by Watt Key
“Let’s check for food,” I said.
But Shane was already crossing the floor to a long stainless-steel countertop. We went around the counter and through two swinging doors into the kitchen. Pots and pans and cooking utensils hung from the walls and ceiling. The stove and countertops were clean except for bits of fallen ceiling tile. I approached a sink and turned the faucet. Nothing.
Shane turned the gas knob for the stove. Nothing.
“I doubt anything works,” he said.
Shane opened a drawer full of forks, spoons, knives, and other utensils. “Plenty of silverware,” he said. “Can opener and all kinds of stuff.”
“They should have a pantry,” I said. “Maybe we’ll find some canned food.”
“How long does canned food keep?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
Shane shone the light around until we saw a door at the rear of the kitchen. We entered into another room equally as large. Along one wall were shelves of scattered cooking supplies: industrial-size cans of shortening, gallon jugs of vegetable oil, and spices. Then Shane turned the light on the other wall and we saw more shelves with a few cans of fruits and vegetables. Next to that were more cans, of tuna fish and other meats.
“It’s something,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said.
Shane shone the light at the back of the room, where we saw a freezer door.
“No sense checking that,” he said. “Probably a giant piece of bologna in there.”
I smiled at his joke. “Shine back on the cans,” I said. “We can take something with us.”
I put a can opener in my pocket and got a large can of peaches and put it under my arm. Shane started back the way we’d come. “There’s got to be like some kind of emergency phone on here,” he said. “Or a control room with communications equipment.”
I followed him back to the stairs, where we ascended to what I assumed was the top level of the rig. Then he turned left down another hall. It seemed like the deeper we traveled into the rig, the more stale and thick the air became. I was starting to feel a little queasy breathing it.
“I think we’re somewhere in the middle of this thing,” Shane said. “We need to get to the edges to find an outside door or a window.”
“Some fresh air,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “This place is rank.”
We continued down the hall, passing more doors and not even stopping to look inside. We came to another staircase, and Shane turned toward it and started up. I saw sunlight falling across the floor as we neared the top of the stairwell. We entered a small room with windows and an exit leading outside. Beyond was a helicopter pad.
“Let’s get some air,” Shane said.
“Gladly,” I said.
31
We stood in the center of the helicopter pad, feeling the wind on our faces and looking across the blue water over a hundred feet below. The swells appeared like small, harmless ripples. Standing at such heights without a railing made me nervous, but the thrill of it outweighed the fright. And it was a relief to have such open space about me after experiencing the creepy interior of the oil rig.
A line of dark thunderclouds was closing in on us from the west, and we watched the heat lightning flicker deep within. The red light we’d seen while we were afloat glowed steadily atop the drilling derrick, nearly a hundred feet overhead.
“Let’s rest here,” Shane said. “I’m a little light-headed.”
We both sat, and I slid the peaches and the can opener to him. “Feel like eating some peaches?”
“Sure,” he said.
Shane opened the can and we immediately smelled something like rancid cheese.
“Don’t think so,” he said.
I frowned and shook my head. “Yeah, definitely bad. I hope all that stuff’s not bad.”
“I’m sure we can find something to eat,” Shane said. “After we rest we’ll keep searching the top floor.”
“We can always catch fish if we have to. I still don’t feel much like eating, but we have to get some food in us.”
“And we need to find a place to sleep,” Shane said.
“I can’t stay in there unless we can open some windows,” I said. “I’d rather sleep outside.”
After a short rest we left the helicopter pad, went inside, and took the stairs back down to the hall that ran along the third level of the rig. The first door we came to opened into a conference room with a large table that must have seated twenty people. There was a speaker phone in the center. Shane picked up the phone, listened, shook his head, and set it down again. I pointed to some cabinets and he held the lantern on them while I looked inside. I found an unopened can of cashews and showed them to him.
“It’s something,” he said. “I doubt nuts can get that bad.”
“Yeah,” I said, passing them to him.
Shane opened the can and poured some into my hand. I stuffed them in my mouth and chewed while Shane watched my face.
“Well?” he asked.
“Definitely got an old taste to them,” I said. “Kind of chewy, but not that bad.”
We continued down the hall, stuffing our mouths with cashews until we’d eaten them all. I saw a faint line of light ahead of us. Shane must have seen it, too, because he quickened his pace and passed three more rooms without even looking into them. We came to a T in the passageway and looked right. Sunlight poured through a window not far from us. We approached the window and looked out over a network of pipes and steel making up the center of the rig. I looked for a way to open the window, but it was sealed shut. Shane tried the door to our left and it revealed another lounge area awash in sunlight.
I crossed the floor and slid the windows open with my elbows. I felt fresh Gulf air blow across my face and circulate through the stale room. The view looked out over the water.
“This works,” Shane said.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the horizon and savoring the clean air.
“Look,” Shane said. “A map.”
