The Black

by Paul E. Cooley

  Bill nodded, produced a knife from his belt, and began cutting and tearing at the hose fitting. A moment later, he had the hose ripped apart at the coupling. He grabbed the chewed, ripped end and tied it around the support.

  “Ladies first?” he asked.

  Shawna shrugged. “No offense, but I am the lightest. We’re going to have to figure out a way to move Steve.”

  Gomez shook his head. “I’ll make it. Just get down there.”

  Bill wrapped the hose around her waist. “Try not to fall. If you do, you’re fucked.”

  “Then why wrap it around me?”

  He grinned. “Just in case it doesn’t kill you.”

  “Great.” She turned to the bridge windows, took a deep breath, and then slowly climbed up onto the console. She clenched her hands around the hose and slowly lowered herself into the air.

  Bill held the hose in his large hands. Vraebel had taken up station behind him and held the slack in case Bill lost his grip. They lowered her.

  Exhausted from pushing the hand truck through the halls, her arms screamed in pain. She grunted and held on. The rough hose bit into her flesh making it difficult to keep her grip. A whimper escaped her lips as strips of skin on her palms ripped away.

  She kept descending and was past the lip of the bridge. “How much slack?” she yelled upward.

  “You got a little!” Bill yelled back. “Just swing out and get to the goddamned ledge!”

  They lowered her another meter. Her feet were nearly parallel with the ledge. Shawna shifted her weight and started to swing. Her feet hit the wall and slowed her swing. She waited until she was just above the ledge and let the hose slip through her grip. Her feet touched down on the ledge. She exhaled a sigh of relief and unwrapped the hose from her waist.

  “I’m good!” she yelled upward.

  After a moment, the hose slithered upward beyond the overhang. The ledge lip was no more than a meter wide. She held out her arms, put her back against the wall, and slowly made her way to the starboard side. She didn’t want the next person to smack into her when they started their swing.

  “Coming down!” a voice yelled from above. Shawna waited. A light rain fell from the sky punctuated by flashes of lightning and the roar of thunder. A gust of wind hit her skin and gooseflesh broke out on her arms. After the hot box of the bridge, it felt like heaven.

  She stared at her palms. The skin was red, puffy, and bleeding in places. She was going to have a hell of a set of blisters. She heard something clank and looked upward. A pair of scuffed and stained work boots dangled near the center of the overhang. Vraebel appeared a moment later. His face was red and strained. The cut on his forehead had opened again and a thin line of blood trickled from his scalp.

  He swung until he could put his feet on the ledge. He groaned and started untying the hose from his waist. “We’re losing Gomez,” he said. “Pretty sure he’s dying.”

  “How’s Bill going to get him down here?” she asked.

  Vraebel shrugged. “I don’t know. I fought to be the last man out, but Bill said I couldn’t hold the hose.” Martin touched the top of his head and winced. “I think he was right. But I don’t know how the fuck he’s going to—“

  There was a scream from above them. They looked at one another. Shawna’s blood went cold. “What the fuck was that?”

  Something clanged off the overhang. A pair of large boots came into view along with droplets of blood falling past them. Bill was climbing down the hose as fast as he could. He swung himself to the ledge and managed to get his footing. He pushed against the wall. “We are so fucked,” he said.

  “What happened? Where’s Gomez?”

  Bill shook his head. “It ate him. From the inside, I think.” He wiped his bloody hands on his heavy denim pants. “He started coughing up sludge and then his skin just…” Bill paused to cough. “Just bubbled away. I got the fuck out of there.”

  “Goddammit,” Vraebel said. His face had drained of color. “Steve was my friend!”

  The big man nodded. “I know, boss. Mine too.” Something crackled above them. “We need to get the fuck off this thing. And right fucking now.”

  Shawna didn’t wait to be told twice. Back against the steel wall, she shuffled starboard. Vraebel and Bill followed. When she reached the end of the superstructure, she turned her head around the corner. “Right back where we fucking started,” she said. The flight of stairs they’d climbed to start their failed mission rose upward. She stared at it for a moment. The steel supports holding up the stairs was at least a meter away from the lip.

