Waves of Fate | Book 1 | First Fate

by Talbot, Kendall

  And the stupid bitch had stopped dealin’.

  He knew what this was about. They were watching. Them people behind them security monitors around the casino. They’d seen his hand. They’d seen the card she was about to deal him. They knew he was about to beat the bank. Zon glared up at the black dome above the table and flipped the bird. “You getting this, asshole?”

  “Steady on, mate.” The guy at his side was all suit and tie, and looked down his nose at Zon. He’d met assholes like him before. Thinking their fancy suit and polished shoes made their dollar more valuable than his.

  “Fuck you, mate. I was winnin’.”

  The asshole pretended to ignore Zon by looking around the dim casino.

  All them annoying jingles coming from the hundreds of slot machines cramming the casino had stopped too. Other than the fools still screaming, it was mostly silent.

  It sure was weird.

  “Hey, come on, what’s going on?” A dude as big as a hippo bashed the side of the machine, then erupted into a coughing fit until he was gasping for air.

  “Mine’s dead too,” said the woman beside him. Her gray hair looked like she’d wrestled with a toilet brush. Reminded him of his grandmama, ’cept she wasn’t as fat as this woman was. His grandmama had been real scrawny.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.”

  Zon turned toward the voice. A guy dressed in white was standing at the front of the room. Behind him, the bar lights that usually lit all the booze were out. The only light they had was from the last of the sunset coming in from the open double doors and the giant windows on either side of the casino.

  “There’s no need to panic, but it seems we’ve had a minor power failure. Please sit tight, and we’ll have this sorted as soon as possible.”

  Zon grabbed his poker chips and shoved them into his pockets. Then, when the dude and the chick standin’ beside him turned toward the bar, Zon siphoned a tower of their chips his way too. They were both so drunk it wasn’t like they’d even notice. He felt the dealer staring at him and turned to eyeball the bitch. The way she was lookin’, she’d seen what he’d done.

  He didn’t give a fuck.

  Zon leaned forward and sneered at her. Wasn’t even a second before she backed away even farther.

  He glanced up, and as he sneered at the black dome above the table, a thought gripped him like gator jaws. Without power, all the fuckin’ security cameras coulda stopped workin’ too. It was a whole new kinda payday. He waited till the dealer veered her eyes away before he stacked another hundred bucks worth of chips onto his original bid. “Hey, bitch. You gonna finish this hand or what?”

  She jumped. Her hand went to her chest and she glanced over her shoulder, no doubt looking for security. But Zon had already seen the fat asshole waddle toward the bar.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but all play has stopped temporarily.” Her voice was high-pitched and freaky. Like she was stuck in a video game.

  “I know what y’all doin’. Them fucking assholes don’t want me winnin’.” He eyeballed the security dome wonderin’ if he was right about ’em not working.

  “Sir, please . . . give the lady a break. She’s just doing her job.” The toffy-nosed shit sounded all fancy with his posh accent.

  “Or what?” Zon barked.

  The prick eased back, then after a pause, he climbed off his chair and reached for his chips next to his played cards.

  “Hey, don’t go touching ’em. Game’s not over.”

  “I think you’ll find it is.” The English prick made a show of looking around the room.

  Other gamblers were leaving tables. Some-a the ones on the slot machines, though, hadn’t moved. They were just sittin’ there, looking around, waitin’ for someone to tell ’em what to do. Nobody knew what was goin’ on. Even the staff.

  The minutes ticked on, and the standoff between Zon and Bitchface continued. All this waitin’ was makin’ him thirsty. He snatched up his beer bottle, but he’d drained his Bud at least ten minutes ago.

  “Oy.” Zon pointed at Bitchface. “We oughta get free drinks. We bein’ inconvenienced like this an’ all.”

  Again, she glanced at the security guard. He was tinkerin’ with somethin’ behind the bar. Maybe tryin’ to secure the cash. The chick behind the cashier’s counter was in near-darkness but even in the limited light she looked like she was shittin’ herself.

  Hang on. What else has been affected by the blackout. Fuck me. It could be everythin’.

  Are them pop-up security screens still workin’?

