Offshore

by Lucy Pepperdine

  “No! No! NO!”

  Eddie tore himself away from staring out at the dangling wreck to snatch up the phone, hoping beyond hope to hear the familiar beep of a signal, only to be met with dead silence instead.

  He jabbed at the connection. On. Off. On. Off.

  Nothing.

  This little steel and concrete island in the North Sea was now totally isolated.

  He rammed the handset back into its cradle and bawled at the ceiling. “What stupid, silly, sodding IDIOT thought putting satellite dishes on top of the fucking derrick was a GOOD idea? JESUS CHRIST AL-fucking-MIGHTY!”

  Lightning flashed again, this time accompanied by a kettledrum roll of thunder. Mocking him. “The same sodding idiot who thought challenging me was a good idea,” it said. “Don’t fuck with what you can’t handle little man. You’ll never win.”

  The internal intercom buzzed. It took Eddie a while to drag himself away from the window to hear Matthew Shaw relaying the complaints.

  The TV had lost its signal, as had the internet. They were all sat about twiddling their thumbs with nothing to do, and what was Eddie going to do about it?

  He trudged his way back to where the crew were gathered. “Lightning struck the derrick,” he explained to the disgruntled assembly. “Both dishes are down so there’s no phone either. No calls in or out, to or from Longdrift. As soon as the weather calms down I’ll shin up there and see what, if anything, can be done, but I don’t hold out much hope. Until then, we’ll just have to grin and bear it. Okay? It’s not like it can get any worse, is it?” The lights flickered, fizzed and dimmed momentarily, before regaining their full brightness.

  Everyone looked at the lights, at each other, then back to Eddie.

  “You sure about that?” said Brewer, and in his falsely genial smile Eddie sensed something cold and calculating, and it scared him to his marrow that whatever ‘it’ might be, it might be about to get a whole lot worse.

  Chapter 34

  The storm, tiring of its constant assault on Bravo, subsided to intermittent heavy showers, between a pair of which Cameron and Eddie, on the verge of pissing his pants with terror, climbed the derrick to examine the broken satellite dishes.

  Lacking the requisite expertise in that field, neither of them could do anything to repair the damage.

  “I bet Daz could have fixed it with his eyes closed,” lamented Cameron as they jogged through the latest downpour to relay their findings to the rest of the crew. “It would have been right up his street.”

  Indoors, halfway up the first flight of stairs, darkness engulfed them. One so solidly intense they could almost feel it pressing in on them.

  “What the hell!” said Cameron, stumbling to a halt and cracking his shin painfully against the front edge of a step. “Wait a few seconds,” Eddie said, arms outstretched, feeling for the safety rail. “Secondary power will kick in. Keep still.”

  Ten seconds passed; then twenty.

  Stygian blackness remained, broken only by the bright rectangle of the emergency exit sign glowing like a cat’s eye below them, not giving off enough light for them to navigate safe passage up the stairs and along the treacherous walkway.

  “Looks like Brewer was right,” said Cameron glibly.

  “About what?”

  “About things getting worse. Looks like they just did.”

  “Nothing to do with him. It’s just one more fecking breakdown in this God forsaken place. We should get to the plant room. I don’t suppose you’ve got a–” Eddie blinked in the ice white beam of Cameron’s Maglite torch, pupils contracting to pinpricks as he screwed up his eyes to cut out the glare. “Not in my face, Cam. Jeez!”

  “Sorry boss.” The beam dropped to the steps, casting a dazzling round spotlight, and they picked their way up the rest of the flight.

  “Wait a mo,” said Eddie when they reached the safety of the walkway. The tiny green light on his radio lit up his face. “Craig? You there? Over.”

  Static hiss.

  “Craig, respond. Over.”

  “Here boss. Fit’s deein’? All the decklights just went oot. Ower.”

  “Power cut. We’re on our way to the plant room to see what’s what. Where are you? Over.”

  “Stowing my gear in the dog house. Ower.”

  “Stay where you are. It’s black as pitch in here. You’ll be better off out there. Over.”

