Offshore (43 page)

He paused at the control room door. He really
really
did not want to go
in there again, but he had no choice. The satellite phone was out
of action, but somewhere under all that mess might be a short wave
radio. He prayed to all the gods and angels that if there was, it
had not been damaged in the cataclysm of ruin.

Eddie
inched his way across the floor, glass and plastic grinding and
crunching under his boots, eyes scouring the banks of switches and
buttons for any clue as to the radio’s whereabouts.

He saw
nothing. He would have to search every drawer, locker and cupboard
in case it had been put away for safe keeping, although he wasn’t
going to put money on it.

The
first two cupboards were easily accessible, and empty. To reach the
others on the other side of the workstation he would have to pass
Matt Shaw’s body, still propped up in the operator’s chair with his
head in his lap, sightless eyes staring accusingly at him, their
corneas already going cloudy.

If I can’t see him, he can’t see me.

He
pulled the tabs to release the emergency fire blanket from its red
box on the wall, unfolded it and held at arm's length. Keeping the
back of the chair between himself and the corpse, he draped the
fibreglass square over everything. He then wheeled the chair and
its occupant to the far side of the room and turned it to the
wall.

“
I’m so sorry, Matt,” he said, and returned to his
search.

He then
remembered he’d promised to keep in touch with Lydia, but he’d
given her his handset and there were no spares on the charger.
Shaw, however, had one.

“
Oh Jesus.”

Swallowing down his revulsion, Eddie returned to the covered
chair. He made a rough gauge of where he thought Shaw’s upper arm
ought to be and peeled back the fire blanket until he could see the
handset clipped to Shaw’s sleeve pocket.

The
green light was on; still working.

Coagulating blood made the radio’s plastic casing slippery,
and Eddie almost dropped it.

He swore
and took a firmer hold, the cold slickness making him nauseous.
Eddie wiped the casing clean against the carpet, then his hand,
hard and fast enough to give himself a friction burn.

Lydia
lay rigid in her quilted cave on Eddie’s bunk, eyes squeezed
tightly closed, breathing in short jerky gasps, one hand holding
onto Mr Brown, the other clamped around the silent radio, the glow
of its LED lighting up her cotton dome and turning her face a
ghoulish green.

“
Lydia, can you hear me?”

Eddie!
Thank God!

A
trembling fingertip depressed the transmit button. “Yes,” she said,
barely whispering. “Where are you? You’ve been gone
ages.”

“
Sorry about that. Are you okay?”

“
Yes. What are you doing?”

“
I’ve stopped off at the control room on my way to the
lifeboat, in case there’s a short wave radio hidden away somewhere.
I’ll set up a running commentary just so you know I’m still here
and what I’m doing. Okay?”

“
Yes please. Keep talking to me.”

“
Okay, looking round … everything’s …
okay.”
Pause.
“I’m looking for the radio.”
There came a series of muffled sounds;
clattering and banging about as lockers and cupboards were opened,
searched and slammed closed, and a not so muffled Eddie cursing
with frustration.

“
Nothing,”
he said, finally.
“It’s not here. I’ll head off
to the lifeboat. There should be one there. You still
okay?”

“
It’s only been two minutes since you last asked. I’m still
fine.”

“
Okay then. I’m on my–”

Clunk.
Silence.

“
Eddie?”

Click.

“
Eddie...you still there?”

Hiss.

“
Yeah, I’m here. Sorry about that. Dropped the handset. I’m
on my way to the lifeboat now. Shouldn’t be long.”

“
Hurry back, won’t you? I’m … I’m scared.”

“
I know. So am I. I’ll be as quick as I can, I promise.
Okay?”

“
Yeah.” Pause. “Eddie?”

“
Yeah?”

Pause.
“Nothing. Never mind. Now’s not the right time. Hurry
back.”

“
Count on it.”

She
released the button and hugged the radio to her chest as she
snuggled down under the quilts with Mr Brown.

Warmth
was now beginning to spread through her limbs and she closed her
eyes, hoping when she opened them again Eddie would be
there.

How long
she remained there, or what made her snap open her eyes and sharpen
her hearing, she had no idea. She only had the sense of movement in
the corridor.

Was that
the faint squeak of door hinges?

She held her breath and listened hard, wishing the too
loud
lub
dub
pulsing
of her blood in her ears would stop masking the sounds coming from
outside the cabin.

There it
was again.

The gentle
swish
of the double doors to the lounge opening and closing.
Someone
was
out there. She brought the radio up close to her lips,
pressed the transmit button, and whispered. “Eddie?”

Lies
told and Lydia placated, Eddie left the control room and set off at
a steady pace for the lifeboat station gantries from which he and
Lydia were going to have to launch themselves and put themselves at
the mercy of the elements.

He had
no worries about the craft themselves; they were sturdy vehicles
those orange aluminium bullets; capacity 50 souls; self righting
and to all intents and purposes, unsinkable; fireproof, and under
normal circumstances stocked with enough food and fuel to last at
least a week.

Affectionately called ‘ducks’, the totally enclosed motor
propelled survival craft - TEMPS because the oil industry certainly
did like an acronym – were practically indestructible.

Eddie,
of course, dwelled more on the drawbacks than the advantages - the
method of launch, the weather, his lack of training in this area.
Basic didn’t even begin to cover it.

This was
not going to be straightforward; there were so many factors to
consider.

These
were free fall lifeboats. Once the davit clamps were released they
would run down skids and dive, hitting the water at hopefully the
correct angle to partially submerge and surface again, still with
sufficient forward motion to propel them away from danger;
depending of course on the adversity of the wind and
waves.

