Waves of Fate | Book 1 | First Fate

by Talbot, Kendall

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.” Last time she saw him he was up on the balcony. Now most of the balcony was gone, and she couldn’t find Adam anywhere, and he wasn’t answering her cries. “I’ve been trying to find him. But . . . but . . .” It was impossible to speak with the lump blocking her airway.

  Max clutched at the back of a seat with his good hand, and scrambled down the stairs. “Adam! Adam!”

  Following him as he dragged his body over a mountain of debris, they aimed for the location where they’d last seen their son. Max’s usual strong posture was gone. Instead he was hunched over as if his insides were buckled, and nearly every step was met with a groan of pain. As Gabby trundled after him, it was clear that his crippled hand wasn’t the only injury Max had suffered.

  He had at least two broken fingers, possibly four. His middle finger was bent at a horrific angle. He would need surgery. His hand was already swollen to nearly double in size, and the rapidly spreading bruise over his fingers, hand and wrist was as dark as the ocean outside.

  She’d seen dozens of horrific injuries in her early ambulance-chasing days, mostly broken bones and hideous gashes, sometimes full amputations, and it had always surprised her when she’d encountered seriously wounded people who remained conscious, let alone made viable conversation.

  Either Max was ignoring the extent of his wounds or he had a very high pain threshold. It was probably both.

  “Adam!” Max stood on a row of chairs lined up below the balcony where they’d seen Adam just before the wave hit. “Come on, buddy, where are you?” His voice was forlorn, broken. Just like his body.

  Water dripped from the damaged landing, giving a pitiful heartbeat to the eerie silence around them. The ship continued to sway from side to side, slow and steady, like it was rocking a baby to sleep. Sunlight beamed in through the hole in the ship—a giant beacon spotlighting the extent of the damage. Her eyes snagged on a small body. It was the little girl she’d seen during the night. She was curled up on her side and looked peaceful, like she was having a beautiful dream.

  Gabby already knew she wasn’t sleeping.

  That image could be one of those headlining photos that Gabby lived for. She hated that her mind went there. Whose little child was this? Were they searching for her too? Gabby knelt down and gripped the girl’s tiny hand in her own.

  Was someone holding Sally’s hand like this?

  How could I have ever thought an image like this was gold?

  She was soulless. A monster.

  Some poor parent had lost their daughter and her focus would have been on a news caption that would potentially feature for about an hour. The girl’s parents, however, would suffer for a lifetime.

  A shocking thought blazed across her mind. Am I being punished because I cared more about the story than the people in it? She could picture her headline now: Heartless mother receives brutal reality check.

  Gabby placed the tiny hand upon the girl’s chest, and with her heart as heavy as a brick, she climbed over a few chairs to Max’s side. Bracing herself against the back of the chair for balance, she cupped her hands around her mouth. “Adam!”

  She screamed his name until her throat hurt. But her frantic calls were met with nothing but silence.

  Glancing at her husband, she saw a man crushed with sorrow. Her chin quivered and the lump in her throat made it impossible to breathe. “Oh God, Max, you don’t think he was washed out . . . out?” Unable to finish her question, she stared through the gaping hole in the side of the ship. It was enormous. Big enough to wash a dump truck out to sea, let alone a small boy.

  “Don’t say it, Gabby. Just don’t.” Max’s insipid face paled even further. “Look around. He’s probably stuck under some of this crap like I was.” He sucked air in through his teeth as he climbed down from the chairs, then, with his brutalized hand tucked in close to his chest, he started tossing mangled pieces of furniture aside like they were mere toys. “Adam! Adam!”

  Gabby did the same, working in the opposite direction to Max. Her wet skirt clung to her body, making it difficult to climb over chairs and rubbish, and each time she glanced down she spied the hideous gouges disfiguring her legs. The extent of the mutilation should have horrified her. But it didn’t. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered. Nothing but finding her children. “Adam!”

