The Platform (6 page)

 
          
“Okay, you get to live for now,” skea
growls, that same dark leer on her face.

 
         
“Thank you,” he grovels. He lights his
cigarette with hands that cannot still themselves.

           
 
“So, we have no idea if anyone is on board?” I
ask.

           
 
“No,” Clook says. “But at least we know it’s
one ours, otherwise it wouldn’t be on the auto.” I grunt and nod. I don’t like
having to stand next to this cretin, let alone work with him. “I’m going to
power down for a while.”

 
          
“Already?” Helst raises an eyebrow.

           
 
“We got about three hours left, that’s without
what we need to fire the line. As it is, we will only get one shot.”

 
          
“Great,” I mutter. “No pressure
then.”

 
          
“No. And by then the place could be
crawling with abominations,” Clook mumbles.

 
          
“With no guarantee there is anyone on
the ship anyway,” Helst says softly.

 
          
“But hopefully there will be food at
least,” Clook replies. “Real food, I mean.”

 
          
“It’s academic really. From what
you’re saying the Platform is going to run out of juice in a few hours, and we
don’t want to be there when it happens. Getting to the ship is our only chance,”
says Helst, taking a cigarette from Clook’s packet.

           
 
“Fuck,” Cora mutters. That seems to be the
word of choice for all of us right now.

                                                                       
*

 
 
         
She
is listing on one side, looking like she has been holed under the waterline. It
makes the shot harder, but it’s not impossible. But just to make it that much
worse, the power has now failed to the net and the abominations are beginning
to tear their way through. Everyone is clustered around the line fire except
for Clook, who is hiding in the control room ‘monitoring the power’ he says.

 
          
The warship is one of ours – a D
class ship – not huge, but powerful. It has the same electric netting as ours,
only facing downwards like a skirt, and above it is the two-metre socket for
the line. It looks tiny from here, and with everyone standing around like a
guard of honour, I sweat, my hands greasy in my gloves, with the mad urge for a
cigarette cutting into my lungs.
Okay
,
I tell myself, just
focus
. The small
target wavers up and down.
Just ignore
everything
…

 
          
“You ready?” Helst yells above the
wind.

 
          
“Yes,” I yell back.
Fuck off!
I think. I take a deep breath
and try to ignore him. Then the guns begin to fire; all around me, they are
firing.

 
          
“They’re on the deck,” Cora yells. I
can feel my heart beating hammer blows on my ribs and I think of how much I
don’t want to be doing this right now. I wish I was with them, shooting at the
creatures. I grind my teeth shut, counting the seconds of the port’s travel up
and down, calculating the distance.

 
          
“There’s two heading for the control
room!” Helst yells.
Shut it out
, I
tell myself.
Shut it all out. Focus on
the target; its motion, the arc of travel.
I feel my trigger finger seize
and my heart calm as the target is set and I fire. The ‘poonclaw races across
the distance, true like a spear, the wire in tow and it hits the black port. Immediately
I hit the mag switch and the claw disappears inside, the second takes forever,
but the green light flickers on and its locked into place. Then the huge pipe
begins to turn on the wheel, the wire dragging it across the gulf. Cora yells,
but I hold my breath until the control panel shows green all the way; the pipe
slips into the port and dock, beginning to pressurize with a familiar loud,
burning hiss.

 
          
One shot. Dead on.

           
 
I jump from the claw cannon and join the firefight.
There is a strange feeling, of satisfaction and pride mixed with horror at the
squirming things all round us. Up on the gantry I see two of the creatures
battering on the safety glass; inevitably it shatters and the loathsome things
squirm their way inside and that is that for Clook. I’m not sure I really hear
the terrible scream or perhaps it is just the wind, but his days are done.

           
It’s time to
leave.

           
 
More of the creatures are clambering up on
deck and I head to the line wavering up and down. As it pressurises, it becomes
solid enough to walk in. I just have to wait for the hand lines to raise.
Come on, fucker!
I think to myself. They
slowly lift and create a narrow pathway to the ship across the boiling ocean. I
wave the others to join me. We really have to go right now: there are now maybe
a dozen of the writhing creatures now, all closing in.

 
          
“Come on!” I yell at them. I step
onto the piping, feeling it judder under my weight; still greased from the last
maintenance it is slippery and I have to grab the hand wires to steady myself.
I shout again, then begin to cross. It’s a hand-wire walk above an acid sea
full of vicious, twisted monsters who will devour anything except each other. No
pressure, I tell myself, and wonder if I am just trying to make myself feel
better. The gunfire goes on, and I see the Platform below disappear, giving way
to the churning relentless waters, fuck! Not looking down is better, so I focus
on the port opposite, my
 
boots slipping
on the grease, the wind trying to prise the hand wires from me, and out in the
open, its hell as the wind rips hard and the spray burns at my eyes. The pipe
shudders as someone else steps on, but I don’t look back. It’s maybe twenty
metres, or thirty, I don’t know; it’s still a long way to safety, but I keep
myself moving. There is another judder as someone else comes on board. I am
leaving the Platform forever; there will be no way back from this, not after
the pipe is discarded. I just hope it’s worth it. Halfway across, looking from
side to side, the sea is endless on both dark horizons and it makes me feel a
little sick to see it.

 
          
I keep going, the squall trying to
take me, and my feet slip in the grease. It’s hard to breathe and my eyes are
squeezed almost shut as I hold on for all I am. I feel the shudders through the
pipe of those behind me, and then I sense the ship up close – an overpowering
presence that shields me from the worst of the wind. I feel relief as it gets
easier, and I make the last few metres almost at a run.

