Two more men prepared to abandon ship. They leapt into the violent water and disappeared beneath the sea. A second later, they surfaced, their arms flailing against the churning ocean. Another person clung to the rigging, not moving toward the water as his shipmates had. Since he had seen boats in better predicaments sink in less than fifteen minutes, he had to think that the man was intent on going down with the ship.
Ty nudged him. “You ready?” he yelled over the roar of the helicopter, wind, and rain.
Justin nodded. He and Ty had become experts at ignoring each other over the last few months, at least until the time came to save lives. Then, they worked as a well-oiled machine, their gears meshing in perfect unison. Ty raised his hand and, with a snap of his wrist, motioned for Justin to deploy.
Justin took a deep breath, his blood humming from adrenaline. With a quick shove, he heaved himself over the side of the chopper. The cold air whipped past his face, his body dropping like a lead weight, and then the frigid water engulfed him. His exposed cheeks and eyes stung as he plunged deeper. He spread his arms wide to slow his descent and, with a few kicks of his fins, he emerged from the ocean.
The tides pushed and pulled while he fought to secure his snorkel and mask. From the battlefield, the world was more beautiful and dangerous than he’d imagined sitting thirty feet in the air. What had seemed a vast expanse of inky water, punctuated with frothy spray, was in reality a scale of colors from green to deep blue. And the waves were the size of mountains, angry and teaming with ominous shadows as they loomed over him.
A colossal wave bore down on him, black in the trough, blue in the slope. He dove under the water crashing overhead and burst out the backside of the swell. Twenty yards from his position, the men bobbed up and down like buoys in the cool November water. He dove under the next wave and popped out the backside, then slid down the wall of water to the trough of the next wave. Over and over, he repeated the same charging motion until his muscles burned.
Justin reached the men, all of them alert and fighting against the roiling tides. He peered up in the sky, searching for his team. The bucket splashed down in the water, five feet to their left. With the sun nearly set, the helicopter floodlights lit up the water around the basket.
He loaded the men two at a time. In less than ten minutes, he had them all aboard the chopper except for one.
“How many are in the boat?” Justin yelled.
The fisherman struggled to speak as waves slapped against his face. Justin grabbed him and pushed him to the edge of the bucket.
Choking and spitting, the man clutched the metal frame. “One more. He can’t swim.”
Justin heaved the fisherman into the rescue basket. When the bucket lifted, he peered back at where he’d last seen the sinking vessel. Night had officially descended, and his eyes saw nothing outside the bright rays of the floodlights. Had it already sunk? He’d been doing this job for five years, yet every time he lost a person, it felt like the first, the shame at having failed overwhelming him. Christ, he hoped it wouldn’t be one of those nights.
He glanced up at the helicopter. The bucket and man disappeared inside, and the aircraft took off toward the vessel, its nose light casting powerful beams across the churning ocean. Praying for a miracle, he sucked in a deep breath.
In the tendrils of light cast by the chopper, the vessel emerged, violently pitching to starboard. The searchlight trained on a man clinging to the rigging. Justin roared into action, diving under a wave. He gruelingly fought the savage sea to the crippled vessel. His fingers intertwined in the fishing net hanging portside, and he heaved himself up the rope. The ship shuddered under the pounding waves as he climbed toward the deck and scrambled over the railing.
The vessel pitched further starboard, the force of a wave ramming the bow. His finned feet slid down the deck as if he were walking on a thin sheet of ice. He grabbed the railing and inched toward the terrified man clinging to the fishing net hoist. The closer he got, the younger the man looked, until he didn’t seem to be a man at all.
When Justin was finally upon the hoist, he realized he was staring at a kid no more than seventeen. The boy’s eyes flitted around wildly.
His gaze washed over the kid’s clothes. It was a blessing he hadn’t jumped in the water after his crew because he was dressed in a rain suit with no thermal protection. The cold sea would have sucked his consciousness away in less than twenty minutes.