  They took it in turns calling for their son, and with every piece of furniture she checked beneath, another layer of dread stacked onto her already battered emotions. Tears flowed and she flicked them away, furious that she couldn’t pull herself together. She’d seen miracles before. Many, many miracles. She was going to see one today. No! Not one. She would find both her children. Alive . . . they would both be alive.

  Adam and Sally will be alive.

  Repeating the mantra over and over, she trudged across and around mangled wreckage. The sunlight grew stronger by the minute creating as many shadows as it did pockets of light. Each time she spied another dead child she rode out her guilt, cursed the light and prayed the image would eventually fade from her memory just like all the stories she’d covered in her career.

  But this wasn’t a story. This was her family. This was . . . she stopped still. Her eyes darted around the room. There . . . a voice. “Adam!” she yelled. “Max! I think I heard him. Adam!”

  “Adam!” Max scrambled onto the stage and screamed his name.

  “Dad.”

  Her eyes darted back to the balcony. His voice was barely a whisper, yet it spoke volumes.

  “Oh, thank God.” Her heart pounded in her chest as she flicked tears from her cheeks.

  “Where are you?” Max bellowed.

  “Up here.”

  Gabby’s knees barely kept her vertical as she shoved debris aside to return to the chairs below the upper tier.

  Somehow, Max beat her there. “Adam. Adam. Are you okay?”

  “No.”

  Gabby climbed up onto the chair next to Max. “Are you hurt?”

  Adam’s hands appeared on the railing, then his face. A gray tinge had washed over his flesh and his wet hair was a scrambled mess. He was crying.

  “I feel sick.” Adam barely got the words out before he turned and vomited.

  The boat’s momentum was more pronounced now that Gabby had stopped racing around. It was no wonder Adam was probably seasick. Yet if he’d been unconscious all this time, then he may be seriously injured.

  “It’s okay, buddy. We’re going to get you down.”

  Max scanned the room. Wincing in pain, he climbed off the chair and hobbled toward the stage. “Gabby, help me.”

  She raced after him, careful not to step on the little girl’s body curled up in the aisle.

  Max wrapped his good hand around a fistful of curtain and dropped his weight onto it. “We need to get these down.” But the fabric didn’t budge. “Help me.”

  She copied his move and together they pulled on the heavy fabric, but after a good minute or so of straining it was obvious it wasn’t going to release. Shaking her head, she let go. “It’s not working.”

  “Shit!” Max tossed the curtain aside and it swung back and hit him in the chest. He stumbled backward and crashed to the stage with a howl that burst from his throat.

  “Jesus, Max. You’re hurt.” She reached for him, but he avoided her grip and pushed to stand again.

  “I’m fine,” he snapped. His blazing eyes dared her to defy him. “We need these curtains to get Adam down.” He slapped the wet fabric with his good hand and it sounded like he was slapping wet toast.

  “Hang on.” She reached for the curtain. “There’s two layers here. Maybe the thinner one will come down easier.”

  “Good idea.”

  She separated the sheer curtain from the heavy velvet one. “Okay, here we go. Ready? Pull!” Clenching her teeth, she dropped her full weight downward. When Max did the same, she tried not to look at the agony on his face. It wasn’t an expression she’d ever seen on him before. Max was usua
lly full of life, the epitome of strength and vitality. The man in front of her was on the verge of giving up, and that wasn’t the Max she knew.

  With a sudden jolt, the fabric came away. She tumbled to the dance floor, and Max fell to his hands and knees and screamed in agony. Gasping, he toppled sideways. Tears filled his eyes and the torture on his face was brutal.

  She crawled to him. “Oh, Max.”

  “Dad!” Adam yelled from the balcony.

  “I’m okay.” Max shifted so he could see his son. “I’m okay, buddy. Just fell over—that’s all.” His voice wobbled and he sniffed in a shaky breath. He was barely holding it together. He glared at Gabby. “I’m okay.” He spoke through clenched teeth.

  “I know.” Sucking her lips into her mouth, fighting her own emotions, Gabby placed her hand on his cheek. “I know you’re okay.”

  A crooked smile snaked across his mouth. “Okay.” He winced. “Let’s get our boy down.”