  “Goddammit,” she said and continued shuffling toward it. Bill and Vraebel rounded the corner and saw what she saw. Bill cursed from behind her. “Anyone good at jumping?”

  Vraebel panted. “You have to be fucking kidding me. I can barely see straight.”

  “We can’t switch positions, girl,” Bill said. “There’s not enough room. You’re going to have to jump first.”

  #

  The staircase leading down to the deck was in the other direction. The fire was blocking their way. That meant there was only one way back down—the elevator.

  Terry panted as he stabbed the down arrow on the metal shell. The sound of cables and machinery vibrated the metal doors.

  “We don’t want to use the fucking elevator,” Catfish said. “Wasn’t that the whole goddamned point of coming up those stairs?”

  Aaron’s lips turned into a snarl. “Got a better idea, asshole? There are two stairwells. And we can’t get to either.” He jerked a thumb in the direction they’d come. “Unless you want to face off with that thing.”

  Catfish shook his head. “If we get trapped, there’s no where to go.”

  “It’s solid steel,” Terry said. “Even if it was in the shaft, it can’t get in.”

  “Man,” Catfish said, “I don’t think you get it. If that thing isn’t airtight, it can come through the vents. Through the top. Shit, it could squeeze through the electronics!”

  The elevator dinged. The four men pointed their lights at the door as it slid open. “Kill the generator,” Calhoun said.

  “Fuck,” Catfish said and turned it off. The generator died with a wheeze. The air in the hall had grown foul. Between the diesel exhaust and the fumes from the fire in the other hallway, the superstructure was becoming uninhabitable. At least for humans.

  Thomas opened up the duffel bag and handed two of the heavy flashlights to Terry and Aaron. “Use these,” he said. “Let’s move.”

  Catfish pushed the generator inside the elevator. The roughnecks put their work lamps on the floor next to it and stepped inside. Calhoun flashed his light down the way they’d come. His eyes widened and he stepped into the elevator. “Punch it!”

  Terry hit the button for floor one. The doors started to close. When there was still a sliver of an opening, Catfish saw something moving in the hallway. “Fuck. Me. Was it following us?”

  Thomas nodded.

  The elevator started its descent. The generator creaked with the change in gravity. The car’s lights still functioned at least. Their halogens cast bright circles on the metal walls.

  No one spoke. The only sounds were the machinery above them and their own heavy breathing. The car smelled of unwashed bodies and diesel fumes.

  “You guys need a shower,” Catfish said.

  Terry chuckled. “So do you.”

  The elevator stopped with a slight bump. The four men pointed their flashlights at the door. It slowly creaked open into a lit hallway. Terry stepped forward, his light pointing to the right side. Aaron followed suit to the left. Calhoun and Catfish aimed their lights at the far wall.

  “Clear,” Terry said.

  Aaron nodded. “It’s clear.”

  “How come the lights are still on?” Catfish asked.

  Calhoun grunted. “I guess those things haven’t gotten around to fucking up the first floor.”

  “Thank, God,” Aaron said. “Let’s get the hell out of he
re before that changes.”

  Catfish pushed the hand truck out of the elevator and then pulled the starter cord. The generator sputtered to life and the large halogen lamps lit up with glaring light. Terry and Aaron pocketed their flashlights and groaned as they picked up the heavy lamps. “Here we go again,” Catfish said.

  Terry took point, Aaron in back. Calhoun and Catfish once again shared duties on pushing the hand truck while their flashlights bore into the vents near the ceiling.

  As they made their way down the corridor, Catfish noticed the floor. It had grime and boot prints on it. “Wow. Those things haven’t made it down here yet.”

  “Either that,” Calhoun said, “or they’re in the walls.”

  Catfish shivered at the thought. The image of one of those things bursting through the sheet rock with their tentacles was enough to make him quicken his pace.

  “Slow down, dammit,” Terry said as the hand truck bumped him in the ass. “I’m going as fast as I can here.”

  “Sorry,” Catfish said. Calhoun glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “Just want to get the fuck out of—“

  The maze of metal pipes above them groaned. Behind them, something smashed in the hallway. “The fuck?” Aaron asked. “Oh, shit! Get moving!”

