Hell Rig (32 page)

He touched her back, fingers lightly caressing her skin. “You’re the one that said there are no coincidences.”

She smiled. “I hope you’re right.”

The room suddenly tilted. She lost her grip on Jeff and fell to the floor. A loud screeching noise shook the platform, followed by a thundering shudder. The sound of ripping metal made her heart miss a beat.

“What was that?”

“I think we just lost the warehouse,” he said over the noise.

Jeff helped her to her feet and together, they looked out the window. Sure enough, only twisted metal support beams remained where the warehouse once stood. It had taken with it the radio shack and generator shack on its way to the sea. Corrugated metal sheets whipped around the deck like deadly flying razor blades. The platform continued to totter uneasily.

“The waves are bigger and the wind is stronger,” Jeff commented.

He did not have to say more. She knew Hurricane Rita was almost upon them. This was only the leading edge of the northeast quadrant, the most dangerous part of the storm. By the way the platform shook and swayed, Ed might have been wrong. It was no longer a matter of abandoning the platform. It looked as though the platform was about to abandon them.

“It’s not going to make it, is it?” she asked.

Jeff looked at her a moment before answering. “With the warehouse and the other buildings gone, the platform’s unstable. One good wave and it will fold like a deck of cards.”

She was glad he had told her the truth. It was not the time for lies. Jeff’s earlier suggestion seemed prudent.

“Can we really use the emergency craft?” she asked.

This time, he hesitated even longer. “I don’t know. I don’t have much faith it will make it, but I don’t see another option.”

“Faith,” she mused. “It seems this whole trip has been a test of faith. I tried to forget my childhood. I considered it a dark part of my past, a tie to old ways that had no place in the modern world. I guess I was wrong.”

“We might have to manhandle the TEMPSC out of the launching rack. There’s no power. The trick is to be inside when it goes.”

“What will we need?” She was ready to seize upon any plan that gave her hope.

“We need some empty plastic drums for bracing the inside walls from the pressure of the waves. It’s a thin shell not designed for heavy weather like this. The drums will help. They’re lightweight and maybe they can keep the waves from crushing us. We’ll need some kind of steel bar as a lever to break the lock on the sled.”

“In the chemical room,” she burst out. “There are about a dozen empty plastic drums in the chemical room.”

Jeff nodded. “That should be enough. We’ll put Tolson in first and secure him. Then we secure the drums.” He glanced outside. “We can’t go out there. We have to use the inside stairs. That means removing the stuff we dropped into the inside stairwell to seal it off.”

The thought of going back down into the cellar deck with the rats sent shivers through her. Of course, rats might not be the worse things down there. She swallowed hard.

“Let’s get started.”

It took almost an hour of heavy, back-breaking labor to drag the sofa, broken desks and chairs out of the stairwell. They wrapped Tolson in a blanket and dragged him down the stairs.

“Watch his head,” Jeff warned.

Looking at his pale face, his chest barely moving, she wondered if Tolson would live long enough to reach the TEMPSC. They had no choice but to drag him through the water in the hallway. She struggled to help keep his head above the slimy mess while keeping one eye open for rats. The rain and wind beat at them savagely when they opened the door to reach the TEMPSC, threatening to tear Tolson from their grip. They managed to stow Tolson inside, using safety netting to tie him securely to the floor.

“Now for the drums,” Jeff said.

Though it was still daylight, the chemical room was dark. Jeff’s flashlight did little to dispel the shadows that seemed to hide in the corners. Her own flashlight worked only sporadically. The platform continued to shake. Pipes rattled and bounced against the ceiling. Any minute she expected a pipe to break free and fall down on them. They found half a dozen suitable empty plastic drums and began to carry them to the emergency craft two at a time. They struggled with the cumbersome barrels as the heavy wind tried to rip them out of their grasp. By the time they had all six drums secured inside the TEMPSC, both of them were exhausted. The barrels fit three across the width of the craft snuggly enough to need no further support. It left little room for them to squeeze inside.