I looked where he was pointing and saw a floor plan for the rig. A red dot marked our location as the THIRD FLOOR WEST LOUNGE. The diagram was complicated, with a confusing network of passageways and multiple levels encircling the drilling equipment in the center. Most of the first floor was utility space with supply rooms and engine housing. The second floor, where the galley was, appeared to be mostly living space. The third level was offices and meeting rooms. Shane came up behind me and peered over my shoulder. I put my finger on a small break room down the hall from us and another room past it marked COMMUNICATIONS.
“Let’s start with the break room,” I said. “There may be more food.”
The break room had a small refrigerator, a sink, and a few high-top tables and chairs. The refrigerator had a six-pack of bottled water. Shane grabbed them and put them under his arm. I searched the cabinets above the sink and found a case of granola bars. I tore one open and bit into it. It tasted like old cardboard and I spat it into the sink.
“Nope,” I said.
“I guess we’ll have to get that fishing equipment out of the lifeboats,” Shane said.
“Or maybe there’s an actual fishing rod in one of the bedrooms below,” I said. “We can check later.”
I looked in the last cabinet, found another first aid kit, and pulled it out. “I might need this,” I said.
“Bring it,” Shane said. “Let’s go check the communications room and see what we find.”
The communications room appeared to be the control center for the rig. There was a view over the derrick from behind a row of computers with large flat-screen monitors. On both sides of the room were racks of larger computers. I picked up a telephone handset next to one of the keyboards and heard nothing. I set it down, frustrated.
“All of this stuff is dead,” I said. “Nothing’s going to work without power.”
“There’s got to be something,” he said.
“Well, ther
e’s nothing here.”
We returned to the lounge and lay down on separate sofas. The soft cushions felt like the most comfortable bed I’d ever been on. Despite my frustration and the pain in my hands, it wasn’t long before I crashed into sleep.
32
My throbbing hands eventually woke me again, and I opened my eyes to stare at the water-stained ceiling tiles. Wind whistled across the rig and rain pattered the outside wall. I looked down at my watch. It read almost three o’clock. I’d been asleep for nearly five hours.
I looked over at Shane and saw him lying on his back with his eyes open.
“Did you even sleep?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Like I was dead. The wind woke me.”
The rain came harder and blew in through the windows and began to sprinkle us.
“Think we should close the windows?” Shane said.
I sat up. “No,” I said. “It feels good. But let’s scoot the sofas toward the middle of the room so they don’t get wet.”
I used my hips to help Shane push the sofas a few feet away from the windows. Then I sat down again, took off my gloves, and inspected my palms. The bandages were bloody and needed changing.
“That looks bad,” Shane said.
I opened the first aid kit and took out what I needed. Then I removed the bandages and revealed my hands to him.
“Man,” he winced. “You need stitches.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“So are you going to tell me what happened?”
I held my hands out in front of him. “Help me do this first before I lose my nerve. Grab that bottle of alcohol and pour it on.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I’m serious. Barnacle cuts can get infected quick.”
“You need something to bite on?”
I desperately wanted him to just stop talking and get it over with.
“No,” I said. “Just pour it on my hands and get ready to hear me scream. It’s gonna hurt bad.”
Shane took off the top of the alcohol bottle and looked at me.
“Come on, will you?” I said. “And don’t just trickle it out, pour it on good.”
He shook his head, winced, and tilted the bottle. I screamed and lay back and writhed in pain.
* * *
“You okay?” Shane asked after a few minutes.
I stared at the ceiling and nodded. I could feel cold sweat sitting on my face.
“How many more times you going to do that?” he asked.
“I don’t think I can do it again,” I said. “Hopefully that’s enough.”
Shane helped me sit up and began redressing my hands. As he wrapped the gauze I told him how we’d floated against the mooring rope and how I’d climbed up the rig and lifted him with the winch.
He listened to it all without saying a word.
“I would have died for sure,” he said after I was done.
I didn’t answer him.
“You saved my life.”
“Anybody else would have done the same thing,” I said. “You can’t leave people to die.”
“I think Dad would have left me. If it came down to only one of us being able to live.”
“No way.”
“It’s hard to believe, but that’s really how he was.”
“You don’t know that.”
Shane sighed. “Well, anyway, we’re safe now.”
“Just not exactly rescued,” I said.
“What about the lifeboats?” Shane said. “You think we can float away in one?”
“Sure. But who knows how long we’d be drifting out there,” I said. “We could die of thirst or starvation before anyone found us.”
“Yeah,” Shane said like he’d already thought the same thing. “We have to figure out how to call for help. From here.”
I grabbed more bandages and stood.
“Where are you going?” Shane asked.
“I’m going into the hall to change the bandages on my legs.”
“You got cut there, too?”
“Yeah,” I said. “But not as bad.”
* * *
After changing my bandages I came back inside and lay down. I didn’t feel like talking about our problems anymore. I’d had enough for one day.
