Outpost (19 page)

Jane climbed the side of distillation tank A. The tank
was a cylindrical tower one hundred and fifty metres high. The ladder was
glazed with ice. Her boots slid on slick rungs. She had a coil of red
kernmantle rope slung over her shoulder.

She reached the frost-dusted expanse of the roof. She
lowered the rope. Punch stood at the foot of the tower. He tied the rope to the
radio case and Jane hauled the case skyward.

She set up the tripod dish and switched on the
transmitter.

'Rampart to Raven, do you copy, over? Rampart to
Raven, do you copy?'

'Jesus,
Rampart.
We thought you had been picked up and left us behind. We've been calling for
days
'

'There was a fire. We lost power. We've managed to get
heat to a single room, but we're still in a bad way. You have an electrician
called Thursby, is that right?'

'Tommy. Yeah
.'

'We desperately need his help. And we need a
twenty-metre length of high-voltage cable.'

'What kind of load
?'

'Our generators put out about three thousand
megawatts.'

'All right
.'

'You have a medic?'

'
Ellington
.'

'We lost our infirmary in the fire. Most of the drugs
and equipment got torched. We desperately need whatever you can bring.'

'
Okay
.'

'When can you take to the rafts?'

'We've been ready for days. We've been waiting to hear
from you
.'

'Then
get going, soon as you can. We've still got GPS. We'll watch for you round the
clock. Good luck, guys. God bless.'

Jane
explored the powerhouse.

She
crawled inside a conduit. She wrapped a scarf over her mouth and nose to
protect against soot particles that swirled around her. She rolled on her side
and inspected the high-voltage cable that ran along the duct roof. Burned and
twisted. Melted insulation hung in ragged strips.

'Reverend
Blanc?' Ivan's voice.

Jane
backed out of the duct.

'It's
Ghost. You better come quick.'

Ghost
panted for air. His chest heaved. He clutched his throat.

Rye
ripped open his coat and fleece. She held him down and pressed an ear to his
chest.

'Can't
you get a tube down his throat?' demanded Jane.

Rye
prodded his chest and diaphragm.

'Fluid
in the pleural cavity.'

'Can
you drain it?'

'I
can try. Surgery by flashlight. Outstanding.'

Jane
grabbed a SCUBA tank from a wall rack. She opened the valve and forced the
regulator mouthpiece between Ghost's teeth.

'Breathe.
Suck it down.'

Ghost
gasped the rich Heliox mix.

'Just
keep breathing.'

Nail
sat cross-legged on the storeroom floor. Ghost's boat. He tried to make sense
of the plans. The central hull had a cockpit for the skipper and storage space below.
No clear explanation of how it was to be built. Plenty of panels designated '
AFC'.

He
thought it over.

Brainwave.
AFC. Air Freight Container.

Specialist
hydrocarbon pump equipment had been shipped to the refinery in aluminium
crates. Two or three crates shunted to the back of each plant room.
Lufthansa. Emirates. Gulf
Air.
Each
crate could be broken down into sheets. Lightweight. Easy to cut. Easy to
shape. Easy to weld.

Nail
got to work. He wheeled an oxyacetylene tank through derelict plant halls. Smoked
visor. Heavy gloves. Vaulted chambers lit incandescent by crackling
flame-light. He piled silver panels on the storeroom floor.

He
stripped to his waist despite the cold and pounded scaffold poles until a
skeletal ship frame began to take shape.

Sometimes
Nikki watched him work. His skin steamed with sweat. She was revolted. She
needed Nail. It was a tactical alliance. He was a strong, amoral survivor. But
she gagged at the smell of him as she shivered through their brief, brutal
fucks on the storeroom floor. Trading sex for a ticket home.

Nikki
studied the plans.

'The
sail. What's it made from?'

'Guess.'

'
B
Fx3.
What does that mean?'

'Puzzled
me for days.'

'Figured
it out?'

'Balloon
Fabric times Three. Mylar. Thin. Light. Rip-proof.'

'So
how do we get this thing outside?'

Nail
took a lamp from the table and held it up.

'See?
A winch in the ceiling and a hatch in the floor. They used it for hauling
shipping containers aboard. The floor opens like a bomb bay. Hydraulics. Big
enough to lower our boat. The winch can take about ninety tonnes.'

'But
there is no electricity.'

'That's
right. We need the power back on. Two, three minutes. That's all it would take.
Get the hatch open and we're out of here.'

They
carried Ghost on a stretcher.

'We
need to get him somewhere clean,' said Rye. 'Some place that hasn't been used
much.' They took him to the chapel.

'Get
some light,' ordered Rye.

Jane
positioned a couple of battery lamps.

'Help
me get his shirt off.'

'He'll
freeze.'

'Fine.
It'll reduce bleeding.'

'Want
me to get the altar? Lie him down?'

'No.
I need him sitting with his back towards me.'

They
dragged Ghost to the front of the chapel and positioned him straddling a chair.

'So
what's the deal?'

'I
reckon there is liquid building up beneath his lungs.'

'Infection?'

'Maybe.
Antibiotics tend not to penetrate the pleural cavity. It's kind of a blind
spot.'

