7

Lazlo sat in front of the computer console and began flipping switches. Nothing appeared to be working. He soon disappeared around a corner, while Larry, Monica and Mark stood in the control room waiting. After a few minutes, the lights went back on, several of the computer screens flashed, and the computers began to reboot.

“Looks like a fuse was blown,” Lazlo said as he returned, “several of them, actually.”
He sat back down at the console and began typing into the computer. The screens along the wall began coming into life. One screen was a kind of drawing of the oil derrick, with a long line indicating the drill, the depth and location of the drill and the overall health of the drill and the derrick. Other screens showed temperatures in various pipes, pressure, and locations of things that Mark could not decipher or understand, but apparently all of it very important to drilling oil. He watched as one-by-one the screens came back to life, many of them filled with white numbers and letters that were in a language he could never understand. He watched as Lazlo became completely engrossed in his work, moving in a wheeled-chair from one console to the other, muttering to himself. Monica also joined him, talking to him quietly.

Mark turned to look at Larry, who was staring at data from a computer screen in front of him, his eyes narrowed, concentrating. He moved casually over to where Larry was and peered down at the screen. Again, this was meaningless to Mark.

“Are there cameras on this rig?” Mark asked.

Larry appeared not to hear him for a moment, but before he could ask the question again, Larry looked up at M ark. “Yes.”
“Do you have cameras that record action within this room?” Mark asked.

“Yes,” Larry said, “in case there is an emergency or disaster, we want to be able to see what was happening within the control room.”
“Wouldn’t you say that this qualifies as a disaster and an emergency?” Mark said.

Larry looked up from the computer at him. He stared blankly for a moment, as if unsure how to answer that question. Eventually he nodded.

“Where can we find the tapes?” Mark asked.

“Not tapes,” Larry said, “we use disks these days.”

“Whatever, can you show them to me?” Mark asked. “I’d like to make myself useful while you up here start things up and start reading your data.”

“Yeah, sure,” Larry said, turning to look at the screen again, then getting up from his seat. “Follow me.”

* * *

Lazlo sighed and ran his fingers through his sweaty black hair. He moved form one screen to the next, punching buttons on the keyboard, moving the various mousse and still staring, disbelievingly at what he was looking at. He turned to look at Monica, who was behind him, moving through her own bank of computers.

“What are you finding?” He asked.

“I’m seeing data that I don’t understand,” she said, “I should be seeing information about how far down the drill is, and I should be seeing temperature readings that make some sense. Right now, I’m showing final temperature readings, before the power went out, that are off the scale and, right now, I’m not getting any readings of any kind.”

“I’m not seeing anything either,” Lazlo said. “Let’s keep going back. I want to go back to when the drilling first started and then keep moving forward. Maybe we can try to synch things up with Larry and Mark when the look at the recordings. We need to get a sequence of events that makes sense. Start printing things out too, so maybe we can all watch the recordings and read the data.”

Monica nodded and went back to work, punching the keys in front of her. Lazlo did the same, looking up at the larger screens on the wall in front of him and shaking his head. The temperature readings were in the thousands of degrees before everything blacked out. Now, no data at all was coming from within the hole. He couldn’t really even read the depth of the drill.

“Let’s bring the drill up,” he said.

“You know how to do that?” Monica asked.

“I helped design this thing, remember?” He said.

Monica just shrugged. Lazlo stood up and walked behind Monica. He sat down at another terminal and called up the controls for the drill. He punches in commands for a few seconds and then sat back. The screen showed him that the drill was slowly retracting out of the hole. They had reached a depth of roughly nine miles and then everything had stopped. It would take a little while for the drill to make it back to the top. He was still not getting any data from the sensors that had been built into the drill bit and the area near the end of the drill.

“Here it comes,” he said.

* * *

Rhonnie Monticue stood looking at the conference room table, her arms crossed, wordlessly mouthing the equipment she had laid out. There were bandages, splints and various medications for dealing with pain and for knocking someone out fast. She had tape, gauze and scissors. There was even equipment for performing minor surgeries, but nothing too serious. She didn’t have any blood to give someone if they were losing it quickly and she would not be able to help anyone if they lost a limb or got themselves shot in a vital place.

Rhonnie had blond hair and wore glasses. She had an easy smile, and an attractive figure, but there was something behind her eyes, and most people who knew her for any length of time could sense and see it. There was a coldness there, behind the warm smile and the soft voice that seemed full of concern, that indicated all Rhonnie really cared about was herself, and if she had to slit your throat to get to it, well, she would just have to do that, so sorry.

