The Black

by Paul E. Cooley

  “Wipe your face,” he said.

  Shawna brought a hand up and wiped the wetness away from her left cheek. As difficult as it was, she did her best not to look at her palm. She rubbed it against her moist and soiled khakis. “How the fuck are we going to get past that,” she pointed at the wall.

  Vraebel grunted. “We shine our lights. We go forward.”

  “Martin,” Gomez said from behind them.

  “Glad you’re still alive, Steve,” he said without turning around.

  “I have something for you,” Gomez said.

  Shawna turned as he produced a large red gun from his trouser pocket. She saw his ruined hand. The pinky had been bisected along with part of his palm. The skin was scorched and blistering where the black had touched him. Gomez handed the weapon to Bill and he held it out to Shawna. She took it.

  “Flare gun?” she asked.

  Gomez nodded. His undamaged hand slipped into his pocket and he lifted out several rounds. Bill took them and passed them to Shawna. She placed them in her shirt pocket. “Be careful,” Gomez said. “That thing’s loaded.”

  “Good to know,” she said. Vraebel’s light was still pointing at the wall. Diesel exhaust choked the hallway. “We have to move,” she said, “or we’re all gonna pass out.”

  “Right. Bill?” Vraebel asked.

  “Ready, boss.”

  Vraebel looked at Creely. “Cover our ass.” Creely still looked as though he was in shock, but he nodded. With that, Martin took the lead.

  Shawna got behind the hand truck and started to push. Her arms felt like overcooked noodles, but they had to make it out of the rig and back to the deck. Once they were down the stairs, they’d be in natural light again, although that didn’t seem to deter it too much. As they passed the blood drenched wall, she forced herself not to look.

  The hallway ahead was dark. The creature had destroyed enough of the electronics in the ceiling to short them out. Vraebel’s halogen beam spread out before them in a rectangle of white light, but the hallway’s length seemed to eat the light before it hit the back wall. Shawna wanted to run. She wanted to push the cart as fast as she could while Vraebel sprinted ahead. She wanted—

  Vraebel held up a hand and cocked his head to one side. She stopped pushing and took a deep breath. She listened. The wind outside buffeted against the raised superstructure. But that’s not what had stopped Vraebel in his tracks.

  Somewhere up ahead, or maybe around one of the corridors, something made a tapping noise. “Is someone trapped?” she asked.

  Vraebel shrugged. The tapping sound increased to a metallic rattle. He lowered his hand and continued down the hall. Shawna followed with the hand truck. She could hear Gomez’ heavy breathing. There was a shudder in his exhales and she wondered if one of his lungs was filling with blood.

  The sounds in the other corridor stopped. Vraebel paused in his steps and cocked his head to listen. Shawna heard nothing. Whatever those sounds were, they were gone now.

  The rig chief started moving again and the battered entourage followed. Creely’s light constantly shifted from the left to the right as he illuminated the upper vents. Shawna kept listening for that sizzling sound or the rending of metal. If the creature learned that it could dissolve the wooden studs that supported the metal framing, they could be in big trouble. With that in mind, the first level of the rig’s superstructure could collapse at any time.

  After an eternity of slow steps, Vraebel reached the corner. He held up a hand and Shawna stopped. Her eyes watered from the generator’s exhaust. Vraebel leaped into the adjoining hallway, light held out before him. “Oh, fuck,” he said.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Guys? We have to find another way.”

  Bill cursed. “Got to be fucking kidding me, boss. What the hell’s the problem?”

  Shawna walked around the hand truck and peered around the corner. The ceiling was a disaster. The lights were off, but she could see twisted metal dangling from where ceiling tiles and light fixtures once hung. The floor was clean, but warped.

  “Shit,” she said. “I think it ate the supports beneath the floor.”

  Vraebel nodded. “Yeah. I’m guessing the floor’s not going to support our weight. Not to mention it has plenty of places to drop down on us now.” He shook his head. “How smart are these fucking things?”

  Shawna clucked her tongue. “Smart enough,” she said. “It’s got us trapped.”

  “Creely?” Vraebel shouted.

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “Check the other corridor,” the rig chief said.

