Waves of Fate | Book 1 | First Fate

by Talbot, Kendall

  Dragging his eyes from the glitter and blood on her cheeks, he trudged on. “To get through this, we need to work together as a team. We need to make some very difficult decisions. Our first priority is safety. Do we know how many fatalities we have?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Okay, with our systems down we need to create manual lists of all the remaining passengers and identify the deceased.” Gunner turned to the head of security again. “Willis, I want the passengers to form eight lines. Eight of you are to record passenger details. I want names, ages, cabin numbers, and contact phone numbers.” That last detail may be pointless if communications never returned.

  “Sir, may I also suggest we detail their skills?” Willis said. “There may be doctors or mechanics amongst them.”

  “Good idea, Willis.”

  Gunner twisted his wedding ring around his finger. The circle of gold didn’t instill the reassurance it usually did. “I need eight volunteers to record passenger names.”

  Ten put up their hands. “Good. Grab pens and paper from behind the bar. We’ve got to do this old school. I want you set up in each of the four corners on both levels.” Gunner pointed out the positions. “Willis and you two.” He chose two crew members at random. “You’ll be instructing people where to go. And if you find any more crew, send them to me. Understand?”

  They all nodded.

  “If anyone is missing a member of their family or traveling party, direct them to Cloe. Pop your hand up, Cloe.” She did. “Hopefully, you’ll be able to reunite some people.”

  His brain scrambled with a thousand necessities and he tried to prioritize them into a workable order. “We need to take care of the deceased. Do I have any volunteers for that?” Three men put up their hands. “Thank you. We have set up a temporary morgue in Petals at the stern and have started to list the deceased. Please carry all the bodies there and do what you can to identify them.” He scanned the group. “Quinn, where are you, Quinn?”

  Quinn stepped forward. “Here, sir.”

  “As each body is identified, tag them, and add their name to the list.” He huffed out a wobbly breath. “It will make Cloe’s job easier.”

  Quinn nodded with a glance at Cloe. “Yes, sir.”

  Gunner squeezed his temples, trying to relieve the pressure brewing behind his eyes. “Who hasn’t got a job yet?”

  About a dozen crew members put up their hands. “Water and food are about to become a major priority. But without manpower, the kitchen will be impossible to secure.”

  “How about the fitness center, Captain?” Willis said. “It has one entrance. Easier to guard.”

  “Good idea, Willis. You four.” He pointed at Cindy, two other bartenders, and another crewman who were standing together. “Grab every can and bottle. Fresh food, canned food. Anything that isn’t already open or cooked. Use the dish trolleys to move them. Willis, where’s the rest of your crew?”

  The security guard shook his head. “I haven’t seen them.”

  “Okay, you and you.” He pointed to the two tallest men who hadn’t been allocated jobs. “You’re in charge of guarding the fitness center.”

  The crowd were becoming restless, escalating in volume and voicing questions loaded with anger. “Okay, anyone who hasn’t got a job, stick with me. We’ll do this on the fly.”

  He glanced around the crew. “Are we all good?”

  “Yes, sir.” Their collective response was a mixture of brisk affirmations and reluctant ones.

  “Right.” Gunner hauled himself onto the bar top and waved his arms over his head, seeking the crowd’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen.” The boat rolled to starboard side, and he clutched at a pole to prevent himself from toppling off the bar.

  Rose of the Sea was moving too much. Way too much.

  A collection of cell torches shifted his way, placing him in the spotlight. The moon’s reflection in the water looked picture perfect, offering a setting that appeared deceptively serene. Nothing about this night was serene. Not for him, nor the agitated passengers assembled before him.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please quiet down.” Gunner tried to project his voice but it was near impossible with the large crowd and the outdoor setting. He looked down at the crew members and was surprised to see Brandi at his side. The beautiful blonde had bloodshot eyes, confirming she’d been crying. She no longer looked the defiant young twenty-year-old he’d met earlier.

