Escape The 1st Omnibus: WTF Books 1-3

by Lundy, W. J.

  13.

  Ben’s arms had been restrained and his legs bound together, but his head and torso were still free. They’d retrieved a mattress from one of the beds upstairs and laid him out on the lounge pool table to try and make him more comfortable. Sean was standing next to Ben, monitoring his breathing and heart rate. Nelson was asleep on the sofa. The officers had gone back outside to supervise the cleanup and security of the deck.

  They’d hoped that the quick treatment of the wounds would save Ben but, as the clock ticked, they watched the infection take hold. The fever hit and Ben began to sweat profusely. The wounds turned dark then began streaking. Ben was coherent at first but as panic set in they gave him more morphine to relax. He slowly fell asleep, fading in and out of coherence.

  “I’m thirsty, Chief,” Ben’s weakened voice rasped. He had been slipping in and out of consciousness, probably from the fever, but also the morphine.

  “Here you go, buddy,” Sean said, putting a bottle to Ben’s lips.

  Ben eagerly drank from the bottle before coughing and putting his head back down.

  “Did the medicine work, Chief? Am I going to be okay?” he asked.

  Sean looked down at Ben’s battered face. The scratches had begun to turn a deep purple, even though Brooks had soaked them with alcohol and packed antibiotic cream into them. The infection had still taken hold. Ben’s temperature had been rising at least one degree every thirty minutes. Sean looked across the room to Brooks, who was sorting through a box of medical supplies that had been scavenged from the platform’s infirmary.

  “Yeah, you’re going to be fine. You just need some rest, okay?” Sean lied.

  “Okay Chief,” Ben answered before turning his head to the side and closing his eyes.

  Feeling Sean’s stare, Brooks took his attention from the box and frowned at Sean before shaking his head. Brooks went back to his task of sorting through the box, pulling items and stuffing them into his aid bag. Sean turned his attention back to the Marine, adjusting his sheets and trying to make him more comfortable.

  Quickly Ben turned his head back towards him and struggled to sit up. “Chief!”

  “Whoa relax, son. What is it, Ben?” Sean asked.

  “Chief, please make sure I don’t turn into one of those things, please, Chief.”

  “Don’t worry buddy, we’re going to take great care of you. Just get some rest now.”

  Ben relaxed and once again turned his head to the side and closed his eyes.

  “Brad, can you take over? I need to get some air,” Sean asked.

  “Sure, I got it, Chief,” Brad said, leaving his place at the back of the lounge.

  Brad looked Ben over. Ben was unconscious now and sweating profusely. The scratches on his face were darkening, the deep purple outline spreading. The wounds on his arm had been covered, but dark red and blue lines streaked up from the bandaged limb. It was obvious that Ben was now infected. There would be no saving him.

  Sean walked over to Brooks and whispered something to him before he left the room.

  “It’s too bad, bro,” Brad said as he used a damp cloth to cool Ben’s forehead.

  “Too bad my ass! This was completely avoidable,” Brooks said. “No excuse for us losing this kid.”

  “It is what it is, Brooks. We have to just keep moving forward,” Brad replied flatly.

  Brooks shook his head, then pulled a large syringe from his aid bag and a couple of unmarked glass bottles. He drew the fluid from both bottles into the syringe and injected it into a vein on Ben’s good arm. He then secured the syringe in an empty water bottle before tossing it.

  “Can you stay with him, Brad? I’m going to give his buddies an opportunity to say good bye; it won’t be long now … Be careful, I just gave him a dose big enough to kill a horse, but who knows how the virus works,” Brooks said.

  Brad nodded as Brooks left the room. He put his hand on Ben’s chest and felt his labored breathing. It had been almost three hours since he had been attacked.

  Brad heard the door swing open behind him. Swanson entered the room with Wilson and Craig. They were shaken but tried to hide it. There were no tears. The weeks of constant death and attacks had desensitized them to the agony of losing a friend.

  “How is he?” Swanson asked.