  Years ago, back in his footy days, before he’d gone an’ broke his ankle, he’d done a smash-and-grab at a convenience store. He’d been stupid back then though and drunk, and the cashier had got the jump on him. It was a miracle the cops had only given him a warnin’. Maybe ’cause they’d known what was coming for him when he got home.

  His daddy had smashed the shit out of him. Teachin’ him a lesson an’ all. He’d lost a tooth and broken his nose in that beatin’. His fucking nose still whistled when he wasn’t concentratin’.

  “Listen. I betta get a drink in the next minute or I’m gonna get real cranky.”

  The fancy prick rolled his eyes.

  Zon launched to his feet, sending his chair flying. “You got somethin’ to say?”

  The prick held up his hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “No, but you were thinking.”

  A cocky smirk crawled across his lips. “I’m always thinking.”

  Zon jabbed his finger into the asshole’s chest. “Don’t you go gettin' all high and mighty on me.”

  “Sir. Do we have a problem?”

  Zon spun to the guard. Despite his fat gut, he’d managed to sneak up on Zon. “Yeah, we got a fucking problem.” Zon flicked his hand toward the dealer. “The bitch knows I’m winnin’ so she’s stopped dealin’, and ain’t nobody getting me a drink.”

  “We’re sorry for the inconvenience, but we’ve had to close down the casino. Please can you make your way—”

  “Like fuck. I ain't goin’ no—”

  The guard lashed out, grabbed Zon’s wrist, and before Zon knew what was happenin’ his hand was shoved up behind him, his chips had gone flying, and his face was squished into the green felt on the poker table.

  “Get the fuck off me!”

  “You need to calm down.”

  “Get off me, you fuck!” Zon wrestled against the guard. He couldn’t believe the fat prick had gotten the jump on him.

  “Calm down, sir.”

  “I know my rights.”

  Next second, Zon was flung from the table and hit the floor in a full-body slam. His arm was wrenched so far up his back he thought it was gonna snap. “Fuckin’ hell! You’re gonna break my arm.”

  “Correct. If you so much as move, I’ll do exactly that.”

  “Jesus, what the hell’re ya doin?” His nose whistled and it only made him more angry. “Fuck!”

  “I’m putting you under arrest. What’s your name?”

  “None of your fuckin—” He howled as his other arm was yanked up behind his back.

  “Your name!”

  “Zon Woodrow.” He didn’t give his real name. Richard Nyxzon Woodrow. His stupid slut of a mother named him after a president or somethin’. That was bad enough. But spelling it the way she did made it a thousand times worse. He’d spent his junior years being called Dick Nyx. Then he’d gotten smart and strong. And angry. That was when he’d fucked off the Richard part and the Nyx bit, and he’d been Zon ever since. No one questioned it. Especially not since he’d shaved his head and grown his beard. The red-tinged facial hair made him look like a rebel from one of them Viking movies. Nobody questioned him about nothin’ no more.

  Except the fucking security guard. Zon’d get him though, when the time was right. That fat guard was gonna wish he’d never met Zon.

  A metal clip was slapped onto his wrist. Handcuffs. He knew them well.

  “Fuckin’ hell. What’d I do? This
is corruption. You knew I was winnin’.”

  The guard rolled him over and Zon looked up at the fat prick. Zon drew back and spat, but the fat globule came back down and splattered his own shirt. The guard kicked him in the gut. It didn’t hurt though; Zon’s daddy had kicked him enough times for him to know when it was meant to hurt. That didn’t . . . confirmin’ the guard was nothin’ but a fat pussy.

  “Get up.”

  Zon cursed and wriggled around on the floor, trying to stand. But with his hands behind his back it was impossible. “I can’t.”

  “That’s right. You’re in my control now. You are going to show me some respect.”

  Zon spat again. This time it landed on the guard’s shoe and when that boot slammed into his gut, Zon buckled up in pain. “Fuck! What’d ya do that for?”

  “I asked if you were going to show me some respect.”

  “This’s brutality.” He turned and spied the English prick, all grinnin’ and stuff. If he weren’t tied up, Zon woulda punched that smirk right off his face.

