They made plans to depart late the following afternoon. Brooks estimated it would take them close to eighteen hours to complete the five-hundred-mile trip to Masirah Island. If they left on time and sailed through the night, they should reach the island at the hottest part of the next day, when any primals that might occupy the island should hopefully be dormant.
The air crew made similar preparations. They would hold on station to give the boat a fourteen-hour head start. If everything went according to plan, they would take off early the morning after, and would arrive at the island near the same time as the surface team. Staggering their starts also allowed them to support each other. If the boat was halfway enroute and the air crew ran into problems, the attack boat would be the only hope for a water rescue.
By the end of the day, all of their gear had been pre-positioned on the boat or the helicopter, leaving only the bare essentials on the platform. Brooks and Tony had decided to stay the night on the vessel to make sure there would be no surprises on the next day’s voyage. Sean was running around making final preparations and plans on how to idle the platform as they left.
Brad was back in the observation tower. He had been scanning the radio for the last couple of hours, searching for any signal, but so far had come up empty. The radar scope had also been blank. Brad stood and walked towards the windows, where he could see the men making their rounds as they patrolled the decks. After the death of Wilson, Brad had lost the urge to socialize. He had been focusing on work and the coming trip instead.
Brad sat back in the tower’s chair and began slowly turning the tuning dial, still desperate to find a contact. He heard the door open and shut in the room below. He listened as the person below walked to the ladder and began climbing into the observation tower. Brad looked down into the face of Swanson. She grabbed the top rung of the ladder and pulled herself into the room.
“I noticed you skipped chow. I brought you some dinner, or at least this place’s version of dinner,” she said as she sat a covered plate on the desk in front of Brad.
Brad peeled the foil back from the plate. “Looks like maybe … meatloaf? Well thank you Chelsea, I didn’t have much of an appetite earlier.”
He took the fork and took a large bite of the meat. Chelsea walked across the room and took a seat in an empty chair.
“You okay, Brad? You’ve been pretty quiet all evening,” she said.
“I’m fine; I just needed to take a time out. It’s been an exhausting couple of days.”
Chelsea looked at the radios and reviewed the pages in the log book. “You pick up anything else?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Nope, scope has been clear and not a peep on the radio. It’s damn quiet out here … I’m so ready to leave this place,” he said with a sigh.
“Me too, I can’t wait to get going.”
“So what are your plans? Where is home for you, Chelsea?”
“Home? I don’t really know any more. I lived with my mom and sister in upstate New York before I joined the Corps, but last I heard New York is gone.”
“I’m sure your family was evacuated; you’ll find them,” Brad said.
“Yeah, maybe … What about you Brad, what will you do?”
“I hadn’t thought much about it. I left a group of people back in Afghanistan. My first priority is to get them home. After that, I don’t know, I’m guessing the Army will have plans for me. I have family in Michigan, but I don’t know where things stand at home; I haven’t been able to reach them since before the outbreak.”
Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the sound of gunfire. Brad jumped up to look through the observation window. He could see Craig standing with his rifle at his shoulder, firing rounds into the stairway on the storage deck. Captain Bradley was next to him with his M9 drawn and also firing. Bill had fallen in behind them holding a fire axe.
“What the hell is going on?” Brad said.
A siren began to blast.
“That’s the automated alarm, something is wrong with the platform!” Chelsea exclaimed.
They heard the radio squawk. Brad grabbed the handset and looked at the channel. It was Brooks on the boat below.
“This is the tower, go ahead,” Brad said into the handset.
“What the hell is going on up there? The primals are going nuts down here.”
Brooks said over the radio.
“I don’t know, looks like they are attacking at the stairway. I need to get out there and help,” Brad answered.
“What the fuck … something is going on; there is oil pouring from the second deck. Tony said he thinks the purge valves must be open.”
“
Okay, I understand. I have to go; I have to find Bill,” Brad said, putting down the handset and picking up his rifle. “Let’s go, Chelsea, we need to get out there.”