  “Dinnae be daft, man. It’s as dark as the devil’s arse out here too, not to mention blowing a hoolie. The sleet’s comin’ in sideways and this place is leaking like a sieve. I’m coming in.”

  “No. Hang tight there. That’s an order. Over and out.”

  The hiss of static masked McDougal’s retort. “Get stuffed. Ower, under and every other way ye can.”

  Cameron’s torch picked out an internal telephone on the wall a few feet away. He picked it up, listened, and replaced it in its cradle. “Phones are off,” he said. “Do you think Miss Ellis will be okay? If she’s on her own in sickbay in the dark, she might be scared.”

  What’s it to you, Eddie thought, but did not say, once more feeling a pinprick of jealousy.

  “She’s a grown up and should have the sense to realise what’s happened and stay put,” he said, more harshly than he intended. “Let’s get to the plant room and get the power back on. It might be something simple like the fuel tanks haven’t swapped over.”

  “Yeah,” said Cameron, sounding unconvinced. “Something like that.”

  Eddie trailed behind Cameron and his forward beam, trusting him to lead them in the right direction because, to be honest, Eddie didn’t have a sodding clue where he was.

  Neither did Cameron, and it took them fifteen minutes to reach their destination.

  “Sit tight, ma arse, McDougal grumbled as the dog house shuddered violently, buffeted by a strong gust. A large drop of ice cold water fell with a splat onto the desk.

  “Aye, time tae go.”

  He pulled up his hood and collar and trod his way across the deck to the main door, heaved it open, stepped inside, and slammed it shut behind him.

  Capstan wasn’t exaggerating. The darkness was oppressive and all encompassing. He could not even make out the door he’d just come in through, even though it was only inches behind him.

  He had a decision to make. Stand here in the dark and wait for the lights to come back on, but there was no telling how long that would be, or feel his way to the locker room where he could sit and have a smoke, maybe even take a nap, to wait out the blackout.

  He chose the latter.

  Arms outstretched, he took shuffling steps until he touched the far wall, and using the back of his hand, as taught during fire-fighting instruction to avoid electrocution from live cables, inched his way along it.

  Behind him a shadow peeled itself from the wall and slid along in his wake.

  The wall ended. He had reached the junction. Left turn here, and it should be just along –

  He stopped. So did the shadow.

  Had he just turned left…or was it right? He couldn’t recall. He turned around to retrace his path. Four steps forward brought him in collision with the wall, nose first, then forehead. Light flared behind his eyes.

  “Ow! Sodding hell!”

  He waited for the flashing lights to fade away before continuing his way forward, one hand protecting his bruised nose, the other extended to feel for obstacles, shoulder against the wall.

  The silent shadow continued to follow.

  This wall too ended at a junction.

  Where to now?

  An illuminated green and white sign with a running man and the word ‘Emergency exit’ flickered at the end of the passageway and gave him an option. This way if you want to go back outside, it said. The last place he wanted to be.

  He swore. The shadow stayed silent.

  As his eyes became more accustomed to the dark, he began to make out features, including the dark rectangle of a door only five feet away.

  Which room w
as it? He ran his hand over the face of the door, palm seeking out the identifying nameplate. He found it, and like a blind man reading Braille, traced out a capital letter L with his fingertips; then an O, and a C … Locker Room. At last!

  He felt for the handle and opened the door. As he stepped inside, the shadow brushed past him unnoticed.

  McDougal kicked the locker room door closed with his heel and leaned back against it, relieved to be no longer lost in the dark.

  “Who’s that? Who’s there?”

  The unexpected voice in the dark twanged at McDougal’s already frayed nerves and he literally leapt with fright.

  “Shit Christ Almighty! Who–?”

  “Mr McDougal? Is that you? Don’t be alarmed. It’s only me. Lawrence Brewer.”

  McDougal hissed out a sigh of relief. “Ye scared me shitless, Doc. Fit ye deein’ skulking in the dark?”

  “Same as you I suspect. Sitting in a safe place to wait out the blackout.”

  Liar!

  Euterich/Brewer’s assigned duties for that day had involved him collecting up and inventorying loose tools and equipment and packing them up ready to be shipped off. Included in his search was the workshop in which he had spent his enforced hibernation.

