The Rig (23 page)

29

Storm Front

Only an hour later, as dawn took a proper hold on the morning, Officer Stein – the last guard alive who had known about Crystal-X – escorted Drake, Irene and Tristan to the helipad on the southern platform.

Stein led the way with Drake behind her. He held the warden's revolver in his left hand, partially raised, and his right shone with ethereal light, energy ready to be summoned with a single thought. The revolver felt more reassuring – Drake wasn't sure just how much longer he could hold onto the power.

Warden Storm was waiting for them, already in the chopper and starting up the engines. He gave a curt nod and threw his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing for them to board.

‘I'll be seeing you lot again,' Stein spat. Her hand twitched towards the baton at her waist.

Tristan and Irene laughed. Drake gave her a long, hard stare and was last to step up into the passenger hold of the Seahawk. The blades started spinning and the wind forced Stein back off the helipad.

As Storm took off and headed out over the open water, Drake stood in the hold with Tristan and Irene at either side, one hand holding the rail above his head, and watched the Rig fade over the horizon. The collection of tiny lifeboats, full of tiny people, watched the helicopter depart. He recalled his first glimpse of the Rig from the hold of this chopper six months ago, and thinking that the interconnected, diamond-shaped platforms had resembled a giant, dilapidated demon of smoke and steel.

He had found demons here, that much was certain, and nightmares enough to last a lifetime. Murder, treachery and greed. As if his friends had heard his thoughts, Irene slipped her arms around his chest in a gentle embrace, and Tristan clapped him on the shoulder. The Rig, a living monstrosity, had not been able to crush all the good from the world.

Demons, most definitely, but also angels.

‘Good riddance,' Drake said, and turned away from the blinking lights. He handed the revolver to Irene. ‘Hold this for me, would you.'

Irene seemed surprised by the weight of the thing and quickly handed it to Tristan. The small, scrawny boy – and one of Drake's only two friends in the world – held the gun at arm's length and pointed it at the floor, swallowing hard.

Drake sighed. He had been awake for over twenty-four hours – beaten, broken, shot and burned – and there were miles to go before he could sleep. He retrieved the warden's last bottle of soda from his pocket, twisted the cap off and sat down to enjoy a well-earned rest.

Two hours later they flew into a storm, heading towards the west and away from the daylight in the east, outpacing the dawn. He looked out to sea, at the course ahead. Vast, mighty storm clouds obscured the sky, and not five minutes later freezing rain, thunder and lightning threw the chopper around. Warden Storm, flying true to his name, persevered.

There was no turning back.

Half an hour later and Drake spotted the curve of the coastline, of land. He smiled at the sight of it, Tristan cheered and Irene burst into tears.

Storm landed on a helipad at the harbour's edge of St. John's. Drake, Irene and Tristan jumped out of the hold as soon as they were down. Sparing the warden not another minute of their time – he, and the people he worked for, had stolen months and years from them already – Tristan and Irene took off into the dark morning, towards a strip of beach that curved around the city.

Drake had just crossed the edge of the helipad when he heard his name.

‘Hold a minute, Mr Drake,' Warden Storm said. He'd unbuckled himself from the pilot's seat and stepped out into the cold morning.

Irene and Tristan hesitated next to Drake. ‘Keep going. Head along the beach there. I'll catch up,' he told them, and turned back to face the warden of the Rig one last time.

Storm stood on the edge of the floodlights above the helipad. His face was grim, almost corpse-like, against the wind and the rain pelting the sleeping city of St. John's. He took a few steps closer to Drake until they were standing face to face. ‘You've got five minutes and then I'm reporting the escape. There'll be an investigation by the Alliance. I know enough to keep myself safe and in control of the Rig, but I won't hesitate to tell them what you and your friends know, as well. Do you understand me?'

Drake nodded. Lightning tore through the sky directly over their heads, charging the air with static and fresh ozone.

Storm spat on the tarmac and leaned in close. His breath was hot and furious against Drake's face. ‘A word of advice, Mr Drake –
run
. Run as hard and as fast as you can, because the full might of the Alliance is going to come
crashing down
upon your head like the fist of the
Almighty Himself
.'

‘You won't get away with what you did on the Rig,' Drake said. He held up his hand. Soft, evanescent light pooled in his palm, so bright that the warden had to look away. ‘I'll see to that.'

‘Killing me won't stop what's coming for you. You and your friends will never be heard from again!'

‘I'm not going to kill you,' Drake said. ‘I'm better than you.'

Drake took three long steps back before he turned and ran, disappearing into the early morning darkness with the warden's final threat ringing in his ears
… Never be heard from again.
The waves of the ocean on his left crashed against the shore, fighting the storm along the pebbly beach. He caught up with Irene and Tristan after half a minute.

Alone, but free, the three friends stood on the beach, the elements beating down upon them. They stared at each other in a small circle. Tristan slipped his hand into Irene's and Drake took their free hands in his own. An invisible cord of anxiety, of exhilaration, shivered through them all.

‘We did it,' Drake said. ‘Together, we did it.'

‘Look at those trees,' Tristan said, as lightning lit up the beach. ‘I'd almost forgotten how green trees are.'

Irene grinned. ‘What do we do now?'

Drake took a long, deep breath and thought of his mother. He hadn't seen her in the best part of two years. He didn't even know if she was alive. London was an ocean away – another continent – and the Alliance controlled everything between here and there. A network of incomprehensible power and cruelty.

But then Will Drake did not consider himself so powerless either – never had.

‘Run,' he said. ‘We
run
.'

‘Okay.' Tristan pushed his glasses, held together only by hope and tape, up the bridge of his nose. ‘But first place we see we're stopping for cheeseburgers and milkshakes.'

Irene smiled. ‘It's a date.'

‘If you two are going to start kissing again,' Drake said, ‘I'm going back to the Rig.'

JOE DUCIE

Twenty-five-year-old British-born Joe currently resides in Perth, Western Australia. Joe attended Edith Cowan University and graduated in 2010 with a Degree in Counterterrorism, Security and Intelligence. Joe has also studied Creative and Professional Writing at Curtin University.

When not writing stories, Joe's work over the past few years has involved border protection, liaisons between domestic and international military forces, private security consulting, living out of a suitcase, and travel to some interesting places dotted around the world. He is primarily a writer of urban fantasy and science fiction aimed at young adults and, when not talking about himself in the third person, enjoys devouring books at an absurdly disgusting rate and ambling over mountains. Preferably at the same time. Follow Joe on Twitter:
@joeducie

The annual Hot Key Books Young Writers Prize searches for the next generation of write
rs of children's fiction. Launched in 2012, the prize is open to writers between the ages of 18–25 who submit into one of two categories: fiction for ages 9–12 or young adult (ages 13–19). Open worldwide to entrants who have written in English, last year saw entries from across the world.

For updates on this year's prize, follow
@HotKeyBooks
or visit
www.youngwritersprize.com

First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Hot Key Books

Northburgh House, 10 Northburgh Street, London EC1V 0AT

Copyright © Joe Ducie 2013

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN: 978-1-4714-0220-3

1

This eBook was produced using Atomik ePublisher

www.hotkeybooks.com

Hot Key Books is part of the Bonnier Publishing Group

www.bonnierpublishing.com