  Gabby clawed the sodden curtain into her arms and when they scrambled their way back to the chairs beneath the balcony, Max was a couple of beats behind her.

  She dropped the curtain and glanced upward. The distress on Adam’s face was agonizing. “Hey, little man. How are you feeling?”

  “Terrible.” Adam sniveled and shook his head. “I feel so sick.” He sobbed.

  “I know, I know. We’ll get you—”

  “You don’t know! What took you so long?” he screamed at her, and the venom in his voice caught her by surprise.

  “It’s okay, buddy. We’re here now, and we’ll get you down.” Max slipped into caretaker mode. His voice was calm and in control.

  Using his teeth, Max tried to rip a section of the curtain away, but with only one hand, his movements became more frantic by the second.

  She clutched his bicep. “I’ll do it.”

  “No, I’ve got this.”

  “Jesus! Stop arguing with me. Look at your hand, for Christ’s sake. You can’t do it.”

  His eyes didn’t leave hers. It was like he was refusing to see his hand and thereby refusing to admit he was injured. He clenched his jaw, and worried that he was set on continuing the argument, Gabby pushed in front of him and snatched the curtain. “What are you trying to do?”

  His shoulders sagged. “I was trying to tear off a long, narrow strip.”

  “Okay then.” Gabby put the disgusting fabric in her teeth and pulled. To her surprise, it tore like it was merely paper. Once it started, she was able to use her hands to rip it the rest of the way down.

  “We’re coming,” Max called up to Adam.

  Their son vomited again.

  Adam sobbed and Gabby’s heart ached. She hadn’t heard him cry like that in years.

  “Poor little man.” Max squatted down and undid his shoelace. “Hopefully it’s just seasickness.” Max’s eyes drifted to the dead little girl. “He’s very lucky.”

  “So are we.”

  Max stood with his shoe in his hand. “Yes.” He nodded. “Yes, we are.”

  Gabby tore the final strip of fabric free and he handed her his shoe. “Tie the strip to the shoelaces. And make it tight; we don’t want it coming free.”

  Frowning at the absurdity of his request, she resisted asking for reasoning and followed his instructions.

  Once she’d done it, Max clutched the shoe and turned to look up at the balcony. “Adam. Buddy. Get ready to catch this.”

  Her son appeared at the edge of the landing, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Okay.”

  Max stepped away a fraction and when he rolled his arm, ready to throw, a gasp burst from his throat.

  “Jesus, Max.” Gabby snatched the shoe from his hands. “Give it to me.”

  “But you can’t throw.”

  “Watch me.” Clenching her jaw, she stepped back a few paces, raised the shoe up over her head and, harnessing every ounce of her determination, she released a guttural growl of purpose and threw it.

  The shoe sailed about fifteen feet sideways and didn’t even touch the upper tier.

  “Shit!” she cried.

  Max clutched his hand over his mouth. Humor danced in his eyes.

  She glared at him and pointed her finger. “Don’t you dare.”

  He shook his head. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

  “Yeah, well don’t.” She fetched the shoe and readied herself again.

  “Stop!” he blurted. “At least let me help.”

  She rolled her eyes. When the kids were little, Max had tried many times to involve her in sporting activities. But exercise and Gabrielle Kinsella were words that should never be together. Her hand-to-eye co-ordination was obsolete, and her reflexes were too slow. Many times, she’d been hit in the face with a football . . . much to the delight of her husband and children.

  But this was different. If she didn’t get this shoe up to Adam, he would never get down. Her son depended on her. She huffed out a forceful sigh. “All right then. Show me.”

  As Max showed her the finer points of the skill of throwing, she tried to block out the heartbreaking sounds of her son throwing up.

  But she couldn’t stand it a moment more. “Okay! I got it. Let me do this.”

  She wriggled her head and shoulders. It was a technique she’d used dozens of times to eradicate the tension before a news broadcast. She inhaled a calming breath, stepped back, and braced her feet like Max had shown her. She raised the shoe over her right shoulder.

  “Come on, Mom. You can do it!”

