Zon was certain she was thinkin’ of going with him. As much as he liked the idea, he didn’t need no baggage slowin’ him down.
“Need to do a shit,” he said it all matter-of-fact like.
“Oh.” Jessie giggled, and it sure was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. It nearly had him sitting right back down next to her. He fought the urge though, and with a nod in her direction, he began striding through the field of barely-movin’ bodies.
Zon glanced at several of them as he walked. Based on what he was seeing, he wouldn’t be surprised if half of ’em were dead by morning.
Zon looked at one old woman as he stepped over her legs. Her gaping mouth and bulging tongue were sure signs she was a goner. But the people around her either didn’t care, hadn’t noticed, or were too weak to do anything about it.
Things were going to shit. And it was coming down to the fact that the last man standing was gonna be the sole survivor. Zon was adamant that was gonna be him.
Maybe he could save Jessie too. That’d be nice.
Checking nobody was followin’, he headed straight for his life raft. He had a nice little stash in there now. In addition to the booze, the money, and the bar snacks, he also had matches, candles, his cigarettes, and even some of his clothing. He climbed up the ladder, slipped beneath the orange canvas cover and climbed inside. After a quick check along the deck, makin’ sure nobody had seen him, he put the cover back in place. In full darkness, he felt around for the matches he’d stashed to one side.
He struck a flame and lit one of the candles he’d nicked from the stupid souvenir shop. The flickerin’ light reminded him of the endless campfires he’d sat around out on the swamps. There was somethin’ comforting about the endless noises of the Louisiana bog. The bugs that never stopped chirping. The fish that jumped and the gators that teased Zon with the snap of their jaws.
After lighting a cigarette, he closed his eyes and inhaled the smoke, long and deep. But he only had six more left in his packet. That meant he’d be raiding the duty-free shop later.
The temptation to count his money and make sure nobody was stealing it was strong, but his hunger pains were hurtin’ like hell. So, he settled for a long slug of his XO Cognac.
The golden liquid burned his throat and warmed his belly.
It was like taking his time with his grandmama’s apple pie. He sure did miss her pie since she’d gone an’ died. Had him wonderin’ if Jessie could cook. He smiled at that. Maybe she could learn to bake apple pie just like his grandmama. Playing house with a chick wasn’t somethin he was accustomed to thinkin’ about, and he huffed. Maybe this starvation thing was sending him looney.
After another long swig of the Cognac, he chomped through a packet of cashews. But even once he was done, his gut kept right on rumbling. He needed meat. And lots of it. That wasn’t gonna happen anytime soon though. Maybe he’d find something real decent in one of them cabins. So far, it’d been nothin’ but fuckin’ granola bars, and they barely touched the sides. And they tasted like cardboard.
He thought about bringin’ the axe he’d found in the raft’s kit of goodies, but if anyone saw him with it, he’d have some explainin’ to do. Besides, he’d been able to break into the cabins all by his-self so far, so it shouldn’t be no different tonight. With the snuffed-out candle and the box of matches in his pockets, he climbed back out of the life raft.
He’d already done the rounds of the ship a few times, so he knew where he was going. Yesterday, he’d seen the staff raiding them shops and the kitchens for food and water, but he was pretty sure they hadn’t raided all the cabins. They’d done some, found a couple of things worthy of keepin’, but mostly they’d just come back with more bodies.
He didn’t reckon they’d even started on the lowest decks.
Zon made his way to the atrium, paused again to check he was alone, and climbed down the stairs to the bottom level. He waited a minute before he lit his candle. The glow was about as useless as his fuckin’ mother. But it was all he got.
With his hand cupping the flame, he walked along a corridor, strode between the section that connected one side of the ship to the other, and entered another corridor.
He didn’t need to waste no more time. Zon put his candle on the floor, took two strides back, and, with his shoulder down, charged at the door. It burst from its hinges and slammed backward with a bang that sounded like shotgun pellets hitting an empty forty-four-gallon drum.
