Outpost

They ran upstairs. Ghost took breathing apparatus from the fire locker. One air tank. One mask. They buddy-breathed, drew lungfuls of oxygen as they passed the mask back and forth.

‘How much air is in this tank?’ gasped Jane.

‘Thirty minutes, tops.’

Sian vaulted stairs to the helipad. She forgot her coat. She ran outside in her T-shirt.

Smoke wafted from the adjacent accommodation block.

‘We have a fire. A big one. C level. Are you getting this, Punch? Can you hear me?’

Sian leaned over the edge of the helipad to get a better view.

She was shivering with cold. Water gushed from beneath the burning habitation block and cascaded into the sea. A ruptured pipe.

‘Punch, I’m looking over the side. Heavy damage. We’re losing water. There are flames.’

‘…Emergency stations. Fire warning. Emergency stations. Fire warning..!

Punch ran down the corridor to D Module. The hatch at the end of the passage had a porthole. Fire on the other side. A passageway clogged with smoke and flame.

Think like Ghost. What would he do?

Punch ran to the fire point. Breathing apparatus. He took out an oxygen cylinder and struggled to release the valve. He strapped it to his back and buckled the harness. So heavy he almost toppled backward. He tugged on the face-mask.

Rawlins drilled the crew once a month. A three-step procedure in the event of fire:

Seal the doors.

Put on a mask.

Find the nearest fire suppression wall box. Smash the glass. Pull the lever. Trigger the deluge system

Punch ran to a wall box. He smashed the glass with his elbow. He yanked the red lever to On. Nothing happened. He tried it twice more. Nothing. The lever should have released the Inergen gas system. Ceiling valves should have flooded the corridors with an inert mix of argon, nitrogen and carbon dioxide, and choked the fire. Punch ripped off his mask.

‘Sian, why the fuck haven’t the suppressors kicked in?’

Punch unravelled a fire hose. He twisted the stop-cock. The hose swelled. He trained the low-pressure stream at the blast door. Water gulped and sputtered. It splashed against the hatch and fizzled like spit on a hot plate.

‘This is fucked,’ he muttered. He threw down the hose and took out his radio. ‘I’m coming up top. There’s not much I can do down here.’

Punch joined Sian on the helipad. He threw her a coat.

‘Nothing from Ghost and Jane?’

‘Nothing,’ said Sian.

‘Ivan knows how to operate the crane. He can lower me on to the roof.’

Punch stood alone on the helipad. He pulled a silver, fire-retardant proximity suit over his survival gear. The suit was comically big. He had to roll up the sleeves.

He buckled a SCBA cylinder to his back. The sun had set. He looked up at a fabulous dusting of stars.

Worse ways to go, he thought. Die fighting. Die for your friends.

There was a heavy freight crane mounted on the deck between the accommodation blocks. Sian and Ivan could swing him from one roof to another.

He could see them in the cab. Ivan at the controls. Sian crouched beside him.

Punch waved. They swung the jib and lowered the hook. There was a cargo pallet hung from the hook, a wooden platform suspended by a chain.

Punch pulled on his face-mask. He stepped on to the platform. He gave a thumbs up. They swung him towards the burning accommodation module.

Jane and Ghost crouched in the stairwell. The air was thick with hydrogen sulphide. Ghost struggled to stay conscious. His eyelids drooped like he wanted to sleep. Jane crouched over him and pressed the mask to his face. She snatched the mask away and took a gulp of oxygen every few seconds.

The blast door raised. A slight figure in an oversized silver suit. Punch, smiling through the polycarbonate visor.

‘Let’s get out of here, shall we?’ His voice was muffled by his mask.

They hurried down the corridor. They supported Ghost between them. He started to revive.

Ivan sat in the crane cab. Sian stood at his shoulder. ‘Punch, do you copy, over? Punch?’

The wind changed. The cab was enveloped in black smoke from the burning accommodation block.

‘We must go,’ said Ivan.

‘Wait.’

‘I don’t want to get caught up here. Nine-eleven. Jump-or- burn. I don’t need it.’

‘Just wait.’

They ran past Medical.

‘Wait,’ said Jane. She ran inside. She flapped open a red bodywaste bag. ‘We have to save as much as we can.’

She swept armfuls of drugs into the bag. Ghost opened a cupboard and filled a bag with dressings and hypodermics.

Punch stood by the door. The floor felt soft and sticky. He lifted his boot. The rubber sole of his shoe had begun to melt. He crouched and held his hand over the deck plate. Fierce heat. The level beneath them must be ablaze.

‘Folks, we need to leave this instant.’

‘Go,’ said Jane. ‘I’m right behind you.’

They ran for the roof. Ghost pushed Punch on to the cargo pallet.

‘You go,’ said Ghost. ‘I’m waiting for Jane.’

‘… Emergency stations. Fire warning. Emergency stations. Fire warning..