 
          
I cower in the portal. Jammed above
the pipe is the emergency entrance and the line control, and I turn to see
where everyone is. Skea is almost here, Helst is halfway across and Cora far
behind. She is firing at the creatures, walking backwards along the pipe. It’s
insane! She will be snatched over in an instant, if the things don’t reach her
first. I open up the emergency controls, locating the door and the emergency
jettison.

 
          
Skea clambers up beside me and for a
second is panting hard for breath, scrubbing the sea-spray from her eyes.

 
          
“You okay?” I yell.

 
          
“Yeah,” she nods. I hit the ‘open’
release and she begins turning the wheel until it clicks and opens. She climbs
in, leaving me to dump the line. Seeing Helst is almost here, it crosses my
mind to do it now, but I can’t, not while Cora is out there and still has a
slim chance. Maybe Helst senses my thoughts because he runs the last few metres
and reaches the portal. Without a word, he enters the ship and I am left to
watch Cora fighting her way.
Come on
,
I urge her on silently. She is not even halfway here, and the things are trying
to negotiate the slippery surface of the line: one tumbles down into the water
below but two more seem to have better grip and are chasing her down. I lean
back, trying to aim at them, but her huddled form is blocking the shot. There
is nothing I can do but wait to see if she makes it. It’s a horrible feeling,
just standing there, watching, feeling the past bite and stir up again,, and
she begins to panic, trying to run, but it’s hopeless. Her boots are slipping,
the wind tearing at her, and right behind her, one of the things is gaining
ground. I yell to her but it is no use: the wind rips her right from the line
and takes her away, flying for a second then down and down into the dark
boiling waters. Fuck, I think to myself. I can’t even see where she hit. She is
already under, and below the creatures wait, eager to devour her.

           
 
I jettison the line quickly. The explosive
bolts are loud; they thunder through the ship, almost throwing me aside. The pipe
whips away, taking the two abominations with it. There is no way back now, and
seeing the Platform swarming with creatures, it was the only option. With one
last look down into the water, I edge my way to the door and seek shelter from
the storm.

                                                                       
*

 
          
I could tell the second I entered
there was nothing living on the ship. The stink of death and corpses hangs
thickly everywhere. We gave a cursory search and found nothing but decomposing
crew members, and in truth, none of us were that surprised. We wandered around
shouting for anyone, but it soon became clear no one was coming to greet us. After
finding the first dead man, we knew, so we made our way up to the bridge. Helst
checked on the fuel supplies, and there isn’t a great deal left – certainly not
enough to get us anywhere. The good news though is that it’s not sinking – at
least not immediately anyway. Most of the damage is sealed off by emergency
bulkheads, but there is still flooding on the three lower decks. There was some
attempt to pump her out, but the crew didn’t live long enough to fix it.

 
          
We watched the video logs left by the
captain, and now with horrible certainty we know that the final war took place.
It was a strange, quiet moment as we heard him recording at 2.30am ship time that
total war was unleashed. Continent 2 had fired first, and everything went to fuck
with a full on chemical and storm fire conflict. In the space of two hours, all
life in the world was decimated, incinerated and thrown into the air as ash.
This ship, LKH77, was ordered to attack all enemy vessels, but was hit before it
had a chance to get seriously involved. And then, crippled in the water, the
fuckers unleashed chem bombs, the crew doing their best to outrun an attack flotilla,
but had no chance. It took a week for everyone to die; they set an auto course
to us in hope of rescue but died a long time before getting here. The air
scrubbers just couldn’t clean the air fast enough. Though Helst says the ship
is now decontaminated, the process still going even though the crew had long since
expired.

           
 
We sat there for several hours in the captain’s
room watching the logs, still raw from losing Cora, only to discover the world
was indeed finished. It was a horrible realisation to know everything was over.
We knew in our hearts weeks ago, but to have it confirmed and made real, that
was tough on all of us. We argued a lot of what to do, whether to try and make
it home or to just stay where we were, but in the end, there is nothing to head
back to anyway. Helst just wanted to get clear of the Platform; Skea wanted to
try for home, and me, I didn’t care either way. In the end, Helst won her over,
so he piloted the ship on a southward course and then shut down the engines,
letting her drift. The fuel is more important for the electric webs, he argued.
They would be down in days if we sailed too long, so best to conserve it and
keep the stinking creatures at bay. The Platform has now vanished on the
horizon. I watched it diminish and shrink as we pulled away, and then was lost,
swallowed in the dark, just a tiny speck that soon became nothing.

 
          
At least there is real food. There is
a good variety of things, but it’s funny really, I find myself missing the
stews made up by Illen in his last days, when the meat was human. I guess that
is wrong but I don’t really care. There was no way we wanted to cook up the
crew from here, and so we dumped them over the side; some ended up in the
webbing and fried, while others just fell apart on the journey down. We have
made the ship our own for now. This wasn’t exactly what I wanted, but it’s better
than being dead, I suppose. I stand up on the deck. The ship takes some getting
used to – the rolling and movement makes me feel a little sick at times; at
least most of the time the Platform was reasonably stable. I watch the water,
the endless tide in turmoil, and think of the world now in ruins, thanks to us.
I understand a bit better now why Helst says he is going to kill himself – even
the small pleasures of food and cigarettes can’t hold back the desire to escape.