  Riding on her son’s words of encouragement, she aimed her left hand at him and in one swift movement, she snapped her right arm forward and released the shoe at the perfect moment. It sailed through the air and Adam caught it.

  Gabby squealed with delight.

  Max’s eyes bulged. “Holy shit! You did it.”

  “I told you I could.”

  Max placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’m so proud of you.” Then he stepped forward and looked upward. “Good boy. Pull the curtain up.”

  Inch by inch, the fabric slithered up to the balcony. “That’s it. You’re doing good.” Max’s encouragement continued until the last of the curtain disappeared over the edge. “Good. Now tie the end of the curtain to something. Nice and tight.”

  Adam disappeared from view and vomited again. He was still crying too. Her heart clenched. His discomfort was her agony too. “It’s okay, little man. You’ll be down soon.”

  He appeared on the balcony. “I did it, Dad. It’s on.”

  “Okay, now listen to me. You need to climb over the balcony and slide down the curtain.”

  “I hope you’re right about this,” Gabby whispered as she shot her gaze from her husband to her son.

  “He’s strong. He can do it. I know he can.”

  Gabby couldn’t watch. Instead, she glanced out the hole that had been punched in the side of the ship. With each dip in the swell, the view changed from the distant watery horizon to the cloud-dotted sky where a single bird swooped in the morning breeze. It looked lonely. Yet there was something else it seemed to symbolize . . . was it strength? Independence?

  No. She realized what it was—the lone bird looked at peace.

  Gabby couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt peace.

  And based on the last twelve hours, it was going to be a very, very long time before she could even consider peace again.

  She turned her gaze back to her son, and her heart lurched to her throat. Her baby was over the balcony. After twelve hours of searching she was finally about to touch him. To hold him. He slid down the fabric like it was something he did every day and she ran to him, arms outstretched, but he dashed around her and burst into tears as he clutched his father.

  “Thank God you’re okay.” Max kissed the top of his son’s head, but his eyes were on Gabby.

  A viper curled in her stomach at the look in her husband’s eyes. He didn’t need to say a thing, because the sting of her son’s actions screamed it all loud and c
lear.

  Her heart crumbled to a million pieces and drifted away in the ocean breeze.

  Max had been right. She hadn’t been there for her children.

  Ignoring the savage awakening, she stepped forward and knelt down, and when she wrapped her arms around her husband and son, she cried.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  When Madeline stood, the water was nearly over her shoulders. Half-walking, half-swimming, she headed toward the young girl who was still draped across the upturned pallet.

  The girl hadn’t moved and as Sterling checked her pulse, Madeline half expected him to say she was no longer with them.

  He huffed out a breath. “Thank God. She’s still alive. We need to get her to the doctor.” Sterling pressed his hand to the girl’s forehead. “She’s burning up.”

  The girl’s skin was deathly pale. Her eyes were shut. But she didn’t look like she was just sleeping; it was much deeper than that. Like she was in a hypnotic state, or worse, in a coma.

  Madeline met Sterling’s gaze. “Do you want me to help carry her?”

  “No, I’ve got this.” He leaned forward and wove his arms beneath the girl’s knees and behind her back. He lifted her as though she barely weighed anything. The girl didn’t stir and when Sterling readjusted her position, Madeline gasped at the massive bruise on the girl’s thigh.

  “Oh God.” Wincing, she eased the girl’s clothing upward. “Jesus. Do you think her leg is broken?”

  “Shit!” His jaw dropped. “That’s not good.”

  The girl’s mouth was open and her chest rose up and down with a shallow breath. The wheeze in her throat sounded painful.

  “Come on. Let’s move.” Sterling nodded at Madeline to lead the way.

  Madeline turned to scan the area beyond the lifts. It was dotted with boxes and crates and was about the size of a dance floor. At the other end was a blank wall and either side of that were two passages. A slight breeze wafted a slip of hair across her face as she tucked it behind her ear. The direction the breeze was coming from seemed as good a choice as any. Using her hands as paddles, she forced her body through the water toward the left-hand passage.