CHAPTER SIX BLOODY VENGEANCE
CHAPTER SIX
BLOODY VENGEANCE
“I have seen that his heart is closed to pity.”
Red Cloud
2:00 PM
June 13th
Bennett County, South Dakota
Just East of Pine Ridge Reservation
The massive oil derrick protruded from the ground like an obscene parody of the Eiffel Tower set against the rolling prairie that surrounded it. The smell of oil, sweat, and metal filled the air and permeated everything, but uneasiness hung over the place like fog.
A full crew was in operation, with a big sign reading “Red Basin Energy” and indicating this was Rig #7 – Black Dog.
The crew joked about the name, but today, it felt foreboding and made them uneasy.
Normally, the hearty roughnecks were unshakeable, but there was something off that none of them could quite put their finger on.
Around the oil rig were more than a dozen smaller buildings. One was designated as the “Site Office”, while another was marked “Foreman.” Others were prefabricated sleeping quarters for the crew, while several smaller ones were used as tool cribs, storage units, and even a chow hall.
A dozen men were hard at work, while another dozen slept.
Black Dog ran two crews in twelve-hour shifts.
Their motto was, “If the drill ain’t turning, we’re losing money,” so Red Basin wanted a crew working twenty-four hours a day.
This crew was the B Team. They worked in three-month rotations and were due to stand down in two weeks.
As the crew worked, they would occasionally glance around nervously.
No one was sure why, but it was beginning to affect productivity.
In addition, distracted workers got hurt, and they’d already suffered enough downtime this month when a roughneck fell and broke his leg.
They’d lost an entire day while OSHA investigated the injury.
The door to the Foreman’s Office opened, and a big man in his early 40s stepped out.
He wore steel-toed work boots, a blue hard hat, jeans, and a red-and-white flannel shirt tucked into his pants.
He glanced up at the rig and frowned, then headed straight for it.
His nametag was clipped to his pocket and read “Ray Malloy,” but everyone called him Cutter.
“What the fuck’s going on here, ladies?” Cutter shouted. “Why all the lollygagging? We don’t pay you assholes to stand around scratching your asses.”
“Sorry, boss,” called Hank Dobbs, the senior driller. “We’re getting some shakes in the shaft. I can’t explain it.”
“Probably hitting a gas pocket,” snapped Cutter. “Push through it. Corporate’s on my ass wanting to know why we’re not punching deeper. We’ve got depth targets to meet.”
The ground shook beneath their feet hard enough that the steel gantry groaned in protest. Production stopped, and everyone looked around nervously. Ortega crossed himself and looked around at the others.
The cries of a pair of ravens pierced the silence as they swooped in low over the derrick, only to suddenly veer off and race away as fast as they could go, squawking and cawing as they climbed higher into the sky.
“That was fucking odd,” muttered Dobbs.
Cutter watched the birds move off, then shook his head and turned back to the crew.
“What the fuck was that?” asked Luis Ortega, one of the derrick hands.
“Was that an earthquake?” asked Travis “T-Bone” Walker, one of the roughnecks.
“This area is supposed to be tectonically sound,” added Dobbs.
“It’s just gas,” said Cutter. “Forget it and get back to work.”
“If that’s gas,” said Ortega, “I’ll eat my hard hat. I’ve been working these rigs for ten years and never felt anything like that before. Gas shakes the bit, not the entire area.”
“Well, get to chewing, Ortiz,” said Cutter.
“Ortega,” he corrected. “Ortiz broke his leg last week.”
“Sorry,” Cutter said unenthusiastically.
Everyone looked around and waited to see if there would be another tremor.
“Forget about that shit,” snapped Cutter. “Back to work!”
Just as they were preparing to go back to drilling, a roar shook the area. It wasn’t the ground, and it wasn’t coming from the derrick. It seemed to be coming from all around them.
“What the fuck?” Dobbs said, looking around nervously.
Then the ground began shaking with renewed vigor. The derrick shook, loose tools fell to the ground, men fell off ladders, and alarms began to sound.
