“Do you know where they came from?”
“No! I told you already! I was asleep. Some of the men were yelling and blaming it on PAK-PETRO, since they own and operate these oil rigs. They had been pulling people back from the other sites all month, consolidating them here … waiting for the main evacuation order.
“Everyone is supposed to get checked for bites and scratches, but sometimes people get through the cracks. We’ve found primals turned in their cells before, screaming and trying to get out … Plus there are a lot of people in the ships moored below and on the first level; they don’t get checked till they get to the second deck.”
“Another classic cluster fuck,” Brooks said in frustration. “Who was in charge of security here?”
“Officially the Marines were, but there were only twenty-five of us. There were over five hundred people on the platform plus I don’t know how many on the ships. And we aren’t grunts; most of us are wrench turners and technicians. We had to trust the locals to do most of the security since we were only in charge of the top deck. PAK-PETRO ran the lower two decks with the Pakistani Navy; they have a few boats down there.
Our
Navy never left their ships, they just plugged into the platform for shore power.”
“So to sum it up, we have no idea what’s going on anywhere on this platform, how many infected there are, or how many survivors,” Sean grunted.
They sat in silence and tried to digest the bad news. Swanson was asleep again. They still had plenty of questions for her, but Sean didn’t see any point in beating her up all night. They were locked into the lounge, but still felt uneasy when they stared at the door that led into the building, not knowing what waited for them on that third deck.
Brad had collected his gear and was back in the overstuffed chair in a corner. He had broken down his rifle and was meticulously cleaning it. Brooks distracted himself by doing the same in the opposite corner of the room. Sean lay down to sleep on a pool table; the pilots were already sleeping against the front wall on a pile of sofa cushions that they had bunched together. The emergency lighting was still working, but they had no idea how long the batteries would last.
Dawn came slowly; the rain was still coming down hard. The grey gloomy light was just beginning to pierce the glass windows in the door when Sean got to his feet and peeked out of the glass. Looking both ways as best he could, he seemed satisfied that the immediate outside was clear.
“Brooks, Brad, why don’t you two start suiting up,” Sean said.
“What are you thinking, Boss?” Brooks asked.
“I want to take a quick look around so we can get our bearings. We also need to pull the gear and ammo from the Black Hawk,” Sean answered. “Captain, you two stay here with Swanson and hold the fort. We won’t be long. Keep an eye on those doors.”
“Okay, can do, Chief,” Bradley answered.
The team suited up and gathered at the double doors. Sean pulled the bolt back and slowly opened the right side, slicing his viewpoints until he had a full view of everything to his left. Then Brooks eased open the opposing door and sliced to the right. When they were confident the way was clear, the left door was closed and they slid outside before closing the right door behind them. They heard the officers latching the door locked.
They stood tight against the wall, looking in all directions. The rain was still coming down hard but the thunder had faded. They could hear the waves crashing against the ships and the pylons below. Normally, the ships would have untied and taken the storm in open waters instead of being thrashed against the platform, but there must not have been anyone to pilot them.
Sean looked down at the deck and grimaced. “I hope those vessels aren’t doing permanent damage to the structure. We’re in bad enough shape as it is.”
Brooks lifted his rifle and scouted the area beyond the building with his optics. “I don’t see any movement, Chief, and the far walkway looks clear.”
“We don’t have the manpower to leave a guard here to cover our six, so we’ll just need to keep our heads on swivel,” Sean warned.
They turned and slowly patrolled toward the helicopter pad, stopping often to listen and check their back trail. It was hard to hear anything through the pouring rain and the sounds of the water beating off the steel buildings. The floor was made up of rigid steel grates; even so, it was hard to see through the tangle of pipes to the working spaces below.
The path back to the flight deck was clear; they could just barely see through the rain to the landing. Blowing rain was washing across the metal deck grating. The winds rolled the wash up and blew it across the deck at them. They were already soaked in the chilled water. Brad had removed his goggles and was wearing a fleece watch cap. He held his rifle at the ready and tried to stay in position just behind Brooks as they slowly made their way down the walkway.