The kid fleetingly met his gaze, then his feral eyes went back to fluttering around the sinking ship. Justin pulled himself to within a foot of the kid and, trying to hold his gaze, got in his face. “I’m with the Coast Guard,” he yelled. “What’s your name?”
“B-B-Brian,” the kid stuttered. A hulking swell rocked the boat, and the rigging dipped into the white-capped waves. The kid squeezed the metal hoist tighter. His eyes seemed to grow wilder with each pummeling wave.
“Listen, Brian.” Justin waited until the kid looked at him. “I don’t want to bring the bucket on this boat. If the rope gets tangled, that helicopter could go down when the ship goes down. You understand?”
Brian nodded, though his gaze broke from Justin’s and darted around as if he saw nothing but the crashing waves sinking his ship.
Justin checked the kid’s life vest. When he had it properly secured, he gestured toward the lowest point of the vessel. “We can either jump from the port side or climb down the net. Your choice.”
“N-n-no. I can’t.”
“If you stay on this boat, you’re going to die.” Justin squeezed the kid’s shoulder, reassuringly. “I promise I’ll be with you the whole time.”
The boy clung harder and shook his head with a jerky movement.
“Don’t you have a mama you want to see again?” Justin asked.
He nodded, smoother this time.
“Do you want her mourning you when all you have to do is jump?”
“N-n-no, sir. I don’t.”
“Then, follow me.” He wrenched Brian’s fingers from the cold metal just as a colossal wave hit portside. The rigging sank deep into the waves, the boat tilting at an ever-steeper angle. With terror in his eyes, the kid scuttled backward to grab the winch.
Justin seized both of Brian’s arms before the boy could attach himself to the boat again. No longer anchored, they both slid down the deck to the waiting water.
He pushed the kid over the railing that still peeked above the waterline. Brian’s eyes grew mad with fear. He thrashed uncontrollably in the waves. Justin jumped in after him, then looked up at the helicopter to identify the bucket’s position. It hit the water five feet away.
He sucked down a deep breath and swam to Brian’s side. The kid reached out with desperate hands and clawed at his shoulders as if he were a tree to climb. In his panic, he ripped Justin’s swim mask off.
“Brian!” he yelled, just before the force of the kid’s body plunged Justin beneath a wave. He dove several feet under the boy, breaking free from the kid’s desperate grasp. He emerged behind Brian and wrapped one firm arm around the kid’s neck. “Be still!”
The kid was lost to fear. With flailing arms, he thrashed out of Justin’s grasp. His elbow nailed Justin’s nose.
Justin’s head snapped back. The piercing pain shot straight through his eyes. Christ! Brian fought him, the waves, anything that’d bear the brunt of his thrashing arms.
Fuck. The kid was going to get them both killed. Justin reared back a fist and drove it forward. He clocked Brian square on the jaw. The kid’s eyes dimmed as if he were counting stars, then his body went limp.
Justin flipped the mask over his head, settling it around his eyes, only to stop at the slightest pressure to his nose. When he pulled the mask back, a puddle of blood had settled into the recesses. He groaned while securing the strap around the back of his head. He might as well be shoving a knife up his sinuses, but without the mask, the waves assaulting his eyes would make seeing impossible.
Gritting his teeth against the
pain, he wrapped an arm around the kid’s neck. Fighting the currents threatening to tear Brain from his arms, he swam toward the basket. A wave smashed against the steel hull of the boat, and his focus split between getting Brian to safety and keeping track of the boat surging toward them.
The deck railing rose several feet above the sea’s surface. With only five feet between the rescue basket and the vessel, he was aware of the deadly situation they’d be in if a wave tossed the boat into them. Maybe he could do something about that.
He reached deep into his core, calling on his powers, waiting for the hum of energy to fill his body. The weakest of trembles coursed through his limbs, barely touching the water engulfing him. He grunted and closed his eyes, aware of his vulnerability, but he had to try. Nothing. He was spent. The stabbing pain from his nose, the burning of his muscles, the fatigue, all combined to make him useless. Gonna have to do this the human way.
Justin opened his eyes as the boat heaved toward them. He tensed when Brian slipped from his grasp, then quickly latched onto the kid’s collar. “You awake?”
