The base of the extinguisher itself appeared to have grown hair where it had sheared off a section of Brewer’s scalp down to the bone, welding the two together.
Eddie felt the acid sting of vomit at the back of his throat, but swallowed it down.
He crawled over to the quaking ball of Lydia and laid a hand against her bare back, icy cold and slick with sweat.
She flinched, squealed and shook him off.
“It’s okay Lydia. It’s over.” Slowly he eased her out of her foetal contraction and raised her to her feet, holding her tightly against his chest, pressing his lips into her hair.
He caught the sharp sweet scent of urine and looked down at the warm yellow puddle she had been kneeling in. She had wet herself. He didn’t blame her. He had probably done worse but hadn’t noticed yet.
Eddie chanced to glance over her, to the body, to check it was still there, to make sure that it really was over. He tensed, clasping the whimpering Lydia tighter.
He couldn’t let her see what he was seeing - the shifting lustrous purple green liquid leaking from the ankles and cuffs and neck of the vaguely human shape of Brewer’s overalls; a bubbling amorphous mass of what looked like half set blackcurrant jam sliding from bones and soaking into the overall’s fabric, turning as black as spilled ink as it crept over the tiles. It seemed no matter which form he chose to occupy, man or beast, Euterich could never completely hide his true nature.
Inside this otherworldly creature who used humans as shields, who ingested them and took on their form, who inhabited their skins, their minds and lives, a part of his own anatomy always remained, the seeds of his own annihilation - two small glands set deep in his neck, their hair-fine tubules leading to outlets behind his incisor teeth, the glands from which the flesh dissolving poison could be administered when needed.
Lydia smashing his face from his neck had ruptured them, freeing the reservoir of venom to seep into the surrounding flesh, setting up the chemical reaction he had last used on Lonny Dick. He was slowly being devoured by his own toxin. Hoist by his own petard.
A rank faecal odour filled Eddie’s nostrils, a stench almost visible in its intensity, stimulating his gag reflex.
Lydia sensed it too. “What’s that awful smell?”
“Nothing. Don’t worry.”
“It smells like shit … did I …?”
“Never mind,” he said, scooping her into his arms. “Let’s get out of here.”
She was no weight at all, like picking up a bundle of wet straw.
He had to get her somewhere safe, away from this scene of ghastliness. If she caught so much as a glimpse of what he had just witnessed her mind would cave in completely, and his wouldn’t be far behind.
She was shivering convulsively now, her teeth rattling in her head like castanets. She was going into shock.
Hanging onto his precious cargo he set off through the empty kitchen and galley, along the carpeted corridors towards the warmth and safety of his cabin, to towels and blankets, and if he could get her into it, a hot shower.
Chapter 51
He stripped and showered her until she warmed through, before dressing her in one of his baggy T shirts and sleep shorts, swamping her tiny frame with them. She said not one word throughout the whole process.
Eddie sat Lydia on his bunk, snatched up the sleeping bag, unzipped it until it made a quilted blanket, and wrapped it around her fine frame.
He then laid her down, tucking the coverlet tightly around her, cocooning her. With her secure, he left her momentarily to grab her sleeping bag from her cabin, pausing only long enough to snatch up Mr Brown too.
He covered her with the extra quilt, tucking Mr Brown inside with her, and then fetched towels from the bathroom and used them to dry her sopping hair.
“I’m going to have to leave you for awhile,” he said gently, arranging the towel into a kind of turban. “You’ll be okay here. No one’s going to hurt you.”
“Don’t go. Don’t…” The words juddered out of her, carried on terrified shivering breaths. “Don’t… leave… me.”
“I have to. You need to stay here where it’s warm while I go and find a radio and call for help. I’ll only be in the control room. It’s not far–”
“Don’t go!”
Eyes like vast glass orbs stared out at him from a face the colour and texture of a wax candle; tight, inert, pale; too scared for tears now, although they would come soon enough.
He kissed her cold damp brow and extracted one of her icy hands from under the quilted layers, unclipped his radio from his breast pocket and held her fingers around it.
“Here’s my radio,” he said. “You can talk to me while I’m away, okay? Do you know how to use it?”
She didn’t so much nod as shiver harder.
“Okay. You hang tight here until I can find a spare, and then I’ll call you.”
Hot frightened tears escaped to course down her face and she replied with no more than a mimed breath of quivering air. “Okay.”
Eddie reached into the storage drawer beneath the bed, pulled out a torch and stuffed it into his back pocket. He pressed his lips to her forehead again. “Don’t move from here. You’ll be safe. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Before Lydia could seize him and hold him down, he was on his feet and out the door, his mind already working on developing a plan of action.
“First, get help on its way. Find the radio. If it’s not in the control room, there’s bound to be one in the lifeboat. Second, activate an emergency position indicating radio beacon, an EPIRB, to back up the message. In fact, why not go the whole hog and set them all going? Three at once should get someone’s attention. They would think there had been some kind of catastrophe requiring a mass evacuation. That should get the lead out. Yeah, I’ll do that. Lastly, get the lifeboat, and myself, ready to take us all off. I’m going to have to have a look at the instruction manual, though. I’ve only ever been in the boat on training exercises and drills, never in a situation like this, and never as a pilot. How hard can it be?”
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.
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