The Platform (4 page)

                                                                       
*

 
          
The abominations have left little for
our own cooking pots, we find, after having scavenged and cleared every scrap
of human flesh from the Platform. The creatures themselves cannot be eaten,
being laced with venom and poison. The old timers discovered long ago that
eating them leads to madness and death in the most cruel and evil way. So
instead we have to pick at what little remains of our comrades – a few limbs,
some entrails and that is all. Illen has the job of making them into something
edible and I don’t envy him.

 
          
But at least there are fewer to feed
now. I am not sure how many died, but we are still intact so that is all that
matters. Clook, Meska and Juken all survived, naturally – it’s always the ones
you despise who make it through. Maybe a dozen others have gone; there hasn’t
been a full meeting so it’s impossible to tell. But word comes down the line
that Lokro’s repairs are holding and the power is back to fifty minutes out of
every hour. At that rate we have just over three days or so, but that is pure
guesswork – nobody has come to tell us anything.

           
 
I shower with the others. The water at best
lukewarm and doesn’t take the constant chill from the flesh; it only seems to
compound it deeper. After we eat, I retreat back to my bunk, curling up tightly
to try and generate heat. Helst found us each an extra blanket from those who
no longer needed them, but it doesn’t help much: my teeth chatter and my body
shivers and rattles.
 
The cold is
something that eats you slowly, worming deeper inside, and once it has a hold it’s
like your guts and heart turn to ice blocks, and I hate it. I would give
anything to be home, away from this forsaken place. Where else is there now? It’s
hard to comprehend that beyond this structure nothing remains. There has to be
something, surely? I curl up tighter, wondering and dreaming, wanting so much
for it to be over, but I know nothing will come. And even if it did, where upon
a burned out cinder can a man live? I think we have to do something, but I have
no idea what. Time is the wire that stiches together all fragments of memory,
but the past means nothing when there is no future to look forward to. It just
becomes a loose and empty thread unravelling in the mind and the soul, and all
that is slowly comes undone as surely as if death itself has unpicked the
stiches – all loosened and slipping through the fingers into the black. I turn over,
hoping to wake somewhere far away from here, but know it’s not going to happen.
My head hurts, and inside I die one piece at a time.

                                                                       
*

           
 
There is no doubt about it now, that Erana’s
death was no accident. Someone sliced her throat wide open while she slept, and
everyone is in fear. It seems the only question is what death it will be:
murder, starvation or to be torn apart from the blighted, blackened creatures
of the waves below. Helst keeps looking at me strangely and it sends a quiver
of fear through me every time. Jem is still not off the hook and everyone is
watching him. I still don’t think he has murder in his heart; he always seems
too big and loud to be the kind who creeps and slivers through the dark, killing
unseen or unheard.

           
And now
everyone stays armed: guns become sleeping partners and constant companions;
with so many safeties off, it’s bound to lead to war, you can sense it. Our
little group is the one they all despise, and as we sit and eat the thin gruel
of our former crew mates, Helst stares at me darkly and it stirs an eerie
twisting to my guts. Skea remains impassive, Cora concerned, and Jem… Jem is,
as always, loud and full of shit, but kind of good to know just in case. Or
not, who knows?

           
 
“We have to hit them first,” he grunts in a
low voice as he spoons his food into his trench-like throat.

 
          
“What’s the point? The power will go
in days and we won’t be able to hold off the abominations for long,” Skea
relies. There is no need to whisper now but everyone does anyway. We are
abandoned by the others, avoided like some ancient curse.

 
          
“If we finish the rest of them, we
can cut down the fuel usage further, eke the food out longer,” he says. It won’t
save Helst, I think to myself; he is still refusing to join us in our
cannibalistic ways. Is it just principle, I ask myself again, or does he have a
hidden larder somewhere on the station? But that is irrelevant to me at the
moment. I can sense him becoming ever-more dangerous to me with his suspicious,
piercing stares. I wonder if he is planning something dreadful, or merely
biding time.