  Shawna watched the large, bald man walk forward, and then turn in the other direction. His halogen lit up the other end of the adjoining hallway. “Dammit,” she said.

  “We’re totally fucked, boss,” Bob said.

  The other hallway was a shambles. In addition to the ceiling being a complete mess and the warped floor, the black had eaten large enough holes in the walls for the ductwork to come loose and point at the floor. The ooze could pour out of the vents like a faucet.

  Vraebel panted. “I think we need to—“ The walls started to make that sizzling sound. “Get back to the bridge!”

  Shawna didn’t wait. She bolted back to the hand truck and started to pull it down the long hallway. Gomez and Bill had already started to move in that direction, but Bob’s extension cord was taut. She turned her head. “Let’s go!”

  Martin appeared from around the corner, his light aimed behind him. “Bob! Cover the rear!” he said and ran toward Shawna with his light held high. She was blinded by the sudden stabbing brightness. “I’ve got you, Shawna,” Vraebel said as he reached the other side of the hand truck. Creely’s cord was still taut. “Creely! Move it!”

  Bob stepped backwards from the hallway, his light kissing the walls and then the ceiling. Something above them groaned. “Bob! Run!” Shawna yelled. But it was too late.

  Creely raised his head to look up, and then a pool of black poured from the ceiling and swallowed him. The sound of frying flesh filled the hallway. His light popped and exploded as the ooze shorted out the electronics.

  The generator growled loudly and then Vraebel’s light started to flicker. “Fuck!” he shouted. “Fuck the lights! Run!” He pushed her away from the hand truck and leaped over it. She pelted down the hallway toward the wan light coming through the open bridge hatch. She heard Vraebel’s heavy foot steps behind her.

  Bill and Gomez disappeared into the bridge just as she cleared the threshold. She turned, the flare gun in her hands. Vraebel’s halogen pointed down the hallway. He finally ran out of slack and the light jerked from his hands. It hit the floor with a thud. Vraebel stopped running and turned to grab the lamp.

  The white light bounced off the metal beams and created a dim pool of light around the generator. As Vraebel’s hands scrabbled for the light, the barely illuminated portion of the hallway turned black.

  “Forget the light! Run!” she screamed.

  Vraebel raised his eyes, saw what she saw, and then started to sprint. His right boot tangled in the cord from Bill’s dropped lamp and he fell face-first with a thud. Shawna ran forward and put her left hand around his outstretched arm. She pulled as hard as she could. His limp body started to move forward, but the black was closing in.

  She fell backward on her ass, took aim, and pulled the trigger. The hallway exploded into red and orange light as the flare raced past the generator and slammed into the floor. Flames shot out of the pool of black. It trembled and shook like pudding as the fire spread. The entire hallway was ablaze.

  Shawna used both hands to pull Vraebel forward. The man moaned in pain. The flames were going to reach the generator. It was going to explode and they were both going to die.

  “Run, dammit,” Bill yelled from behind her. He bent and took Martin’s hands. His strong biceps bulged as he pulled the man toward the bridge. Shawna didn’t have to be told twice. She ran as fast as she could through the hatch. Second
s later, Bill carried Vraebel into the room.

  Shawna shut the hatch and swiveled the wheel. Through the walls, they heard the sound of a roaring fire. Tendrils of smoke curled through the A/C vents. She didn’t know if she’d killed the black, but they might die in this room anyway. The sprinkler systems weren’t working. And there was no telling how far the fire would spread.

  #

  They were walking away from the drilling office when the lights stopped flickering and went dead. He and Catfish took out their flashlights and continued pushing the cart. The close walled corridors made the diesel exhaust that much more pungent. Calhoun hoped they made it to some fresh air soon, or they’d risk carbon monoxide poisoning.

  Terry and Aaron hadn’t said a word since Joel’s death. What he’d seen on their faces told him they’d already given up. Considering one was on point and the other covering their rear, that didn’t exactly fill him with confidence. If they didn’t do their jobs, the whole mission was fucked.

  From the other side of the rig walls, they heard the sounds of banging, ripping metal, and screams. Calhoun gritted his teeth. Shawna’s team was in trouble, but there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. Not yet.

