The shrill wail of alarms blared through the doghouse, splitting the air and sending a jolt of adrenaline coursing through Joel's veins. Red lights flashed in rapid succession, casting chaotic shadows across the room, where just moments before, laughter and celebration had filled the air. Now, the mood had shifted to pure panic as the crew stumbled over one another, scrambling to respond.
Joel’s mind raced, his first thought shooting back to the video feed. His eyes darted to the wall where, just moments ago, Oliver’s face and their baby girl had been projected in warm, comforting hues. Now the screen was black, a lifeless rectangle. The sudden loss of that connection left a hollow feeling in his chest, and the edges of panic clawed at him. He needed to know they were safe, but there was no time. The alarms droned on, their piercing shriek drowning out even his thoughts.
Joel cursed under his breath, the bitter thought cutting through the haze of panic. He had taken this damn job for one reason only—to cover the crushing weight of the medical fees and expenses that came with the birth. The long hours, the isolation, the danger—all of it had seemed worth it when he pictured his daughter coming into the world safe and healthy. But now, as the rig groaned and buckled around him, the decision felt like a cruel twist of fate. He could’ve been home with them, holding his newborn in his arms, instead of risking his life out here on this steel prison. The bitter taste of regret stung as sharply as the acrid smoke filling the air.
He bolted for the door, his steel-toed boots pounding against the vibrating metal floor. The rig trembled underfoot, a deep, unsettling shudder that rippled through the platform. As he burst out of the doghouse, the roar of the fire suppression system kicked in, unleashing a white mist of foam into the air. The stench of burning oil mixed with the salt of the ocean, stinging his nostrils and filling his lungs. Joel forced the fear down, pushing it aside as he took in the unfolding chaos.
Crew members shouted orders over the blaring alarms, their words lost to the noise. Everywhere he looked, there was frantic motion—men grabbing gear, others desperately trying to extinguish small fires that had already erupted along the platform. The metallic groans of the rig seemed to echo the panic in his chest, each creak a reminder that the platform was straining against forces far greater than it was built to withstand.
Joel’s pulse quickened as he saw the source of the emergency. Off to the starboard side, a support vessel had collided with the rig, its bow crunched into the steel supports like a wrecking ball. The collision had torn open one of the riser pipes, sending a thick plume of crude oil spewing into the air. The oil splashed down onto the deck, spreading like a black tide. The rig shuddered again, the whole structure groaning as the flames began to lick hungrily at the base.
Joel’s heart hammered against his ribcage, each beat thudding like a drum in his ears as he raced across the vibrating deck. Sweat trickled down his temples and soaked into his coveralls, his muscles straining with every frantic step. He could feel the perspiration running down his back in rivulets, clinging to his skin as the heat from the fire bore down on him. His breaths came ragged and fast, his body teetering on the edge of exhaustion as the relentless pulse of adrenaline pushed him forward.
“Get to the lifeboats!” someone yelled, their voice ragged and desperate. Joel’s instincts kicked in, and he surged forward, his mind racing to calculate the best way to reach safety while helping the others. The heat was building quickly, a suffocating wave that pressed against him from all sides. But even as the alarms shrieked and the fire raged, Joel couldn’t shake the image of the black screen from his mind—or the awful feeling that he might never see his family again.
Little did Joel know, an hour before the surprise party…
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The chaos and alarms had erupted only moments before, but the chain of events that led to this catastrophe had started hours earlier. It began in the galley, where the cook, Randy, had been chopping vegetables for the crew’s dinner. The storm had already begun to brew outside, the wind howling around the rig and rattling the walls. Randy, a grizzled old seaman with a gruff voice and a stubborn streak, had insisted on making his famous stew despite the rough weather. His knife came down hard, but the blade slipped, and a sickening crunch followed as it sank into his hand. The kitchen floor was suddenly smeared with blood as Randy stumbled back, three of his fingers severed clean at the knuckle.
The infirmary was a flurry of frantic motion as Randy was laid out on the narrow cot, his face as pale as the sheets beneath him. The room filled with the metallic tang of blood as the medics worked urgently to stem the flow, hands slick with crimson. Randy’s breathing was ragged, his eyes wide with shock as he gritted his teeth against the pain. The emergency call went out, voices crackling over the intercom with the desperate plea for a medevac chopper. But as they waited for a response, the storm outside intensified, battering the rig with gusts that howled like a wounded animal.
The reply came back quickly, the voice on the other end tense and clipped: the helicopter wasn’t coming. The winds were too fierce, and the skies too treacherous for air travel. “The Company advises against taking any risks,” the voice said as if reading from a script. “The rig will have to handle the emergency internally.” A murmur of frustration passed through the infirmary as they realized there would be no quick escape for Randy. The bandages were already soaked through, and the colour was draining from his cheeks.
With the helicopter out of the question, they radioed for the nearest rescue boat. The vessel was two miles out, but the storm had already churned the waters into a frenzied chaos, with waves cresting as high as a house. As the minutes dragged on, the medics struggled to keep Randy stable, pressure building in the cramped space as time seemed to slip away. There were no guarantees the boat could even make it, but it was their only hope.
When the rescue boat finally appeared through the mist, it was already a battle against the elements. The vessel heaved and dipped as the crew fought to bring it alongside the rig. The wind was relentless, hammering against the rig’s supports and sending spray flying up onto the decks. The rig itself groaned under the pressure, the metal creaking ominously as the ocean raged below.
The captain of the rescue boat struggled to manoeuvre, the waves slamming against the hull with ferocious power. As the boat approached the platform, the current caught it at an angle, driving it forward with sudden force. “Back off!” someone shouted over the radio, but it was too late. The bow of the ship slammed into one of the support legs with a bone-rattling crunch.
The entire platform shuddered violently as if a giant hand had gripped it and given it a furious shake. The metal leg crumpled inward, twisted like a soda can, sending vibrations through the rig’s skeleton. The sound was deafening—a screech of tearing steel and a deep, resonant groan that made the deck tremble beneath their feet. The impact ruptured one of the riser pipes, and a jet of black oil sprayed out, slicking the deck in moments.
Before anyone could react, a spark from the grinding metal met the airborne fuel, and with a flash, flames erupted in a savage bloom. The fire shot up, racing along the spill and climbing the rig’s structure with frightening speed. The alarms blared to life, the red lights flashing wildly as chaos descended on the rig, turning a desperate rescue into an all-out catastrophe.
Panic tightened around the crew like a vice as the stench of fuel thickened in the air, mixing with the sharp tang of salt and metal.
Flames shot up hungrily, devouring the oil-soaked surfaces and belching thick, suffocating smoke that coiled upward in black, toxic plumes. The heat intensified in seconds, pressing in from all sides and searing the skin of anyone too close. Alarms screamed through the chaos, their shrill wail drowned out by the sounds of the rig coming apart—groaning steel, hissing gas, and the frantic shouts of men scrambling for safety. What had been a routine emergency just moments before had now escalated into a full-blown nightmare, with every second pushing the situation further into life-threatening territory.