The Platform by D G Jones Read Free Book Online Page A

around like a
guard of honour, I sweat, my hands greasy in my gloves, with the mad urge for a
cigarette cutting into my lungs. Okay ,
I tell myself, just focus . The small
target wavers up and down. Just ignore
everything …
                 “You ready?” Helst yells above the
wind.
                 “Yes,” I yell back. Fuck off! I think. I take a deep breath
and try to ignore him. Then the guns begin to fire; all around me, they are
firing.
                 “They’re on the deck,” Cora yells. I
can feel my heart beating hammer blows on my ribs and I think of how much I
don’t want to be doing this right now. I wish I was with them, shooting at the
creatures. I grind my teeth shut, counting the seconds of the port’s travel up
and down, calculating the distance.
                 “There’s two heading for the control
room!” Helst yells. Shut it out , I
tell myself. Shut it all out. Focus on
the target; its motion, the arc of travel. I feel my trigger finger seize
and my heart calm as the target is set and I fire. The ‘poonclaw races across
the distance, true like a spear, the wire in tow and it hits the black port. Immediately
I hit the mag switch and the claw disappears inside, the second takes forever,
but the green light flickers on and its locked into place. Then the huge pipe
begins to turn on the wheel, the wire dragging it across the gulf. Cora yells,
but I hold my breath until the control panel shows green all the way; the pipe
slips into the port and dock, beginning to pressurize with a familiar loud,
burning hiss.
                 One shot. Dead on.
                  I jump from the claw cannon and join the firefight.
There is a strange feeling, of satisfaction and pride mixed with horror at the
squirming things all round us. Up on the gantry I see two of the creatures
battering on the safety glass; inevitably it shatters and the loathsome things
squirm their way inside and that is that for Clook. I’m not sure I really hear
the terrible scream or perhaps it is just the wind, but his days are done.
                It’s time to
leave.
                  More of the creatures are clambering up on
deck and I head to the line wavering up and down. As it pressurises, it becomes
solid enough to walk in. I just have to wait for the hand lines to raise. Come on, fucker! I think to myself. They
slowly lift and create a narrow pathway to the ship across the boiling ocean. I
wave the others to join me. We really have to go right now: there are now maybe
a dozen of the writhing creatures now, all closing in.
                 “Come on!” I yell at them. I step
onto the piping, feeling it judder under my weight; still greased from the last
maintenance it is slippery and I have to grab the hand wires to steady myself.
I shout again, then begin to cross. It’s a hand-wire walk above an acid sea
full of vicious, twisted monsters who will devour anything except each other. No
pressure, I tell myself, and wonder if I am just trying to make myself feel
better. The gunfire goes on, and I see the Platform below disappear, giving way
to the churning relentless waters, fuck! Not looking down is better, so I focus
on the port opposite, my   boots slipping
on the grease, the wind trying to prise the hand wires from me, and out in the
open, its hell as the wind rips hard and the spray burns at my eyes. The pipe
shudders as someone else steps on, but I don’t look back. It’s maybe twenty
metres, or thirty, I don’t know; it’s still a long way to safety, but I keep
myself moving. There is another judder as someone else comes on board. I am
leaving the Platform forever; there will be no way back from this, not after
the pipe is discarded. I just hope it’s worth it. Halfway across, looking from
side to side, the sea is endless on both dark horizons and it makes me feel a
little sick to see it.
                 I keep going, the