"DEAD AIR":
The captain waved quickly before turning back toward the shore. I stood there for a minute, bag slung over my shoulder, looking at the empty platform. It was one of the service platforms in the middle of the wind farm, all metal walkways and high towers poking up out of the water. The company had closed the whole operation down for a full week of maintenance. The rest of the crew had left two days ago. I was the only one sent back to turn a couple of systems back on and make sure nothing had happened while it was down.
I headed straight for the main building. Inside, the lights in the control room flickered on when I flipped the switch. The air smelled of oil and salt. I dropped my bag on the floor and pulled out the checklist. First thing was to check the generators. I headed down the stairs to the lower level, opened the big panels, and ran the tests. Everything seemed to be in order. I tightened one loose wire and noted it in the logbook.
By the time I finished the first round of checks, the sun had fully set. I headed to the small kitchen area and heated up a meal from the pre-prepared packets the crew had left behind. Beans and rice. I sat down at the table and ate, listening to the low thrum of the emergency power system. Later, I walked the entire platform again, just to make sure. The walkways led out to the turbine pedestals, but I stayed close to the main building. No need to go far in the dark.
I chose a bunk in the sleeping area, the one closest to the control room. I lay down but didn't remove my clothing. Sleep was a long time coming. The platform seemed larger than it had been during the day, like the empty corridors amplified every small noise.
Later, I woke up. My eyes opened to the faint light from the corridor. I heard the sound of footsteps. Not loud, but consistent, like a person walking carefully on the metal floor below. I sat up and listened. The footsteps ceased. Then they resumed, heading towards the storage area.
I climbed down from the bunk and went to the door. I didn't turn on the light. The footsteps drew closer, then turned down the side corridor. I waited until they were out of hearing range, then emerged into the corridor myself. At the far end of the corridor, I saw a door that should have been locked. It was open a few inches. I had checked that door earlier. It was closed and locked.
I walked over and pushed the door open further. Inside, the storage racks appeared different. A few boxes had been moved. On the floor, a rolled-up sleeping bag and a stack of empty food packets rested. Someone had been living off the rations. Not rats. These were opened by hand.
I retreated and shut the door as softly as possible. My thoughts were racing with possibilities. Perhaps one of the crew members had decided to stay behind and not inform the others. Perhaps a boat had arrived after the others departed. I returned to the control room and attempted to use the primary radio. The weight of the radio handset felt heavy in my hand. When I pushed the button, there was no sound. No static, no tone. I opened the panel. The wires inside had been cleanly severed.
This was a new development. I stood there, frozen in shock at the sight before me. The individual who had done this knew the platform. They had been here long enough to locate the radio and disable it without anyone noticing.
I heard the footsteps again, this time on the stairs leading up from the lower deck. I quickly moved into the next room, the one with the tool lockers, and left the door ajar by a crack. I peered through the opening.
A figure came into sight. He was a tall man, dressed in dark clothing and a thick jacket. He held a flashlight but kept it pointed at the ground. He stopped at the kitchen door, peered inside, and then continued towards the sleeping quarters. He moved as if he knew the way. At the bunk room, he paused, then entered. I heard him open the locker where I had placed my bag.
I slipped out of the tool room and went the other way, down the side stairs to the deck level. My goal was to get to the emergency beacon on the other side. It was powered by its own battery and didn’t need the main radio. If I could get there and activate it, a signal would go out.
I was halfway across the open deck when the man’s voice shouted out behind me.
“Hey! Stop right there.”
I turned. He stood at the top of the stairs, flashlight now shining straight at me. The beam hit my face.
“I saw your boat drop you off,” he said. His voice carried well across the deck. “I waited until you settled in. I need this place for a couple more days. You stay quiet, you stay alive. Simple.”
I kept my hands out where he could see them. “The crew will come back in the morning. You should leave now.”
He laughed once, a harsh, short sound. “Morning is a long way off. And that radio is not going to help you. I made sure of that yesterday.”
He began to come down the stairs. I turned and sprinted along the walkway that led to the beacon box. The metal echoed beneath my feet. Behind me, his footsteps quickened. The walkway narrowed as I approached the edge. On one side, the railing stretched along the edge of the deck and down into the sea. On the other side, the massive support for the nearest turbine towered above me.
I reached the beacon box and ripped the cover off. My hands closed around the switch. Before I could turn it, the man grabbed my shoulder and turned me around. He was stronger than he appeared. His face was right in front of mine, his eyes wide and weary.
“Leave it,” he said. “I have a pickup coming at first light. You just sit tight until then. No one needs to know I was here.”