  Terry set the pace and soon they were jogging down the corridor. Catfish wanted to look at what Aaron had seen, but he was afraid to turn his head.

  “Goddamned thing has legs!” Aaron screamed.

  The hallway filled with the sound of sizzling. Suddenly his fatigue disappeared. Catfish’s blood filled with adrenaline and all he could hear was the thumping of his own heart. Behind him, he could hear Aaron yelling, but it was distant and incomprehensible.

  Calhoun was chuffing away. The engineer was having trouble keeping pace. Terry turned a corner in the hallway to reach the exit. The line connecting the halogen lamp jerked hard and flew out of the electrical outlet on the generator. Terry’s shriek made his blood run cold.

  “Stop!” Calhoun yelled and let go of the hand truck. The sizzling sound was louder. Catfish turned. Aaron hadn’t been kidding about legs. A squat thing lumbered toward them. The tri-ped creature’s limbs ended in sharp talons. Two tentacles spread from its bulk reaching toward them like arms. An eyestalk rose from its center and swung in time with its steps. The creature was so black, it was almost impossible to make out any other details. Catfish froze.

  Calhoun shouted something. Aaron’s lamp was pointed straight at the thing. Its black shell was smoking from the light, but it kept coming. Calhoun pointed his flashlight at the eyestalk. The thing twitched and shuffled sideways, the long stalk swerving to try and avoid the light.

  Catfish found his wits and pointed his light at the thing. Between him and Calhoun, they had the eyestalk trapped in overlapping circles of white. A gout of flame shot from the stalk and then the creature’s legs were running the opposite direction. The three lights bore into its back until it was out of range. The thing shuffled around the far corner and was gone.

  Calhoun turned around and yelled in surprise. Catfish turned as well. A large puddle of black approached them from around the corridor. Thomas and Catfish immediately pointed their lights at the edges of the thing. It immediately began bubbling and flowed back around the corner and out of sight.

  “Jesus,” Aaron said. “Terry dead?”

  “If he ain’t,” Catfish said, “it’ll be a fucking miracle.” Calhoun exhaled and inhaled in deep breaths. His face was far too red, far too spent. “You okay, Thomas?”

  “Not really,” the engineer said. “Okay, Aaron. You keep covering our asses with the lamp. Catfish and I will take the corner and let you know if it’s clear.”

  “Fuck,” Aaron said. “How the hell can it be clear?”

  “Just do it,” Calhoun said.

  Catfish gulped. He knew what Thomas had in mind. It was going to suck balls too. He tightened his grip on the flashlight. “You ready?” Thomas didn’t reply. He moved around the generator and stood against the wall. Catfish kept his light pointed low at the corner and slowly moved around the generator.

  Calhoun’s light shined on a spot less than a quarter meter away in the hall. If the black decided to come flowing in, it would meet the halogen weapon. Catfish took a deep breath and then moved forward. As he crept into the hallway, he pointed his light directly ahead. The hallway was lit with fluorescents, but the lights were buzzing and flickering. He didn’t see any sign of the black. What he did see was a belt buckle and several metal buttons.

  He was about to give the all clear when something shifted at the end of the hall. Something was on the floor back there. It looked like a black block had been placed on the white tiled floor. The door to the deck was in the middle of the hallway, halfway between he and it.

  “I don’t know how fast those things can move,” Catfish said without turning around, “but it’s at the end of the hallway. Over by the decon room.”

  Calhoun sighed. “You check the ceiling?”

  “Yeah. Nothing there,” Catfish said. “But I see Terry’s belt buckle.” Aaron groaned from the hall. “Can you push the generator, boss?”

  Calhoun paused. “Yes. I can push it past the corner.”

  Catfish gritted his teeth. “You don’t sound good.”

  “Fucking shut up. I’m coming.”

  The generator’s motor filled the hallway with sound as Calhoun pushed it forward. Catfish walked a few steps closer to the door, eyes firmly fixed on the shape at the end of the hall. If Aaron managed to get close to it, he could torch it with his much stronger light. But if they got through the doorway unharmed, Catfish wouldn’t bother the creature.

  “We still good?” Calhoun asked.

