look. “Stop doing a lot of other things.”

Smith looked at him angrily. He stood up straight with a big effort and breathed deep.

“I’ve got to take a piss.”

Garcia frowned.

“What? Now? Jesus, man.”

“What?” Smith shrugged. “I need to piss; if I need to piss, I need to piss.”

Garcia shook his head.

“Just hurry the fuck up.”

Smith disappeared into the men’s room and it was quiet. Garcia had thought he would hear urine hitting the urinal, but there wasn’t a sound.

“You alright in there?” he asked.

“You’d better get in here.”

Smith’s voice sounded calm.

Garcia peeked around the entrance. He was careful, fearing one of Smith’s pranks. But it was not a prank. There, on the white tiles of the floor, lay Fatima. There was blood beside her head on the tiles. Smith had his fingers on her neck, checking her pulse.

“Still alive.”

Garcia squatted beside her.

“Think she’ll come around? We could try to find a doctor. Must be one around here somewhere.”

Smith took his fingers from her artery.

“She won’t be coming around anymore. Especially not if I’ve got anything to do about it.”

He drew his pistol with his right hand and reached into the inner pocket of his jacket with the other. From it, he drew a silencer which he casually fitted onto his weapon.

“What the hell are you doing?” Garcia asked, his voice going up with some indignation.

“She hasn’t done what she was supposed to do. Now she’s just a liability.”

Smith placed the gun to Fatima’s head.

“And we’re here to clean up liabilities.”

He pulled the trigger twice in quick succession. The woman’s head jerked repeatedly as the bullets shot right through her brain.

“So what now?” Garcia asked, after Fatima had stopped moving. “Go and look for him? Can’t let him live, can we? He needs to commit suicide.”

Smith nodded, brushing his hand through his hair and involuntarily touching his nose.

“He does. That’s the plan anyway.”

Garcia got to his feet.

“So shall we comb the Plaza?”     

Smith shook his head as he put his gun away.

“No. He could be anywhere now.” He thought for a while. “We’ll head to the security hut above here. There are survivors on board this stupid thing. We can use them to find Abbasi.”

They used the stairs again to get to the floor above. Smith shot the lock off the security door and went in. The window was shattered and shards had hit the security officer who had been manning the place. Smith unceremoniously threw the corpse aside and sat down in the seat. He grabbed the microphone that stood in a corner of the desk and turned it on. He hit a button on the side of the desk and a screeching noise sounded from every speaker in ‘The City’.