She and Larry had worked together before, just like the rest of the team he had assembled. She had been in the army, using her medical training in the hot weather in Iraq when he had approached her to help out on a special mission that he couldn’t give her details about at that moment. She ended up well behind enemy lines, gun in one hand, medical kit in the other, patching up the limbs of the other men Larry had signed up for this mission. The objective, Rhonnie couldn’t have cared less, she simple wanted something different, and figured Larry was the way to get there.

As she stood in the conference room she decided that what she needed to do was see what the rig had for a medical facility. Certainly a place like this had to have an infirmary, or some kind of hospital. There must be plenty of injuries waiting to happen in a place like this, and they must have some kind of medical facilities. Thinking about it, they must have been somewhere on the first floor because trying to carry an injured person up would have been a colossal pain.

With that in mind, and not bothering to notify anyone else, she walked out the conference room door and walked down the stairs. She hadn’t even noticed, until she reached the stairs, that the lights had come back on. She descended the stairs.

* * *

Karmen inched down the hallway, pausing at the first door she came too. Behind her, J.D. and Joe also were approaching doors. She reached out, touching the doorknob, and she twisted, then kicked the door open. She stepped into the open door, the gun pointing around the empty room. Desk, television, bed, closet. The room had a very college dormitory feel to it. There were pictures of a family, children, a wife, slotted into a mirror above the dresser. She stepped into the room, opened the closet door, saw the shirts and the pants hanging there, shoes on the floor. She used the muzzle of the gun to poke around the closet, nothing but a wall back there.

She turned, walking over to the desk, looking over papers that had no meaning to her. She found a wallet, opened it, and found a driver’s license, credit cards, a library card. She noticed something sitting on the desk and reached for it, picking up the walkie-talkie, turning the knob on the top. Static burst from the speaker. She pushed the button experimentally, the static cutting off and then coming back as she released the button.

“J.D., “ she said, stepping back into the hall.

J.D. appeared in the hallway a second later. He was looking at her.

“Did you find one of these in there?” She asked.

J.D. nodded and walked back into the room. He came back holding a similar device.

“Why don’t we have these?” Karmen asked.

A look of dismay washed over J.D.’s face. “Christ. I hadn’t even thought if it.”

“I bet everyone on this thing had one,” Karmen said.

Joe emerged from his room, he too was carrying a walkie-talkie.

“Let’s gather up enough for our group and distribute them to everyone,” J.D. said, his face set into a tight grimace.

“Hey,” Karmen said, “no one else thought of it either. This whole situation is a little fucked up. Our minds aren’t thinking the way they should. Let’s just move past it and get on with it.”

J.D. nodded. The three of them walked further down the hall, each of them taking another door. They entered their rooms. Joe found himself looking at pretty much the same thing he had seen before. The people here hadn’t had much time to really settle in, so the rooms did not have a very “lived-in” feel to them yet. He found the walkie-talkie and stuffed it into another pocket. He nosed around the room, checking the closet and the desk. There was no sign anyone had ever lived here, save for the clothing and the various personal effects on the dresser and desk. Then he looked out the small window set above the bed.

“Jesus,” he muttered. Then he turned and ran into the hallway. “Hey! Hey!”
J.D. and Karmen came running, their guns ready. They saw the look of agitation on Joe’s face, and he was pointing at something in the room. J.D. ran to him, Karmen close at his heels, they both pointed their guns into the room, noting the emptiness.

‘What the fuck, Joe?” J.D. asked.

“Look out the window,” Joe said.

Karmen and J.D. looked. Karmen gasped. J.D. felt something sink hard and fast into his stomach. The ocean outside was rolling, smashing down onto the deck outside. Water rolled over the outside surfaces. The sky was darkening rapidly and rain was spitting against the window.

“Where the hell did that storm come from?” Karmen whispered.

“More importantly,” J.D. said, “where’s the fucking helicopter?”

* * *

Mark and Larry were just returning to the control room with the DVDs when J.D.., Karmen and Joe cam running back in a panic. Monica and Lazlo stopped in their tracks, jumping out of their seats. Mark and Larry dropped the DVDs onto a desk and whirled around at the sound.

“Where’s Rhonnie?” J.D. asked.

“Down the hall, I think,” Larry said.

J.D. looked at Joe, who nodded and ran down the hall.

“The chopper’s gone,” J.D. said.

Everyone started moving at once, talking at once. Lazlo’s face came over with a look of utter panic, and then it was followed by Monica, Mark and then Larry. They looked pleadingly at J.D. and Karmen, telling them they had to do something.

“Get the radio,” J.D. said, “find a way to get to the mainland, we’re going to need another chopper.”

“Where the hell’s Chun?” Larry asked.

“I don’t know,” J.D. responded, “but I’m going to go out there to find out.”