The boy’s eyes fluttered open, the fear rising anew in his expression, but his limbs remained limp in the water, the tides swaying them side to side.
Time to go. With a knee in the kid’s back and both hands on the kid’s shoulders, Justin shoved him toward the basket. “Grab hold.”
Brian clutched the metal bars and scurried in. The teenager settled inside, his back resting against the side grate. Justin’s mind homed in on his next move. First on the agenda was putting a good distance between him and the ship.
He braced his legs against the bucket, preparing to back away and give Ty the thumbs up. A tug on his drysuit sleeve lurched him to a stop. He jerked his arm, but the fabric was caught between the bucket grates. When he glanced down, he saw a sharp point of metal jutting through his suit. Christ, they’d been doing so many rescues, they hadn’t had time for repairs.
Justin tugged his arm toward his chest, but the metal held tight. Given the thickness of his drysuit, ripping the thing would be a bitch.
The bucket began to rise. Justin’s gaze snapped up. He hadn’t given the signal to lift. What the hell?
With only a split second to spare, he grabbed onto the structural bar and tried to hoist himself inside. He’d ride with the kid and free his arm on the way up.
As he heaved upward, the water ripped out from under him. A huge space opened below him after a swell plowed by, leaving the trough directly underneath his dangling legs. His muscles trembled from holding himself aloft. Jesus, he was worn out. With one last effort, he sucked in a deep breath and lifted his spent body upward, his torso clearing the threshold of the basket.
Just before he could fall in, a massive wave clocked him from behind. Every bone in his back popped as he slammed into the metal. His grip slipped, and his arms gave out. The only thing between him and the inky water below were his fingers holding tight to the basket.
The bucket swayed under his weight, and he knew he didn’t have the strength to do another pull-up. A cramp seized his right arm. He moaned against the invisible fingers wringing the life out of his bicep. With his right arm in the cusp of a spasm and his left arm caught on the bucket, Justin began to panic.
Stay calm. Ty would lower the bucket. Or maybe Justin was where Ty had always wanted him—at his mercy.
The hoist accelerated upward. Justin fought against the cramp and tried to clamber aboard. The boy must have forgiven the punch because he scooted toward him, wrapped his hands around Justin’s arms, and attempted to tug him to safety.
The basket tipped.
Justin’s fingers slid down the structural bar before catching on the ridge of the basket. He looked down to see the floodlights illuminating the boat fifteen feet below. Christ, he was dangling directly above the vessel’s railing, his altitude ever increasing.
Brian’s eyes widened as he slid toward Justin. The kid scrambled backward, but he was in a useless fight against gravity and the rain-slicked metal. The further he slipped, the more the basket tilted.
From the weight of Justin’s body, his sleeve jerked free, the fabric gashing open, the sharp metal tong scratching at his skin. He maneuvered his arm away from the spiked point, firming up his grip. If he fell, he’d hit the boat with a force that could kill him.
Brian struggled to right the bucket. He couldn’t steady himself against the wet grates, and he slipped down the incline.
The basket tipped further.
With his heart thundering louder than the sea, Justin stared at the ship directly below him. The vessel heaved upward under the force of a massive wave, the railing rocketing skyward, reaching for him.
The wind howled, and rain dripped down his brow. As he clenched the cold metal, a desperate whoosh of air left his lungs. He had only two options, and he didn’t like either of them. He could hold on and hope they made it to the helicopter before they both tumbled to their deaths, or he could let go.
Justin closed his eyes, said a prayer to his bastard god, and let go.
Chapter 18
Mandy stood at the nurse’s station with a pen clutched in her hand. She scribbled the medication request for Room 224, then set the clipboard on the desk to free her hands for a much-needed massage. Every muscle in her body ached from picking up so many extra shifts, but she knew if she stayed home, parked on the couch, she’d just worry about Justin battling the insane weather.
As she rubbed the tension from her neck with her knuckles, a pink blur rushed down the hall. She turned toward the motion just in time to see Amelia, a nurse on her floor, skid to a stop and come rushing to her side. Amelia’s eyes were wide, and she gasped for breath.