  The guard dragged Zon to his feet; the fuckin’ handcuffs sliced into his flesh. “Jesus Christ. You’re hurting me.”

  “I’m going to hurt you more if you don’t comply.”

  “I am fuckin’ complyin’, you shit.”

  “Now walk.”

  “I ain’t leavin' without my chips.”

  The guard shoved him in the back and Zon stumbled forward.

  “You getting this? It’s corruption,” Zon shouted to no one in particular.

  The guard pushed him again and as he staggered through the casino, Zon expected every bastard to be looking at him. But it was weird. A couple of oldies were on the ground, flat on their backs. Some looked dead. Some were even getting CPR. The woman in the cashier’s booth was slumped over, and the chick beside her was crying.

  Every single coin bandit was blank and heaps of people were thumping the sides of the machines, like that’d make ’em cough up their money.

  The guard shoved him through the door and the second they stepped onto the promenade deck, Zon spied a huge cloud of smoke drifting across the ocean. It was coming from the back of the ship. “Shit. That don’t look good.”

  “No.” The guard frowned. “It doesn’t.”

  A few people ran past them, lookin’ like they’d shat their pants. A couple of old dudes were flat on their backs. One dude was as white as a ghost and an old woman was fallin’ all over him, crying.

  “Huh. He looks like a goner.”

  The guard slapped him across the back of his head, but said nothing.

  An old guy, whose wooden cane was getting a workout, wobbled toward ‘em.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Zon shouted at him.

  “A plane flew into the ship. Didn’t you see it?”

  “Shit, huh? Is it bad?”

  The old guy silently shook his head, but his eyes said enough.

  It was bad.

  At the sound of footsteps running, Zon turned. One of the crew was sprinting toward them. Her tits bounced up and down with every step, making the show mighty pleasant.

  “Oh, thank God. Willis,” she said. “I need your help.”

  “What’s going on?” The guard strode to her.

  She glanced at Zon and her eyes bugged out so much she looked like some of ’em rabbits Zon chased for target practice. The guard stepped to the side. But they underestimated his excellent hearing, ’cause he still caught every word.

  “A plane hit the back of the ship. It’s a mess. And Captain Nelson had a heart attack. And . . .” She gasped for air. “. . . and he said it was an EMP.” She spoke a million miles an hour, all hysterical like.

  That last comment had the fat guard’s eyes bulging. “EMP? Are you sure?”

  “It was the last thing the Captain said before he passed.”

  “Jesus.”

  “I need your help. All our comms are out and Captain McCrae wants the crew down in the meeting room ASAP, so we have to get the message out verbally.”

  “Okay.” The guard strode to Zon. “It’s your lucky day.”

  “Yeah? Don’t sound like it.” He nodded toward the smoke. “What the fuck’s an EMP?”

  The handcuffs were released from his wrists and the guard shoved him in the shoulder. “I don’t want to see your ugly face again. You hear me?”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t wanna—” Zon didn’t even get to finish his sentence before the two of ’em raced into the casino.

  He stepped to the railing and peered over the side.

  “Faark.” Half a plane was sticking out of the ship. Flames blazed up what was left of the red tail, and it looked like it’d taken a chunk outta the side. The hole was fucking huge.

  He’d been nine years old when ’em planes had crashed into the World Trade Centre. His daddy had made him watch it all fucking day. He’d rambled on about al-Qaeda and Muslims and said how it was just like when them Japs did that kamikaze shit. His daddy had always blabbed on about the war. But Zon knew how much bullshit dribbled outta his old man’s fat mouth. Especially when it came to the war. His daddy was too dumb to have survived a real battle.

  Zon leaned out over the railing. If that was a suicide bomber, then the asshole had done a fucking good job of killing his-self.

  He turned to a bunch of voices as the guard, the chick with the nice tits, and what looked like all the casino staff raced past him. They was all headed toward the back of the ship where the smoke was so black ya couldn’t even see through it.

  They shouted at each other as they ran, talking about maydays and SOSes and shit. Zon’s gaze fell on the row of lifeboats at the edge of the promenade deck. Should I steal one now? Before the shit really hits the fan.

