Читать книгу The Devil's Whelp - Vin Hammond Jackson - Страница 11

Doug Bromley wasn't sure what had gone on down in the moon pool and had, in fact, been on his way there at the request of Jack Pierce who was still in the shack monitoring Bill Rose's ascent. He'd noticed the group of men clustered around the companion-way that led below deck and was about to tell them to return to their work stations when someone called: "He's coming up!"

The group fell back to form a horse-shoe around the top of the ladder. A voice said: "Good on yer, Eddie." Two or three men started to clap. Like the toolpusher, they apparently had no knowledge of Eddie's crazed attack on the crew below and assumed him to be just a plucky kid who had come through a very trying ordeal and was now on his way, unassisted, to the decompression chamber. Eddie put them straight by cutting a swath through the gathering with a pair of flailing fists. He paused for a moment to look around, as if assessing his options, then took off along the deck.

Bromley hesitated just long enough to check his watch. His eyebrows arched in surprise. Eddie was well over time. He should have been in the chamber by then. In fact, he should have been stone cold dead. The toolpusher broke into a stumbling trot.

MacFarlane was running ahead of him, barging past the odd crew member who failed to get out of his way. "Hold him!" shouted Bromley. "He's off his head. Stop him!"

It was doubtful that Eddie heard the toolpusher's diagnosis of his condition, but he certainly seemed about to prove its accuracy. A solid wall of humanity appeared before him, clogging his escape route. The deck was narrow at that point, but there was an option available to him - another companion-way on his right. Instead of taking it, Eddie ran straight past and waded into the advancing oil men. He punched and kicked with all the ferocity of a wounded beast, felling one, then another of his adversaries. But even for a man with the strength of ten, there were too many of them to tackle. They eventually fell on him and he disappeared beneath a mass of tumbling bodies.

Bromley pushed his way through, becoming angry with those who seemed to regard his jostling as that of another queue-jumper, at least until they saw who he was. Eddie was lying still. Bromley knelt beside him. He touched the boy's neck, searching for a pulse; then pulled away sharply - Eddie's skin was like ice. He tried again, knowing it was a waste of time - there was no pulse. In fact MacFarlane was so cold that he might have been dead for hours. The toolpusher slumped and smoothed his thinning hair. He stood up slowly. "Cover him, for Christ's sake," he mumbled. "And someone get the medic."