‘Let me check it out. I need to see what we’ve got down here.’
Punch opened a freezer. Spoiled food. Green mould.
Ghost took a jar from a shelf.
‘Jalapeсos,’ he said. ‘We could sprinkle them on our cereal or something.’
A dry store. Bags of rice and dried pasta. Pallets of cans.
‘Fucking mother lode,’ said Punch. I bet there are kitchens like this all over the ship. Lots of little theme restaurants.’
‘In a couple of days we can organise the men and do a systematic search. Take our pick. Fill some carts. But right now we need to get out of here.’
They turned to leave. A woman stood in the doorway. She wore a blue ball gown. Her eyes stared through a mask of metal spines.
‘Back off, darling,’ warned Punch.
She reached for him. He kicked her legs and she fell. He planted a boot on her chest to keep her down. He put the drill bit between her eyes and bored into her brain. He ground through bone. She arched her back then lay still.
‘Holy mother of God,’ he muttered, standing over the corpse.
‘Let’s go.’
They headed down the corridor.
A waitress slithered round the corner, dragging bloody, useless legs. Ghost hefted the axe, ready to strike a blow. A second infected crew member turned the corner, metal leaking from nose and ears. He was joined by a woman in jogging gear, arms fused to her sides. Ghost backed away.
‘Getting crowded.’
More passengers, shuffling, limping, groping.
‘Plan B,’ said Punch.
They ran back to the engine room and sealed themselves inside. Fists thudded against the door. Ghost gripped his shotgun, clicked from Safety to Fire. Punch took out his radio.
‘Jane, you there? We might have a little problem.’
Jane called the rig.
‘Hyperion to Rampart, do you copy, over?’
‘Rampart here.’ Sian’s voice.
‘We’ve got control. We’ve got the basics. The propellers turn. We can steer left and right. We’re heading your way. Ten knots. Slow, but making headway. I’ll try to push it harder. Can you put up a flare? Something to guide us?’
‘Give me two minutes. ’
Jane stood on deck. The fog had cleared. She had found the captain’s binoculars. She adjusted focus. She saw the red pinprick of a distant flare.
She returned to the bridge. She nudged the joystick left. Brief rotation from the bow thrusters. She felt the massive vessel adjust course.
Ivan searched the officers’ quarters for booze. He found a couple of miniatures, but couldn’t find a full-size bottle.
One of the crew had left a humidor full of cigars and a heavy brass lighter on his desk. Cuban. Vaqueros Colorado Madura. Ivan filled his pockets. He didn’t smoke, but he could trade when he got back to the rig. The Rampart crewmen liked cigars. Greedy for any little pleasure that would help them forget their predicament a while. Getting high was the new currency now that money was no good.
He heard an intermittent humming noise.
He stood in the corridor outside the crew cabins. More humming.
He approached the slide doors at the end of the passage. A bad smell like eggs, like rotting meat. He realised, with a wash of sickening fear, why the ship’s systems had been off-line. The Hyperion crew wanted to seal infected passengers below deck. They had barricaded every door and sealed each stairwell. Then they shut off the power in case the shambling horde below figured out how to summon elevators.
A discreet ping. The doors began to slide open. Ivan backed away. He glimpsed an old lady melded to an electric wheelchair.
A crowd of infected passengers jostled for space around her. Bloody ball gowns and dinner suits. Stench of vomit and piss. Ivan turned and ran.
Jane steered the ship towards a winking red signal light, one of the aircraft warning strobes on top of a distillation tower.
She pictured the Rampart crew lining the refinery railings, applauding as the liner docked. She would play it cool and casual. ‘ Welcome aboard, boys: Bask in their new-found respect and admiration.
There was a button on the control panel. A trumpet icon. She hit the button and released the long, two-note bass boom of the ship’s Tyfon horn.
Ivan ran through the door.
‘The passengers. The fucks. They broke out. They’re right here.’ He grabbed Jane by the sleeve and pulled her towards an exterior door. ‘We’ve got to go.’
‘What about Punch and Ghost?’
‘We have to get out of here.’
A group of infected crew were milling on the upper deck. Officers in dress uniform. They seized Ivan as he ran outside. He screamed. He fought. They fell on him and dragged him to the floor.
Jane swung the shotgun to her shoulder. She took aim at a bearded man with sunglasses fused to his face. The blast vaporised his head. The second shot caught two crewmen across the chest and hurled them backward.
A chef lunged for her. She shot him in the shoulder. His arm landed on a bench.
More passengers and crew climbed the steps from the lower deck. Jane backed on to the bridge.
Later, when they asked what happened to Ivan, she said, ‘Swear to God, it was like they wanted to climb inside him. They stuck fingers in his eyes, his mouth. They bit off his fingers. They drove a fist into his stomach. They pretty much turned him inside out.’
Jane was trapped. Two shells left in the gun. She climbed over the captain’s chair, shot out the window and squirmed outside. Jagged safety glass slit open her parka, spilling insulation foam.
She balanced on the sill. A ten-metre drop to the lower deck. She scrambled upward on to the roof of the bridge.
Jane paced the roof. Infected passengers reached up for her on all sides, hissing and clawing. She unzipped a box of shells from her backpack and reloaded the shotgun. She leaned against the radar mast and tried to breathe slowly. She took the radio from her pocket.
‘Ghost? Punch? Can you hear me? I really need your help, folks.’
Sian stood on the helipad and flagged a searchlight back and forth. She was joined by the crew. They wanted to see the ship that would carry them to freedom.
They saw a gleam on the horizon like a low star. A quarter of an hour later they saw the running lights of a ship approaching fast. Hyperion lit bright and spectral. The great prow splintered ice. The horn blared. They cheered.
‘It’s massive,’ said Nikki.
‘There will be heaters,’ said Sian. ‘Imagine it. We will be warm. I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like.’
‘It’s a monster.’
‘Look how quick it’s moving,’ said Sian. ‘We’ll be home in hours.’
‘It’s coming in pretty fast. Now would be a good time to hit the brakes.’
The ship didn’t slow down. The crew stopped cheering, and backed away from the edge of the helipad.
The ship kept coming. They could hear it. The rumble of engines. The rush of water. The crack of splintering ice.
The ship slammed into the west corner of the rig. The impact bucked the refinery and knocked the crew from their feet. Sparks and shrieking metal as girders stressed and sheered. Thunder roar. One of the rig’s great anchor cables broke free, wrenching away a chunk of superstructure.