  On his way back to his cabin to clean himself off, swamped in foul memories and a fouler mood, the smell and the dirt and the grease clinging to him like a second skin, the purely serendipitous blackout handed him an opportunity too good to miss.

  With his perfect night vision he saw McDougal come in from outside, and followed him as he stumbled his way to the changing room, managing to slither inside the room first to take him by surprise.

  “I was in here changing out of my dirty gear when the lights went out,” he said. “Thought it best to stay put. I’m sure Mr Cameron will soon sort it out.”

  “Aye, he’s a whizz wi yon mechanicals, I’ll give him that,” said McDougal, more relaxed now he had identified the speaker. “Almost as good as me.”

  He took a seat on the bench and shuffled and fumbled as he searched for something in his pockets.

  A flare of light. A bright orange glow dulling to red, and the air filled with the sour odour of burning tobacco.

  “So … what shall we do to pass the time,” said Euterich.

  “Whatever ye like. Sae long as it’s nae I Spy.”

  They both chuckled.

  “I’m glad it’s you who found your way here and not one of the others, Craig … you don’t mind if I call you Craig do you …?”

  “Iss ma name, don’ wear it oot. Why are ye glad?”

  “Because I’ve been watching you for a while.”

  “Oh aye.”

  “And I noticed you’ve been watching me too. And I think we both know why.” Silence. “If I’ve made a mistake, I apologise. No offence intended.”

  He knew he hadn’t.

  Over time it had become as plain as a pikestaff to the real Brewer where McDougal’s proclivities lay, and once Euterich accessed his memories he found they intrigued him somewhat too.

  More virgin territory to be explored.

  Another glow. Another stream of smoke.

  A hand on his thigh. “None taken.”

  In the silence, in the dark, Euterich’s hand found McDougal’s and pressed it against his thigh, easing it up towards his crotch.

  The cigarette end glowed again and fell to the ground, to be stubbed out by the toe of McDougal’s boot. A gentle, hesitant tug, and the zip of his overalls slid open.

  McDougal slipped his hand inside, rucked up his T shirt, and laid a cool hand against his hot chest, moving slowly over his ribs to his breast and its rock hard button of a nipple. He stroked over the tight nub with his thumb.

  Euterich gasped in a shuddering breath.

  This was rather nice.

  His breathing became harsher as McDougal leaned into him, kissed the skin of his chest, before taking the nipple into his mouth and teasing it with his tongue.

  Very nice indeed.

  He placed his hand at McDougal’s crotch and squeezed gently, as if testing a pear for ripeness.

  McDougal moaned his appreciation.

  “We can head back my cabin if you want,” he said. “It would be more comfy.”

  Euterich could feel the bulge under his hand already swelling. “What’s wrong with right here?”

  “Someone might come in.”

  “So what? Don’t you find the danger of getting caught more … stimulating?”

  Euterich unzipped McDougal’s overalls to the crotch and put his hand inside, moving it softly over a taut stomach and down to a pair of boxers, easing its way under the waistband to enclose a pair of hot swollen testicles in his large soft hand.

  McDougal groaned and sighed.

  “Top or bottom?” he said, no more than a breathy whisper, the state of his arousal becoming more obvious by the second.

  Euterich did not understand the question, but played along. “Whatever you prefer.”

  “I prefer bottom.”

  Boots off, McDougal thrust his overalls and boxers down to his ankles and stepped out of them, then hauled his T-shirt over his head.

  Euterich, determined to immerse himself fully in this new role, did likewise.

  The room was freezing, but neither of them felt it as they stood naked apart from their socks, belly to belly, skin to skin, exchanging body heat.

  Euterich stroked his way over McDougal’s sinewy almost hairless body, with its well sculpted musculature, and McDougal jerked as he caught his breath.

  A few light kisses to the skin of his shoulders brought a light sigh, and hands run over firm flanks, solid buttocks and strongly muscled thighs, a full blooded moan.

  When they caressed his inner thigh, before grasping a hot swollen cock, McDougal expressed his delight. “Oh, man. Yeah.”

