Outpost (4 page)

'Spirit of Endeavour
my ass,' said one of the men.

'That's
a dinghy,' said Punch. 'That's a fucking rubber duck.'

The
ship drew close. It looked like a small fishing trawler. The wheelhouse was
little bigger than a phone booth. Maybe a couple of bunks below.

'I
think some of us might be staying behind,' said Jane.

The
tug entered the shadow of the refinery, splintering ice, and docked at the
north leg. The tiny vessel bobbed on the swells like a cork. Chugging diesel
engine. The crew watched from the helipad railing.

Rawlins
met the captain on the docking platform. He caught the mooring rope and helped
the captain aboard. They saluted. They shook hands. The captain wore snow gear
and carried a shotgun. No one was surprised to see the gun. Most Arctic teams
carried protection against polar bears.

Rawlins
led the man up steel steps to the habitation levels of the rig. The first mate
stayed on the tug. He paced the deck with a shotgun held in the crook of his
arm.

The
captain was a short man in his fifties. He took off his parka and sat at a
canteen table. He kept his gun within reach. Punch put a steaming mug of coffee
in front of him.

'Got
any food?'

The
skipper ate two Snickers bars and started on a third. The Rampart crew stood
over him and watched him eat.

'I've
got room for four men,' said the captain. 'That's all I can take.'

'Jane.
Sian. Upstairs,' said Rawlins.

Sian
was the rig administrator. A timid, petite girl in her twenties. She also cut
hair.

Rawlins
sat the girls in his office and dumped a box of manila personnel files in front
of them.

'Work
up a shortlist,' he said. 'People we can live without. People who deserve to
go. There's a weather front moving in. The captain says he'll stick around for
a couple of hours then he wants to be gone.'

'Why
me?' asked Jane, daunted suddenly to find herself in a position of
responsibility. 'Why do I have to choose?'

'You're
a priest. You're impartial. And I better stay downstairs otherwise there'll be
a riot.'

Rawlins
took his yellow Taser pistol from his desk drawer and checked the charge.

'Let's
finish this quickly,' he said. 'The sooner that boat is out of here the
better.'

'Christ,'
said Sian, when Rawlins was gone. 'We could be deciding if people live or die,
you realise that?'

'Let's
start a list,' said Jane. 'See if we can narrow it down.'

There
was a whiteboard on the wall next to a picture of a tropical beach. Jane bit
the cap from a pen and wrote names.

'Okay,'
said Jane. 'Who stays for certain? Who can we strike off the list right away?'

She
put a cross through FRANK RAWLINS. 'Goes down with the ship. He'd be insulted
if we even considered him.'

She
put a cross through ELIZABETH RYE. 'The installation needs a doctor. Essential
personnel.'

'Says
here she has a son,' said Sian.

'Rawlins
won't let her go. I guarantee it.'

She
crossed out GARETH PUNCH. 'We need a chef.'

'Any
fool can flip an egg.'

Jane
shook her head. 'Everyone is talking like we will be out of here in a week or
two, but truth is we might be stuck a while. We need someone who can manage a
kitchen, eke out provisions.'

Jane
crossed out three more names. 'Senior ops. Maintenance. Maintenance. We need
people who can keep the lights on.'

'Six
down.'

'Anything
in the files?'

'I
can give you two names right away. Rosie Smith and Pete Baxter. Rosie is
diabetic. She injects insulin every day. They have a crate of the stuff on ice
in medical. We're supposed to feed her sugar or something if she has a fit.'

Jane
circled ROSIE SMITH. 'All right. She's on the boat. Pete Baxter?'

'Heart
attack four years ago. He takes some kind of blood- thinning medication. I
heard he brought his own defibrillator. Keeps it by his bed. I'm astonished
they gave him a job.'

Jane
circled PETE BAXTER. 'Two more. Maybe we should pull names out of a hat. It
might be the easiest way.'

Fox
News looped the same footage over and over.

'.
. . may God defend us in this dark and difficult hour . .

The
President's sombre wave as he climbs aboard Marine One and flees the White
House.

Food
riots. Flaming cars. Humvees in the street.

Nail
stood, arms folded, in front of the TV. He stood close enough to see the
President's face reduced to picture grain and blur.

He
turned round.

The
captain was sitting in the corner of the canteen. He was hunched over a bowl
greedily spooning soup. His shotgun rested on the Formica tabletop easily
within reach.

Nail
crossed the room and sat next to his gym buddy, Ivan.

'Reckon
you could pilot that boat?'

'Little
tug like that? Sure,' said Ivan.

'Seriously.
You could get it going? Navigate?'

'Yeah.
Pretty certain I could.'

'We
have to get his gun.'

'He's
got his back to the wall. And look at him. He's twitchy. He's watching for
someone to make a move.'

'I
should go over there,' said Nail. 'Offer him another coffee.

I
want to see if the safety catch is on.'

'We
could wait until he's up and walking. Catch him in a stairway, a corridor. It
would give us a chance to get close, but we'd have to take his gun.'

'Yeah.'

'What
about the first mate?'

'What
about him? We'd have a gun.'

'Could
you do that? Could you shoot a man?'

'I'd
fire a warning shot.'

'But
if it came down to it?'

'Then,
yeah,' said Nail. 'Him or us, right?'

'Okay.
You and me. Gus, Mal, Yakov. You give the signal. We move at once. We do it
quick. But we'd have to be on the boat and gone before anyone has a chance to
react. Bags and coats ready to go.'

'I'll
tell the guys. Go to the kitchen and fix yourself a sandwich. Get some knives
while you are in there.'