The rain moved on and the windows dripped and I heard the sound of waves against the understructure. I was so tired that I felt queasy, but my hands weren’t letting me sleep. I rolled over and Shane looked at me. I stood and started toward the door.
“Where you going?” he asked.
“For a walk,” I said. “Can’t sleep.”
I went down the hall to a door that led to a small lookout platform outside the control room. I sat against the railing, lowered my hands into my lap, and looked out over the steel confusion of the rig, dripping and dead. I felt like I’d been sent to an abandoned space station on another planet. And I couldn’t help but think of my parents, hundreds of miles away.
33
Me and Mom and Dad were all pretty happy once. I thought of the times we were together doing simple things like walking on the beach or wheeling a grocery cart through the supermarket. Dad has a way of appearing awkward and out of place when he’s not in a boat. He wears the same threadbare plaid shirts and khaki shorts and flip-flops no matter where we go. It takes him a while to get comfortable when you pull him away from the dive shop and the water. He’s always making jokes as a way of covering it up. In the old days, Mom tried not to crack up at his comedy routine, but a slight smile at the edge of her mouth never failed to break into a laugh.
At the time it just seemed that was how it was supposed to be. Sometimes both of them could be so embarrassing and annoying, but nothing felt more right than when we were together.
For some reason I thought about a time we all visited Fort Morgan, a Civil War fort at the end of a peninsula not far from our home. Dad was driving his old pickup truck, Brownie. We had the windows down and I was sitting between Mom and Dad, feeling the breeze in my face. Mom always complained about Dad’s truck because it smelled like a wet towel and the air conditioner didn’t work. Dive equipment parts and pieces were scattered about the floor and stuffed behind the seats. But it was his smell and strong and healthy in its own way. And even though Mom sometimes complained, she did it with a smile, like there was something about it she secretly liked.
When we got to the fort Dad pulled a blanket out of the truck bed and told me to grab the cooler. He always carried a small Igloo cooler in the back along with jerricans of gasoline, fishing rods, propane tanks, and more dive equipment. The clutter drove me crazy and I was constantly trying to organize things, only to have him throw something else right into the middle of it. The Igloo was about the only thing that never slid around. I’d strapped it to the sidewall with a bungee cord so it wouldn’t pour out. It was always full of something, like a portable refrigerator. The first thing Dad did each morning was stop at the convenience store and fill the cooler with soft drinks, bottled water, and ice. That day he’d picked up some sandwiches and a bag of potato chips, too.
“Grab your book and sun hat, doll,” he said to Mom. “We got the rest handled.”
I looked at Dad. “Fishing rods?” I whispered.
He glanced at Mom and back at me. “You can get one if you want, sweetheart. I think I’ll enjoy your mother’s company.”
So I fished from the shore while they lay on the blanket under the shade of a weather-beaten live oak. I remembered glancing back at them from time to time. They were talking and laughing and it didn’t seem like we needed anything else in the world. There was a magical pull between them that I felt but couldn’t put into words. The pull seemed so strong that I couldn’t imagine them ever being apart.
* * *
I returned to the lounge as the sun set outside the windows and darkness slipped over the room. I sat on the sofa, staring at my gloved hands. Shane lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling, magazines scattered on the floor beside him.
&n
bsp; “It’s getting dark in here,” he said. “You want me to turn on the lantern?”
“No,” I said. “Save the batteries.”
“I’ve been thinking of what we can do,” he said.
“I can’t do much with these hands.”
“They’ll get better.”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“As soon as we’re rescued you can get stitches.”
I nodded doubtfully and then both of us sat there without speaking as nightfall settled over us. Eventually all we had to see by was the glow of a starlit sky coming through the windows. The breeze remained steady out of the west and kept the room cool and comfortable.
“Maybe we’ll find some decent food tomorrow,” Shane eventually said.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Maybe some survival rations off the lifeboats.”
“Sure,” I said. I didn’t want to tell Shane my concerns. I wanted to stay positive. But I already had a bad feeling that we’d just escaped one survival situation only to find ourselves in another, entirely different one.
34
I was able to sleep until the early morning hours, when my hands woke me. The breeze had died, and the air was hot and still. My face was sticky with sweat and my mouth was dry. I stared across the dark room, listening to the steady breathing of Shane and the dead silence of the rig with the water pounding it far below. It was strange to be near an open window and not hear the whine of mosquitoes. Above the water, there was nothing alive for a hundred miles. Not even a fly.
I got some ibuprofen and took it with a few swigs of water. Then I was able to fall asleep again. When I opened my eyes the room was lighter and Shane was standing over me.
“I’m going to get some of those survival rations out of the lifeboat. You wanna come?”
I sat up and brushed my hair behind my ears. “Yeah,” I said.
I grabbed my booties and tried to pull them on, but the pain in my hands made me clench my jaw.
“Here,” Shane said.
He knelt in front of me and tugged the booties on and zipped them. It was a relief to finally have Shane be helpful.