I retreated. “What are you hiding from?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for the beacon again. I pushed him hard. He stumbled but caught the railing. For a moment, we both stood there, panting.
“You don’t understand,” he said. “I took a boat from the mainland three nights ago. The people I worked for will find me if I go back. This platform was empty. I thought I had it to myself.”
He came at me again. We fought near the edge. His foot slipped once on the wet metal. I broke free and ran back toward the main building. He followed, slower now, limping a little from the push.
Inside the control room, I locked the door. He pounded on it once, then twice.
“Open up,” he shouted. “You can’t stay in there forever.”
I looked around. The room had a small window that faced the deck. I saw him walk away, heading toward the storage area. A few minutes later, he came back carrying a long metal bar from the tool locker. He began prying at the door.
I walked to the far corner and spotted the spare phone I had brought with me in my bag. It was a small portable phone that was not part of the system. I turned it on and pressed the emergency button. A red light flashed. The signal was going out.
The door creaked loudly. The man pushed it open enough to stick his arm through. He looked at me.
“Turn that off,” he said.
I held the phone behind me. “Help is already on the way. You can hear the boat coming soon.”
He hesitated. For the first time, he looked uncertain. He looked out to sea, then back at me.
“I just needed time,” he said, his voice softer now. “A few days to get sorted out.”
He dropped the bar. It clattered on the floor. He sat down on the step outside the door and buried his face in his hands.
I stood where I was until I heard the engine of the supply boat in the distance. The sky was lightening. When the boat docked, two members of the crew climbed up the ladder. They saw the man sitting there and the smashed radio. They took him into custody without a struggle.
Later, on the way back to shore, one of the crew members told me that the man had been wanted for transporting goods up and down the coast. He had been using the abandoned platform to wait for a connection that never showed up. The company searched the whole area after that and found more supplies he had cached under the lower deck.
I never went back to that platform by myself. Each time I think back on it, I remember how quiet it was until the footsteps began, and how one cut wire altered everything. The ocean is vast, and platforms such as that one exist out there empty at times. You never know who else might choose to stay.
"SILENT TOWERS":
I stepped out onto the metal deck of the platform just after the boat had pulled away. The captain had said the job would take three hours at most. Check the control panels in the substation building, test the emergency lights, and radio back when I finished. He would swing by on the return run from the next site. Simple enough.
The platform loomed silent out there, a grouping of steel beams and walkways latched together to the seabed. Four turbines stood around it like giant sentinels, motionless and still. Their blades were still. I had the whole area to myself. My footsteps echoed on the grating as I walked towards the main building. The air was thick with the smell of salt and grease.
The lights in the control room flickered on when I flipped the switch. I set my toolbox aside and began the checklist. The first panel was okay. I marked it off. The second panel had a loose wire. I corrected it with a screwdriver and continued. Every few minutes, I glanced at the clock on the wall. Time dragged.
In the second hour, I heard a small metallic clang from somewhere below. Like a tool falling on the lower deck. I stopped and listened. Nothing else came. Platforms make noises all the time. I continued with my work.
Thirty minutes later, I required a part from the storage locker at the end of the walkway. The door was ajar. I pushed it open and entered. The storage locker contained reels of cable and spares for the fuses. In the corner, on the floor, was an empty water bottle. Not mine. I picked it up. The label was wet. Someone had drunk from it recently.
I quickly backed out and closed the door. My radio was on my belt. I pressed the button. “Base, this is the platform. You copy?” Static crackled back. I tried again. The same. Perhaps the signal had to have a clear path. I walked to the open deck and tried again. Still nothing.
I told myself to remain calm. The boat would return shortly. I simply had to complete the final checks. I made my way to the ladder leading down to the pump room. My flashlight beam reflected off the walls. Halfway down, I stopped. Scratching, faint, came from the darkness at the bottom. Like fingernails on metal. I shone the light directly down. Nothing stirred.
I climbed back up and closed the hatch behind me. My hands were a little shaky as I turned the wheel. That was when I saw the mark on the railing. Dark brown, dried. I touched it with one finger. It flaked off. Blood. Old blood.
But now my heart was pounding in my ears. I went back to the control room and picked up a heavy wrench from my toolbox. I sat with my back against the wall so I could see both doors. The clock indicated that the boat would arrive in less than an hour. I kept the radio in my lap and tried to call every five minutes. Nothing.
The footsteps began then. Slow and cautious ones on the walkway outside. They stopped right by the door to the control room. I held my breath. The handle turned. The door opened a few inches and a man stepped inside. He was wearing a dirty orange coverall like the ones we all wore. His face looked thin and his eyes darted fast.