“Boss?” called Dobbs. “What’s going on?”
“How the fuck should I know?” replied Cutter. “I ain’t never seen shit like this before.”
The roar came again, and men began to panic.
“Get off the derrick!” snapped Cutter. “It’s gotta be an earthquake!”
Dobbs hit the emergency shutdown for the rig, and everyone began racing for ladders and stairs.
The ground was shaking hard enough that it was tough to stay on your feet.
They hit the ground and dove away from the derrick as bigger and bigger pieces began to snap under the strain and fall to the ground.
“Get away from the rig!” shouted Cutter. “Move it!”
As he turned to run, a pipe the diameter of a bowling ball and about twenty feet in length snapped loose and plummeted to the ground, crushing Cutter like a child’s toy.
“Cutter!” screamed Dobbs as he tried to get to him.
Ortega joined Dobbs as they tried to reach their fallen foreman. The shaking ground made moving in a straight line nearly impossible.
“Cutter’s down!” called Dobbs. “Somebody help! Get the medic!”
The world seemed to pause as the impact of what happened sank in. The ground stopped shaking, and an eerie quiet fell over the place. Dobbs and Ortega used the sudden calm to run to where Cutter had fallen.
Just before they reached him, they both saw a large, dark creature rising from the ground like some prehistoric behemoth.
They screamed, but more were rising all around them.
They felt the ground temperature rising with the creatures, and a fetid, dusty stench filled the air. It smelled like old dirt and decay.
“What the hell is that?” demanded Dobbs.
“I don’t know,” Ortega replied. “Let’s get Cutter and get the hell out of here!”
They reached the spot where Cutter fell, only to find he was snapped over backward with the back of his head touching the heels of his boots. His eyes were open, and his mouth was frozen mid-scream.
“He’s dead!” said Dobbs.
“We’re next if we don’t get the fuck out of here!” Ortega said, pointing at the massive creature that was now coming right at them.
It wasn’t moving quickly, but it felt unstoppable. Relentless was the word. It wasn’t running, and it didn’t seem at all perturbed. Yet, it was still coming with slow, deliberate menace.
“What the fuck is that thing?” asked Dobbs.
“Hell if I know,” replied Ortega. “Let’s go!”
The shambling creatures looked like they were carved from rough stone and had enormous claws. As the men fled, the creatures pushed them farther and farther into the center of the compound. The creatures had them surrounded.
“We’ve got to get the hell out of here!” roared T-Bone.
Alarms were sounding, and the ground started to shake again. They weren’t sure if the shaking was from below or caused by the movement of the gigantic creatures. When they roared, it felt like the groaning of rock on rock, not like any real animal’s cry.
T-Bone grabbed a six-foot piece of piping and swung it at one of the creatures. It struck the creature’s side and rang like he’d smacked the side of a boulder. Before he could react, the creature grabbed him and ripped him apart easily, like he was made of tissue paper. No effort and no remorse.
“Holy shit!” snapped Ortega. “That thing just killed T-Bone!”
Men began to panic and try to escape, only to find their exit was cut off. Creatures began smashing through the buildings, rending wood, aluminum, and flesh with equal ease.
“Somebody get a gun!” shouted Dobbs.
One of the men dove into a work truck and tried to drive it into one of the creatures.
It smashed into the beast with tremendous force.
The crunching of metal and the shattering of glass were immediately followed by the roar of stone as the truck was flipped over and smashed apart.
The driver tried to escape, but the creature tore his head off before he could crawl out the window.
One of the sleeping trailers was smashed apart as a creature tore straight through it.
Men screamed as they tried to fight their way clear of the building, but those screams gurgled and died as the beast emerged unharmed and unstoppable, blood dripping from its clawed hands, still moving with slow, relentless steps.
“Call 911!” shouted a man.
Dobbs reached for his phone and cursed. It was in his sleeping quarters. You weren’t allowed to have your phone on the rig.