“She’s not there,” Joe called from down the hall.

“What?” J.D. said, sure he had misheard.

“She’s not here,” Joe said, “All of the stuff is laid out here, but she’s not here.”
J.D. looked into the room. “Did she come in here? Did she say anything?”

The blank expressions on everyone’s face were his answer.

“Goddamit!” J.D. screamed. “How am I supposed to keep you people alive when you don’t listen?”

He turned, running down the hallway, checking the room that Joe had just checked. All of the medical equipment was laid out, but the room was empty of everyone but J.D. and Joe. J.D. motioned for Karmen.

“Get downstairs and check for her, please,” he said.

Karmen vanished down the stairs, her legs pumping, carrying her down the stairs rapidly.

“Let’s get out on deck before the weather gets too bad,” J.D. said to Joe, “I want to see if we can figure out what happened to the helicopter.”
J.D. and Joe made their way down the stairs and through the short hallway. The door at the end of the hallway was banging against the frame with increasing frequency. Now that they were listening, they could hear the wind rattling against the frame of the building. Beyond that noise, you would never know there was a storm going on out there.

They opened the door and the wind hit them both in the face like a kind of hand. Both men flattened back inside the door, looking at each other.

“Christ!” Joe said.

“He may be the only one that can really help us now,” J.D. said quietly.

J.D. opened the door again, bracing himself. He stepped outside and the wind just about knocked him over. A wave crashed down on the top of the oilrig, sending water spraying over his legs and chest and face. He closed his eyes and hunched into the wind, walking forward. He looked back, seeing Joe was doing the same, with the same posture.

They moved forward, the wind slowing them down, making their clothes stick to their bodies. Water cascaded all around them, filling their shoes, soaking their clothes and their skin. They reached the landing pad. There was a slick of oil, running around the surface, but any debris or any sign of the helicopter had been washed away by the waves. J.D. moved towards the edge of the landing pad.

The sight below was like looking over the lip into Hell. The waves were constant, undulating, and all topped with whiteheads. The smashed into the supports and scraped along the bottom of the rig. J.D. felt a hand suddenly in his belt, and was about to turn around when a huge wave smashed into the rig, bringing what felt like tones of water down on him and Joe, hard. J.D. felt his legs give out.

Suddenly the world went topsy-turvy, turning around and around. He saw the rolling clouds of the sky, the landing pad, the rig, water. He felt like he was floating, the hand fell away from his belt, and he was spinning, tossed, carried towards the edge of the landing platform. He reached out his hand and felt only water, beneath that, the smooth surface of the landing pad. He opened his mouth and tasted salt water, it ripped down his throat and into his lungs. He coughed, dropped his gun, flailed with both hands, waving them helplessly as he felt his feet swing out over the edge of the landing pad, more water pouring down on his head. Then, hands grabbed his.

He looked up, his eyes stinging from salt water. Lazlo had grabbed Joe and was holding onto one of the large metal pipes that criss-crossed the surface of the rig. Joe had grabbed hold of J.D. As J.D. watched, still helpless, he saw Mark and Larry appear, grabbing hold of the doorway and then extending Larry out to grab Lazlo. The string of men pulled as one, and J.D. felt his feet come back over the edge of the landing pad. He managed to scramble to his feet and run, just as another wave smashed into the rig, sending a wall of water that sent them all scattering sideways, into the side of the building.

“The chopper’s just fucking gone!” He screamed. “We need to get back inside.”

He looked up at the dark sky. The clouds were black and he heard thunder. He could see lightning in the distance, lighting up the sky. The ocean seemed to be getting higher all around them, more water washing over the face of the rig. He helped Mark get to his feet, and they all held together as they reached for the door. They piled inside, the door shutting behind them, Joe locking the door, and they collapsed in the hallway, soaking wet, breathing hard, exhausted.

“Where the fuck did that storm come from?” Lazlo asked.

“Right out of nowhere,” Mark agreed.

“How much can this thing take of weather like that?” Joe asked.

“It can handle a hurricane,” Lazlo said, “and it can take a pounding from the most powerful hurricane you’ve got. We should be fine in here as long as the building can stand the pounding and water doesn’t start getting in.”

“That doesn’t really reassure me” J.D. said. “Where’s Karmen and Rhonnie?”

“Right here,” Karmen said from behind them.

They turned as one to look back. Rhonnie was coming with Karmen, standing behind her a few feet, her arms loaded with more medical supplies. She looked supremely surprised that anyone had been looking for her.

“I went to find more medical supplies,” she said.