  “Yeah. I’m walking.” Catfish took one slow step after the other as he headed for the deck hatch. Calhoun’s flashlight flicked up toward the vents and then to the ceiling in a constant swing of motion. However bad off the old man was, he was keeping to the plan.

  The thing at the end of the hall shifted. It had looked like a solid block, but now it was morphing, changing. Something stuck up out of its melting rectangular form. “Move!” Catfish yelled.

  He ran toward the door, his flashlight bobbing up and down as he tried to keep it focused on the shape. Calhoun was huffing and puffing behind him. A pair of tentacles plopped out of the melted thing and began dragging itself toward them. He reached the hatch and spun the wheel. The door popped open into a stiff breeze and falling rain. He ran through it and turned.

  Calhoun struggled to get the generator over the lip.

  “Fuck that thing! Move!” he yelled at the old man.

  Calhoun dropped the hand truck handle and shuffled past it and into the open. Aaron appeared in the doorway and tried to jump the cart. His foot landed awkwardly atop the generator and he slipped. His body tumbled over and hit the deck with a splat.

  A black tentacle rushed out of the doorway and smacked into the hand truck. It jostled, but didn’t move. Catfish ran to Aaron and pulled him away from the door. The tentacle kept waving until a bright light settled on its base. Sizzling and smoking, the thing pulled itself back behind the door.

  Catfish rushed forward and slammed the hatch close. He cycled the wheel until he was sure it was sealed. “Goddammit,” he said.

  Calhoun was barely standing. The old man was spent. “Thomas? Go find Shawna and sit the fuck down. Get someone to help me with this guy.”

  The engineer nodded and slowly backed away from him. Calhoun finally turned and walked toward the drill table. Catfish sighed and rolled Aaron over. He wished he hadn’t.

  Aaron’s head was caved in on the left side. One of his eyes was open, but the pupil was so small it might as well be non-existent. He held the man’s wrist and searched for a pulse. Nothing. They’d lost the entire team except for Thomas and him.

  The light and the generator were both behind that hatch. They wouldn’t be able to get either of them back out unless they were willing to let that thing l
oose. He hoped they had plenty more lights.

  #

  The sky was getting darker, not lighter. It was only 9 am and she felt like the day had lasted a year. She sat on a tool chest some six meters away from the roughnecks who were working on the drill string. Red and Vraebel sat near her. The three of them had sucked down bottled water, but there was no food on the deck. Her stomach rumbled. She was nauseous and on the verge of passing out.

  She raised her eyes to the bridge. Black smoke billowed out of the windows. She wondered how long it would be before the fire destroyed the superstructure. And when that happened, where would they go?

  Vraebel had told her the fire systems must have been damaged by the creatures. When they shorted out the lights in the hallways, they no doubt damaged the sprinklers as well.

  “With any luck,” he’d said, “the lower and upper floors still work and maybe we’ll only lose the bridge level.”

  Only she thought. She knew what Vraebel wasn’t saying. Without the bridge, there was no radio. Without the bridge, there were no thrusters, no control over the helm. The only controls they had access to were those on the deck. And besides the emergency ballast instruments, they didn’t have fuck all else.

  She wondered what the creature that was once Steve Gomez was doing. Was it trapped on the bridge, too terrified to come out into the dim sunlight? Or had it already found a way to escape down the burning vents? Or maybe, just maybe, the fire was already spreading into the bridge and would kill it.

  Gomez. Creely. Green. They were gone. The team had gone into the rig to save Gomez. They’d failed and two men had died in the process. Shawna felt like crying, but she was too damned tired. Too damned frustrated.

  At least they knew for sure what happened when the black encountered fire. As Thomas had postulated, the liquid was extremely flammable. Sunlight, a swath of the UV spectrum, and fire were the only weapons they could use against it. Sunlight was cheap and safe, but it only lasted so many hours. In this storm, there was no guarantee the black wouldn’t risk joining them on the deck. The UV spectrum delivered by the halogens certainly damaged it, but again, she wasn’t certain how long the flashlights and lamps would deter it. Fire was easy to create and deploy, but they were sitting on a goddamned powder keg. One look at the superstructure was enough to know that.