Hell Rig by J. E. Gurley Read Free Book Online Page A

returned her attention to the drums. Again, a few moments later, she heard the same scuffling sound, this time much closer and followed by deep heavy breathing. She turned in a circle, playing her flashlight about like a searchlight.
    “Stop playing games,” she shouted to the empty room, only to be startled even more by the echo of her own voice. “Rats,” she surmised hopefully and shuddered. “I hate rats.”
    Seconds later, a deep masculine voice asked, “Did you say something?”
    She jumped at McAndrews’ question, shining her light in his eyes. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the metal frame. He swiped his hand across his face. His lean, muscular body made her uneasy. He looked intimidating, though he had barely spoken to her since they had arrived.
    “Quit playing games, Mac. You’re spooking me.”
    “What do you mean?” he asked.
    “Making strange noises,” she answered
    “I was passing by and heard you call out,” he protested, looking offended at her accusation. “I was curious.”
    “You weren’t walking around in here a minute ago?”
    He shook his head. “Like I said, I heard your voice as I was walking by. I just peeked in to see who you were talking to.”
    Maybe she was just jumpy . “Sorry. Nerves I guess.”
    McAndrews smiled. “Maybe it’s Waters’ ghosts.”
    “Ooohh!” Picking up a piece of wood, she threw it at him, deriving some small measure of satisfaction as he ducked back out the doorway. “Men!” she huffed.
    Satisfied the drums would not present an immediate threat, she turned her attention to the boxes stacked against the wall. Most were tools or tool parts, waterlogged and rusty. Some were valves and pipe connectors, equally rusty. One small box, pushed to the rear of the stack, was marked radio parts.
    “I wonder why they were put here?” she asked the shadows.
    She pulled the box down and opened it. To her surprise, it was filled with broken circuit boards, a mass of melted wiring and smashed tubes, all meant for the radio.
    “Damn,” she cursed. This was not storm damage. Someone had deliberately damaged the spare parts and had done a thorough job of it. The question was, who and why?
    The repairs she made to the radio earlier were, at best, temporary. She had managed to contact the supply depot and verify a fuel shipment for delivery in two days, but had been unable to contact anyone since, just a bunch of static. They were out of touch with the mainland.
    What was Mac doing here anyway ? She thought. He was supposed to be downstairs on the landing dock helping Tolson weld the stanchions so the supply ship could tie up when it arrived. She shook her head, afraid she was leaping to conclusions. The parts could have been damaged before the Re-Berth crew had arrived; maybe even by the Digger Man. Why would anyone on the crew want to disable the radio? Mac was quiet, secretive and much smarter than he let on, but that did not make him dangerous.
    The dark and chill of the storage room finally got to her. She decided to complete her survey later. As she secured the metal door behind her, she thought she heard the echo of laughter from inside.
    “Impossible,” she said, shaking her head.
    She walked across the deck, stepping over storm tossed debris and dodging twisted, broken pipes. The cellar deck had taken the brunt of the storm. The chemical room had remained sealed and dry, but the mudroom and workshops had not. Facing outside the rig, they were two-feet deep in seawater. As she walked up the outside stairs and crossed the main deck, she failed to see the shadows stir as parodies of faces stared and broken limbs reached for her.
    The hearty aroma of coffee struck her as she walked into their makeshift meeting room. The room was empty except for Tolson.
    “Here,” Tolson said, pouring her a cup of coffee.
    “Thanks,” she said, wrapping both hands around the hot cup to warm them. “I thought you were welding?”
    Tolson shrugged his shoulders.