J.D. stood up, his clothes dripping, his face running with seawater. He walked over to her, standing well above her, the look on his face one of supreme anger. Rhonnie took a reflexive step backwards, dropping some of her supplies and she swallowed. J.D. reached out and grabbed her face in his hand.

“You ever disobey me again,” he said, “and I’m throwing you over board into that ocean. We stick together and we tell each other where we’re going, is that understood?”

She bared her teeth. “Get your fucking hand off of me!”

She dropped her supplies and smacked his hand away. Any trace of the passivity that had been there before was gone, and she looked ready to fight.

“Who the fuck are you to tell me anything?” She screamed

“I’m in charge here,” J.D. yelled back, “and it would do you all a hell of a lot of good to remember that. It might just prevent you from getting killed!”

“Oh really?” Rhonnie said. “You have a way to stop a storm, do you? You have a back-up helicopter in your back pocket? How are you going to save anyone? You can’t even save yourself right now.”

J.D. smiled, lowering his head for a moment. Then he moved, his hand extending outwards, connecting with the side of her face. The movement was so rapid, most didn’t see it, but heard the explosive crack when his hand struck her cheek. She let out a scream, staggered back against the wall, stunned, her hand to her face.

“You talk to me like that one more time,” J.D. said, “I’ll gut you. This isn’t a fucking democracy. This isn’t a business. This isn’t even the fucking army. This is my show and if you get in my fucking way, I’ll fucking kill you.”
Rhonnie didn’t say anything else. She whimpered a bit, a small trickle of blood running from the side of her mouth. When Karmen stepped forward to touch her, Rhonnie snarled and slapped her hand away.

“Now,” J.D. said, “Mark and Larry, did you find the surveillance tapes?”

“Yes,” Mark said, “although they are DVDs, actually.”

“Whatever,” J.D. said, “and Lazlo, have you found anything yet?”

“I have some data printed out that might give us a timeline of events,” he said, getting to his feet. “I am raising the drill right now. None of the sensors on the end of the drill are working. I wanted to see it up close. With that storm out there, I don’t even know how we’ll reach it.”

“One thing at a time,” J.D. said. “Larry, can we get back in touch with the mainland?”
“I can try,” Larry said, “but with that wind and that storm, I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Terrific,” J.D. said. “OK, I want you guys to get the DVDs, and Lazlo, you and Monica bring the data you’ve got so far. The rest of us, let’s get to that recreation room down here. There’s a DVD player in there, maybe we can study the tapes. We can’t do anything about the storm right now, so let’s just take things one step at a time. We’ll figure out something once things calm down.”
Everyone moved rather slowly, unsure of what to do, then Mark nodded and began walking up the stairs. Monica, Lazlo and Larry followed. Rhonnie continued to rub her face, glaring at J.D., but she eventually knelt down to gather up the supplies she had dropped. Joe headed for the recreation room. Karmen looked up at J.D.

“What if that storm doesn’t die down anytime soon?” She asked.

“We either drown, starve to death or die of thirst,” he said, “or we shoot each other. Take your pick.”
Karmen stared at him for a moment, then turned and walked down the hallway. J.D. looked down at Rhonnie, but she was busy picking up the last of her medical supplies and heading for the stairs. He decided it was best just to head for the recreation room, which is what he did.

* * *

They gathered in the recreation room minutes later. Even Rhonnie was there, hovering in the background, holding an icepack to her mouth and doing what she could to make a spectacle of herself and her injuries. The rest of them found spots on the couches in front of the television. Larry brought the DVDs with him and Monica and Lazlo had reams of paper in front of them. The building shook slightly from the wind outside, but no one spoke about that at this time. It was one thing at a time for the moment, and everyone had a set jaw, a poker face, looking serious and trying to concentrate on what they had in front of them.

“These are the security videos of the control room,” Larry said. “They’re in black and white and without sound, but I am hoping we can match up the times with the data Lazlo and Monica have and try to figure out what they are looking at.”
Larry sat down on the couch and hit play. The screen was blank for a moment, and then leapt to life, showing a slightly-fuzzy black and white picture of the control room. The room was bustling, with maybe six men and women, dressed in cover-alls and walking from one work station to another. Most of them were seated. They appeared calm, even slightly jovial, full of smiles.

“This is right as the rig was going online,” Larry said. “They’re doing some systems checks before they start drilling.”
“Everything checked out fine,” Lazlo said. “They had some minor issues, but they were quickly fixed and everything was ready to go.”

“I’ll fast forward things,” Larry said, pointing the remote at the DVD player.

The screen’s picture began to jump ahead, the time signature in the lower right-hand corner advancing. The people began moving rapidly, the picture jumping, the scene changing. Larry stopped it.