  Out of habit, he reached for his cigarettes. But they weren’t there. What he did feel, though, was all them chips he’d shoved into his pockets.

  It really was his lucky day.

  With all them staff gone, that casino was ready for his pickin’.

  Chapter Five

  Gabby darted her gaze to a child floating face-down in the pool and in one thumping heartbeat, her creative brain morphed the child’s body into that of her daughter with her long dark hair wafting around her. Max must’ve seen Gabby’s terror because he clutched her hand and squeezed for her attention. “The kids are okay. They’re in the kids’ club.”

  “We have to go to them.” Horrifying thoughts whizzed across her brain.

  His eyes glanced past her to the mangled body in the plane seat. “They’re at the front of the ship. They’ll be safe where they are.”

  Gabby shook her head. “You don’t know that.” She spoke through clenched teeth, furious that he didn’t agree.

  He squeezed her hand harder. “Trust me. You don’t want them seeing this. The crew will look after them. These people need our help.”

  Gabby scanned the carnage. Bodies were everywhere, some writhing in agony, some deathly still. People were in all stages of shock. Crying. Screaming. Absolute stillness. Raw emotions were at the forefront for everyone, including the crew. Many seemed too stunned to move.

  Max, however, jumped into action.

  He squatted beside a woman in her swimsuit whose leg had been torn off below the knee. She was sitting up, looking at the wound as if admiring her tan. With the amount of blood she’d already lost, Gabby predicted she wouldn’t survive. Max touched the woman’s arm and she blinked at him. “Hey, help is coming soon, okay? You hang in there.”

  Gabby guessed the woman would be thirty-five, forty at the most. Despite her shocking injury, she still looked beautiful. A classic Audrey Hepburn semblance with flawless skin and striking eyes. With her beauty, and her apparent nonchalance over her injury, it would’ve been a confronting photo that would have had audiences around the world talking.

  The woman looked up at Gabby, and her blank expression confirmed she was in shock. Gabby had seen varying degrees of shock dozens of times.

  She’d lived through it once
herself.

  A thin smile formed on the woman’s pale lips. “Can you find Daniel for me, my husband? Tell him where I am.” The woman was so calm it was spooky.

  “Of course we will, love,” Max said. “Now close your eyes and rest.”

  She nodded but turned her gaze back to her leg and the growing blood pool beside her.

  Max’s firm grip on the woman’s hand sparked a memory of the day Gabby had met him. He’d arrived at her car crash in the first ambulance and had held her hand as they’d cut her out of the upturned wreckage. While she’d transitioned from hysteria to unconsciousness, he whispered all the right things to keep her calm. She would’ve died right there on the Blackwood Road Bridge if he hadn’t been with her.

  Her stomach twisted into tight knots. The injured woman would not be so lucky. Glancing away, Gabby stepped up to what was left of the mangled railing. The party deck below was utter bedlam.

  Bloodied victims were strewn everywhere. The pool water was no longer crystal blue. A bikini-clad body floating face-down, staining it crimson, was the reason.

  It would’ve made a compelling photo.

  Gabby checked her phone again. Dead. She couldn’t believe it. This could be her once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to contend for the Pulitzer and her only recording device was useless.

  When she’d started her career as a reporter, it’d been Gabby’s job to be first at the scene of a tragedy. She’d seen her share of blood and gore. The majority of the incidents were just sad misfortune. Victims who’d died as a result of their driver wrapping the car around a pole. Or a tragic house fire that’d engulfed an entire family. The most confronting had been a school bus that’d tumbled down a ravine. She’d been the first reporter at that one and had fought her emotions to capture some remarkable footage with just her iPhone.

  Now, for the first time ever, she was at the forefront of a story that would make worldwide headlines, with only her own recall for reference. She tried to take it all in, mentally listing every aspect that would make the sensational story compelling reading. The world needed to know what had happened. What was still happening. But blood and mangled bodies were no longer what fascinated people. Audiences had become immune to it. She’d become immune to it. What she needed was the X factor.