“Who are you?” I asked. My voice was steady.
He smiled a little. “I work here. Just like you.”
“You’re not on the list. The crew left yesterday.”
He shrugged. “Plans change. I needed a place to stay for a while. It’s a quiet spot. Nobody bothers you out here.”
I kept the wrench hidden behind my leg. “The boat’s coming back soon. You can ride in with me.”
His smile faltered. “No. I don’t think so. The last guy who said that got pushy. Wanted to call everyone. Couldn’t have that.”
I felt a chill run through me. “What guy?”
He nodded toward the railing outside. “The one who left the mess on the rail. He found my little camp in the storage locker. Said he would tell the captain. I couldn’t let him do that.”
I stood up slowly. “You killed him?”
“Had to,” he said. “He left me no choice. Pushed him over the side after. Tide took care of the rest.” The man took one step closer. “Now you know. So what are we going to do about it?”
I moved backward toward the side door that led to the turbine walkway. “Stay back.”
He laughed once. “You think you can run? This place is all connected. I know every ladder and corner. Been living here two weeks.”
I turned and sprinted through the door. My boots pounded the narrow metal walkway between the buildings. Behind me, his footsteps began, quicker now. I reached the first turbine base and flung open the access door. Inside, the ladder led straight up into the dark shaft. I began climbing. My flashlight jerked on the rungs.
Halfway up, I heard the door below slam open. “You’re making this hard,” he shouted. His voice bounced up the shaft.
I continued climbing. My arms ached. At the top, I crawled into the nacelle, the small room at the head of the turbine. The room was cramped, filled with gears and wires. I closed the hatch and sat on it. My breathing was loud in the small room.
Time passed. Then I heard him on the ladder. The metal clanged with each step. He reached the hatch and turned the handle. It didn’t budge. He pounded on it once. “Open up. We can talk.”
I held my tongue. My hands clutched the wrench so hard my knuckles ached.
He tried again. “I’ll wait. You have to come down sometime. Boat’s not coming tonight. I cut the radio cable before you even got here.”
My stomach contracted. I scanned the nacelle. There was a small emergency console on the wall. I flipped it open. It contained a manual beacon. I removed the pin. A red light began to flash. It would transmit a signal on its own power source. Rescue teams would see it eventually.
The man below began kicking the hatch. Each kick rocked the entire room. “You think that little light will save you? I’ll be gone before anyone gets here.”
I crawled to the opposite side of the nacelle and opened the maintenance hatch that led out onto the blade hub. The cold air enveloped me. The ocean stretched out below, black and featureless. I couldn’t see the bottom. One misstep and that was it.
The kicking ceased. I heard him climbing back down. He was going to make it down to the outside ladder. I waited until his footsteps were out of hearing, then I slipped out onto the narrow walkway that ringed the turbine. My fingers were tight on the handrail. The platform seemed tiny from this height. I could see the control building and the storage locker.
A shadow moved on the walkway below. He was coming around the outside. I flattened myself against the tower. He walked directly beneath me and continued on toward the far turbine. I waited until he was out of sight, then I climbed back inside the nacelle and closed the hatch.
I sat in the dark and listened. The beacon light flashed regularly. The minutes dragged by, turning into what seemed like hours. My legs ached from sitting so still. Each groan of the metal made me start.
Then I heard him again. He had climbed another ladder and was making his way along the catwalk that linked the turbines. His voice carried across the distance. “I see the light. You’re up there, aren’t you?”
I didn’t respond.
He continued to talk, his voice muffled now. “It doesn’t have to go down badly. I just need a ride out of this place. You call the boat, tell them everything is okay. I get on, I’m gone. Nobody ever knows.”
I didn’t say a word. The wrench weighed heavily in my hand.
His footsteps ceased right outside the nacelle hatch. He tried the handle again. This time the catch yielded slightly. I hadn’t closed it fully. I threw myself forward and butted it shut. He cursed and pushed harder. The door creaked open an inch. His fingers appeared in the opening.
I swung the wrench down on those fingers. He screamed and yanked his hand back. The door slammed shut. I turned the lock fully.
He hammered on the metal for what seemed like an eternity. Then there was silence. I sat there shaking, listening to my own ragged breathing.
The beacon light flashed on. Eventually, I heard the rumble of a boat engine in the distance. I took a chance and opened the small window, waving my flashlight. The boat headed toward the platform. Its searchlight swept across the turbines.
I remained in the nacelle until the crew climbed up. When they opened the hatch, I almost couldn’t stand. They assisted me down the ladder. I told them everything in short sentences. They located the severed radio cable. They located the dried blood. They searched the entire platform, but the man was nowhere to be found. He must have slipped into the sea when he heard the boat approaching.