           
“Why bother?”
Skea lights a cigarette. “Just to grab a couple of extra days?”

           
 
“I think you’ll find they will be coming soon
for us,” Helst says softly. “They will already have had this conversation. It’s
just a case of when.” He looks around us, then back to his hard scrutiny of me.
“Someone has already started making the calculations of numbers over food.” His
eyes narrow with a thin veil that squeezes on my heart.
Yeah, you’ve worked it all already
, I think to myself, and I realise
just how dangerous he now is. I can feel the flesh crawling on the back of my
neck just returning his gaze.

 
          
“You think so?” Cora askes.

 
          
“Yeah. I saw Meska and Clook together
last night.
 
You can bet they are
planning something. They don’t give a fuck about the rest of us; they just see
us as a food supply.”

 
          
“Exactly,” Jem mutters. “That is why
we have to hit them first.”

 
          
“Still don’t see the point,” Skea
grumbles.

 
          
“Then you might as well put a bullet
through your brain now,” Cora snorts. “Save yourself the suffering.”

           
 
“I intend to,” Helst says, and we all look
hard at him. “When it gets real bad.”

 
          
“Really?” Jem asks what we all
thinking.

 
          
“Yeah. Just not yet,” He glances at
me, then sits back in a cloud of smoke. Nobody is sure what to say, and we know
it doesn’t matter anyway. Everyone has that choice if they want it. I think
about the abominations and I silently agree. That’s an easy one – a bullet in
the head or being pulled limb from limb and devoured? Yeah, I would do it
without question. But the past now burns to keep me alive. It’s interesting how
his mind works, but I have to be very careful because I have caught his eye.

           
 
“I think we should take turns on guard,” he
adds, “No doubt they will come when we’re sleeping, so I think it’s best we are
ready.” Yes, he has it all figured out, I think, but his constant attention makes
me uneasy. He’s right though: they will come when they think we’re sleeping. It’s
what we would have done. Probably tonight – there’s no point in wasting time.

                                                                       
*

           
 
Gunfire rips me out of a light and hazy sleep.
Up the corridor I can hear Jem screaming for us and, as one, we are down on
floor level and ready. I run up to meet him. He is at the junction and firing
controlled bursts to the left, with Cora, Skea and Helst are not far behind. I
crouch down and risk a quick look. I can see someone lying in a growing lake of
blood, and there is movement beyond. I aim and take the shot, the machine gun
alive and stinging my hands. It is so incredibly loud, and there is a scream.
Someone thumps out of the dark, writhing beside their comrade, and Skea picks
them off with a burst to the head, opening it up wide and spraying brains in
all directions.

           
 
“Come on,” Jem yells, and we begin creeping
down the dark maw, ready for any loose shot. It comes fast, shattering into the
wall above my head and I shoot back with a scream on my lips, unheard above the
din. I can smell blood, hot and metallic, as well as ripped flesh and urine,
and the guns – that sharp burn that cloys the throat.

           
 
“We have to make sure they don’t circle round
behind us,” Helst hisses. I nod as he calls for Cora, and the pair of them head
back the way we came. Slowly, we move forward, inch by inch; the doors on
either side of the dark corridor are all open, so we have to be careful no one
is lurking within. Its agonising crouching there in the dark, trying to see a
flicker of movement, and when it comes, I almost jump from my skin to the
ceiling as suddenly there is a blinding flash and a thunderous report of fire.
From the right, I shoot back. I hear a scream, then fire again. Skea goes to
check and puts a round through the fallen, just in case. There is one more turn
in the tight corridor before the passage to the main entrance. Nothing moves. I
am breathing fast. I hear gunfire far behind and know Helst has found someone.
I’m caught between going on and heading back, wavering uncertainly until Jem
tugs my arm and nods. So ahead it is. We keep on shuffling low as we pick our
way to the corner.

