The Platform (5 page)

                                                                       
*

           
 
I curse the fact they killed Illen as I hack
the meat to the bone and carve it free. I have no idea how to cook – and
certainly not a stew; instead, I just toss pieces into a skillet and fry them
up.
         
It’s from the arm, and I
didn’t bother to remove the hairs; instead, I just watch them blacken and curl
in the pan. Why I ended up with this, I don’t know. I am sweating and
struggling, trying not to burn the flesh to ashes as I stir it around. Probably
because I got out of moving the bodies. I am cooking Juken, having been so
pleased to hear of his demise. I started with the arms as that seemed the
easiest place to cut.

 
          
“How’s it going?” Cora comes into the
kitchen.

 
          
“I don’t know,” I say.

 
          
“You need to turn the heat down a
little,” she says.

           
 
“Didn’t know you could cook,” I reply.

 
          
“I can’t. But can see it’s burning,”
she retorts.

           
 
I shrug and turn the heat down. The meat stops
sticking to the pan at least. It smells okay once the smoke dies away and I
keep turning it over, watching the muscle and skin brown, the blood boiling in
the oil.

           
 
“How do you know when it’s done?” she asks
over my shoulder.

 
          
“I don’t, I just guess.” It looks
hot, sort of cooked, and with one of the large knives I hack off a stringy-looking
piece and taste it. It’s not bad, I think. Not as good as Illen’s stew, but
when you are hungry, anything is better than nothing, I tell myself. Except for
Helst, that is. I don’t know how he keeps going, at least if he is weaker,
perhaps he will not be so dangerous to me.

           
 
“…I suppose.” Cora has been speaking and I
didn’t notice.

           
 
“What?”

           
 
“I said we attack them tonight, I suppose.”

           
 
“Yes, well, they won’t try here again, so we
have to.”

 
          
“Why can’t we just stay here and wait
for them? They will want food sooner or later.”

           
 
“Yeah, but they have the control room. If
they’re smart, they will be working on how to power down the web on our side,
maybe look for a way to override the lower supply doors –anything. We have to
finish them.” I start carving out portions of food, initially five, before remembering
that Jem isn’t here anymore and Helst won’t eat. Again, I silently curse his
death. Cora takes two of the plates and we head into the mess room to find Skea
and Helst waiting. Skea is reloading the guns while Helst lounges back in his
chair, smoking as usual. Perhaps it’s just a trick of the eyes, but he does
look even thinner than before. The rigid stare remains the same though.

 
          
“Food,” I say, as we hand out the
plates.

           
 
“Sure you don’t want any?” Cora askes. Helst
just shakes his head. It is of no concern of mine if he wants to deliberately
starve himself to death. After all, he is planning to blow his own head off
sooner or later. But that nagging instinct still keeps telling me to be careful
around him. Not all enemies are outside the door.

           
 
“Can’t be many of them left by now,” Skea
says. She takes a bit of the blackened meat and shrugs, not that interested in
how bad it tastes or looks.

 
          
“I don’t know, I lost count,” Cora
replies.

 
          
“Clook, Meska for sure, and Gren and
Sura… not seen Yost around for a while though, or Hela,” Helst says quietly.

           
 
“Hela got it from the abominations. I saw one of
her arms.”

           
 
“And how could you tell it was hers?” Skea
asks, to which Cora replies that she had a tattoo on her wrist, the name of her
kid or something equally banal.

 
          
“So maybe five. Clook will stay in the
control room, no doubt about it, along with one of the others. Meska will be
patrolling round with the other two, waiting for us,” says Helst. He stretches and
all the bones in his fragile spine click loudly.

 
          
“So, what are we waiting for?” Skea askes.

 
          
“Nothing but a cigarette,” I mumble
through a mouthful of gristly, badly-cooked meat, and see no point in delaying.

                                                                       
*

           
I cough up
the black tarry stuff as we head carefully across the Platform with our eyes everywhere,
especially on the towers. The wind is constant and wrenches at us mercilessly as
we skulk low.
 
Cora remains close to the
entrance just in case anyone tries to backtrack on us. I follow Helst and can
hardly see among the acid spray. The storms seem worse than ever, and there is
no sign of life at all. I break right, heading to my position – the west tower.

           
 
Scaling the slippery ladder, it’s hard to hold
on. I wonder if they are smart enough to have someone up here already; at least
the constant howl of the wind obscures the sound of my boots on the wet rungs.
I feel sick and try to concentrate as the whole thing sways in a maddening
lurch. Up and up I go, trying to keep an eye upward but I can barely see until
I reach the gun chamber. I pause for a moment, trying to see if anyone is
lurking in the darkness, but I see no movement and drag myself inside. No, I am
alone. They didn’t think that far ahead – unlike Helst. So I clamber onto the
seat and strap on the nighteyes, swivelling the massive cannons toward the
deck. It takes a moment to adjust, but I make out Helst and Skea, waiting beneath
the central control Platform. I can only tell it’s them by their position; they
are only a glowing green presence on the screen.
 