They reached the landing and, after a brief pause, Brooks made the turn around the corner, with Sean and Brad behind him. They found the helicopter just as they had left it. They moved about the landing pad and used the elevated position to survey the platform. Even in the stormy conditions they were able to see a great deal more than they had the night before.
They could clearly see down onto the storage deck where a large number of crates and plastic containers were neatly stacked in rows. There were obvious signs of a battle on the deck. The dead were scattered about and concentrated near a hasty barricade, close to what appeared to be another staircase leading to the second deck. There were two other metal buildings on the two remaining corners of the platform; one appeared be a control building containing large windows, and the other was only a two-story with no windows.
The southwest apron of the helicopter pad leaned out over the edges of the platform. By pushing up against the railing, they were able to see hundreds of feet below to the crashing sea. There was no large submarine tender as the Marine had suggested. They could see a couple of Pakistani-flagged fast attack boats, a few tugs labeled with the PAK-PETRO logo, and a larger civilian fishing boat. All of the vessels appeared to be dead in the water and were taking a beating in the storm.
Sean tried the satellite phone; even though he was pulling a strong signal, he couldn’t get an answer. Frustrated, he powered it down and stowed it back in his assault pack.
They opened the doors to the helicopter, quickly loaded the large rucks onto their backs, and stacked up to make the return trip to the lounge. Brooks was partway down the stairs to the first landing when his fist shot in the air. Brad struggled to kneel on the uneven surface of the stairs, battling the weight of his pack as he strained to turn his head to see what had alerted Brooks. Far in the distance he spotted it.
“Oh fuck,” he gasped.
There was a small pack of ten to fifteen primals gathered below them near the entrance to the lounge. So far they hadn’t been alerted, or they would have been moaning. The team froze on the stairs and watched the pack. The primals had gathered outside of the lounge. One of them seemed to be the leader. It was larger than the rest and wore part of a Marine Corps utility uniform. Its face had been torn open above the cheekbone, and a large portion of its scalp was missing, but it didn’t seem at all bothered by the wounds. It slapped at the steel doors of the building but quickly lost interest and started to make its way closer to the team’s current position. Quickly and quietly they backtracked up the stairs and to the landing pad.
“Stay quiet. If we start a fight, we have no place to fall back to,” Sean whispered.
When they returned to the pad, they silently dropped their packs and laid flat on the deck, trying to hide. They could see through the drainage slots in the decking to the walkway below. The primals were still moving slowly along the path, presumably following the leader that had been pounding on the lounge door. The rains were still soaking everything, but the primals seemed unaffected by the downpour. When they made it to the landing they stopped and appeared to contemplate climbing the stairs. The primals stirred back and forth as they decided on a path. The leader lashed out at another member of the pack with a screech, and they moved on towards the storage deck.
When it was again clear, the three men stacked back up and moved down the stairs. At the landing, they quickly checked for signs of the pack and thankfully found none. The primals seemed to have moved on beyond the storage deck. The team quickly rounded the landing, headed down the final steps, and back to the lounge. They moved past the double doors and waited. Sean tapped a pre-arranged code at the steel door and waited for a response from inside. Brad had moved past the entrance and was covering forward, while Brooks was still looking through his rifle back toward the stairs to the landing pad.
Brad stepped away from the wall and turned to look back at Sean. Sean was visibly frustrated, tapping at the door in the code and waiting for the officers to unlock it. He paused, and hearing no response, tapped again. Brad shook his head, then turned back to the front … and gasped in shock.
He found himself face to face with one of the largest primals he had ever seen. Before Brad could raise his rifle to fire, the primal lunged at him. The impact of the thing and the weight of his pack threw Brad hard to the ground.
They landed awkwardly on the deck. Brad fell crunched against his large rucksack in a half sitting position, with the primal grabbing at his clothes. Brad grabbed its neck; pushing it away with his right gloved hand, he buried his thumb into the soft tissue of its chin while his fingers gripped its throat. His free left hand was battling with the primal for wrist control as he wrapped his legs around the creature and tried to pull it tightly into his guard; locking his legs, he then held on for dear life.