In that
case the boat could lose its initial inertia, be taken up and
smashed against the platform’s legs before it could get
away.

Also, if
the angle of launch was out by just a degree or two, the craft
would simply drop straight down into the water and be smashed to
smithereens.

Even if
they did manage an ideal launch, the engine would only chug them
along at a feeble 5 to 8 knots until either they reached shore or a
friendly supply vessel picked them up, except … a free-fall boat
wasn’t designed to be retrieved. It was purely a means of escape.
Rescue from the module itself was going to be a whole different
kettle of fish.

As Eddie
marched on, chunnering to himself and unconsciously fiddling with
the pens in his pocket, his rapidly multiplying worries and
concerns were rudely interrupted by Lydia’s voice through the radio
at his breast.

“
Eddie?”

The
tension in her hushed whisper made him stop in his
tracks.

Chapter 52

“
Yeah. What’s the matter? You
okay?”

Eddie’s
voice came back to her far too loud for comfort and she pressed the
speaker to her breast to deaden the sound. “Shhhhhhh,” she breathed
into the microphone. “There’s someone here.”

She put her hand over the speaker to muffle Eddie’s reply
when it came.
“What do you mean? Who’s there?”

“
I don’t know. I can hear them moving about outside. What if
it’s Brewer. What if he’s not–”

Silence.

“
Lydia? Who’s there? Lydia?”

The
ear-splitting scream emanating from his earpiece almost ruptured
Eddie’s eardrum.

“
Lydia!!” he yelled into the mic. “Talk to me Lydia. Who’s
there?” Only static replied.

Eddie
turned tail and hared back along the corridor towards the habitat,
smashed his way through a fire door and pounded down the
walkway.

At the
stairs he grabbed both rails and lifted his feet, sliding down them
sailor style rather than taking the treads one at a
time.

He
misjudged his speed of descent and landed awkwardly, wrenching his
ankle and giving his knee a nasty knock. He rolled until he came to
rest lying on his back, clutching at his ankle and cursing up the
stairwell, fire flaring up his leg and the torch digging into his
spine.

Over
onto all fours, he pulled the torch from his pocket. Using the
steps and the rail for support, he eased himself upright, but as
soon as he put any weight on the left ankle it collapsed beneath
him.

He sat
down on the steps, breathing steadily as he willed the pain to
subside. It wasn’t listening, and he had no choice but to grit his
teeth and go on. Lydia needed him – if it wasn’t already too
late.

The
shearing pain allowed him to progress at no more than a
hobble.

Grunting, cursing and pouring with the sweat of both effort
and sheer desperation, it took him ten agonising minutes to get to
the habitat, sure by now of something dreadful ready to meet him
around the next corner.

Lydia
butchered? Eaten like McDougal?

Sliced
open and put to the flames like poor Jock McAllister?

He
pushed open the door to the hub and sidled in, to be met with
silence. Resisting the temptation to call out to Lydia he instead
crept stealthily down the carpeted corridor to the door of his
cabin.

Slightly
ajar?

He was
certain he’d closed it when he left her.

Bracing
himself, he gripped the heavy Maglite ready to strike at the first
thing that moved, and burst into the room.

Chapter 53

Duncan
Cameron blinked up at him with his one good eye, the other swollen
like a purple egg and sealed shut with drying blood.

Gore
caked his hair and stained the whole of the right side of his face
dark red, soaking into right shoulder of his navy overalls and
turning it a rich shade of plum.

His left
sleeve had been eased away, exposing his arm and the blood sodden
handkerchief Lydia had tied around it, covering the nail wound in
his bicep.

“
Hey boss,” he said, and smiled weakly, teeth showing bright
through the maroon veil.

At the sight of the returned absconder sat large as life
on
his
bunk, anger welled in Eddie.

He threw down the torch-club and lunged at Cameron,
grabbing handfuls of the front of his overalls. “Where the fucking
hell did you go, Cameron!” he exploded in the man’s face, spittle
flying. “Where the fucking hell
were
you? While that animal was hunting us, after he
killed Matt, where the fuck did you run away to, you snivelling
fucking coward?”

Lydia,
damp towel in hand, shot out of the bathroom to see to the ruckus.
“HOY!” She slapped Eddie’s hands away. “Get off him, Eddie. Can’t
you see he’s hurt?”

Eddie
grabbed at Cameron again, shaking him and hoisting his backside off
the bed.

“
Hurt?! HURT! I’ll show him who’s fucking hurt! I’ll fucking
kill him!”

Cameron
shrieked with pain as the nail moved in his leg.

“
Leave him alone!” Lydia tugged at Eddie’s arm, wrenching it
free. “STOP IT!”

Eddie
immediately snatched at Cameron’s clothing again, only to find
Lydia’s tiny frame now forced between them, two small hands pushing
hard at his chest; small, but strong.

“
I said GERROFFIM!”

An
almighty shove knocked Eddie off balance. He staggered and swore as
pain blazed up his leg from his ankle.

“
Aya... bastard!”

He
leaned heavily against the desk, holding his left foot off the
ground, keeping his weight off it.

Lydia
turned back to her patient and handed him the towel from the
bathroom. “Okay Duncan?”

Duncan
Cameron nodded, and she began her tender ministration, gently
sponging away the mask of red, carefully avoiding his damaged
eye.

Suddenly
he made a grab for her wrist and held it tight. His chin dropped to
his chest and his shoulders began to heave and he let out the most
pitiful moan.