They slid down the ladder and back into the control room, quickly bursting outside and onto the deck. The sun had gone down, and the cool night air was filled with the sounds of gunfire and primal moans. Brad ran the walkway with Chelsea close behind him. When they arrived at the stairway to the second deck, they found Sean and Craig firing directly into it. Captain Bradley and Bill were just behind them, trying to force obstacles back into the barricade.
Brad ran forward and positioned himself next to Sean. He could see that the barricade below had collapsed onto the second deck. The pallets and crates they had stacked days earlier were harmlessly falling down the stairs, providing the primals a clear path to attack.
“What’s going on here?” Brad yelled to Sean.
“They are going to breach, Brad, unless we plug this hole in a hurry. Somehow the sneaky fucks managed to take down the barrier without us knowing,” Sean said.
Bill came up behind them on a small fork truck. He pressed another crate into the stairwell, temporarily closing the gap. Craig shifted positions and continued to shoot into the mass below them while Brad ran to the fork truck and waved his hands to get Bill’s attention. Bill noticed him and cut the engine so he could hear.
“Bill, Tony said that the purge valves are open. Oil is pouring out onto the lower decks!” Brad yelled.
“No fucking way … Chief! We have to get the hell out of here now!” Bill yelled. “If those valves are open, any spark could set this place off.”
“Any spark?” Sean asked.
“Yeah
any
spark; like the ones coming out of your rifles,” Bill replied.
“Craig! Cease fire!” Sean yelled just as more of the barricade collapsed. They could hear the primals at the bottom of the stack tearing away at the crates and pallets, trying to break through. “Captain Bradley, get your people airborne now. Brad, get Chelsea and Nelson to the boat, I am right behind you,” Sean commanded.
“Who will operate the crane, Chief?” Chelsea asked.
“You don’t need the crane, slide down the damn rope! Now hurry, we’re running out of time,” Sean barked.
Brad grabbed Chelsea by the wrist, dragging her behind him. “Where’s Nelson?” he yelled.
“He had the late watch; he would have been off to bed early and may still be in the living quarters.”
“Hurry! Follow me,” Brad said just as they heard another crash and more of the barricade collapsed. They ran to the lounge and swung open the door. They found Nelson running down the hallway towards them.
“I heard the alarm, what’s going on?” he asked.
“No time, follow us, we are abandoning the platform!” Brad yelled.
“Wait … I have to go grab my kit,” Nelson yelled back.
Chelsea reached forward, grabbed Nelson and shoved him towards the exit doors. “You have your rifle, Marine, that’s all you need, let’s go!”
Brad led the way, running down the walkway back toward the storage deck. He could hear the whining of the Black Hawk’s engines as it powered up. The primals were screaming and there followed a flurry of activity on the deck below them. Brad rounded the corner and saw a cluster of primals just coming over the top of the barricade. Brad raised his rifle and fired into them.
He knocked the first two back but more filled the space. He ordered Chelsea and Nelson to run to the rail and get down to the boat. Chelsea hesitated, but turned and ran toward the railing. Brad moved farther away from the stairs in the direction of the railing, firing back as he went. More broke through and Brad took a knee and fired faster into the mass breaking through the stairway. For every one he hit, two more came over the crates searching for a handhold.
Brad looked to the railing just as Nelson clipped onto the cable and began the descent down. He watched as Chelsea hooked on to the cable and waited her turn to slide down. Another crash at the barricade turned his attention back to the primals. More of the crates had fallen and now there was a clear opening in the stairwell. The primals began filling the void two and three at a time. Brad fired quickly but he wasn’t keeping up with the flood.
They broke through and charged at him. Brad fired several rounds, knocking many of them back. His bolt locked to the rear and he quickly ejected the magazine, keeping his eye on the sights to watch them bear down on his position. They were too close; he prepared to draw the S&W Sigma pistol. Suddenly Sean was standing over his shoulder; firing in full auto, sweeping the mass and pushing them back.
Brad re-holstered the Sigma and finished reloading his M4. He raised the rifle and started firing again as the mob rebounded. A full mass was now breaching the stairs. Sean ordered Brad to leave.