  “He only has a short time left. We gave him an overdose of diamorphine. He won’t wake up,” Brad answered.

  “Good, he deserves to die a Marine and not as one of those things,” Wilson said.

  Brad felt the movement of Ben’s chest stop; he slipped a hand to his wrist and couldn’t find a pulse. Cautiously they all stepped back from the table and waited for the reboot.

  Brooks and Sean came into the room and joined them around the table. Wilson woke up from his nap and sat up, feeling the somberness of the room. Brad shook his head at Sean and Brooks. Brooks came forward and also checked Ben for a pulse. When he failed to find one he held his hand to Ben’s chest, then shook his head and moved back against the wall.

  Sean came forward and removed Ben’s dog tags. He handed them to Swanson.

  “This is what happens when we fuck up. We got lazy, we assumed the deck was secure, and we didn’t pay attention to the small details. This doesn’t happen again. Get your friend cleaned up and prepare him for burial. Our work day isn’t finished yet,” Sean said.

  Sean placed his hand on Ben’s chest for a moment, then pulled the sheet gently over his head before stepping away and walking outside. After stopping to pat the sheet, Brad and Brooks followed Sean through the door.

  14.

  Brooks and Brad followed Sean back to the control room, and found him standing below the hatch to the observation tower. The hatch dogs were securely in place, but there didn’t appear to be any physical lock to prevent them from opening it. Sean looked over to Brooks and nodded. Brooks raised his weapon and pointed at the hatch.

  Sean carefully climbed the ladder to the top and began to un-dog the latches. They each freely opened with a slight metallic clang. The final latch clanged free and Sean looked back at Brooks and again nodded. He bent his legs and shoved the hatch up, throwing it open until it locked into place, then dropped back down the ladder and moved to the side to give Brooks a clear shot.

  Brooks kept his weapon pointed at the now open compartment, trying to see inside. After a few tense moments, Sean drew his sidearm and again climbed the ladder. When he reached the top, he disappeared into the tube that led to the compartment. There was a large crash and a bang. The sound echoed down into the space below.

  Brooks quickly jumped forward, grabbed the ladder and began to climb.

  “Calm down … It’s okay … Dammit … I just banged my head. I’m fine, guys.” Sean yelled down.

  Brooks looked down at Brad still standing on the deck. Brad tried to hold back but finally lost it and burst into laughter. Brooks couldn’t contain himself and gave out a large belly laugh.

  “Glad you assholes think that’s funny, now get up here!” Sean yelled down the ladder.

  They found themselves in a small square room. The walls angled up on each side and were topped with large tinted-glass windows. The wall was cased with a desk and workspace, which was topped with an assortment of radios and computers. Located high in the air just above the height of the helicopter pad, they had an expansive view of the platform.

  “Do you know how to use this stuff?” Brad asked, pointing at the radios.

  Sean reached down and picked up a handset. He powered up a radio and hit a scan button. “Looks like a basic setup, shouldn’t be too difficult to use,” he said.

  The radio stopped its scan and they heard static and a broken noise. It was hard to tell if they were hearing just static or a garbled voice. Sean pressed the scan again, but it never stopped and looped back through to the garbled frequency.

  “Mayday, mayday, mayday, any station,” Sean said into the handset. When he released the handset they heard the same garbled static.

  “
Sounds like there’s nothing out there, and whatever is on this station is probably high powered and blocking the freq. Let’s set up a radio watch; maybe we’ll get lucky,” Sean said.

  Brad was looking through the drawers of the workspace and found a large, clothbound book. He opened it and looked inside. “Hey check this out. It’s a logbook,” he said as he flipped through the pages.

  Sean and Brooks turned and leaned over the book. All of the entries were handwritten in dark ink. Brad turned through the entries page by page until, more than halfway through, the text changed. Instead of generic entries about dial readings and counters, there were more detailed journal entries.

  “Look at the writing. Instead of operator entries, the platform manager has taken over the log,” Brad said.