  “Brandi, stick with me, please. I need you to help me remember things. Somebody get her a pen and paper. First thing on the list, Brandi, is find a megaphone. And someone needs to go to the shops and grab candles and matches before all these phones run out of batteries. Got it?”

  “Yes. Okay. I can do that.” She wiped a green fingernail over her cheek.

  Gunner returned his attention to the crowd and felt every pair of eyes glaring at him. Expecting him to know what he was doing. Expecting pearls of wisdom. Expecting him to keep them all safe.

  A blaze of panic shot through him. All at once he was both boiling hot and frigid cold. Pain surged behind his eyes and his legs teetered beneath him. Gunner swallowed, tasting a bitterness reminiscent of the charred bodies in the engine room. The urge to jump down from the spotlight and pretend it was all just a terrible nightmare was overwhelming.

  The boat groaned beneath his feet and when she heeled to port side, the bulk of the crowd shuffled sideways like a massive line-dancing ensemble. Trouble was, she was just getting started. Now that Rose of the Sea had begun rolling, the momentum was destined to heighten. Especially if that storm hit.

  A foul guttural sound confirmed somebody was vomiting, and by the way a group in the crowd shifted, Gunner assumed he or she was near the remaining spa. Then another person threw up. Vomiting had a cascading affect. It always did. Within seconds, people were hurling at their feet or running to the railings and throwing up over the side.

  The best antidote for sickness was to find land or to dose with medication. Option A was going to need a miracle. “Brandi, add to the list that we need to get all the seasickness medication up here asap.”

  The next best remedy for seasickness was distraction. “Ladies and gentlemen, please, can I have your attention.”

  The crowd’s agitation steamrolled; eyes darted left and right. Boisterous passengers fired questions at him.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Where’s the Captain?”

  “Yeah. Who the fuck is running this ship?”

  A vision of Captain Nelson lying dead in the bridge flashed in his mind. Acid turned in his stomach. Bile rose up his throat, flooded his tongue. He wasn’t ready for this. Clutching the pole, he fought a wave of terror crawling through him like a million bull ants.

  His eyes snagged on the little old lady who he’d met in the bridge. Bronwyn. She was still clutching her phone and staring up at him. Waiting for him. Expecting him to take control.

  He mentally slapped himself. She needed him. They all did.

  He swallowed hard, forcing down his weakness. He had to be strong. Assertive. He had to do it for them. For himself. He had to make his wife proud.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I have a lot to tell you. Please listen and hold back your questions for now. Please. Please.” A wave of stillness rippled through the crowd and when the silence was complete, the crowd seemed to bristle with static, poised in nervous anticipation.

  Gunner cleared his throat. “A few hours ago, Captain Stewart Nelson passed away from a suspected heart attack.” Gunner ignored the spread of unintelligible mutterings and carried on. “My name is Gunner McCrae. I am your new Captain.”

  A baby started screaming somewhere beyond the pool. Another person threw up. The sounds seemed amplified, cutting through the silence like sonic booms.

  “As many of you know, a plane crashed into the stern of the ship. I have personally assessed the impacted areas and can assure you that the ship is safe. We are not sinking. I repeat, we are not sinking.”
>
  The cell lights moved from him to each other, and the murmur that rolled through the crowd was a fraction more positive than the last.

  “That’s the good news,” he bellowed and braced for his next announcement. “Now for the bad news.”

  Except for the crying baby, the crowd plunged into silence. The air prickled.

  “At seventeen, forty-eight this afternoon, we lost power to a large portion of the ship. Eighteen minutes later, that plane crashed. These incidents are related.”

  Several people gasped and a chubby man in a Hawaiian shirt shot his hand up and spoke at the same time. “It’s an EMP strike, Captain McCrae. Isn’t it? Am I right?”

  His booming voice must’ve carried a long way because a woman in the back shrieked.

  “Quiet, please.”

  The passengers did the opposite. Their collaborative voices escalated and grew rowdy again. They fired questions at him, one after another.

  “What’s an EMP?”