Jeff smiled at her. “I think it might work. It’ll be tight.”

“It’s a tight fit all right,” she said, eyeing the miniscule space remaining. She felt a twinge of claustrophobia. “We’ll make it,” she added, more for her benefit than Jeff’s.

“We’ll snuggle up tight,” Jeff responded. “All I need is a steel pipe to use as a lever and a hacksaw to cut the lock. There should be one in the metal shop.”

She followed Jeff to the metal shop, but noticed the door to the mudroom was open and clanging against the bulkhead.

“That door was shut earlier,” she said. “I’m certain.”

“Sims?” Jeff cautioned her to silence. He pulled out the Glock he had carried tucked into his jeans. “Wait here.”

“No. I’m coming with you.”

He didn’t answer as he crept to the mudroom door. He jumped inside and swept the flashlight around the room. A shadow moved above him. He pointed the gun and flashlight at it.

“Waters?” he called out.

Sims stepped into the light, standing on the catwalk above the mixing vat. “No. It’s me.”

Jeff swore. “Where the hell have you been, Sims?”

“I’ve been hiding.”

“We were here earlier. I didn’t see you.” Jeff waved the gun at him.

Sims eyed the gun but did not back down. “I saw you three. I decided to stay hidden. If you were foolish enough to search for Waters, I thought maybe you would be unlucky enough to find him.”

“Still watching out for yourself, huh?” Jeff challenged. “I don’t know who is worse, you or Waters.”

Jeff’s hand holding the Glock trembled in anger. Lisa was afraid Jeff might shoot Sims. “Put the gun down, Jeff. We need each other.” She turned to Sims. “We’re using the emergency craft before the platform collapses. Do you want to come or are you still convinced we’re going to die?” She knew they would all be uncomfortable in the cramped space but at least it was a chance for survival.

He nodded at Jeff. “Are you asking or is he telling?”

Jeff lowered the Glock.

Sims relaxed. “Yeah, I’ll come. What about Tolson?”

“He’s in the craft already,” she answered.

“We’ll need food and water.”

“There are emergency supplies in the TEMPSC,” Jeff said.

Sims grinned. “It’s a hurricane, Towns. We may be out there a long time before someone comes to our rescue. I think we need more food and water.”

Lisa knew she had to avoid a confrontation between the two. “There’s more of both in the pantry.”

Sims nodded. “I’ll get it.”

Jeff tensed as if preparing to object. She reached out and touched his arm. “Go ahead,” she told Sims, “but hurry.”

As if in response to her plea for urgency, the platform shuddered again. Jeff dropped the flashlight. When he picked it back up, Sims was gone.

Jeff looked at her with barely suppressed rage in his eyes. “I don’t trust him.”

She did not trust Sims either but his help would make it easier to launch the emergency craft. “We have to trust him. We’re all working for the same goal—escape.”

“I’m not so certain he wants to escape.”

Lisa stared at Jeff. “Why would you say that? Of course he does. He doesn’t want to die out here.”

Jeff muttered something unintelligible under his breath and shoved the Glock back into his jeans. He looked up at the mixing vat. “If Sims was hiding from Waters, why was he standing so exposed on the catwalk? It’s not a very good hiding place.”

Lisa looked at the catwalk. “You’re right. I don’t know.”

Jeff climbed the stairs leading to the mixing vat and shined the light down inside.

“Oh, my God,” he exclaimed.

Lisa’s heart leaped. “What is it?”

He looked at her. The look in his eyes frightened her. They looked so…lost. “It’s Waters. He’s dead.”

She climbed up beside him and gasped as she looked down. Waters’ body laid spread eagle on the floor of the mixing vat. She could tell he had been dead for several days. His throat was slashed and dried blood pooled around his body. His body seemed empty.

“He’s been here awhile,” she said.

“Sims looked in here yesterday and said he didn’t see anything.”