The captain placed a blanket around my shoulders and placed me in the wheelhouse. “You did good staying alive up there,” he said.
I glanced back at the platform as we pulled away. It stood dark against the sky, empty once more. But I knew that I would never set foot on it alone again.
"CO2":
He handed me my tool bag and said, “I have to check two more turbines first. Call when you finish the fire system check. Should be back in an hour.” I stepped onto the metal deck and watched the boat move away across the open water until it was small in the distance.
This was the far substation platform in the wind farm, a large steel box standing on thick legs above the sea. No one lived here. It held all the power equipment for the turbines, and today the job was mine alone. A warning light had shown up on the control panel the night before, a problem with the fire suppression system. I was here to check the CO2 cylinders and make sure they were ready.
I walked across the deck to the main door, punched in the code, and stepped inside. Lights along the ceiling came on when I flipped the switch. I pulled the radio from my belt and pressed the button.
“Mark, this is Jack speaking from the platform. I am inside and starting the check.”
Mark’s voice came back strong. “Good copy. The last report said one cylinder showed low pressure. Start in the suppression room, second door on the left. Let me know what you find.”
I walked down the short hall. The floor was metal grating, and my boots made a hollow sound. I opened the second door. The room was narrow, with tall silver cylinders against the walls, bolted there. Each one had a gauge and a thick pipe leading to the ceiling. I put my bag down and read the first gauge. It seemed okay. I moved to the next one.
That was when I heard the hiss. It began softly, like air leaking from a tire, but grew louder. White fog burst from the top of the middle cylinder. The room filled quickly. I took a step back and reached for the door handle, but my hand slipped. The fog was thick and cold. I pushed on the door with all my strength. It swung open, and I stumbled out into the hall.
“Mark, the CO2 is escaping. One of the cylinders just began releasing gas. I am out of the room now.”
Mark responded immediately. “Get to the fresh air. Open as many doors as you can. The alarm should not have sounded. Is there smoke or fire?”
“No fire. Just gas. It is filling the hall.”
I started walking toward the stairs, but my pace seemed slow. The fog trailed behind me like a cloud. My eyes burned, and my throat was constricting. I pushed the radio button again.
“Mark, my head is beginning to hurt. The gas is everywhere.”
“Keep moving toward the upper deck,” he said. “The fresh air is there. The boat is turning back now. Captain Reed is fifteen minutes out. Talk to me so I know you are all right.”
I made it to the stairs and climbed. Each step made my legs feel heavier. At the top, I pushed open the door to the open deck. The air there was better, but I could still smell the gas drifting up. I sat against the rail and took slow breaths.
“Mark, I am on the deck. I feel dizzy. Like the world is tilting.”
“Stay there. Breathe slow. Tell me what you see.”
I looked around. “The rail is cold under my hand. The door to the stairs is open and white fog is coming out. My fingers feel numb.”
“Good. Keep talking. The boat is moving fast. Captain Reed says he can see the platform now.”
I tried to stand but my knees shook. I sat back down. The radio felt heavy in my hand. “Mark, I do not know if I can stand up again. My chest hurts.”
“Stay awake. Describe the sky or the rail. Anything. The captain is almost there.”
I kept my eyes on the metal rail. “The paint is chipped near my foot. There is a small dent in the deck plate. I can hear the gas still hissing from below.”
Time stretched out. My head felt full of cotton. I heard the boat horn in the distance, faint at first, then louder.
Captain Reed’s voice came on the radio. “I see you on the deck. We are coming alongside the east side. Can you walk to the ladder spot?”
I pushed myself up and began to move along the rail. My legs refused to cooperate. “I am moving. The gas is making me slow.”
The boat drew near. I saw the captain at the helm and one of the crewmen with the ladder. The ladder lifted and caught on the edge of the deck. I grabbed the first rung.
“Take it slow,” the captain yelled up. “One step at a time.”
I descended the ladder. My hands slipped once, and I held on harder. When my feet touched the deck of the boat, the captain grabbed my arm and helped me sit on a bench. He handed me a mask with clean air.
“You made it,” he said. “We will get you to the medical boat right away.”
I nodded and closed my eyes for a second. The platform dwindled behind us as the boat turned. Later, they told me that the sensor in the suppression system had a problem. It had been reported weeks before, but the repair had been put off. The company sent me out alone because it was a simple job on paper.
I will never forget the hiss and the white fog that refused to clear. I will never forget the silence of the radio as my head began to spin. And I will never forget the rungs of the ladder beneath my hands as each step became the last one I would ever take.