  “Are we going to die?”

  “Please, I need your attention,” he yelled.

  The crowd divided between growing quiet and antagonized shouts at him.

  “Sir.” Gunner spoke to the man in the Hawaiian shirt. “What’s your name?”

  He pointed at his own chest and Gunner nodded. “Albert. Albert Schaeffer.”

  “Step forward, Mr. Schaeffer.” The man glanced to his right and Gunner assumed the similarly dressed people near him were his friends.

  He shuffled forward and stopped two feet from the bar, and when he looked up, Gunner crouched down. “Mr. Schaeffer, what do you know about EMPs?”

  He turned to glance over his shoulder again, then looked back at Gunner. “I . . . did some research a while back and I . . . I don’t know, we just, we talk about stuff like that. You know, end-of-world stuff. Apocalypse. Armageddon. Movies and shows. The debate has been raging for years. But it was never about if it was going to happen—more when it would happen, and who would do it to whom. What’s happened to the ship and that plane? Well, it makes sense that it was an EMP. I mean, look at our phones. It also means we’re screwed. But not just us. All of America.”

  The man spoke in one rambling statement and only stopped when he seemed to be out of breath. Albert’s EMP knowledge could possibly come in handy. But Gunner needed to get the passengers sorted first. Then he intended to find out just how much Albert knew.

  Gunner met Albert’s wide-eyed glare. “I believe you are correct, Albert, and I’ll talk to you in more detail very soon. But first, do you think you can use that voice of yours to settle the crowd?”

  Albert wiped his hands over his rotund belly, then put two fingers in his mouth and emitted a whistle that had stillness gripping the crowd.

  “Thank you.” Gunner stood again. “Okay everyone. We have been unable to relay messages from the ship, so we have no idea what’s happening beyond Rose of the Sea. What we do know is that we are safe.”

  The crowd started murmuring and he carried on before they got away from him again. “Our goal is to get through tonight. Come morning, we’ll have a greater understanding of this unprecedented situation.” He hoped he wasn’t lying. “Right now, though, I need your help.” Gunner detailed his plan regarding obtaining passenger names and gave instructions. The crowd began moving before he’d even finished, and while some seemed to be following his instructions, a good portion were not.

  It wasn’t surprising. Rarely did crowds follow orders correctly.

  He was about to reiterate the plan when every single mobile phone that’d been in torch mode died.

  Two seconds later, someone screamed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Gabby glared at Max, biting back the fury she wanted to blast him with.

  He was bending over, his hands on his knees, and gasping for breath in a manner equivalent to his heaving after he’d run the full marathon last year. She gripped his bicep, urging his attention. “Max, will you stop? Please.”

  “I can do this.” Again, he braced against the opposite wall and charged shoulder-first into their cabin door. Again, he failed. Again, she winced.

  “Stop it!” she hissed. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “I can’t get any momentum.”

  “I don’t care. I’m fine now. I don’t need the medication.” He’d managed to crack their cabin door open two inches, but whatever was blocking it on the other side was impossible to budge. They’d wasted too much time trying to break in and she was not going to watch his futile attempts any longer. “If you don’t stop this foolishness right now, I’m going to look for the kids without you.”

  “You need your tablets.”

  “No. I need to find the kids. I’m fine!” She snapped the words off her tongue like bitter lemons. “Now!”

  His face sagged with the weight of apparent failure. It was a look she’d seen every time he was unsuccessful at one of his stupid self-imposed fitness goals. But this wasn’t a chest-beating moment. This was life or death. Oh God! Comprehending the enormity of that was like swallowing barbed wire. It cut her to the core. But it was true.

  “Okay.” He squeezed her hand. “But the second we find them, we’re getting your meds.”

  “Okay. Okay!” Her world had changed the moment she’d been diagnosed with epilepsy. When people learned of her condition it was like she’d mutated to a weaker version of herself. Suddenly, she needed help. Needed to be careful. Like they expected her to pass out at any moment.

