The Laptev Virus

Holy shit, he thought, and his heart began pounding fiercely in his chest. His fingers were shaking so hard that he fumbled a few times as he scrolled through and read the most recent one. It was from a minute ago, 2:09 am.

We cannot reach anyone at the compound to confirm the report that was received a few minutes ago.

Suddenly his phone rang. He saw that it was the new VP of Health, Safety and Environment, Peter Shoemaker, and immediately took the call.

“Stan, sorry to wake you.”

“I was up.”

“I just got a call from Riesig-Alaska, the control facility that is working with the Laptev Bay barracks in the Arctic. It seems there’s been a shooting. They got word that one of the workers, I guess it was the bear hazer, Max something, who had just returned from one of the drilling sites this evening. Apparently he went crazy and began shooting. They said several people were dead. Someone from the barracks sent hasty messages and then all contact with them was lost.”

“God…” Stan said, closing his eyes. A shooting. Workers dead. It was his worst nightmare. He swallowed twice before he was sure that his voice would not tremble as he spoke. “What do you suggest?”

“Since no one is responding, it could be a hostage situation. I think we need to get a plane to go there immediately and see what’s happening,” said Pete.

Stan let out his breath. “Okay, do it,” he said, hoping against hope that it would not be too late.

Oscillating between fear, guilt and anxiety, Stan was not able to sleep for the rest of that long night. With tattered nerves he rose before dawn, fervently wishing he could turn back the ruthless passage of time and remove all traces of his permission to open the drilling site anew.

He had left his phone on, but no new information had been forthcoming. He shaved, showered and just as he was walking out the door, another call came in, this time from Riesig-Alaska. He stepped back inside his house and took the call.

“Mr. Sundback,” said the voice, “this is Gerald Jemison, from the Alaska Riesigoil outpost. Dr. Shoemaker said we were to call you directly as soon as we had information about the compound at Laptev Bay.”

“Yes, what did you find?”

“Sir… I regret to inform you that at this time there appear to be no survivors.”

Stan reached for the wall as the room tipped slightly. “What else have you got?” he said, his voice hoarse.

“We’re sending the photos of the bodies to our forensics team, and the authorities have been called, of course. It’s too early to speculate, but what we can confirm is that most of the crew was killed in their sleep. They were shot in the neck with bear darts. It looks like a few of the people must have woken up while the systematic killing was going on, and there is evidence of a struggle afterwards… though, like I said, no one seems to have survived. We will keep you informed as soon as we find out more.”

Stan hung up. His mind was reeling and his heart was leaden. He knew the next step that he needed to take and he mentally prepared himself to call Dennis. He tried to pick up the phone but suddenly felt nauseous. He ran to the bathroom and bent over the toilet as his stomach heaved repeatedly.

Regret and remorse took turns washing over him anew in huge, towering, suffocating waves. The image of the Deepwater Horizon, listing to the side with huge black plumes of smoke, flashed in his mind. Eleven Dead, Sixteen Injured. Then he saw the reports about the incident in early May and the headlines that read ‘Seven Dead in the Worst Accident Ever in Riesigoil History.’

He covered his mouth, trying to prevent further retching, and walked to the sink to splash some cold water on his face. As he held the towel, the images which had burned themselves onto the fabric of his tortured mind continued to flash mercilessly.

He had known that it was a bad idea to open up the Arctic for drilling again. There were some places too remote and too wild to be dominated by humans. His own arrogance as the CEO of a powerful company had kept him from understanding this basic fact. Now the blood of all those people was on his hands.

He closed his eyes. He knew with utter certainty that there was no way he could make the call and listen to the heartless board again. There was no way that he could ever report to work again. There was no way that he could ever look in the mirror at himself without hating the monster he had become.