The Rig (12 page)

Thinking on it for a moment, Drake convinced himself that yes, it was the wrong corridor, and continued on past the turn.
If I head straight as far as I can now, and then head left, that should put me in line with the eastern corridor
.

Ten minutes later, the vents did just that, and Drake made the crossing from the centre to the eastern platform. He suppressed gleeful chuckles as he moved silent and unseen through the night, over fifty metres above the Arctic Ocean.
No prison
, he thought.
No prison can hold me.

Drake crawled into the eastern platform and it felt, in a way, like coming home. He was a few levels too high, but once he found his way down to the heart of the platform, he'd start to recognise certain walkways and pipes from Tubes. As he'd noted during his first visit here, most of the eastern platform was exposed to the outside elements, and the vents grew a lot colder as he descended downwards towards the ocean.

I'm probably not in the heating vents after all
, Drake thought.
These vents are all too open for hot air to travel any real distance from the boilers.
More likely these are for ventilation, or something
. The why of the vents didn't matter, so much as the destination – and Drake had come further tonight than he'd dared hope on his first expedition about the Rig without his tracker.

He discovered a few minutes later that the vents ran parallel with the upper levels of Tubes – the nicer pipes, that Tommy's lot always got to clean – and knowing where he was, Drake began searching for a way out of the vent. Access panels were every six metres or so, he knew, the next few levels down, but the configuration of the vents was different here. Instead of trending downwards, Drake crawled over a drop of about six metres that certainly would've put him on the next level down, but he'd have no way back if the vent did something stupid, like dead end.

Eventually he came to a section of disused and old drilling equipment, visible through a mesh screen in the side of the vent. Listening carefully for a few minutes, Drake decided he was alone and pressed his weight against the screen as hard as he could. The mesh warped outwards, creating a thin gap of about ten centimetres to the outside.

‘Come on …' he groaned, and put his shoulder into it. The screws gave way on the left side and the screen, with surprisingly little noise, flew open. Drake almost tumbled from the vent, but caught himself with a gasp.

He lowered himself down, covered in dust, onto the mid-levels of the eastern platform.

Wasting no time, Drake clung to the shadows as much as he could and made his way down through the cool night air, towards the rusted doors with the shiny padlock. He encountered no one and nothing on his way, and crouched down behind some pipes just opposite the door, about five metres away and out of sight in case any guards happened along.

Drake looked down at his tracker to check the time, but of course it wasn't there. He chuckled softly to himself and continued to wait. He can't have been up in the vents more than two hours, which put the time somewhere close to eleven, if not just after. Too early for Irene, if she was coming.

He settled in for a bit of a wait, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them warm against the biting wind rolling in off the ocean.

I'll give her ninety minutes
.
If she doesn't show by then, I'm having a look through that door by myself.

With nothing but time to kill, Drake began wondering why he was waiting for Irene at all. He didn't know for sure she'd even come, and he certainly didn't need her – or anyone's – help when it came to escaping.
Got that tracker off by yourself, did you?
Drake shook his head and chalked it up to curiosity. Perhaps there was something she could do to help.

No more than an hour later, Drake found himself almost dozing and shivering from the arctic wind. He yawned – and the dark walkway away to his left, lit only by intermittent flashes from the orange beacons strung along the edge of the platform, yawned with him.

He strained his ears and listened. Had he heard anything at all?
A guard?

A minute later and he heard the creak again. This time he was sure of it.

Irene Finlay, sleeves rolled up on her red jumpsuit and her hair tied back in a ponytail, stepped into the circle of light from the bulb above the rusted doors. She jiggled the shiny padlock, perhaps hoping it was unlocked, and cursed. Casting a quick look at her surroundings, she dug a thin metal bar from within her jumpsuit and jammed it into the lock.

Drake watched her for a moment, wondering whether or not to give away his position.
Is she alone?

Deciding that she was, he stood up and cleared his throat. ‘Nice night for a stroll, don't you think?'