“This is when the drilling really started,” Larry said. “It looks normal here, too.”
“Everything was,” Lazlo said, flipping through his papers, “up until they reached the nine mile point. Things start getting weird right about then.”

Larry hit the button again, once again the figures on the screen began moving rapidly, jumping ahead. People sat and then disappeared a second later, moving off-camera, then coming back in. The time flipped forward again, moving rapidly, forward, on the right side of the screen. Suddenly there appeared to be something flashing near the top of the screen, on the main display of the control room.

“Right here,” Larry said, stopping and then pausing, looking at Lazlo, waiting for him to catch up.

“Yeah, the drill started moving wildly,” Lazlo said, “ as if it had dropped into a cave or something. However, all of the geological indications were that there were no caves beneath this drilling spot.”
On the screen, people began running into the room. The light continued to glow, eerily white in the black and white footage. People were shouting, their mouths opening wide, so J.D. figured there was an alarm going off somewhere. People were pointing at the main screen and then at their screens in front of them.

“The temperature readings had been getting higher for a few minutes,” Lazlo said, still looking through his data, “but nothing that was causing anyone any concern. Then, the drill seemed to break through into a hollow space, oscillating and moving wildly. They stopped the drill, but the temperatures starting spiking. Spiking higher than anyone had ever seen. It’s certainly higher than I’ve ever seen.”

“Look,” Mark said, pointing, stepping forward to point directly at the screen

He came forward and pointed directly at what appeared to be a woman on the screen. She was holding her hands up to her ears, her face contorted in pain and discomfort. There were others, looking up, looking around, faces contorted in pain, confusion.

“She hears the noises,” J.D. said.

Mark nodded. Larry swallowed and began playing the footage again. People were running around faster now, seemingly frantic, hitting buttons, pushing keys on keyboards. The light continued, flashing, steadily, seemed to grow brighter, filling the screen, making it turn white. A man turned to face the camera, there was blood trickling from his nose, his eyes were filled with fear.

“It was about this time that the mayday calls started, “ Larry said.

“The temperature spiked into the thousands of degree,” Lazlo said, “then everything just cut off from the sensors.”

The footage continued, the people on the screen appeared to be screaming. Another face turned and was caught by the camera, blood now streaming from the woman’s eyes, nose and mouth, her hands clasped to her head. There was an eruption of blood from the bottom right corner of the screen, splattering the console in front of the man, and he slumped forward, face down.

“Christ,” Joe whispered.

“Was there any blood in the control room?” Mark asked

Lazlo, Monica and Larry shook their heads.

On the screen, the light seemed to be getting brighter, the screen suddenly in negative, whites and blacks reversed. Then the screen turned completely white and then went blank. After a few moments of just a white and then a black screen, the television screen filled with static and snow. There was nothing more.

“That’s it,” Larry said quietly.

“I think I know why there are no readings from the sensors on the drill,” Lazlo said, “but I need to go outside and look at it.”

“Are you insane?” Joe asked. “Didn’t you see the weather out there?”

“The way to the drill isn’t quite as exposed, “ Lazlo said, “I don’t have to cross the open deck to get to it. Plus, maybe we can rig a way to tie ourselves on. I’d prefer not to go alone, if that’s OK.”

J.D. nodded. “Fine, if you think this will help clear anything up. I’ll go.”

“I’ll go too,” Joe said, reluctantly.

“Me too,” Karmen said.

“I think you should stay here,” J.D. said to Karmen.

“Are you turning sexist on me, Kartos?” Karmen replied.

“Not at all,” J.D. said, “I’m just thinking if myself, Joe and you all get washed overboard, these remaining folks might be totally fucked.”

Karmen nodded. “Point taken, but I’ll be standing by the door watching. I’m not going to let you guys wash overboard without a fight.”

“Fine,” J.D. said, “let’s grip it and rip it.”
He turned, along with Joe and walked out of the room. Lazlo looked around at everyone else and then he stood up and walked out.

“What does that mean, anyway?” Mark asked.

Larry shrugged. “Kind of annoying, though, isn’t it?”

“Very,” Mark agreed.

Then the two of them walked out of the room, headed down the hallway. Rhonnie stood up and walked back to her conference room, still holding the icepack to her mouth. Monica shrugged and walked back to the control room, all of them were now carrying walkie-talkies and she held hers at her side.

* * *

The wind was howling to the point that they couldn’t hear each other without leaning into the other person and then screaming into their ears. Lazlo, Joe and J.D. had cables with clasps at the end of them wrapped around their waists and then affixed to a metal railing that ran from the building to the derrick and the drill. The door banged open against the building when they opened it and J.D. felt the air ripped from his lungs. He closed his eyes, wishing he had safety glasses or something, tears streamed down his face, the moisture ripped from his eyes and thrust down his chin.