Had the toddler in Room 230 taken a turn for the worse? Oh, God! She hoped not. That sweet angel had a quick smile and an easy giggle, even though she was fighting a nasty respiratory virus. “Is Abigail okay?” she asked, the worry in her voice too thick to mask.
Amelia nodded, but her face grew grimmer, and the silence between them became its own entity, arms stretched wide enough to envelope them both.
The bad weather. Amelia’s expression. The sick feeling that sat heavy in her gut.
“Justin,” Mandy whispered, knowing that something had happened to him. She could feel it down to her very core.
“He had an accident,” Amelia said.
She could hardly coax the next words out, too afraid of Amelia’s answer. “Where is he?” Please be alive. Please be alive.
“ER.”
She whimpered with relief. “Is he going to be okay?”
“I don’t know.”
The relief disappeared as if it had never been. She threw the pen onto the desk, whirled toward the elevators, then stopped in panic. Who would cover her patients?
“Go,” Amelia said. “I’ll take care of everything.”
She tried to squeak the word thanks past her tight throat, but nothing was going to get through the vise of her teeth until she knew Justin was okay.
“You need to hurry,” Amelia whispered.
A fog descended on her. Like something out of an old-school horror movie, the white mist shrouded her, cutting off all her senses. She didn’t remember the ride down the elevator or the jog to the ER or asking where Justin could be found. Yet somehow, she was standing in front of the CT scanner room, and she knew he was in there.
With trembling fingers, Mandy pushed open the door. When she caught sight of Justin, the haze retreated as if shocked into oblivion. His eyes closed, he lay on a gurney next to the machine. His normally golden skin was sickly gray, and beads of sweat blossomed across his forehead.
Two nurses stood on the far side of the CT table. In unison, they leaned over, grasped the sheet Justin lay on and used it to pull him onto the table. He gasped, his face contorting in agony. Mandy whimpered, half elated that he was conscious, half horrified to see him suffering.
Holding back tears, she hurried inside and grasped his clammy hand in hers. Justin ope
ned his eyes and stared off into the distance, his gaze dim. His lips were the same color as his cheeks, ashen and dry. She wanted to kiss him, to ease his cracked skin with her touch, but he seemed so frail she was afraid the slightest pressure would hurt him.
“Can you give him anything? Maybe morphine?” she pleaded.
“Not until after the CT,” the nurse responded.
Mandy nodded, knowing it was protocol to hold back pain medicine until the extent of a patient’s injuries was known, but it seemed damned cruel now that her Justin was the one hurting.
“We need to scan him,” the nurse added in a respectful whisper.
Mandy leaned down and kissed Justin’s forehead gently, his skin moist beneath her lips. “I’ll be right back.” She reluctantly inched away, hugging herself tightly as the machine whirred and beeped, and Justin disappeared inside.
For her own sanity, she watched his vitals on the portable monitor—blood pressure stable, heart rate accelerated, but not abnormal, and oxygen levels slightly lower than normal, but not dangerously low. His vitals might’ve been okay, but she worried he was slowly bleeding to death from the inside.
Ten minutes later, she sat holding his hand in the ER. The incessant beeping of the heart monitor drummed a reassuring tune that he was alive. Every day in her job, she listened to that noise but, sitting next to the man she loved, she thought the sound sweeter than an angel’s voice.
Mandy inhaled a calming breath and let her gaze follow the thin tube that snaked from the clear fluid bag toward the crook in his arm. She shook her head, tears trailing down her cheeks, and studied her brave Justin lying fragile and pale, attached to a half-dozen monitors and tubes.
He was strong, a proud lighthouse standing tall among jagged rocks and crashing surf. She was the weak one. Of the two of them, she should be lying in the hospital bed, not him. The thought knocked a memory loose, and Justin’s words echoed in her mind. You don’t know if your cancer’s coming back, anymore than I know if I’ll die in a car wreck tomorrow. This was the wreck he’d been talking about.
The Calling Page 18