At the sound of the commotion, Sean turned. Afraid to fire a shot and risk hitting Brad, he leapt past them and threw himself onto the back of the creature, placing it into a strong rear choke hold. Sean had the choke in deep and was pushing the thing’s head forward for all he was worth. With the down and forward pressure relieved from him, Brad was able to dig a heel in to the creature as he maintained control of the primal’s left arm. He rolled hard and pulled himself into a sloppy arm bar. Not waiting for a tap, he applied maximum pressure and felt the elbow joint break and dislocate.
Without the strength of both arms, the primal fell flat on its face with Sean still securely on its back, its last good arm wildly flailing. Brooks grabbed Brad by the straps at the top of his pack and pulled him away from the beast. With the tight choke applied, the primal was unable to scream or moan. Sean applied more and more pressure but the creature failed to die. Finally, Sean crushed its wind pipe and rolled hard; the creature’s neck made an audible crack as its spine was broken. Sean held tight as the primal’s body stiffened violently, then went slack.
Sean slowly released his grip from the primal and rolled away from it. He looked down and saw that its eyes were still following him with a hateful glare. Even with its windpipe crushed and its neck and spine snapped, the primal still was looking to fight. Brooks pulled a small suppressed MKII pistol from his pack and placed it against the creature’s head, then fired a single shot.
Suddenly the door opened and Captain Bradley looked out. “What the hell are you guys doing out here making all of that noise?” He stopped and looked down at the dead primal, and both Brad and Sean still sitting on the deck. “Oh! Well hey, come on guys, get back inside before more of them come.”
The men hurried into the room, the Captain quickly locking the doors behind them. Shivering from the cold and soaked to the bone, they began stripping off their uniforms.
“Err, ah, excuse me! There is a lady present,” Swanson snarled.
“Oh, please feel free to wait outside while we avoid hypothermia,” Sean barked back.
Swanson had no reply and instead pulled a heavy chair and turned it so that it faced the wall, then sat down. Mr. Douglas stepped forward and retrieved the wet uniforms from the floor and started hanging them to dry, while Captain Bradley handed the men some folded linens that he had found in a cabinet. The room was still dimly lit by the emergency lighting and the winds were howling outside.
“When will this damn rain end?” Brad said, mostly to himself while wrapping a sheet around his naked body.
“What? This rain won’t be over for a while, few days maybe … That’s a tropical cyclone out there, and just the beginning of it. They were predicting a Category 3 at least. That’s why the squids were prepping the tender to get us the hell out of here,” Swanson answered, still facing the wall.
Captain Bradley rolled his eyes and looked her way “Bullshit! Cyclone? Colonel Cloud didn’t say anything about a cyclone when he briefed me on our exfiltration plan.”
“Of course he didn’t … once we delivered Aziz, we weren’t his concern anymore. So when was the tender supposed to leave? Where did it go?” Brooks said.
“I’m not sure. I know the sailors were anxious to get out ahead of the storm. I already told you PAK-PETRO’s been moving survivors from the other rigs to here over the last couple days. We were just waiting on the word to get going … but then the attack … I don’t know what happened. Maybe they’re still down there waiting for us; we need to get down to the dock level!”
“Don’t worry about it. The tender is gone. All I saw in the water were Pakistani boats,” Sean said as he fell onto the end of a sofa.
“So what now then?” asked Mr. Douglas.
“Now I say we need to clear this damn building. I’m not spending another night in here not knowing what’s up on that third deck,” Sean said.
“How do you plan to do that?” asked Mr. Douglas.
“Well, I figured I’d take a quick break; then we’ll go out that there hallway and up those stairs and kill everything that doesn’t look friendly,” Sean said, pointing at the doors leading from the lounge and into the building.
“What the hell? Are you serious?” Swanson argued.