  To say it was infuriating was an understatement.

  As a consequence, she fiercely guarded the knowledge of her genetic disorder. Especially with her employers and co-workers. If word got out that Gabrielle Kinsella had epilepsy, she’d be relegated to mail room duties faster than a producer could say ‘cut’. No more racing through traffic with horns blaring, or frantic helicopter rides to be first on the scene. Lord no! If she ever had an episode at work, her co-workers would step over her shuddering body to fight for her position in front of the camera.

  Just the thought of that injustice had her clenching her teeth. Gabby wasn’t weak. She was the opposite. In fact, her condition had made her stronger. More determined. More focused. More ruthless. Taking a daily tablet was the only drawback. She loathed relying on medication. But she did take it, religiously. Most of the time she forgot she even had the stupid condition.

  Until a seizure took hold.

  But with each and every one of those sordid events, she rose up and forced herself to be stronger.

  Strength was what she needed now. Mentally and physically. Riding that affirmation, she snatched Max’s candle from the floor and glared at him. “Let’s go.”

  He nodded, and when he reached for the candle, she shoved it at him, spun on her heel and strode on ahead. It was a couple of beats before Max’s feet pounded behind her.

  With the minimal candlelight, it seemed to take forever to reverse the route they’d taken to reach their cabins. Each ticking minute had dread oozing through Gabby like a doomed spirit. Her overactive mind bounced from one rotten thought to the next. The ship seemed to be alive, rolling and swaying and groaning like it had a painful tumor.

  Gabrielle’s creative thoughts were in overdrive. Normally, she’d embrace them. Now, though, it was adding additional strain to her splintered nerves. Her only savior was in the momentum of moving. Pushing forward. Searching. Searching. “Sally! Adam!”

  They took turns calling the kids’ names, scouring the never-ending corridors. The darkness was complete. Scary. It gave the illusion that the already lengthy passages were even longer. Every step was frantic. Every roll of the ship was notable. Every sound was amplified. Every doorway was met with newfound hope. But the unsuccessful conclusion at the end of each passageway produced another layer of gut-wrenching hopelessness.

  Time became their enemy.

  When one deck had been searched, they pushed up to the next. Deck four. Five. Six. All were empty. Smoke stung her eyes . . . burned her throat. T
he swaying ship had her hips and elbows slamming into walls.

  The ache in her heart was a giant fist. Clenching. Crushing. Throbbing.

  Her throat tightened against the smoke-filled air and she emitted a grating wheeze.

  Max spun to her—he’d heard it too.

  His hands rubber-banded to her, reaching out, and her world wobbled. “Hey, babe, let’s take a rest here.”

  “No! We have to find the kids.”

  “And we will.”

  A sob burst from her throat as he forced her to sit on the carpet. “What if we can’t find them? What if they’re . . .” She couldn’t finish her sentence. Wouldn’t. She would never believe they were gone.

  Max wrapped his arms around her and in the narrow, swaying passage she cried onto his shoulder.

  But tears were pointless. A weakness. One she didn’t want to show. They were wasting precious time. She sucked in a shaky breath, pushed back from Max, and wiped her eyes. “I’m fine. Okay? I just need to find the kids.”

  Maybe the candlelight showed the conviction in her eyes, because for once he didn’t argue. Instead, he helped her to her feet, and with his hand sheltering the flickering flame, he led the way up the stairs to deck seven.

  They’d learned from the previous two decks that the left-hand side of the ship had suffered the most damage from the plane crash. So, keeping to the right, they pushed through double fire doors. Rather than entering more narrow passages housing endless cabins, they stumbled upon the nightclub. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the far side, allowing moonlight to filter in, and Gabby raced across the dance floor. “Sally! Adam!” She searched the other side of the room, checking the curved booths, behind the bar, and in the ‘crew only’ areas.

  Nobody was around. The whole damn ship seemed deserted.

  “Sally. Adam.” Max checked the bathrooms but raced back to her within seconds.