“There’s a phone in the Foreman’s Office,” snapped Ortega.
Dobbs and Ortega raced for the Foreman’s Office and dove inside. Behind them, they could hear the smashing of equipment and the screams of the dying. Dobbs immediately grabbed the phone and dialed 911. It rang twice.
“911, what’s your emergency?” asked the calm young woman.
“We’re under attack!” screamed Dobbs. “Send help!”
“Sir, calm down,” the woman said. “Now, tell me your name and where you are.”
“I’m Hank Dobbs,” he said. “I’m at Red Basin Energy, Rig number seven. Something’s attacking and killing the crew. We need help, right now!”
“What’s attacking your crew?” asked the woman. “Can you describe it?”
“I don’t know what the hell it is,” Dobbs said, almost sobbing. “But it’s wiping us out. Please, for the love of God, hurry.”
“Sir, the closest unit to your location is thirty minutes away,” she said. “Try to stay calm, and we’ll be there as soon as we can. Find a place to hide and stay on the line.”
“Lady, we’ll all be dead in a few minutes,” Dobbs said. “We need help NOW!”
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “We’ll get someone there as soon as we can. Help is on the way.”
“Listen to me,” Dobbs said. “My wife’s name is Samantha, and she lives in Des Moines. Tell her I love her and I’m sorry.”
“Sir, everything is going to be alright,” said the operator. “I promise. Just stay with me. Help is on the way.”
The wall behind them tore open, and one of the creatures slashed into them with the force of a freight train. The screams of the dying men tore through the phone line, and the woman could hear their final moments just before the creature severed the line and it went dead.
By the time officers arrived, the entire operation was destroyed. The air still stank of oil, sweat, and metal, but now another scent lingered. The coppery-metallic scent of blood. You could smell it and taste it with every breath. It hung in the air like the specter of death itself.
All of the buildings had been savagely torn apart, and body parts were scattered around the area like so many broken toys. Blood was splattered across almost every surface. The oil rig itself was twisted and torn apart, as if a tornado had hit it.
Massive, deep, clawed footprints surrounded the area, seeming to vanish back into the earth, leaving only a small pile of rock and dirt in a slight depression.
The bodies of more than thirty roughnecks, rig workers, and crew were completely dismembered and distributed across ten acres of land.
It was going to take them months just to put them back together for burial.
Six officers vomited, and two others quit on the spot. Whatever had done this was nothing any of them wanted to face. One EMT, a Native American named Jonah Tall Elk, took out his phone and dialed a number. It rang twice.
“Hey,” said Mika. “What’s up, dude?”
“You told me to call you if I ever saw anything weird,” said Jonah. “Well, I think this qualifies.”
“What’s going on?” asked Mika.
“Someone or something killed about thirty vé’ho’e[3],” said Jonah. “They ripped this entire place apart like it was made of paper.”
“Where?” asked Mika.
“Red Basin Energy,” answered Jonah. “Rig number seven. It’s just off the Rez in Bennett County.”
“I know the place,” Mika said.
“Everyone in the country is about to,” Jonah said. “There’s no way to keep this kind of attack quiet.”
“Did you see any tracks?” asked Mika.
“Yeah,” said Jonah. “They’re big, deep, and have claws.”
“Shit,” Mika said. “Thanks, man. If you can get away with it, take pictures and send them to me. Otherwise, we’ll be there as soon as we can.”
“Don’t hurry,” said Jonah. “I’ll send you pictures of everything I can, but the cops are gonna lock this place down. There won’t be any chance they’ll let you in here without some serious pull. There’s no way they’re letting a bunch of guys from the Rez poke around.”
“How long do you think you’re going to have access?” asked Mika.
“They’ll kick us out of here once they confirm there are no survivors,” Jonah said. “That shouldn’t take much longer.”
“Alright, man,” said Mika. “Get what you can while you can. I owe you one. Thanks, brother.”
“Hey, it’s the least I can do,” said Jonah. “Anything to help out one of the Hotamétaneo’o.”