Ben ‘The Bulldozer’ Mendoza was chilling in his hot tub with his girlfriend Marla when his phone suddenly lit up.
He put down his icy cold Corona so fast that it tipped over, spilling the sand-coloured liquid into the grass.
‘What is it?’ Marla said.
She’d been sitting on his lap, her lips exploring his tanned neck.
Ordinarily there’d be nothing in the world more important than that, but Mendoza knew by the ring tone he’d set that it was Jake Roberts, his good friend at the marine biology lab.
‘Sorry honey,’ he said, darting for his phone.
‘Mendoza.’
‘Bulldozer? I think it’s back.’
‘What?’
‘Turn on the news.’
Mendoza darted inside, not bothering to dry himself.
‘And we are told that one of the workers on the rig slipped and fell into the water,’ the pretty brunette reporter said.
Mendoza darted for the remote to turn it up.
Marla was sat beside him on the bed now, a towel wrapped round her.
She remained quiet, noting the concerned expression on Mendoza’s face.
‘One of his workers reported seeing a frothy mass of blood in the sea around the base of the rig. He said that it was a big dark shape, but was hard to make out. We await further information.’
Mendoza was already on the phone to the station.
‘It’s back,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘You gotta get those men off that fucking rig.’
Slaine, his boss, refused, saying that he would cost the oil company a fortune if it closed up unnecessarily.
‘Get those men off the rig or I’m going out there myself.’
‘No, Mendoza. You gotta be kidding me.’
‘I shit you not.’
‘I’ll make a few calls. See what I can do.’
Mendoza hung up, necked the rest of his beer.
His face had gone pale.
Marla hugged into him.
‘It’s back,’ he said. ‘Holy shit. It’s fucking back.’
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