Alex, 'I wonder why.'
'Hey, look at this!' Rochelle was bending down and pulling something out from under a pile of debris. It was an automatic rifle.
Alex immediately rushed over and snatched it out of her hands. 'Wow, it's an M16!' he cried excitedly. He began to examine its mechanism with practised hands, treating it like an old friend. But then it probably was, Paul realised. He remembered that Alex had spent some time in the US Army before being dishonourably discharged for dealing in drugs.
'Is it in working order?' Paul asked him, trying to hide his alarm.
'Sure is.' Alex pulled out the magazine. 'And loaded too.'
'It looks pretty light,' said Paul, keeping his tone relaxed.
'The stock and grip are made of hollow fibre glass. It don't weigh much more than a.22,' said Alex, pleased to show off his knowledge. 'But it packs a hell of a bigger punch than a.22. It takes 5.63 ammo and you can fire it like an ordinary rifle, one round at a time, or you can put the selector on "Auto" like this…' He demonstrated the selector on the side of the weapon, '… And fire off eighteen rounds in the blink of an eye. But that's not wise 'cause the magazine only holds eighteen rounds. Best just to touch the trigger when it's on "auto", that way you get off a burst of about three bullets…' He cocked the gun and then said, 'Right, now it's got one up the spout and is all ready and rarin' to go.'
'Fine,' said Paul calmly. He held out his hand. 'Now hand it over.'
Alex's eyebrows shot upwards in surprise. 'Are you kidding?'
'No. I want that gun.'
Alex's mouth took on an ugly line. 'Tough shit.' He swung the barrel around until it was pointing at Paul's stomach. The atmosphere in the room became electric.
Then Mark cried, 'Hey, I've found another one!'
Paul turned to see Mark pulling a second M16 from under an overturned chair. He reached out for it. Mark was about to hand it over to him when Alex rasped, 'Don't give it to him!'
Mark froze.
'Ignore him,' said Paul with the same calm voice. 'Give me the gun, Mark.' Inside he was a turmoil of nerves. His body tensed, waiting for the crash of Alex's M16 and the mule-kick of the bullet. Mark slowly extended the gun to him. Paul took hold of it.
There was no gun shot.
Paul checked to see if his weapon was loaded, studiously ignoring Alex. When he saw it was loaded he looked at Alex and smiled at him. 'Well?'
With a scowl Alex lowered his M16. Paul felt a great wave of relief wash over him. A crisis had been averted - for the time being.
Chris gave a nervous laugh, 'Oh good. Now both the big men have a toy each and we can all relax.'
'Shut your dumb mouth, you stupid cow,' snarled Alex.
'Oh, for God's sake, why can't we stop all this fighting among ourselves and concentrate on finding out what happened here,' said Linda angrily. 'For a start I'd like to know what weapons like those are doing on an oil rig.'
'Well, we already know it's no ordinary oil rig,' said Paul, thankful for Linda's contribution.
'Hey, you guys. More clothes!' It was Rochelle, holding up what appeared to be the jacket of some sort of uniform. It was dark blue but covered with several rust-like stains.
They gathered round her for a closer look. On the lapel was a badge that read 'Security' together with a small photograph of an earnest young man with a crew-cut.
'Must have belonged to the owner of one of the guns,' said Paul. Then he noticed something else. So did the others.
'Jesus,' whispered Chris, 'It's been slashed by something. A knife.'
'Or claws,' said Mark. 'The cuts are parallel, see…'
It was then that Paul realised what the stains were.
Dried blood.
***
On the second level, to Linda's intense relief, they found toilets. But that was
'Hey, look at this!' Rochelle was bending down and pulling something out from under a pile of debris. It was an automatic rifle.
Alex immediately rushed over and snatched it out of her hands. 'Wow, it's an M16!' he cried excitedly. He began to examine its mechanism with practised hands, treating it like an old friend. But then it probably was, Paul realised. He remembered that Alex had spent some time in the US Army before being dishonourably discharged for dealing in drugs.
'Is it in working order?' Paul asked him, trying to hide his alarm.
'Sure is.' Alex pulled out the magazine. 'And loaded too.'
'It looks pretty light,' said Paul, keeping his tone relaxed.
'The stock and grip are made of hollow fibre glass. It don't weigh much more than a.22,' said Alex, pleased to show off his knowledge. 'But it packs a hell of a bigger punch than a.22. It takes 5.63 ammo and you can fire it like an ordinary rifle, one round at a time, or you can put the selector on "Auto" like this…' He demonstrated the selector on the side of the weapon, '… And fire off eighteen rounds in the blink of an eye. But that's not wise 'cause the magazine only holds eighteen rounds. Best just to touch the trigger when it's on "auto", that way you get off a burst of about three bullets…' He cocked the gun and then said, 'Right, now it's got one up the spout and is all ready and rarin' to go.'
'Fine,' said Paul calmly. He held out his hand. 'Now hand it over.'
Alex's eyebrows shot upwards in surprise. 'Are you kidding?'
'No. I want that gun.'
Alex's mouth took on an ugly line. 'Tough shit.' He swung the barrel around until it was pointing at Paul's stomach. The atmosphere in the room became electric.
Then Mark cried, 'Hey, I've found another one!'
Paul turned to see Mark pulling a second M16 from under an overturned chair. He reached out for it. Mark was about to hand it over to him when Alex rasped, 'Don't give it to him!'
Mark froze.
'Ignore him,' said Paul with the same calm voice. 'Give me the gun, Mark.' Inside he was a turmoil of nerves. His body tensed, waiting for the crash of Alex's M16 and the mule-kick of the bullet. Mark slowly extended the gun to him. Paul took hold of it.
There was no gun shot.
Paul checked to see if his weapon was loaded, studiously ignoring Alex. When he saw it was loaded he looked at Alex and smiled at him. 'Well?'
With a scowl Alex lowered his M16. Paul felt a great wave of relief wash over him. A crisis had been averted - for the time being.
Chris gave a nervous laugh, 'Oh good. Now both the big men have a toy each and we can all relax.'
'Shut your dumb mouth, you stupid cow,' snarled Alex.
'Oh, for God's sake, why can't we stop all this fighting among ourselves and concentrate on finding out what happened here,' said Linda angrily. 'For a start I'd like to know what weapons like those are doing on an oil rig.'
'Well, we already know it's no ordinary oil rig,' said Paul, thankful for Linda's contribution.
'Hey, you guys. More clothes!' It was Rochelle, holding up what appeared to be the jacket of some sort of uniform. It was dark blue but covered with several rust-like stains.
They gathered round her for a closer look. On the lapel was a badge that read 'Security' together with a small photograph of an earnest young man with a crew-cut.
'Must have belonged to the owner of one of the guns,' said Paul. Then he noticed something else. So did the others.
'Jesus,' whispered Chris, 'It's been slashed by something. A knife.'
'Or claws,' said Mark. 'The cuts are parallel, see…'
It was then that Paul realised what the stains were.
Dried blood.
***
On the second level, to Linda's intense relief, they found toilets. But that was
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