           
 
Slowly I swing the guns. There is not enough
turn to directly hit the control room from here; they are at the limit of their
turning arc, but as I sweep back again, I see two figures creeping along its
underside. I know it’s not us, so with baited breath I pull the triggers. The
huge recoil jolts my aching body and the sound is of a mechanical thunder
tearing through the sky. Instantly the two green blurs in my night eyes explode
into pieces. Another leaps into view, trying to run for the safety of the
control room and I trigger up again, slicing the fleeing green blur in half.
Three down, I think to myself, anymore? I zero in back to Helst and Skea; they
are now creeping forward, giving a wave every now and then to let me know it’s
them. Then I spot another pair, moving fast, heading to the east side and out of
view, but Helst must have also spotted them because far away down there, I hear
machine-gun fire. I pause, scanning all around.
 
Nothing is moving, only the gradual fading
green smears that used to be people. Except one, slowly crawling, but it is of
no real threat; their life is already bleeding away. Whoever it is just doesn't
want to admit to death. They have spirit. I bet its Meska. After a few minutes,
I see two figures emerge and wave directly at me. It must be over, I think to
myself, so I carefully unbuckle myself and begin to climb off the cannon seat.

 
          
And then I see something.

 
          
Out in the distance.

           
For a second
I have to convince myself it isn’t just a flare from the night-eyes still
playing on my retina, but there, just at the horizon, I see a light. I peer
intently into the blackness, swing the gun round and use the scopes. Sure
enough, tossing and crashing on the relentless waves, there’s a light, a ship.
I gulp, as hope, fear, wonder and terror flash through me all at once. I have
to get down to tell the others. Fuck, so someone else made it after all. I
almost run down the metallic rungs, slipping twice and nearly falling, but my brain
is whirling with so many different thoughts, it’s hard to focus and maintain
control.

 
          
“Hey, steady,” Skea yells as I jump
the last few feet and almost knock her down.

           
 
“There’s a ship,” I gasp for air and have
trouble making myself heard.

           
 
“A what?” Helst yells. He spits out the black
tarry stuff and wipes his lips.

           
 
“There’s a ship, out there,” I insist.

           
 
“You’re joking,” they say.

           
 
“Yes, for fuck’s sake! It’s a fucking ship,” I
shout. The two of them look as confused as I feel.

           
 
“Come on, let’s get to the control room,” Helst
yells. He waves to Cora who comes to join us, and cautiously we thread our way
through the gale.

           
 
“You got them all?”

 
          
“Clook is still up there with one of
his friends. The rest are dead, save Meska.”

           
 
“You left her alive?” I am shocked.

 
          
“Only so you can gloat over her.”

           
 
We round the corner and there she is, crawling
on the deck plates, her legs blown right off by the twin cannons. She is
screaming into the wind and dragging her shattered body along, with no real
clue where she is going. I casually step on the trailing sinews and flesh, but
she is oblivious, tearing free and leaving pieces of flesh behind her. It
crosses my mind to finish her off, but she is beyond help anyway so I leave her
to suffer.

 
          
“Come on,” I mutter.

 
          
We creep up the steps, knowing Clook
and his friend are the last ones, and as we reach the second flight, a burst of
machine gun fire comes ripping through the dark. I duck down, immediately
firing back, as does Cora, and holes rip through the door and I hear a scream.
One of the big men tumbles forward, and he staggers, falling over the guard
rail and crunching into the metal plates below.

           
“Don’t
shoot!” It’s Clook's whining voice.

           
 
“Who’s in there with you?” Helst shouts.

 
          
“No one, I’m alone.”

 
          
“Out! Hands up!” Skea commands, and
the door creaks open a little. We wait nervously. Suddenly a huge figure kicks
the door open, but before he can even squeeze a shot, we carve him to pieces in
a volley of shots. We were expecting something like that, knowing what a worm
Clook is.

           
 
“Okay, now I’m alone. Look, there’s a ship out
there!” he sniffs.

 
          
“Hands up and get out here, now!”
Skea orders.

 
          
This time he appears with his hands
in the air, trembling and shaking in the wind. His narrow face is a mask of absolute
terror.

                                                                       
*

 
          
“No comms?” Helst asks. We are
gathered in the control room. Clook is only alive, for now, because he may be
useful to us.

           
“No,
nothing,” Clook shakes his head. “It’s on an auto-dock cycle. It will be here
in an hour or so.”

 
          
“So it will swing around and line up
on its own?” Cora asks, and I can see Clook thinking very carefully on his
answer.

           
 
“Yes… but obviously we have to fire the line.”

 
          
“Then we don’t need you anymore,” Skea
gives a very dark smile.

           
 
“We have to cut the juice to the netting,
otherwise we will not have enough fuel to power the line. Someone has got to balance
the power demands,” Clook says. He reaches for a cigarette and guns level at
him, just in case. “Easy, please…”