Stranded Read Online Free PDF Page A

himself, this was his last job for OrbitOil or any other platform outfit. He’d decided. It was time to take Ellie and head home to New England. But first, he had to get back to Seattle in one piece.

 
    4
    D-Deck stank like smoke and burnt electronics. Noah was surprised he’d been reassigned to a different cabin, figuring that living in this stench would be just the kind of petty torture the Old Man would subject him to. Then again, Brewster was a company man and would balance potential liability against his personal satisfaction. The crew would make sure he was just as uncomfortable on C-Deck as he was below, and the company wouldn’t have to pay worker’s comp. Noah came to collect his few private things. Although, smelling the rank passageway, he assumed most of his things were likely ruined. Still, they were his. He was going to need his clothes and the couple of books he’d brought, especially if he was going to be confined to his cabin for a while. He found himself wishing he’d brought more to read. It was going to be a long trip with nothing to do.
    He hesitated in the doorway of his cabin, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. The narrow room was wide enough for Noah to walk between the wardrobe and the small desk. At the end of the room was a single bed, barely long enough for him. He wondered how men over six feet, like Boucher, were able to sleep without having to curl up in a ball. The cabin was similar in size to what Noah imagined a prison cell would be, minus a toilet—the head was down the hall. His accommodations were cramped, but he was expected to spend the majority of his time working, in the mess, or in a day room anyway. They even had a gym. The tiny cabin was for intended for sleep, and privacy for those who needed it, definitely not luxury. He didn’t even have a porthole window. As a concern, living space was secondary to the company’s goal. Space on the ship was dedicated to maximizing area for storage and cargo. The men had to live and work around that. Oil drilling came before everything else.
    He opened the closet and grabbed his duffel bag off the floor. Pulling a shirt off a shelf, he sniffed at it and screwed up his face. He couldn’t tell if what he smelled was the stink of the fire lingering throughout the level or if it was in his clothes. Either way, it was still in his nose and lungs, and he figured he was going to be smelling that shit for a while, no matter where on the ship he landed. He shoved his clothes into the duffel bag and moved on.
    He collected his few things from the desk: a cheap digital music player, a few toiletries, a pair of books, and his electronic Chess Wizard game. Shoving it all into the bag, he moved on to the last things—the most important things—two pictures pinned to a small corkboard above the desk. He took them down and stared for a long moment into the faces of his wife and daughter. He never shipped out without a copy of them. This copy of Abby’s picture was the third he’d printed out. The first had grown worn and tattered, and the second was lost somewhere between a different ship and home. He kept the same images on a micro SD card on his phone. No matter what happened, he’d made sure to never be far from them. The images meant more to him than the books and clothes and everything else. He’d rather wear rags and never see another printed word than forget what Abby looked like.
    Carefully slipping the pictures into a zippered pocket on the outside of his bag, he scanned the small room for anything he might have forgotten. If there was something, it wasn’t like he was far. He could always come back. At least until they reached the Niflheim. Pulling the drawstring taut, he slung the bag over his shoulder. It collided with the wall, throwing him off balance for a moment. He steadied himself and stepped out into the passageway to find his new lodgings.
    Around the corner, he saw a