Irene jumped out of her skin and dropped her lockpick. ‘You're here,' she said, her eyes wide and amazed. She ran over to him and seized his wrist. ‘You're actually here! How on earth –?'

‘How'd you get your tracker off?' Drake asked.

Irene was silent for a moment and let his wrist fall. ‘How'd you get yours off?'

‘Magnets.'

‘Magnets? Really?'

‘Yeah. Now tell me how you did it.'

Irene considered, then shook her head. ‘Not magnets. I'll tell you later, once you get me through this door.'

‘Why should I?'

‘Because you won't believe what's on the other side. Now come on, we've got to be quick – they come this way all the time at night.'

Drake didn't have to be told who ‘they' were. From Irene's tone alone, he knew she meant the Rig's demented staff. Still, he took a moment longer to assess his current situation. Could he trust this girl he'd only met once before? Was it even about trust? No, not really, because more than anything right then Drake wanted to know what was really going on aboard the Rig.

‘Okay,' he said. ‘Follow me back this way. There's a tube that leads to an overflow, a level above us, and I'm pretty sure it overflows through whatever is beyond this door.'

‘A tube?' Irene whispered, jogging in Drake's wake.

Drake chuckled. ‘Yeah – a little less cushy than the vent you just crawled out of. Hope you don't mind getting a bit dirty, Irene.'

Drake led her through the familiar maze of dialled machinery and old drilling equipment. Back in Tubes, he was in his element, and quickly grabbed the metre wrench the crew used to pry the thick pipes open and set to work.

‘Help me, would you? This usually takes two.'

Together they unscrewed the bolt securing the cap and Drake heaved the iron lid away, revealing the dark insides of the mucky pipe. Irene gagged and covered her mouth.

‘Oh that's foul …' she said. ‘You want me to go in there?'

‘Hey, this is actually pretty clean. You're welcome, by the way.'

‘I think I might be sick.'

Drake shrugged as he unclipped a torch from the nozzle on one of the furled hoses he'd packed away just over six hours ago.
Funny to be here at night
. ‘I do it ten times a day. Look, this was the first pipe I ever cleaned when I arrived here near on four months ago. We'll have to crawl for the first bit, but then it widens and you can crouch on your feet.'

‘But it
stinks
.'

‘That's life on the Rig, Miss Finlay.'

Irene sighed. ‘Suppose you think that sounded clever. Well, you go first, but if this doesn't go where you say it does …'

Drake pictured in his head the layout of the eastern platform, of the levels and the pipes, and nodded to himself. If there was one thing he knew about this platform, it was the pipes. ‘I can't see it going anywhere else. We'll come out above whatever's beyond those rusty doors. Now follow me.'

A few centimetres of cold, filthy water sat on the bottom of the pipe, and despite his words a moment ago, Drake still grimaced as he lowered himself into it. He shuffled forwards, minding his head, and was pleased when he looked back and saw Irene lowering herself into the pipe.

She gasped. ‘Oh God, is this what I think it is?'

‘Mostly,' Drake said. ‘But also probably a lot worse. Come on, it gets better ahead.'

He flicked on the torch and began to crawl through the pipe. Irene followed and gagged in his wake.

The pipe somehow seemed more menacing at night, but as Drake had promised, the cylinder began to widen, and before long he was up on his feet, taking quick strides into the bottom of the channel as it curved down to the right. Near the blockage grates he waited for Irene to catch up, and then pointed down the overflow chute Mario had shown him on his first day. The chute extended on and down to the left. A small circle of flashing orange light could be seen in the distance.

‘I've never been down there,' Drake admitted and tapped his head. ‘But if my maths is right, then we should be right on top of where you want to go.'

Irene shoved him aside and took the lead. ‘Then try and keep up with me, Will Drake.'

He grinned. ‘By all means.'

The overflow pipe did just what it promised – overflowed, right above the choppy, dark waters of the ocean below. Drake's maths had been off, after all.

‘Well, this is no good,' Irene muttered.