“Nah, I’m not feeling up to running today, Chief,” Brad said as he leaned forward and continued to fire at the closing mass.
Sean’s MP5 went dry and he pulled his sidearm, continuing to shoot into the closing wave. “It’s been a pleasure to serve with you, Brad!” Sean yelled out as he killed two of them that had closed to within ten meters.
Brad saw them get closer and readied himself for the impact of the charging creatures. Leaning forward, he steeled his mind for the inevitable. He planned his demise in his own thoughts, everything slowing down. He knew he had ten, maybe twelve rounds left in the M4 and then he would have to draw his pistol. Fifteen shots – they would be on top of him by then. He would draw the karambit, that’s how he would go, slashing and killing with his fists.
Brad fired the last round in the M4; he let the rifle hang from its sling and reached for his sidearm just as the deck in front of him exploded. Sparks of metal and fire filled his view as the primals were vaporized. He could feel the heat from the flames. Dazed, he realized that he’d been thrown backwards against the deck; looking into the sky, he saw the Black Hawk helicopter floating over his head. The helicopter’s mini-gun was firing at full speed into the stairwell.
Brad felt suddenly peaceful; he had no strength to run, his legs were too heavy. Although Sean was slapping him, he couldn’t feel the pain. His body was numb. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again he could see the bright orange flames of the fire, the heat warming his body. He closed them again and felt the world spin around him.
When he forced his eyes open he was falling, no, hanging over the water. He could see the boat below him. Nelson was on the deck holding a rope; his life line. Brad closed his eyes again, and this time he didn’t try to open them.
He felt himself free falling then stop abruptly, the rope cutting in to his waist. Someone unclipped him from the line and laid him out on the deck. He felt himself being dragged back and propped against what he thought was the bridge.
Water hit his face and he willed his eyes open. He watched as Sean slid down the rope and hit the deck. The top of the platform was an inferno. The second deck was igniting and slowly starting to catch fire as the flames spread down. Brad rolled to his stomach and tried to stand but fell.
Chelsea hurried to his side. “Relax! Don’t move.”
Brad’s body ached, but he forced himself into a sitting position and rested against the bridge. He looked up again and focused on the far away dock. The dock was empty now; the mob had left long ago to attack the stairway. Brooks revved the engines and the boat began to back away as Brad looked at the platform and tried to focus. He was there, the Alpha leader; he was standing at the edge of the dock with the platform burning all around him. They locked eyes just as the rest of the rig was swallowed in flames.
Brad came to in a dark space.
Where the hell am I?
He started to panic and tried to sit up, hitting his head on the ceiling above him. Then he heard the hum of the diesel engines. He slowly began to remember the fight, and lying on the deck of the boat. Brad reached for a flashlight in his hip pocket.
What the … Where are my clothes?
Brad felt his body; he was dressed in nothing but his boxers and a T-shirt. He rolled to the side and reached along the floor. He found his bag and rifled through the front pockets, finding what he was searching for. He pulled the surefire flashlight from the pack’s pocket and clicked it on.
He shone the light around the space. As he suspected, he was in the berthing compartment, or the barracks of the boat as he liked to think of it. Brad panned the light around the space. He saw Tony and Nelson sleeping on racks across from him. Looking farther down the compartment past a few racks filled with supplies, he saw Chelsea.
Brad rolled out of the bunk and put his feet on the floor. He felt groggy, but couldn’t find any obvious injuries outside of a bad headache and a burning face. Brad ducked and stood in the center of the compartment. He found his boots next to the bag and slipped them on, then used the light to lead him out of the bow and stepped up the ladder to the bridge.
He opened the hatch and walked onto the bridge, where he found Brooks sitting in a large chair behind the steering controls. Sean was in a corner with a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked up, saw Brad, and smiled. “How ya feeling buddy?” he asked.
“Like shit; I have a killer headache and my face feels sunburned,” Brad answered.
“You probably have a concussion, and you got some decent flash burns to your face, but you’ll live,” Brooks said.
Brad walked through the bridge and took an empty seat. “How long was I out?” he asked.