'What's
the plan?'

'Pleural
tap. Siphon off the liquid with a big-ass hypodermic. Place is about as sterile
as a toilet seat, but it's the best we can do.'

Rye
emptied her pockets on to the altar: 20cc hypodermics; gloves; iodine;
dressing.

Rye
prepped a needle.

'Ghost?
Can you hear me?'

Ghost
struggled to focus.

'The
cable,' he whispered. 'Listen. In case I don't make it. You need
fourteen-centimetre, single-core. Easy to splice. Bolt sockets every thirty,
forty metres. Should say Con-Ex on the insulation. Look beneath C deck
corridors. One length. That's all it takes.'

Rye
measured ribs with her fingers. Second intercostal space. Iodine swab.

'Hold
his shoulders.'

Ghost
lolled semi-conscious until the tip of a big-bore needle pricked his side and
punctured his skin. He convulsed. Jane gripped his shoulders.

'Look
at me. Look at me, Ghost. We have to do this. We have to get this done.'

Ghost
clutched the back of the chair. Rye drew off three syringe-loads of fluid. She
patched the wound. She pressed a stethoscope to his chest.

'Better?'

Ghost
gave a thumbs up and passed out.

'Let's
get him out of here,' said Rye. 'Get him back in front of that fire.'

C
deck. Jane lifted floor grates. Fire had spread through the conduits carried by
melting insulation. The cables were burned.

Jane
glimpsed Nail at the end of a corridor. He was carrying a sheet of aluminium.
She quickly shut off her flashlight. She followed him to the pump hall.

Ghost
lay with his back to the yellow hull of the submarine. He took occasional
Heliox hits from a SCUBA tank.

'You
look better,' said Jane.

'A
little less dead.'

'Doing
okay?'

'Dr
Feelgood and her magic pills.'

'Jesus,
you are tripping your brains out.'

'Ask
for the pink ones. Seriously.'

'Nail
is building something next to the pump hall. Know anything about that?'

'A
boat. You saw it. I was going to carry you off into the sunset. Sketched a few
plans. I suppose Nail and Nikki found them and decided to finish the job.'

'I'm
not sure I can be bothered to intervene.'

'Let
them go. Nobody will miss them.' 'You're staying?'

'I'm
not in much shape to embark on a long voyage,' said Ghost. 'Besides, I can't
ditch these lads.'

'No?'

'You
and me. We'll get them home.'

'Want
to shake on it?'

Ghost
held out his hand.

'Last
men off?'

'Last
men off.'

Jane
visited Punch and Sian in the observation bubble. They had invited her for
dinner. Mushroom risotto. They ate from mess tins.

'So
you cook for yourself now.'

'The
men have stoves,' said Punch. 'They've got pasta and sauce. They've got dried
figs. They aren't helpless.'

'Cosy
little den.'

'All
this doom and gloom. You don't resent a few snatched moments of comfort, do
you?'

'The
guys are jealous. You can't blame them.'

Sian
looked over Jane's shoulder out to sea.

'See
that?' she said, pointing at the horizon.

'What?'

'Look
west. The stars are going out.'

'Christ.'
Jane threw her mess tin aside and stood up. 'That's a serious cloud bank.'

'It's
coming fast.'

'God
just keeps on shitting on us.'

They
zipped their coats and ran outside. Sian and Punch carried the radio case
between them.

Jane
climbed the distillation tower. She hauled up the radio on a rope, hand over
hand as quick as she could. She set up the tripod. She crouched on the roof and
shouted into the handset.

'Rampart
to Raven, over. Rampart to Raven, do you copy, over?'

No
reply.

'Rampart
to Raven, come in.'

No
reply.

'Raven.
Come on, guys. Tell me you haven't taken to the rafts yet.'

No
response. A fog bank approached from the west propelled by a bitter wind. A
moonlit wall of mist. Jane collapsed the tripod and slammed the case, anxious
to quit the tower before cloud eclipsed the moon and left her in absolute dark.

Ghost Ship

Jane
got some sleep then looked for Ghost. He had joined Sian in the observation
bubble. They were sipping tea. Sian brewed a mug for Jane.

'Feeling
better?'

'Restless,'
said Ghost. 'Been lying on my back for days.'

He
unzipped his coat and fleece. He lifted his shirt. A surgical dressing taped
over bruised skin.

'Feels
like she broke most of my ribs.'

'Rye
saved your life. Battlefield surgery. She kept calm. I don't know how.'

'She's
a tough person to thank.'

'You're
not going to get all distant on me, are you?' said Jane.

'Why
would I do that?'

'It's
happened to me countless times. I help people through their midnight hours.
Later on, they won't look me in the eye. They associate my face with hard
times.'

Ghost
gave her a hug. She tentatively hugged back.

'Mind
the ribs.'

Jane
took the GPS unit outside. She and Ghost stood on the big red H of the helipad and
studied the screen. They were searching for the Raven lifeboats, scanning for a
clear TACOM contact.

A
winking signal at the top of the screen.

'Damn,'
said Ghost. 'The Raven guys. There they are.'

'How
long has it been? Four, five days at sea? Poor bastards. Let's bring them
home.'