  Sean looked at the entry on the page and pointed at the number. “That was over thirty days ago; right about the time of the outbreak,” he said.

  Moving his finger down the page, Brad found the first detailed entry and began reading.

  Log Date 214:

  First Officer J.C. Sharif Assumes the Log.

  08:00 - The resupply ferry did not arrive. Men are angry and ready to return home. The satellite television is reporting news of riots and violence on the mainland. PAK-PETROL said they will give us detailed information later and reschedule the ferry.

  17:00 - We were contacted by PAK-PETROL Corporate. Our resupply ferry has been delayed. Problem is at the mainline Karachi ferry station, described as mechanical in nature. They will notify us when the ferry is back online. The men doubt this as family members have relayed news to us of a pandemic hitting the mainland, people are getting sick. We think Corporate is keeping us in the dark so that we will keep working and not abandon the platform.

  Log Date 215:

  14:00 - Satellite TV is showing worldwide martial law in effect. People are rioting and attacking anyone. Citizens are warned to stay indoors, stay away from hospitals and avoid city streets. Corporate denies the reports and says news of violence is exaggerated; Corporate promised the ferry will be coming soon.

  Log Date 216:

  06:00 - We picked up radio traffic from the cargo ship ‘Chang’ this morning. Chang warned us to turn away any unknown vessels. They had spotted a ship dead in the water and boarded it. The crew of the disabled vessel attacked their boarding party. They sought help from the Coast Guard but were turned away and warned not to approach the coastal waters.

  10:00 - We have halted production as our storage containers are now full.

  12:00 - One of the engineers was able to contact his family with the satellite phone. Family said that hospitals are shut down. The cities are overrun with rioters. The Pakistani Army has been mobilized and is threatening nuclear retaliation against India for inciting violence against the people. This all makes no sense.

  Log Date 217:

  08:00 - We have depleted fresh rations, we have thirty plus days of canned goods, desalinization is working normally, the satellite TV is broadcasting on a loop, we have not been able to reach anyone on the satellite phone. The men are panicking.

  14:00 - Message from Corporate received via UHF, the ferry station has been closed. We have been told to hold out and await transport. The men are restless and threatening desertion.

  Log Date 218:

  05:00 - Ten men deserted the platform today and fled in the small boat. A note found in the boathouse said they were returning to their families.

  08:00 - Fishing vessel approached the sea deck. They requested permission to dock. The security team met and escorted them onto the first deck. Our doctor inspected the crew; they were hungry and dehydrated but no visible signs of illness. The Captain of the fishing boat said that the mainland ports are all closed. He was forced to seek refuge in blue water. Coast Guard ships are firing on anything that approaches the shore. We have allowed them refuge; we may need their vessel if the ferry does not arrive.

  14:00 - We were approached by a small craft from the Pakistani Navy. The five man crew were injured and seeking medical attention. We brought them to the infirmary for treatment by the doctor. They had visible wounds, cuts and scrapes and were suffering from high fever. During the night the crew became agitated and attacked and killed the doctor and our medic. We locked them in the infirmary. They are contained but cannot be reasoned with.

  Log Date 219:

  10:00 - We have been boarded by Pakistani Navy war ship. They have taken control of the platform. When informed about their crew members in the infirmary, a team was dispatched to take care of them. They executed the sick crew members and disposed of the bodies over the rail. Pakistani Navy has commandeered the bottom two decks. All of our team members have been ordered to occupy the top deck only.

  Log Date 220:

  12:00 - PAK-PETROL Ferry arrived today with crew members from other platforms. Instead of taking us home they are seeking refuge on the platform. A large United States Navy war ship has attached to the platform. U.S. Military helicopter dropped off American Military to platform. We have been ordered to surrender control of operations to the U.S. Military. We have nowhere to go.

  15:00 - U.S. Military has ordered all non-essential team members to report to lower decks for evacuation processing. Only Engineers and those required to maintain platform life support will be allowed above the second deck. Log closed. J.C. Sharif.

