Open Water

Odysseus 3 was promised to be the next evolution of oil extraction off the Alaskan coast—self-sustaining, minimally invasive, and located in the untouched resources of the North Aleutian Basin. It was a fresh start for any who wished to strike out in the Alaskan frontier, or a proof of concept for all future projects of its kind. A shining jewel in the Bering Sea- once again proving the grit of human engineering. Markus knew the advertisements well. Bering Petroleum had spared no expense marketing the behemoth to its workers. A Year's Adventure in the Bering Sea, the posters had read. The Chance of a Lifetime. He had taken the offer as soon as it had been presented, and had even bragged to his friends about it the same day. The first day of operations had been more a celebration than a work day, with all of the crew prepared for a year among close friends.

Two months later, Odysseus 3 was silent. 

#

Markus did not know that he was alone at first. The days had begun to blend together, and in his early morning haze, he had not noticed how silent it was. There was only the whisper of waves on -metal, and ocean spray on glass. 

It was not until he found the common room bare that he began to understand. 

He had noticed nothing amiss the night before, and had not left his shift earlier or later than anyone else. There was not a trace of blood on the walls. All about him, Markus found no signs of struggle. The rig's sterile yellow walls still shone in the midday sun. Sickly, overbearing yellow. It was an odd choice. He had thought as much back when he first set foot onto the platform. Every inch of the rig was coated in the paint; a safety measure, he had been told, and he had not questioned it. Now it seemed far too bright. Too clean. Too new.

Hadn't a storm stripped it slightly during the first week?

The path to the railing was much the same. No footfalls. No items out of place. Nothing, save the constant, rolling thrum of waves against the platform's skin. 

Do I even want to look over the railing? 

The thought struck Markus as soon as he reached the nearest rail. He did not question it.

But where else could they have gone? 

A single, sharp clatter of metal struck him out of his stupor. 

That was from the dining hall, one floor down. 

The clang of work boots on the suspended metal walkway echoed around the interior as Markus sought out the source of the interruption. It had been sharp and short, not unlike a fork or glass clattering across tiles. The kitchens were understaffed and over-encumbered with food, so perhaps there had been an accident. 

It's just a coincidence, his mind promised. The metal ribs of Odysseus 3 rose above him as he finally approached the kitchen doors. Later tonight you will have forgotten—

Something had been in the kitchen. By the time Markus had time to think again, all he could focus on was the wind beating his hair into his eyes. His fingers were numb from his grip on the railing, and his heart beat as though he had run a mile. He was on the roof of Odysseus 3 now, his hands clasped tight to the radio spire's legs, as if clinging to them for life. Slowly, he forced his grip on the railing to release. Only then did his mind struggle to return to the kitchen.

The creature's dark skin stood out in stark contrast to the room's sickly yellow walls. Its body—was it even a body? Its mass lay in a coiled, heavy heap that extended into the larder and out of view. Something dripped from its leathery skin, something thick and dark, with the scent of eggs and burning rubber. Its scent stung at its eyes, and as the bulk of it dragged itself slowly across the ground, the pool of opaque liquid pooled rapidly upon the tile, each polished and mopped to a glistening sheen the night prior.

Markus wiped the sweat from his brow. When he turned to look behind him, he saw that his boots had tracked the black liquid with every step. Had he gotten closer to the creature before he fled? Surely not.

A glare from the evening sun snapped him back to the present. Only, had it not just been the morning? Odysseus 3’s skin glowed a bright yellow as it drank in the evening sun, uncaring towards its lone inhabitant. 

I need to eat something. Hours must have passed. As he breathed Markus felt his lips crack in the evening air. But I can't go back… not back there.

He had to calm down. As the sun lowered in the sky, Markus could feel his heart beating like a drum in a storm. It was approaching something resembling calm by the time he heard the song.

That was all he could call it. The tune pierced through the ebb and flow of the tides below, and yet seemed to just match the tenor of the ocean's rhythmic clash with Odysseus 3's bones. It arose from the depths of the hull, only to drift softly through the wind. Markus's mind rejected it as soon as it reached his ears, and with all the will he could muster, he peeled himself from the radio tower and went back below deck, keeping himself far from the source of the noise, and out of view of the ocean's surface.

