Читать книгу The Devil's Whelp - Vin Hammond Jackson - Страница 12

Sometime later a Bell Bubble arrived on the pad. The pilot said both Sikorsky helicopters were grounded back in Karratha with electrical faults and the Bubble was all they could manage. There was no sense in arguing about it, so they secured two stretchers to the racks either side, figuring the occupants wouldn't mind. Eddie MacFarlane certainly wouldn't, and Con O'Reilly was in a coma and likely to remain that way for some time. As for the rest of the injured, they had their pride to worry about. Even Col Stokes had discharged himself from the sick bay and was already whispering to everyone - because it was all his bruised throat would allow him to do - that he hadn't been on death's doorstep but had merely feigned unconsciousness so as not to panic the poor bastard.

Not that anyone had been doing much in the way of work since the incident, but everything stopped when the helicopter took off. They stood watching it, Vikings saying farewell to dead heroes, except only one was dead and Karratha was hardly Valhalla. Neither was the vessel of their final journey ablaze with fire. It just sputtered crab-like above the sea, growing ever smaller.

About a mile out from the rig, it seemed to dip and plunge as if the pilot had lost control, but it recovered from whatever the problem was and those still watching, expected to see it continue on its way. Instead, it spent some time hovering around the same spot. Then it started to come back.

It had no sooner settled on the pad, than the pallid, extremely agitated pilot jumped out and stared at the empty rack on the left side.

"Jesus Christ, he's lost Eddie," someone commented unnecessarily.

The pilot spun around to face the gathering of men. His eyes were popping and he looked as if he was about to faint. "He got up and jumped!" he declared, pleading to be believed. A voice advised: "Don't be a fuckin' dill." "He's pissed," said another. "Been on the grog."

"I tell you, he got off himself! Look, if you don't believe me." He dived forward and caught hold of one of the straps. It had been broken, torn in two. "He just ripped them off. I've never seen anything like it!"

Neither had anyone else, apparently, and they weren't about to believe a man who drove a MixMaster for a living, no matter how many breathalysers he took. Not that the oil men reacted physically - they'd had enough of violence for one day - but they weren't very understanding either. He was glad in a way to take off and begin the search. It didn't do any good though, because his one-time passenger had disappeared without a trace. Eventually, when they obviously figured there was no more he could do, they let him return to the mainland.

Kenny Pratt's stretcher took the place of Eddie's on the rack. He might have had something to say about that, but he didn't know until after the chopper had landed at its base, because he was unconscious when they strapped him on. That was the medic's doing. Kenny had insisted that his hands were just bruised and would be alright in a day or two. Jerry knew the bones were splintered to buggery, but he hadn't been able to convince the young diver. "Okay, you win," he'd said eventually. "I'll just give you something for the pain and if the bloody things drop off, don't come whingeing to me." Then he'd pumped Kenny so full of dope that he'd gone out like a light.

Jack Pierce had watched the helicopter until it was merely a pinprick. Nothing fell off that he could see, but he wouldn't be happy until he received a radio message to say that Kenny was safely in hospital. He went from the chopper pad straight to the rail and leaned on it, facing out to sea. It was getting to be his favourite pastime. He closed his eyes and realised almost immediately that it was the wrong thing to do - there were too many memories in darkness, and too much soul-searching. He re-opened them and found himself staring at a patch of water about forty metres out. It seemed to glow the same way the water by the bow had glowed before with just a hint of luminous violet.

He shook his head and turned away. He was obviously tired, and there had been so much talk of phosphorus in the water and glowing face-plates, it was no wonder he was seeing things. He took one last look back over his shoulder and the glow he thought he'd seen had gone. That confirmed it for him. His judgement was definitely failing. It had killed Eddie and that was enough. It really was time to get out of all this. What was the point in waiting until the end of his shift to resign? He might as well get it over with now or at least put it in writing. He pushed off the rail and headed for his room.