Lazlo moved forward, leaning forward into the wind, his hand up over his head. Joe followed suit, directly behind, his hand out, ready to grab Lazlo if he started to go over, or get washed away. The waves were still crashing down on the rig, all around it. It was a very strange sight to look slightly up at the tops of waves. The rig itself seemed not to move, and J.D. marveled at the technology that moored the structure to the bottom of the ocean. He too followed, walking slowly, his legs seemed magnetically attached to the surface of the rig. J.D. looked back to see Karmen holding onto the doorway, her own line attached, but staying back.

The three of them moved forward, and it seemed like J.D. that it took hours. There was only the wind, stinging rain and sea spray, and constant noise. Waves crashed and the ocean moved. As J.D. looked out to see, seeing the waves rolling, he felt sick just watching them.

They climbed, metal stairs, slick with salt water, their feet dragging against the metal. Finally, after an eternity, they reached a spot beneath the oil derrick. There was some semblance of a wall here, the wind slightly sheltered, but they still had to shout. As soon as they came into view, J.D. could see what had happened to the sensors and the drill.

The end of the drill was a lump of melted metal. The long metal shaft ended, turning golden, then brown, then black, the end of the drill bit, where the teeth should have been to grind into the rock, there was nothing, just a lump of unrecognizable metal. The entire shaft seemed slightly misshapen, as if the entire shaft had gotten soft, and some force had pressed against it as it moved past.

“That’s what I thought,” Lazlo said. “The temperatures were so hot, it melted the goddamn thing.”
“Have you ever seen anything like this?” Joe asked.

Lazlo shook his head. “As far as I know no one has. You’d have to punch through into a fucking volcano or the molten center of the earth for something like that to happen.”

“Could there be some kind of volcano down there?” J.D. asked. “Maybe one that would release some kind of gas that would wipe everyone out?”

Lazlo looked at J.D. as if he was an idiot. “You tell me what kind of gas would destroy every trace of the crew, including all of that blood that should be all over the consoles in the control room.”

J.D. nodded, and then looked back towards the building. The rain and spray made it almost impossible to see clearly into the doorway, but he could make out a shape and determined it was Karmen, still standing there. He thought of the others sitting inside.

“There any chance we could call into shore to get us out of here?” J.D. shouted.

“The antennae is out,” Lazlo said, “besides, no way in hell they’d send a boat or helicopter in weather like this.”

“What about those escape pods?” J.D. asked.

“It would be a rough ride,” Lazlo said, “but they are built to survive weather like this. The difference is, that we would then be tossed around at sea, in a capsule, like being in a clothes dryer, until the storm died. Again, I doubt they would send anyone out in weather like this. Believe it or not, we’re safer on the rig right now.”

J.D. looked at the melted lump of metal. “I’m having my doubts about that right now.”

* * *

Rhonnie sat in a chair, holding the icepack to her face and staring at the medical equipment she had laid out on the conference room table. Her lip felt as if it took up half of her face, easily. She pushed against the spot with her tongue and winced. She could feel small pieces of skin where her lip had collided with her teeth and she could still taste blood in her mouth.

“Goddamn him,” she whispered under her breath.

She couldn’t believe he had hit her like that. All she had done was go downstairs to check out the medical facilities. It didn’t make any goddamn sense to her to have their medical center in a conference room when there was a perfectly usable and equipped room downstairs. The fact that he wanted everyone close together made little or no sense to Rhonnie. Then, to hit her like that, and hit her so hard. What kind of animal was he?

She held her head in her hands, fighting back the tears. She was mad, and she didn’t want to cry. She looked at the table, her eyes lingering on the scalpel at the end. He wanted to take that and jam it hard into J.D.’s neck, twisting it, letting the blood spurt as the jugular severed. She could picture it, taste the blood, feel the warm spray on her face and hands. She pushed the thought away. Reluctantly, she had to admit this group needed him.

She stood up, pacing, walking over to the window, watching the huge waves as they washed across the rig. She was not afraid. She had no fear that something terrible would happen to them, or that the storm was dangerous. She felt secure. No one was shooting at them, things were just a little strange.

There was a sound, just for a few seconds, the sound of screaming, of pain and torture. It was the sound of pain, screaming, men and women, and beneath that, a horrible, chilling growling, inhuman noise. It filled the room, burrowed into her head, for just a moment, like standing up too fast and getting momentarily dizzy. Then it was gone. She whirled, expecting someone to be standing at the door, she was sure of it, that there was something behind her, but there was only the room.

“He’s making me jumpy,” she whispered.

“He hit you,” said a voice.