The command center. Markus's mind desperately grasped at his image of the small room that was nestled beneath the radio tower. There will be a way to call for help. I can barricade myself—

His thoughts were cut off as the ground rose to meet him and his legs fell twisted on the ground. He had slipped on… something. To his horror he noticed too late the smell of burning rubber that covered his right side. 

The brackish liquid had spread everywhere on the lower floors. There was no trail for Markus to avoid, or source to track. Instead, it dripped from the ceiling like blood seeping from an open wound, and in corners gathered together in scabs of hardened tar. The scent was enough to make bile rise in his throat. 

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. It was small. Slight, even. But it was enough to force his legs back under him. By the time he made it to the Odysseus 3's radio station, he felt his heart burning a hole in his chest. He did not remember barricading himself inside the small room, but he welcomed it. Eagerly, he snatched the radio from its stand and all but shouted into it.

"Hello? Hello?"

Markus was almost startled by the sound of his own voice. It was cracked and hoarse, like a starved animal. Patiently, he waited for a response. 

Another channel maybe?

He had seen his superiors radio the Coast Guard before. It should have been at the correct setting already. The static that met him was not reassuring. 

"Mayday. Mayday. This is Markus Lambton of the Odysseus 3. Something is aboard! I repeat, something is aboard."

The static did not remain after that. Instead, there was only the soft, drawn-out melody of the creature's song drifting from the radio's mouth. Now that he heard it up close, the song was almost… sad. Like a lullaby, sung to a screaming child.

Markus awoke next in his room, its walls covered in thick, black tar. His tongue stung of acid, and his stomach churned beneath his skin. 

The song rang in his ears, and it took him a moment to realize that his head was laying not on his pillow, but on something slick and leathery. Its bulk twisted into the distance, beyond his doorframe and out of view, while above him something that was not quite a face looked down at him lovingly. The creature brushed the hair from his face as it sang, and left streaks of dark opaque tar wherever it touched. Although he tried not to move, his horror must have been painted across his face, for soon after a voice spilled out from overhead. When it spoke, it carried the voice of his mother.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," it said. "You are safe now. I have you."

Markus did his best to stay still. As he did so, he felt the side of his head that was against the creature's skin begin to burn and weaken, like his very bones were falling into an unwanted slumber.

"You have been so scared," the thing that was not his mother purred. "But you can go back to sleep now."

Markus tried shifting his weight, but the thing that was not his mother pulled him even closer than before. As he struggled, he felt black tar seep into his eye and weld it shut.

"You must be hungry. Don't worry, darling. Mother is here."

Markus could not see out what the creature fed him, but it was thick and slimy with the taste of brine and blood. As soon as it touched his tongue he felt his stomach growling hungrily even as his brain screamed for him to spit it out. 

"That is right, darling… eat of me."

In that moment, Markus's body lunged away from the thing that held him, and with legs that felt devoid of muscle, he ran towards the door. Out. Anywhere. 

He raised a hand to his lips, and when it returned his skin was stained a deep, oily black.

The metal below his legs was slick with dark sludge. The bones of Odysseus were laden with it, bleeding it from every gap in the frame. He ran through it, past it, its stench of burnt skin and mother's warmth. Each drop that touched his skin boiled his flesh and left him bare beneath.

He followed what few sounds were not the lullaby. The sound of waves upon the railing. The smell of salt in the air, and its sting upon his lips. There he ran, even as the hull's yellow light begged him to stay. He kept his eyes to the sky, for there was something below that he could not bear to see.

He did not flinch when he met Odysseus 3's jaws; instead, he crawled upon his teeth and jumped. Out. 

#

In December of 2043, the Odysseus 3 was found abandoned at sea. It was determined that the ship's crew had most likely been swept away by an arctic storm, though coastal records at the time did not match that last broadcast logged in the platform's radio tower. Subsequent attempts to investigate the incident met with corporate resistance, and despite public outcry the Odysseus 3 was repurposed the following year, added to Endicott Petroleum's fleet of Odysseus-class offshore platforms in the Chukchi Sea.

In January of 2044, the last of Markus Lambton's bones was picked clean on the ocean floor. His final thoughts were of home.