The pipe was wide enough that they could squeeze together side by side, wet and covered in muck, and gaze up at the night sky. Spray from the ocean struck them in the face, cold and salty.
Damn … but it has to be close
.

‘Follow me,' Drake said. He reached up and clung to the rim of the pipe overhead, pulled himself up and out – briefly over the ocean – and found what he was looking for. ‘Irene, we're here.'

Atop the pipe, an opening in the twisted metal and endless network of walkways led back into the heart of the platform, and to a view of a familiar set of rusted doors – the reverse side of those doors.

Irene scrambled up behind Drake and they entered what looked like a dilapidated old junkyard.

Hunks of old machinery, broken down and scavenged for parts long ago, littered the space. A high ceiling split the levels of the platform and Drake knew if he could see through that ceiling he'd glimpse the boiler tanks, the heating system, and away to the left the pipe he and Irene had uncapped.

‘Bloody hell,' Irene said. ‘You were actually right.'

‘No need to sound so surprised.'

‘Shut up and follow me, Will.'

Drake sighed and did as he was told. He followed Irene through the piles of junk to a cleared corridor that led from the locked doors to what looked like …

‘Is that the elevator you told me about?' Drake asked. ‘It's big.'

‘It sure is.' Irene dashed across the junkyard and gazed up at the wide elevator car, at the system of pulleys and counterweights on top of it, bolted to the ceiling. She pressed her thumb against the call button half a dozen times, bouncing on the spot in excitement.

The doors didn't open and Drake saw why. ‘Look, there's a panel for an access card. It won't open without one.'

‘Damn it, you're right. I missed that …'

A thought occurred to Drake. ‘But we're in the lower Tubes – the next stop down is the ocean. So where's this elevator going anyway? It's wide, as well. Like for freight or something?'

Irene grinned. ‘Now you're beginning to see, right? We have to get in there, Will.'

‘How? I don't have an access card. Do you?'

‘No, I don't.'

Somewhat defeated, Drake and Irene stepped away from the elevator, to the edge of the junk piles littering the lowest level of the platform. They stood silently for a moment and Drake could hear the swell of the ocean crashing against the pillars below. The warden had told him, on his first day, that there was no way down to the water.

What else has he lied about?
Drake was beginning to think a
whole
lot.

‘Can we climb up on top of it, do you think?' Irene asked. ‘Give me a boost.'

‘What for?'

‘It's an elevator, right? That means there's a shaft. I'm going to check and see if there's a ladder.'

With no better idea, Drake linked his fingers and put his back against the elevator. Irene slipped her foot into his hands and steadied herself on his shoulders. ‘Ready?'

‘Yep.'

With a grunt of effort, Drake heaved her up by her foot and Irene pulled herself onto the roof of the elevator car.

Drake took a step back so he could see her, standing amidst the pulleys and weights. ‘See anything?'

‘No, nothing. Wait! Yes, there's a gap between the car and the wall, and like concrete handholds built into it leading down.'

Drake didn't like the sound of that. ‘Give me a hand up?'

Irene's beaming face appeared over the rim of the elevator and she reached down to grasp his hand. ‘Ready?' she asked.

Drake lifted his foot against the car doors and, with Irene's help, scrambled up the side. The top of the car smelt of grease and machinery, and wobbled slightly as he moved across it. Irene had been right about the handholds leading down the back of the shaft. A ladder built into the wall itself.

‘I'm game if you are,' she said, and nudged Drake in the ribs.

‘Ladies first, then.'

Irene rolled her eyes and stepped out off the car, gripping the handholds and steadying herself before taking a step down. She disappeared out of sight and Drake steeled himself, worried he was going to hear her slip and then scream as she plummeted to depths unknown down the shaft.

Shaking his head, he stepped off the car and followed her down.

The shaft was dark, but not entirely. Light from the junkyard did reach down into the depths, and Drake could make out the bottom of the shaft – a good fifty or so metres below.
Blimey,
he thought,
it goes down under the ocean as deep as the platform is tall.