  Euterich found himself actually enjoying the unusual yet not unpleasant marvel of handling another man’s dick and bollocks, and judging by McDougal’s reactions, whatever he was doing, he was doing it right.

  Was arousal contagious? If it was, he’d caught it. The sighing, the moaning, the sweat, the smell, all were working on him and he felt the tingling surge of an erection well under way.

  Soon they were standing cock to rigid cock, head to head, like sword fighters en guard, thrusting and parrying in flesh.

  This was all very interesting. What next?

  McDougal took his turn with the touching, his rough working hands caressing Euterich’s softer skin. He got down on his knees, and with lips surprisingly soft for a man, began to kiss Euterich’s swiftly rising cock.

  And then he had it in his mouth, deep in, and Euterich could feel teeth against the skin. One false move and he could bite it clean off. Who cared? It felt wonderful. A hot wet tongue teased the tip, encouraging the release of pre-cum.

  This was amazing! Why had he never done this before?

  Sensing Euterich to be at the brink of orgasm, McDougal turned his back and bent over the wooden bench, one hand to steady himself, the other gripping at his cock to masturbate himself to climax.

  “Do it,” he said, breathless with anticipation. “Do it now!”

  Euterich didn’t need to be told twice. He laid his hands over the presented buttocks, a firmly rounded fuzzy peach ripe for the picking, and separated them with his thumbs.

  When he touched the tip of his penis to the puckered ring of McDougal’s experienced anal sphincter, it opened like a flower, inviting him to enter. Euterich accepted the invitation and took his first step into a whole new world of ecstasy.

  Chapter 35

  Eddie examined the gauges on the generators by the light of Cameron’s torch. “There’s plenty of fuel in the tanks, but it’s not getting through.”

  “Probably a blockage in the pipe,” said Cameron. “Could be something as simple as an air bubble.”

  “You’ve dealt with this sort of thing before?”

  “Plenty of times. Hold the light steady for
me and I’ll have it sorted in a minute.”

  Eddie stood at Cameron’s shoulder, torch at arm’s length, trying not to inhale the sour diesel fumes that always turned his stomach. They appeared to have no ill effect on Cameron at all. “I wonder why the auxiliary lighting didn’t come on,” he mused. “They should have. Paperwork says they were checked.”

  “No idea, boss. Faulty battery? Salt water ingress? Mice in the wiring? Who knows? Hold the light steady will you?” A few minutes of silent labour later, the generators hummed back into life.

  “Hey! Good job,” declared Eddie.

  Cameron wiped his greasy hands on a rag. “Piece of cake, if you know what you’re doing.”

  A dig at Eddie’s lack of mechanical expertise?

  “Let’s get this show back on the road,” Eddie said, and left Cameron in the dark as he reset the circuit breakers.

  The lights came on. He waited for them to go off again. They did not.

  He reached for his radio. “Attention everyone. Thanks to Mr Cameron, the generators are up and running and we’re in business again. Sorry for any inconvenience. Spanner, you can come in now. Make your way to the mess. Kettle’s on.”

  Eddie set the kettle to boil while Cameron took down the teapot and dropped tea-bags into it. He set out six mugs, one for each person still living who might appreciate a warming cuppa.

  “Where is everybody?” said Eddie. “Nobody want a tea break?”

  “Give them time. They’re keeping busy. It helps the time pass quicker if nothing else - also stops you thinking about things you’d rather not.”

  “Can’t argue with that.”

  They sat opposite each other in the armchairs, steaming mugs of tea in hand.

  “Why won’t Longdrift come and take us off?” said Cameron. “They should have realised by now that the phones are off, so why don’t they just come? And don’t give me all that guff about the weather grounding the choppers or closing the harbour.”

  “It has been, still is, pretty bad.”

  “Bollocks! They’ve been out in worse than this. Two men are dead, one is missing, and they’re just leaving us out here. If this were a factory onshore we’d be shut down by now, and the place would be swarming with cops and men with clipboards. They don’t give a damn about us. They don’t care whether we live or die out here.”