           
 
I wave a hand round the corridor and
immediately there is gunfire. I’m lucky to have kept my fingers. Someone is
down there, waiting for us. I poke the machine gun round and fire a few rounds,
hearing the echoing whine of ricochets, of bullets bouncing all over. I must
have hit something, I tell myself.
 
Jem looks
over but nothing moves. We wait, just wondering and listening, but all I can
hear is the ring of the shots deafening me. Skea lets off a few rounds and we
wait again.

 
          
“What do you think?” Jem whispers.

 
          
“No idea,” I reply. It’s the truth: I
cannot be sure anyone is still alive up there or not. I can’t sense anything.
One of us has got to move so I decide it might as well be me. I lean carefully
round and see a huddled shape on the deck. It looks dead but, unsure, I duck
back. “One down at least,” I whisper. There are more gun shots from behind us.
“Come on,” I say, and jump round the corridor, machine gun raised and ready to
go. Again, nothing moves. Jem follows with Skea. I see something left; I fire, then
crouch down before a burning curtain of bullets erupts, and I throw myself
sideways, still firing. There is a shriek and I can just make out a stumbling figure,
the clatter of a dropped weapon, and Skea rips into them with the trigger
pulled.

 
          
Then there is silence. Except behind
me.

 
          
I crawl around and see Jem lying
there, covered in blood, and I curse. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Fuck!
I go to Jem and see that his lower jaw is blown away; his mouth is now huge and
spouting blood and teeth fragments. Blood is squirting from his chest too, and
I can see he is done for. I reach out and hold his hand. His eyes are full of
fear and puzzlement, and I try to smile and say something, but no words come
out. Still he wheezes and hisses for breath with thick, bubbling blood running
from the remains of his face. Skea goes up ahead, confirming kills and that the
outer door is shut, and all the time I hold Jem’s hand until finally he goes. There
is one more chest rise, then stillness. He is done. Fuck!

 
          
“He’s dead?” Skea askes softly when
she comes back to us. I just nod. Jem was okay – a good man. It shouldn’t be
like this, I swear to myself. It shouldn’t! There is no way Jem should be dead.
This is not fair, not at all, and I punch the floor in frustration.

 
          
Helst and Cora arrive; seeing the
mess, they shake their heads. Really, we are all dead now – one way or another
– but no one wants to go before their ready. Least of all Jem, he would have
clung on to the end of all things.

 
          
“We killed the cook,” Helst says
softly. “Didn’t mean to. He came jumping out of the storage freezer and we
popped him. Shame.” He doesn’t sound like he is that sorry, I think to myself. Illen
may have been a coward, but he could cook. “There were three of them in the
storage bay, but we got them too.”

 
          
“Okay, we have to keep this door
guarded,” Skea says. “Take the bodies to the freezer, at least we have more
food.”

 
          
“Not Jem,” Cora says.

           
 
“No, not Jem.”

           
 
I end up guarding the main entrance while the
three of them take the dead away. I am thinking of Jem and I shake my head,
waiting for the bastards to try again. It isn’t long. I hear the main wheel
begin to turn and I crouch in the dark, trigger ready, holding my breath. The
door slowly opens, the wind immediately rips down the corridor in a long scream
before blasting everywhere with its acid taste and sting to the eyes. I pause,
unseen, cautiously watching them as they enter, not even knowing I am there.
Until I open up with the machine gun. Fire spews from the barrel, bucking hot
in my hands, and I carve into them. They have no time to react, instead they
jerk and dance like severed string puppets, erupting into slivers of flesh and
gluts of blood as they scream, too late. There are three of them; in seconds
they are sliced from life into the long dark roadway of death. They clatter and
fall inside, jamming the door open, and I see on the deck a couple of figures
running, and throw a few shots their way – more in hope than anything else. I
drag the dead inside, and doubt they will bother trying this way again. So it
will be stalemate for a while, I guess. No problem.