‘I wish we could be sure. Severe blood loss. He’s going to freeze .’
‘I know. I know. ’
A thud against the door. Punch jumped to his feet. ‘Frank? Is that you?’
Punch trained his Taser at the door. The hatch began to slide upward. He hit Close.
He pressed the intercom.
‘Frank? Are you okay?’
‘I’m cold. Very cold.’
‘Are you infected? Your arm. Can you tell me? Did it halt the infection?’
‘So cold.’ Rawlins sounded weak, delirious.
‘You’ve got to tell us, Frank. We have to know.’
‘So tired.’
‘We can’t let you in, Frank. Frank? Are you there?’
He waited a full minute. He hit Open. The door slid back.
Nothing beyond but an empty corridor.
Punch called Sian.
‘Frank just tried to get in.’
‘Is he still there?’
‘He’s gone.’
‘ Wait. Someone just entered an airlock near Medical.’
‘Did he go outside?’
‘No. He just opened the interior door.’
‘Anyone heard from Jane and Ghost?’
‘ No.’
‘We need those shotguns.’
Rawlins ransacked the airlock. He struggled to pull up trousers. He shrugged on a coat. He stepped into boots.
He searched the rig for cigarettes. He dragged himself down dark, frozen passageways. He slid along pipework for support. He hugged the stump of his right arm, sheathed in an empty sleeve, to his chest.
Cigarettes were forbidden. Big red signs in each recreation area. ‘No unauthorised sources of ignition.’
When Rawlins took control of the rig five months ago he smuggled cigarettes aboard. Two a day for the duration of the tour. He used to sneak outside and light up. He knew most of the crew smoked weed but he didn’t care. It kept the men occupied. It kept them sedated. But he was the installation manager and couldn’t be seen to break the rules. He kept a pack of cigarettes and a Zippo hidden among fire equipment near an airlock. He couldn’t remember which airlock. He couldn’t remember much at all.
He sat in the gymnasium for a while, one of the few rooms on the refinery with a large window. Weak daylight. It was noon, and the sun was barely above the horizon. Rows of cycles and treadmills glittered with ice. Centrefolds blurred by frost. He pulled up his sleeve and examined his bandaged stump. Metal spines protruded from the gauze. The skin surrounding his elbow had started to blacken.
‘So here we are,’ he thought. ‘My dying day.’
Frank once saw a man clutch his chest and collapse while queuing in a bank. He guessed it was the same for most people. Walking round with a head full of humdrum until a terminal diagnosis or myocardial infarction struck out of the blue. Was it October? November? Hard to think straight. He was pretty sure it was Tuesday.
He lay on a sunbed for a while and woke up shivering. His parka had fallen open. He couldn’t work the zip.
He remembered where he hid cigarettes. Airlock 63.
Jane and Ghost arrived back at the rig. They winched the zodiac into the boathouse.
Ghost showed Jane how to operate a shotgun as they rode the freight elevator to habitation level.
‘You’ve seen it on TV a million times. Slot five shells into the receiver. Pump the slide. Pull it all the way back. Nice, firm stroke. Set the safety to Fire. And for God’s sake don’t put your finger on the trigger until you are ready to shoot.’
‘Cool.’
‘Press the gun to your shoulder. Brace your legs. Boom.’
They took a shortcut. They crossed the deck and entered an airlock.
Ghost took out his radio.
‘We’re back.’
‘I’m in Frank’s office,’ said Sian. ‘ I’m watching the doors. Someone just opened airlock 27.’
‘That’s us. We just came aboard.’
‘Watch your selves. You might run into him.’
They opened the internal door of the airlock. Ghost surveyed the corridor, shotgun at the ready.
‘This feels a bit over-dramatic,’ said Jane. ‘This is Frank we are talking about. He’s probably just confused.’
‘You saw that shit growing out of his hand. Want that to happen to you?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘Don’t point that thing at me, all right? Point it at the floor.’
Rawlins hugged a corridor wall. Dancing flashlight beams. Two figures stepped out of an airlock. Jane and Ghost. They carried shotguns.
He padded behind them as they entered the pipe store. He stayed in shadow while they crouched and examined the floor.
‘This is where Sian found him,’ said Jane.
‘Blood drips. Must have been squatting here a while. Wonder what was going on in his head.’ Ghost took yellow spray paint from his pocket, shook the can and circled the blood drips. ‘We’ll have to clean this level room by room. Bleach the whole fucking place.’
‘Sian said his eye was black.’
‘Could be a haemorrhage. Not necessarily proof of infection.’
Rawlins stood behind them. He fought rising bloodlust. He wanted to seize them. He wanted to bite. He wanted to rip and tear.
He ducked behind a pillar as they stood and turned.
‘Might be worth re-checking Medical,’ said Ghost. ‘It’s been a while. He might go back. He might want something for the pain.’
They made their way to the accommodation block. Ghost pounded the blast door with his fist. He shouted into the intercom.
‘It’s us. Me and Jane. We’re coming in.’
He hit Open. The door slid back.
‘Frank tried to get in,’ said Punch.
‘Is he infected?’ asked Jane.
‘I heard him. I didn’t see him.’
‘He’s alive at least.’
‘Look,’ said Ghost. He shone his flashlight at the deck plates. Footprints on frosted metal. ‘He left a trail.’
‘Where?’
‘See that?’ he said, pointing at a cluster of prints. ‘That’s us, coming and going. But look here.’ Bare footprints near the wall. ‘That’s him. Is Rye upstairs?’ ‘Yeah.’
‘Find her. Tell her to load a hypodermic with some kind of sedative.’
‘You want me to tag along?’
‘No. Just me and Jane. Keep the door shut, okay? We’ll be back in a while.’
They tracked footprints to the gym.
‘Looks like he took a nap,’ said Ghost, examining a sunbed. ‘More blood. Here and here.’ He took out his spray can and circled the drips. ‘He can’t give us the run-around much longer. Not in this cold.’
They tracked prints down a C deck corridor.