Rhonnie whirled again, turning back to the window. The voice seemed to be coming from behind her. She would have sworn someone had been standing directly over her shoulder, whispering into her ear. There was only the wall and the window, beyond that, the rig and the ocean.

“Hello?” She said.

“You let him hit you,” the voice said, quiet, and she couldn’t tell if it were male or female.

“I did not,” she said, “he just came right over and hit me. Hard.”
“Your face looks funny,” the voice said and then there was another sound, something growling, animalistic, and Rhonnie figured it was a laugh. There was another blast of screaming, pain, torture, moaning, again as well. “He’ll do it again. Guys like him, they always do that again. You should know that by now, Rhonnie.”

She gasped. “Who are you? Where are you?”

“Right here,” said the voice and this time it was definitely behind her.

Rhonnie turned, and gasped again. It was like gazing into a mirror, but this time, the reflection moved and talked on its own. She was looking at herself, standing near the head of the conference room table. She was younger, prettier, her hair blonde and long, her body firm and trim.

“Hi,” she said from the head of the table.

“What’s happening?” Rhonnie asked herself.

“Does it really matter?” it said.

“Am I going crazy?” She asked herself.

“Again, does even that really matter?” It said to her, smiling her own smile back to her.

“I need sleep,” Rhonnie said. “Maybe he hit me harder than I thought.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” her reflection said, suddenly walking around the table, moving slowly towards her, “but you should do that after you take care of J.D.”

“Take care of him?”

“You aren’t just going to let him get away with hitting you, are you? Like David did? Like Steve did? Like all those guys you were with that liked you use you as their punching bag? I thought you got past that, Rhonnie. I thought we did.”

“I did – er- we did – “

“I guess not, because there he was smacking you to the ground like the piece of white trash shit you always though you were. Knocking you to the ground and making you bleed. Why? Because he’s a man and he has muscles and he knows about guns and he knows everything.”

Her reflection reached her, was only inches from her own face. The eyes weren’t right, didn’t seem to stay focused, or to one color. First they were blue, the hazel, then they were just an endless black. It was her, but it wasn’t her and this close, it was like looking at someone or something wearing a Rhonnie mask and costume. She could see it, whatever it was, just beneath the skin and clothing and hair, shimmering, like scales on a fish.

“Maybe you should do something about it,” it said to her.

Rhonnie couldn’t take here eyes off the eyes in front of her. It was like the colors were swirling now, combining, twirling, mixing together.

“Yeah, “Rhonnie said, “I should show him.”

“You could run things,” it said, whispering again, in a voice that was like Rhonnie’s but not quite like Rhonnie’s, “you could show them all.”

“All of them” she said, not even realizing she was talking, “Steve and David and all of them.”

Her reflection was reaching out to her now, its arms surrounding her. There was a feeling, like electricity, all up and down her arms, the hair standing up. There was a feeling of warmth, then, slowly, it became heat. She could hear the sounds, the sounds of screaming, but for a moment, it sounded like laughing. Rhonnie closed her eyes, and the reflection embraced, her surrounded her. Then, there was just one Rhonnie, standing at the end of the table, her head down, her head slowly rising, her eyes glowing faintly in the dimness of the room.

“I can show them all,” she said, and she smiled. It was not a smile that was sweet or innocent. It was an ageless smile, and it was a smile that seemed to have a little too many teeth.

She walked to the end of the table and reached down, picking up the scalpel. Holding it in her hand, she held it up to the dim light, admiring the reflections.

“Show them all,” she whispered, and walked out of the room.

* * *

J.D. walked back into the building, his clothes dripping, his shoes squishing and the taste of salt on his tongue. It was cold inside the building and he noted that he would have to dry his clothes at some point or he could literally get hypothermia just from sitting in the recreation room with the air conditioning on at the level it was now. Joe and Lazlo were also soaked through. J.D. thought he could feel the ocean beneath him as well, the waves against the deck a bit more than he could before.

“Let’s get everyone back together again,” he said, “in the rec room.”
Karmen spoke into her walkie-talkie. J.D., Joe and Lazlo headed back towards the recreation room. They all were starting to look just a little bit tired, but J.D. was amazed that no one had panicked just yet. As usual, Larry had chosen wisely, people who had been in crises before and handled them. J.D. had also made a good choice in Mark, because he had a mind that seemed to accept things such as this easily.

They gathered in the room, huddling around the television. Mark was standing near the doorway, and he gave J.D. a look that indicated that he had something he wanted to say. J.D. nodded back to him. Lazlo took a seat on the floor, dripping onto the carpet. Rhonnie stood behind J.D. and to his right, looking at the floor but the icepack no longer at her lip.

