The Platform (7 page)

                                                                       
*

           
 
“You think he’s got this right?” Skea askes as
we wade, up to our knees in acid water. We are down in the lower levels, Helst
having discovered another leak.

           
 
“He showed me the read outs, looks like
something has failed somewhere,” I reply. If we can find where it’s coming
from, we might be able to fix it, or at least pump it out, otherwise it will
slowly keep creeping its way up and eventually sink us.

 
          
We have been here a week now, just
drifting, adjusting. At least we all now have separate quarters and can sleep
in reasonable comfort. But the trouble is, according to Skea at least, if you
sit alone too long you end up thinking too much, so we end up hanging around
together most of the time. Me, I am not that bothered, but she seems to be. I
am used to the well-worn tread of my own thoughts, and back to where they lead.
It is a journey I have made countless times; I know every metre of the road and
every dark corner of the track. And every time it leads back to City Block
Gamma. For all the time I’ve spent there in my head, I may as well have stayed.

           
 
“I miss Jem. And Cora,” she says, as we go on
wading through the icy-cold acidic sea water. I just shrug. Missing them will
not change anything, I think to myself, they’ll still be dead. I sweep the
torch beam over the racking and corridors, looking for some clue as to where we
holed, but so far I can find nothing. My feet feel like solid ice blocks and it’s
hard to keep going. Why Helst couldn’t help, I don’t know. Perhaps he is turning
into Clook. Perhaps he is going to start hiding away and handing out orders. It
doesn’t matter, I suppose. He is just as dangerous now to me as he has ever
been, and I keep my door locked at night, just in case he wants to pay a
nocturnal visit.

 
          
We trudge on. I pause to light up a cigarette
and hear Skea up ahead. I am still thinking of Helst when I hear her shout. I
wade towards her, the torch beam bouncing in tight circles through the shadows.
She is at one of the interior doors and can’t shift the wheel.

 
          
“Help me open this thing, will you?”
she grunts. I grab hold and try to move it. My wet hands slip over it and I
have to try and wipe them down on my sides. After the second try, it moves, and
I open it, a flow of black pouring knee-height from the seals.

           
 
“There you go,” I mutter.

           
 
“I-“

           
I never hear
the rest of it as a writhing tendril limb comes from the dark, its scythe-like
claw slashing across her throat. She sprawls back as I slam the door, locking
the wheel into place. The abomination’s limb severs and it falls, twitching
spasmodically in the sea water. The fucking things have found a way in.

 
          
Skea is trying to scream, her hand
over her throat as gushes of hot blood pour through her fingers. I grab her and
drag her through the dark, to the bulkhead, sealing off the section as she
gasps and twitches on the floor. Fuck! I try to help but the wound is too deep,
through the artery, and she is going down fast. It didn’t even occur to us that
the bastard things would have worked their way this far up. There is nothing I
can do but watch. Again. The story of my whole life in one sentence. Her eyes
are wide as she coughs up mouthfuls of blood. I try pressing on the gaping cut,
but I know she only has a few seconds left. This was not meant to be. It should
be Helst lying here breathing his last choked-up breaths.

 
          
I reach down and wipe the blood from
her face and then I kiss her. There is a wild look of surprise as I taste the
metallic blood on her and suddenly desire overwhelms me. I tear open her
waterproof, fumbling at her breasts as she chokes and coughs, too weak to stop
me. A mad fury takes over and I rip her clothes aside. Her breathing becomes
shallow, her body trembling, as I run my hands over her, leaving thick, warm
blood trails on her pale skin. My erection pulses hard as I disrobe. She fades
out, dead, but I have no care; instead, my fingers probe between her legs as,
insane with lust, I stroke my cock. Deliberately I bathe my hands in her blood,
feeling it hot on my skin and smear it over my pounding erection, and then, I
make love to her, drenched in sweat and hunger, and all the time there is no
resistance, yet her body holding onto its warmth. With a grunt, I ejaculate,
deep inside; semen and blood mingle in a ballet of intoxicating fluid. It takes
several moments to stop shaking as I lie beside her, brushing the hair from her
wide open eyes. It was more beautiful than I could have dreamt, and I kiss her
once more, deeply. Her tongue is still, her jaws open. As the heat cools and
the madness dies, carefully I dress us both again, the drying scarlet on my
flesh decorating me in swirls of death and lust. I smoke a cigarette as she
stares into oblivion. And then I think about Helst. There is just the two of us
left, and I know our moment together has come.

                                                                       
*

           
 
I told him that Skea was dead, and that the
creatures are now up on the fourth deck. He let out a long and sad sigh, and
went back to his quarters. I know what is to come.

                                                                       
*

           
 
I sit waiting in the mess hall, smoking
cigarettes and drumming my fingers. Finally, he arrives, as I knew he would. He
walks in, a semi-automatic in his hand, and it wavers in his grasp as he sits
opposite. He has a bottle of whisky and pours us both a measure in our plastic
cups, and for a while, we just sit looking at one another in silence.

                                                                       
*

 
          
“So,” Helst finally speaks after his
second drink.

