Chapter 18 #2
The deeper they went, the louder the metal groaned. Pipes twisted like ribs around them, flexing under pressure. The whole rig felt like it was breathing, heavy and ragged.
In his earpiece, the gunfight raged. Cross shouted. McGuire swore. Patch breathed like he’d taken a hit.
Stone muttered a silent prayer: Hold them off just a little longer, boys. Frankie’s about to bring the whole damn place down.
She stopped at a massive support beam as thick as a tree trunk, bolted into the heart of the rig. It looked solid. Unbreakable.
She pulled on her gear, adjusted her gloves, and fired up the torch. The flame hissed to life, bluish-white and hungry. She narrowed the tip of the torch and leaned in with steady hands, guiding the cut with surgical precision.
“When it hits cherry red,” she said, with her gaze locked on the glowing steel, “the metal forgets how to hold weight.”
The beam hissed and flared under the flame, color blooming from dull grey to orange to bright, angry red.
Frankie’s face was streaked with sweat, and her jaw was clenched tight, eyes fixed, unblinking. Her hands didn’t shake.
“When I say go,” she yelled, “you drive that jack in and brace it.”
“Got it,” Stone said, crouching low, jack in hand. The heat rolled off the steel in waves, making the air shimmer. The floor beneath them vibrated with groaning tension.
“Now!” Frankie yanked the torch back, revealing the steel glowing dangerously red.
Stone slammed the jack into place, careful to avoid the red-hot metal with his bare hands. He twisted the locking arm until it clamped tightly, just before the heat could start softening the gear.
Frankie jammed the nozzle of the expanding foam into the crevice where the beam met the base plate and squeezed the trigger. The chemical foam hissed out thick and fast, expanding into the weld hole like a virus, filling every gap, stretching and hardening under pressure.
The expanding foam was fire-retardant and designed to withstand industrial heat, but even that wouldn’t save it from the kind of temperatures they were dealing with. It would hold just long enough to finish the job . . . hopefully.
Frankie popped the lid off the accelerant canister and sprayed the thick foam in a wide arc across the base of the support. Stone’s eyes watered as the chemical stench hit him.
“Stand back!” she shouted.
He jumped clear as she sparked the torch and touched the flame to the accelerant.
The fire-retardant foam didn’t ignite, but the accelerant roared to life around it, flooding the joint with heat.
Flames licked up the base of the support, driving the temperature past the failure point, breaking the structure from the inside out.
The beam hissed and buckled, glowing white-hot.
“Good work. Next.” Frankie snapped her mask up and sprinted to the next beam.
Stone chased after her, gear in one hand, gun ready in the other.
Frankie dropped to one knee and lit up the next support, cutting a perfect crescent into the steel. The metal screeched under the heat. Sparks burst in every direction like a swarm of flaming killer bees.
She pulled back. “Go!”
Stone slammed the second jack into place and cranked it down hard. As he filled the void from the canister, foam hissed and bubbled, expanding fast and sealing the jack into a rigid grip.
Frankie sprayed accelerant, and then hit it with the torch, and the flame roared to life.
The rig shuddered beneath them.
The deck plates vibrated. Somewhere deep below, metal shifted and groaned like a massive protest from the bones of the beast.
Frankie ripped off her mask and gloves. Her chest heaved as she stared at the burning supports they’d sabotaged. “Wish you were here to see this, Dad.”
Stone pressed a hand to her lower back. “He’d be proud of you.”
A single tear traced down her cheek, but she didn’t wipe it away.
She wore it like a badge of honor for her father.
A deep, seismic groan rolled through the rig like a wave. The entire structure vibrated underfoot as steel trembled in its joints.
Warning lights flared red from every corner.
Sirens erupted overhead.
A robotic voice screamed from the overheads: “Warning, structural load failure. Evacuate immediately.”
The metal wasn’t just groaning, it shuddered, like the whole rig was having a seizure.
The floor lurched.
Above them, a support beam snapped with a deafening crack, raining sparks and debris as it slammed to the deck.
Frankie spun to Stone, eyes wide. “Oh fuck. It’s working faster than I thought.”
“Evacuate immediately.”
“Fuck,” Stone said with a growl. “We need to get out of here!”
He grabbed her hand and yanked her toward the corridor.
The rig screamed around them. The floor lurched, and they stumbled, but they caught each other and kept running.
Steel warped. Pipes ruptured, spraying jets of scalding steam and coolant across their path. The air was thick with heat and smoke. Lights strobed violently as emergency power systems blinked on and off.
“Evacuate immediately. Warning, collapse imminent.”
Stone pressed his comms. “Cross, McGuire, Patch! Get the fuck out! The whole place is going!”
Static.
Then silence.
“Cross, McGuire, Patch! Answer me! You need to evac now!”
Nothing.
“Son of a bitch!” Stone yelled.
Steel groaned.
His fucking heart thundered in his chest.
The rig was coming down. And they were still inside.