Rawlins
brought the captain to his office. The captain still carried his shotgun like
he expected to be jumped any moment. They examined a map of the Arctic.

'They
sent us to a pump station in the Kara. The place was deserted. We swung by Severnaya
to see how the Russian team were doing but they had cleared out. Norway is
closed for business. Don't dare approach. They have a couple of AWACS planes
guiding gunboats.'

'Where
will you go?'

'We'll
catch the current south. Skirt Norway. Skirt Iceland. Western Scotland seems
like a good place to ride out doomsday. We'll find an island. Hide ourselves
away.'

'So
what have you heard?' asked Jane. 'All we have is the television.'

'Dave,
my first mate. He saw it for real in Roscoff a month ago. He was sitting in a
cafe eating lunch. Noon. Not much happening. Suddenly people ran in, yelling
for the police. There was a woman in the street trying to bite everyone like a
rabid dog. She was bleeding.'

'Bleeding?'

'That's
what he said. Some soldiers shot her dead. Then they shot everyone she had
bitten. They made a big pile and burned the bodies.'

'Oh,
my God.'

'Sorry
to break it to you folks, but no one is coming to your rescue any time soon.
You might have to find your own way home.'

'Christ.'

'Have
you picked your men yet?'

'We're
working on it.'

'I
could do with some food for the trip, and any diesel you can spare.'

'We'll
sort you out.'

'I'm
going back to the boat,' said the captain. 'The weather is turning. Wind is getting
high. Could be force ten when it hits. I'd like to be gone in thirty minutes.'

The
captain left.

'Do
you have any names for me?' asked Rawlins.

Jane
gestured to the board. 'Two names for certain. Bunch more possible.'

Rawlins
scanned the list.

'It's
an easy choice,' he said. 'You two. Sorry, ladies, but I need skills. You're
both surplus to requirements.'

The
fuel store. A wide chamber. Punch switched on the lights. He led the captain
between racks of fuel cans, oil drums and propane tanks. The captain loaded
jerry cans on to a pallet truck. Punch struggled to help.

'So
you need food?'

'We're
both starved,' said the captain. 'We ate our last tin of beans days ago. We
didn't expect to be at sea this long. We need enough food for two, three weeks.
Not much. I don't want to clean you out. Just enough each day to keep us going
until we get back to Britain.'

'I'll
fill a box. Tins and stuff. How about fresh water?'

'Can
you spare some?'

'We
have a desalination plant. It's not a problem.'

'I'm
sorry to leave so many of you guys behind, I truly am. I don't like to think of
you all marooned out here.'

'You're
doing what you can.'

'It's
royally fucked up. Things were bad when we set sail from Rosyth a month ago.
Fighting in supermarkets. Looting. Sounds like it's got a whole lot worse since
then. Myself. Dave, my mate. We both have families. It's time to be a little
selfish and head home.'

'Nobody
blames you. No one at all.'

'We'll
tell people you're here. We won't let them forget you.' They hauled the pallet truck
down the corridor to the Level Four elevator.

'I'll
head back to the canteen,' said Punch. 'Fetch you some stuff.'

'Thanks,'
said the captain. He stepped into the elevator and pressed Down.

Nail
and his buddies waited by the elevator doors on Level One. They each held a
knife. A screen displayed floor numbers. They monitored the elevator's descent.
'Here he comes,' said Nail.

Jane
looked down at her hands.

'No,'
she heard herself say. 'I appreciate what you are saying. I want to go home and
yeah, I don't bring much to the party. Just another mouth to feed. But I'm not
going.' 'Can we skip the ritual objections?'

'I
want to get on that boat. I've got folks back home. But there are plenty more
deserving than me.'

'Executive
decision. You're leaving.'

'You'll
have to Taser me aboard.'

'Happy
to do it.'

'Some
of these guys have kids. Bardock. Doesn't he have a son? Half the guys on this
rig took the job to pay child support.'

'Bardock
runs the pipe.'

'We
won't be pumping any time soon. He's a spare part, just like me.'

'It's
the same for me,' said Sian. 'I'm alone. Just a step- dad. Pick a couple of men
with children and put them on the boat.'

'Is
that how you want to do it? Dependants? Last chance to change your mind. No shame
in seizing an opportunity.'

'Put
their names in a cup.'

They
drew RICKI COULBY and EDGAR BARDOCK.

'Bardock
and Coulby,' said Jane. 'A couple of well-liked guys. Can't see anyone
objecting if they won a ticket back to the world.'

'Coulby
has four daughters,' said Sian, checking the files. 'And yeah, Bardock has a
son. Pretty much settles it.'

'Unless
we put Nail on the boat,' said Jane. 'That's our other option.'

'Why
the fuck would we do that?' asked Rawlins.

'Because
he's trouble.' She turned to Sian. 'How many times has he hit on you? We barely
see you these days. You're a prisoner in your room. Call it gut instinct. We
could be stuck here a while. It might be easier all round if we mailed him
home.'

The
elevator doors opened. Nail ran into the lift, knife at the ready. His buddies
ran after him. A pallet truck stacked with jerry cans. No captain.

'Hi,
fellas.' The skipper was behind them. He stood in the stairwell doorway,
shotgun at his shoulder. 'Drop the knives.'

Nail
was holding a diver's serrated knife. He adjusted his grip. Four metres between
him and the captain.

'Seriously,
guys. The choke on this thing is set for a wide spread. I can put all of you
down with a single shot. Drop the fucking knives.'

Yakov
inched along the wall like he was getting ready to attack. Shaved head.
Cyrillic knuckle tattoos.