  The men they’d left on the deck should be preparing for the explosive shots. He hoped Vraebel had chosen the right crew for that. Wireline could be tricky. And the amount of concrete they’d have to pour after the shots was going to be intense. Of course if the thing below the ocean surface decided to get nasty, it wouldn’t matter—the rig would be matchsticks.

  Terry’s lamp filled the corridor with light. The group was moving a little faster than they had before. The roughneck up front was either too terrified to stay still or he just didn’t care anymore. Neither possibility boded well.

  As they passed a door marked “Storage,” Calhoun called a halt. “Terry? You have a key to this room?”

  Terry shook his head. “Gomez, Vraebel, and the quartermaster have those.”

  Calhoun pointed his light at the lock and grinned. He stepped far enough away for a kick and then planted his boot right at the lock. His leg shook with the recoil of hitting steel, but the door popped open.

  “Guess nothing in there is too important,” Catfish said.

  Thomas said nothing as he examined the room with his flashlight. Two cases of D-cell batteries were stacked in the corner alongside bottled water and a case of energy bars. He trained the light over the rest of the boxes. “More flashlights in here,” he said. “We probably need to stock up.”

  He opened the box and pulled out five of the heavy flashlights. He turned each on to make sure their batteries were good and then handed them backwards to Catfish. “Find a place for those.”

  “A place? Like where? My fucking pants pockets?”

  Calhoun turned and glared at the tech. Catfish brushed away a stray lock of hair and took the black cylinders.

  “We also need to figure out how to get these batteries out of here,” Calhoun said. Then he saw what he really wanted and grinned. “Perfect.” Coils of heavy nylon rope hung from pegs on the wall. Calhoun took one and put his head through its center. It would be awkward, but he could take at least two. He handed the others to Catfish.

  There was an emergency medical kit as well. Calhoun grabbed it and handed it backwards to Catfish.

  “What are we doing here?” Catfish asked. “This isn’t fucking Wal-Mart.”

  “Shut up, Craig,” Calhoun said. Boxes, boxes, and more boxes. He scanned the labels. There was a box of canned food, one marked “coffee,” and another whose label was torn. Thomas frowned at the cardboard box and then opened it. “Bingo.” He pulled out three duffel bags, the PPE logo emblazoned on their sides. He didn’t know what fabric they were made of, but they seemed heavy enough.

  He placed the medical kit, and the energy bars in one and handed it back to Catfish. “Put the lights in there too.” Catfish grabbed the duffel, but didn’t say anything. Calhoun was glad the man was finally shutting the fuck up.

  Calhoun went over chemical recipes in his mind. If he could just find the right ingredients, he could fashion a bomb or… A bead of sweat fell from his brow. The room was getting warm. He reached forward and put his hand against the wall. The sheetrock was hot to the touch. “Shit,” he said. He stepped back out of the small area. “We need to move. Now.”

  “What’s wrong?” Catfish asked.

  “The rig is on fire,” Calhoun said. “Might be electrical, I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. We’re fucked if we don’t get to the other side.” Thomas closed the door to the storage room and looked at Terry. “Let’s go.”

  Catfish coughed. “Getting hard to breathe, boss.”

  “I know,” Calhoun said. “Start moving. Now.”

  He and Catfish pushed the generator cart, their flashlights on and at the ready. They took turns shining their lights up at the vents as they moved forward.

  They came to a junction and Terry stopped. “Holy fuck,” he said. “Can’t go starboard. The floor is all buckled. And I see smoke and fire at the other end.”

  “Coming toward us?” Calhoun asked.

  Terry nodded. “We gotta go the other way.”

  “Then move.” Even Calhoun was surprised by the growl that came out of his mouth. The fire meant Shawna’s team was trapped in the bridge if they hadn’t already gotten out. He gritted his teeth and hoped they were still alive.

  #

  Black smoke wafted through the A/C vents. Shawna and the others could barely breathe. The room was already uncomfortably warm. The bridge shook as something exploded out in the hall. She was sure it was the generator. If nothing else, burning diesel fuel was adding to the flames burning up the black. Or at least that one.