  Brad finished reading the handwritten pages and took a step away from the desk. He turned to look out of the observation window that overlooked the platform. The ocean had a calming effect. The hot sun was burning down on the deck outside, and he could see the men working, cleaning the deck, and patrolling. Brad looked back down at the desk and Sean closed the journal.

  “What the hell are we going to do, Chief?” Brad asked.

  “I’m not sure, Brad. Let’s get one of the Marines to sit on this radio. We need to get a planning session together with the officers. This place might start feeling cozy after a couple of days, but we can’t stay here. Our focus has to be on leaving.”

  Brooks stood up from the log book and clipped his MP5 back onto his body armor. “Sounds good, Chief. I’ll get one of the guys trained on these radios and we can all meet up on the helipad in a couple hours. I say the sooner we get out of here the better.”

  15.

  Brad slowly walked around the platform’s rail, following the entire perimeter of the first deck while trying to clear his head. The platform’s systems were all back online; he could hear the hum of the pumps and the rattle of machinery in the power house. Brad turned a corner near the storage deck and found Corporal Swanson directing a couple of the men in breaking down pallets of supplies. She smiled when she saw him and turned to walk in his direction.

  “Hi Brad,” she called out.

  “Hello Chelsea, how is everything coming along? Any problems?”

  “Everything is going great now that we have all of the lights back on and the boilers are cranking out hot water. I was breaking down some of this gear. I thought with the power on we could cook a nice meal tonight.”

  “Sounds great Chelsea, good to hear,” Brad said softly.

  “Really? Then why do you look so down?”

  “It’s just been a long few weeks. I thought I had a goal I was working toward, but now I just want to sit down and rest. You ever get that feeling?”

  “Every day, Brad, but once you allow yourself to quit, it will be hard as hell to keep going. We have to just keep pushing, you know. Doesn’t matter what for, just keep pushing. Don’t quit, okay?”

  “Okay Chelsea,” Brad said, cracking a smile.

  “So where are you headed anyhow? Would you mind some company?” she asked him.

  “I’m going up to the helipad to meet with Chief and the pilots. We’re trying to figure out how to get off this thing. You’re welcome to come along.”

  Brad waited for Chelsea to brief the Marines before she joined him on his path to the helipad. They climbed the stairs to the top, where they found the
officers had attached long fuel lines to the Black Hawk and were gassing it up. Sean and Brooks were standing over the apron of the pad looking down at the sea, so Brad and Chelsea moved in to join them.

  They could see all the way to the water. A fishing boat still drifted quiet and lonely at the length of a long line. The small military boat was in bad shape, now listing to one side. The large fast attack craft was still there, attached to the deck by a number of mooring lines. Sean and Brooks were in a deep discussion over the military vessel’s capabilities.

  “Hey Brad, I see you brought a friend,” Sean said, acknowledging the presence of Swanson.

  “Yeah Chief, I figure she has just as much at stake in this as any of us.”

  “Good call. Welcome to the head shed, Swanson,” Sean said smiling.

  “Thanks Chief, so what’s the plan?” Chelsea answered.

  “Well, that’s what we are trying to decipher. Captain Bradley, are you two about finished?” Sean called out across the platform.

  Captain Bradley walked from around the nose of the aircraft, wiping his hands with an oil-stained rag. Mr. Douglas was close behind him. Brad watched as Bill turned a number of fuel cutoff valves and disconnected the fuel lines from the aircraft.

  “All settled here, Chief. We have her completely topped off. With the external tanks full, we have a range of nearly a thousand miles. All we need is a destination,” Captain Bradley said as he walked to the railing and leaned against it. Mr. Douglas came in close and took a seat on the deck, opening a bottle of water.

  “That’s the problem, we have no comms with anyone and nobody is answering the phone, so where in the hell do we go?” Sean said.

  “Socotra,” Bill called out.

  “What? What the hell is a Socotra?” Brooks asked as they all turned to look at Bill, who was now walking in their direction, having finished stowing the fuel lines.