“He lied,” she said, verifying what Jeff was thinking. Her heart sank. She had genuinely hoped he would help.

“We have to get out of here now,” Jeff said.

As they scrambled down the stairs, Lisa felt a powerful presence fill the room. The shadows came alive, running down the walls like pitch, coalescing on the deck in front of them. She shined her flashlight on it but the weak beam faltered and went out. Jeff’s light did nothing to dispel the shadows.

“He’s here,” she whispered. She looked at Jeff’s questioning eyes and said, “Damballah Wedo.”

Silence filled the room. The sound of wind, rain and thunder fell away as an ebony figure rose from the dark pool before them. It was a sick parody of a man with large red eyes burning like fire. He looked at Lisa and she froze. Jeff stepped forward, but with a wave of his hand, Jeff, too, froze beside her.

“You have witnessed my power,” said a deep powerful voice. As he spoke, the room filled with the stench of death. “Shortly, I will destroy the gateway and ride this storm into New Orleans.”

Lisa forced her throat to work. “There are those there who will oppose you.”

“They try to do so even now but I easily shrug off their attack. I am too powerful for their puny attempts.”

Good, she thought.
There are people in New Orleans, houngans and mamboes, perhaps all over Louisiana who recognize the threat and work to combat it. Jeff and I are not completely alone.
Perhaps they could get his attention just long enough for the others to do something, though she suspected her and Jeff’s time was growing short.

“Why don’t you kill us and be done with it?” she challenged, a germ of an idea forming in her mind.

Damballah Wedo roared and the platform shook.

Jeff looked at her perplexed. “What are you doing? Don’t anger the big black oozy thing.”

“The storm will do that for me,” Damballah Wedo answered.

She was right. He could not kill them because they were, as Waters had said, unblemished. He was going to let them die in the storm.

“We will have to destroy you before then,” she boasted.

Damballah Wedo laughed. His laughter echoed in the room as his body turned into shadow and flew off in many directions.

“What just happened?” Jeff asked.

She turned to him with hope in her eye. “He can’t kill us. He must let the storm or his minions do that.”

“Waters is dead.”

“He controls the dead.”

As if in reply to Jeff’s statement, a scratching sound came from the mixing vat. They turned and watched as Waters’ head rose above the sides.

“Damn!” Jeff exclaimed. “Why won’t he stay dead?” He raised the Glock and fired two shots into Waters’ head. The body dropped and thudded with a metallic ring as it hit bottom. “That takes care of him,” Jeff said with a smug expression on his face.

“What about the others?” Lisa reminded him.

Jeff’s expression turned to one of horror as he realized the bodies of his old friends, now zombies, would be sent against them.

“We have to leave now,” he said.

As they left the mudroom, they found their way blocked by the reanimated corpses of Big Clyde Gleason and Greg Bale.

“Oh, my God,” Lisa exclaimed as she saw their friends’ mutilated bodies standing in front of her.

Jeff raised his Glock.

“No, don’t!” Lisa shouted, but too late. Jeff fired five times, three bullets into Gleason’s head and two into Bale’s. They shuddered and fell to the floor.

“There,” Jeff said.

“Now you have only one more bullet,” Lisa reminded him. He looked crestfallen.

“Shit. I forgot.”

Easton stepped from the wood shop and shambled toward them, stepping over Gleason and Bale. His eyes were dead, unfocused, but he knew they were there.

Jeff grabbed Lisa. “The other way.”

As they rounded the building, they met the full fury of the storm. Rain pelted them mercilessly, raising small welts on their exposed skin. The wind was giant hands pushing them backwards. Debris swirled in the air in front of them.

“Crawl,” Jeff shouted.

They fell to their knees and scuttled like crabs across the deck, dodging blowing debris and loose drums. Finally, they made it to a rear door and entered the building. The hallway was eerily quiet after the roar of the storm. Lisa looked at the water and shuddered.