Good, J.D. thought, maybe she’s learned her lesson.

“Lazlo,” J.D. said, “go ahead and tell the group what we found.”

“The drill was melted,” he said, “the damn thing’s a misshapen lump of metal at the end. I can’t even imagine what kind of heat that must have been in order to do that.”

“How is that possible?” Larry asked. “We did the studies and tests. There shouldn’t be anything under this that could do that, unless the earth’s crust suddenly got a hell of a lot thinner.”

“It’s not like that drill was just regular metal,” Monica said, “that was meant to put up with heat and stone and pressure like you wouldn’t believe.”
“That’s exactly why – “ J.D. began.

The scream was like nothing human, at least no sound J.D. had ever heard a human make. He saw movement, from the corner of his eye, just to the right, where Rhonnie had been standing. Instinct kicked in, he moved, whirling, his right arm swinging out, the scalpel flashing in the dim light, slicing through his shirt, cutting his shoulder, drawing blood. J.D. staggered backwards a bit, repelled by the face, contorted in fury and the sounds coming from the woman. Her teeth were bared and she was making a strange combination of a growl and a scream. She lunged, the scalpel aimed directly for J.D.’s chest.

Karmen stepped forward, using her hands to knock the arm with the blade away. Rhonnie turned, spittle dripping from her lips and swung her arm back, aimed at Karmen this time. Karmen moved, using two fingers on her right hand, she hit a cluster of nerves on Rhonnie’s arm, and she screamed, her hand actually tightening on the blade, which was entirely against nature, but J.D. saw it happen. Rhonnie twisted, screaming, her face contorted, red, eyes bulging, now foaming at the mouth, and she ran at Karmen, the blade extended. Karmen dropped, rolling on to her back, reaching out, grabbing Rhonnie by her shirt, planting a foot in her mid-section, and rolling back, using Rhonnie’s momentum to send her sailing over the couch. Rhonnie was airborne for a moment, and then came down on the couch, flipping, the blade spinning and then landed on the floor, her hands beneath her.

Rhonnie looked up then, the scalpel buried in her right eye socket, driven deep, blood pouring out of her ruined eye and down her face. She looked at J.D. with her good eye for several seconds and then fell forward again, pushing the blade even deeper. Blood ran from her face, staining the carpet. Monica screamed. Lazlo said a prayer in Spanish.

“What the fuck?” J.D. screamed, clutching his shoulder, noting already that the cut was barely there.

“Jesus Christ!” Joe screamed.

“Is Rhonnie dead?” Monica screamed. “Did she really just die?”

J.D. opened his mouth to answer, but instead, a sound began to emanate from the figure lying on the floor. It was pulsing, staccato, and then J.D. realized it was laughter. Everyone took a step back. Monica’s mouth hung open. Karmen withdrew her gun. J.D. did likewise and he heard Joe as well. Rhonnie moved, her head lifting, her body getting to all fours, then slowly staggering to her feet. The blood was running down her face, into her mouth, down her neck. There was a smile on her face, but the smile was wider than it should have been, too many teeth, the ends of her lips splitting and tearing, bleeding.

“So very amusing,” it said, “you are always so very amusing. None of you are getting out of here alive and none of you realize what you’re up against.”

The head turned, one way and then the other, as if there were gears within the neck. The skin seemed to change, falter, showing something beneath that was not even close to human. Obscenely, the scalpel seemed to point at them. The voice was deep, resonating, in their heads as well as their ears. The sounds of screaming began to penetrate their heads, seemed to come from the walls. Screaming and a deep, growling, horrible sound beneath the other horrible sounds.

“We know what you are,” it said, “what you are afraid of, what you want, what your hopes and dreams are. We know all about you and you know nothing of us. None of you are getting out of here alive.”

“We heard you the first time,” J.D. said and he started firing.

Karmen began firing, pulling the trigger again and again. Joe started firing as well, using his machine gun. Rhonnie’s body began jittering, dancing, turning, spinning, skin and bone and blood and muscle flying into the air, splattering the carpet and the room. Her body was blown to pieces, the smile still there, spreading wider, the laugh getting louder along with the screams and the growling and it deafened them. Then, suddenly, it stopped, the body fell, collapsing to the floor as if strings had been cut. What was left was a mass of skin and muscle, leaking blood into the carpeting.

“What the holy fuck was that?” Monica screamed.

“What the hell is going on here?” Joe asked.

“Mary Mother of God,” Lazlo said, crossing himself again.

Mark stepped forward then, his face spattered with spots of blood. He appeared unnaturally calm, but, as J.D. figured, he was prepared and had expected this.

“I think it’s time I tell you all what’s going on here,” he said.