  But it didn’t matter unless they found a way off the bridge. She looked at the windows. “Bill? Can we break those?”

  He turned and looked at them. A maniacal grin spread across his face. “We can sure as hell try.” The roughneck picked up one of the heavy rolling chairs from the bridge console. He lifted it into the air and swung it into the middle window.

  The wheel-base smashed into the heavy Plexiglas with a crash of metal. The transparent glass spider-webbed with cracks. Bill pulled the chair back for another swing and slammed the chair forward.

  The glass detonated outward with a crackle. Shards fell to the deck over a hundred feet below. “Fucker,” Bill said. He made his way to the next window. It disappeared with a crunch.

  Smoke escaped through the wide windows. Shawna stuck her head near the opening and breathed deep. The air smelled of diesel, rain, and salt. Compared to the stench of acrid smoke and unwashed bodies, it was a glorious scent.

  “That’s going to pull the fire toward us,” Gomez said. His face was ashen. She wasn’t sure why he kept clutching his chest, but she could tell his wounds were damned severe.

  She nodded. “That’s why we have to get the fuck out of here.” She peered out the window. The dark clouds veiled the deck in twilight. Powerful work lamps cast their white glow over the men working near the drill string rotator. “Up here! Hey!” she yelled.

  The men didn’t look up. Shawna ground her teeth. They couldn’t hear her over the roar of machinery. She thought for a moment and looked at the flare gun in her hands. “Gomez? How the fuck do we get out of here?”

  He blinked and then his eyes went glassy. She stepped forward and slapped him across the face. His eyes crossed and then focused on her. “What?”

  “How do we get out of here?” she asked again. Gomez pointed at the wall. She followed his finger and saw the wrapped coil of fire hose behind glass. “You have to be fucking kidding me.”

  “Use it as rope,” he said. “Maybe it’ll reach.”

  “No fucking way it will reach,” she said. “We’d break our legs in the fall.”

  He shook his head. “Not if you hit the ledge.”

  Shawna stuck her head out the window. The bridge protruded from the rest of the rig superstructure, but only
by a few feet. All she could see was the deck. “Bill? Grab my legs.”

  The roughneck put his strong hands around her calves and she climbed through the window. She looked down. There was a ledge. It was at least fifty feet down.

  “Okay,” she said. “Bring me back.”

  Bill pulled her back from the window. Jagged shards of Plexiglas cut through her khakis but she ignored the pain. She stared back at the fire hose.

  “No way that thing’s going to hold our weight,” Bill said. “Have to go one at a time. And even then, it’ll probably snap out of the wall.”

  “We’ll need to cut it and tie it to something,” she said.

  Vraebel groaned from the floor. He sat up and wiped an ooze of blood from his forehead. His nose was crooked and his lip split. Shawna wasn’t sure, but he might have broken a tooth. “We safe?” he asked.

  “Not really,” she said. “But this is better than the hallway.”

  He shook his head and winced. “Goddamn, that floor is hard.”

  “Yeah,” Bill said. “Lucky you’re alive, boss.”

  “Can you move?” Shawna asked the rig chief.

  He flexed his fingers and slowly got to his feet. He wobbled for a second and Bill moved to catch him. Vraebel waved him away and managed to stabilize himself. “I can move. Just don’t ask me to run very fast.”

  “May not be an option,” Shawna said. “Bill? Let’s see how long that hose is.”

  He nodded and hit the glass door release. The fire hose spindle swung wide. He inspected the bolts holding it to the wall. “Man, I really don’t know if this is going to hold.”

  Outside the hatch, something crashed. “Not sure we have a choice,” she said. “Hurry. We need to count it out.”

  They spun the wheel and pulled the fire hose off the wall. She estimated it was fifty to sixty feet in length. It was just enough to get them down to the ledge. Maybe.

  “We’re going to lose at least ten feet if we keep it attached to the wall,” she said.

  Vraebel’s eyes stared around the room and then he smiled. “There,” he pointed at the console. A steel support leg was bolted to both the console and the floor. “We can wrap it around that.”