 
          
“You can put the gun down,” I tell
him. “It’s only a threat if someone cares. You can kill me or not, I am
unconcerned either way.” He rests the pistol before him, in easy reach, just in
case.

 
          
“Were you going to kill all of us?” he
asks, straight to the point.

 
          
“No.” It’s the truth. I was going to
save the five of us; the rest were irrelevant.

           
 
“What about the Marshall, did you kill him
too?”

 
          
“Yes. He was smart. He would have
done the same.”

 
          
He pauses, taking another cigarette
and lighting it with the first. His eyes bore into mine as if he is trying to
see into my soul, but somehow I think he will be disappointed. There is no
monster within, just me.

 
          
“You know, before I got conscripted,
I wanted to be a lawyer,” he says softly, with plumes of smoke come from his
nostrils. “You know why?”

 
          
“Because you believe in the law?” I
reply.

 
          
“No, because I believe in justice;
the two aren’t always the same thing. Most of the time the laws are just the
cages that hold the poor.”

 
          
“And the rich men hold the keys?”

           
 
“Yes,” he nods. “Exactly.”

 
          
“This going anywhere?” I ask. What
does he want me to do? Break down in tears and say I’m sorry? Yeah, I saw the
situation: we were running low on food, too many people on deck, so I started
to get rid of some of them. I think half the people would have come to the same
conclusion sooner or later.

 
          
“I was just wondering how you got so
fucked up,” he says, his fingertips near the gun, as if I am about to leap over
the table and grab him or something, but of course, that isn’t going to happen.
I’m not like that.

 
          
“Long story.”

           
 
“Well, we have time.”

           
 
“No. Not for that.” No, I think to myself, I
don’t want to talk about that to him. It’s my problem, not his.

           
 
“This is probably your last chance to talk to
anyone about it,” he says.

           
 
“Things have got bad enough for you now?” He
knows what I mean, there is no need to spell it out.

 
          
“Yeah.”

           
 
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I light another
cigarette. “This was not how I wanted it. I wanted the five of us to make it.”

 
          
“Why? You don’t care.
 
You’re some kind of psycho – no emotions, no attachment.
Why the fuck would you care about the rest of us?” He pours himself another
drink.

 
          
“I’m not a psycho.
 
I have emotions.” That is true, though most of
them are negative yes, and I do keep everyone at a distance, but that doesn’t
mean I don’t want them around.

           
 
“So you’re more like some narcissist or a
sociopath? It’s all the same.”

           
 
“They’re just bullshit labels, they don’t mean
anything.” I look intently at him. Soon, he is going to get up, go back to his
room and blow his head off, because he doesn’t want to be alone with me. He
remains silent for a moment, pouring us another drink.

 
          
“You are the worst person I have ever
met,” he says finally.

           
 
“And the last.” I drink the bitter whisky
down.

           
 
“If they were all like you, that would be a
blessing,” he says. He can see this is going nowhere. I think he wanted more,
some resolution, or an answer, but I have none I want to give. So we two are
the last of the world, and have little more to say to one another.

           
 
“Won’t you reconsider? Things may change.” It
is not me begging, just an honest question.

           
 
“No, no point now. Perhaps you should have
killed me earlier,” he shrugs.

           
 
“I wanted to. But not now.”

           
 
“Why? Because you don’t want to be alone?” He
raises an eyebrow.

 
          
“No, because now you are no danger to
me. There is no one to tell anymore. You knew it was me, and I didn’t want you
to tell the others. Now they are gone, it doesn’t matter.”

           
 
“You really are fucked in the head.” He looks
away for a moment.

           
 
“We all are, really,” I reply.

 
          
“Not like you,” he says. He stubs out
his cigarette and climbs to his feet, taking the pistol in his hand, and for a
second I wonder if he is going to do it here. No, he doesn’t want an audience,
just wants to go his own way. “I may not be the last man standing, but I am the
last good man.”

           
 
“You are. I always admired that. A man of
principle.”

           
 
“Yes,” he smiles. “And staying with someone as
corrupt and polluted as you is more than I can bear.” He pushes his way from
his chair. “So I wish you goodbye, and wish it had been anyone other than you
here with me now.”

           
 
“Okay,” I shrug. They’re his feelings, not
mine. He walks away, leaving me to the silence of the mess hall and the
constant rolling of the ship. Twenty minutes later, I hear a muffled gunshot
and know that I am now completely alone.

                                                                       
*

 
          
Standing on the deck, watching the
ocean as it boils and churns, I look up to the black ash skies and still long
to see that aurora one more time. I keep thinking of them all. Helst didn’t
understand that I wanted us to be together. I don’t think he believed me, not
that it matters anyway.
           
I am
alone, as I have been for so long – a horrible dark place to stay locked and
barred within the shadows of my head. I so wanted to reach out but couldn’t. I
can say it wasn’t my fault, but I know deep down that is a lie, as everything
always has been. I so long to be ordinary, and now as the last man, I guess I
am – both ordinary and unique, leader and follower. For this brief span
remaining I am all things and nothing. But I always wanted to be like the other
people, and now the only way I can is by death, but I am not that kind I have
decided. Not like Helst.