First cabin, and within seconds he’d scored two chocolate bars and a bottle of that green girly booze. He didn’t care; he’d drink the Midori when the rest of his stash ran out. Chomping on a Snickers bar, he searched the bathroom and spied some of that fancy men’s cologne shit. His thoughts were on Jessie as he splashed it onto his cheeks. A whiff of his armpits had him rummaging for deodorant. He rolled that on too. Hopefully the new scents would get Jessie’s attention. Maybe he could find her some jewelry. A ring or something. That’d be nice.
Figuring that cabin was done, he hit the next one.
It was like hunting for lost treasure, only no map was required. The most he’d ever earned in his life was from a fourteen-foot gator he’d caught and sold last year. But that was merely pocket change compared to what he already had stashed up in his life raft.
By the time they hit dry land again, Zon was gonna be richer than every other fucker on this boat.
He was gonna be in charge too.
He’d do a better job than fuckin’ Gunner McCrae, that’s for sure. Captain, my ass.
Stupid bastard don’t even look like he wanna be top dog anyways.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Gunner’s heart was as heavy as a cannon ball as he surveyed the hundreds of sheet-wrapped bodies lining the deck. And these were only the bodies they could find. In the two days following the rogue wave, he and the crew had searched everywhere in an attempt to find all the deceased. A huge number of people had gone overboard and would be forever lost at sea. Although he hadn’t seen any, images of bodies floating face-down in a churning ocean were ingrained in his brain like a hideous dark stain.
He’d had two truly gut-wrenching moments in his life. This was the second one. He would never be the same knowing that he had a hand in all these deaths. He was thirty-eight years old, and he’d never been to a funeral. Not attending his father’s burial had been an easy choice. He had no idea if his father’s parents were still living; he’d never met them. His grandparents on his mother’s side were still alive, although they rarely caught up. He’d never even buried a pet.
But that was about to change in the most horrific of ways.
Nausea churned through his stomach at the sheer number of bodies before him. Yet they still hadn’t finished carrying all the deceased outside.
When Rose of the Sea had left Los Angeles fifteen days ago, there had been just over eleven hundred people on board.
Only one hundred and seventeen survivors were counted as still alive two hours ago.
However, there were only three hundred and sixty-four bodies prepared for burial.
That meant six-hundred and fifty-six people had vanished, presumably lost at sea.
Or they were still somewhere on the ship, yet to be found.
The enormity of those numbers threatened to engulf him. He’d failed hundreds of people. He shouldn’t be in charge. It should have been Captain Nelson. It should have been anyone but him. But what would Captain Nelson have done differently? The answer was probably nothing. There was no precedent for this. There was no instruction manual guiding the way. There was nobody he could call for directions.
He wanted to close his eyes . . . to pretend he was at home with his wife and daughter. To laugh at Bella’s adorable giggle when he tickled her tummy. To hear his wife’s voice when she whispered she loved him as she turned out the bedside lamp. He wanted to crawl into a corner, to hide away from the ongoing horror, to block it all out.
The stench had him ratcheting back to reality.
>
As did the sorrowful cries of the bedraggled mourners.
He had deliberately delayed actioning these funerals. His hope had been that they’d be rescued by now, thereby extricating Gunner from the harrowing decision of whether to rid the ship of the bodies, or not. But after three days drifting at sea, the onset of flies had made the bodies too lethal to ignore. Disease was now their deadliest enemy and with each passing hour, it seemed to claim another life.
Gunner had no choice. The deceased needed to be tossed overboard.
The survivors standing around the macabre scene were looking at him. The weight of needing to offer something profound was a mountain on his shoulders. He wasn’t a religious man. He’d been to church only twice in his life . . . his marriage and his daughter’s christening.
He scanned the forlorn faces and his eyes fell on the blonde woman at the front. There was something about her that caught his attention, yet he couldn’t pinpoint what. Beside her was Max, who, despite his horrific injuries, was continually offering assistance to Gunner and his crew.
When the blonde raised her gaze to meet his, a beat passed between them and she frowned. When she cocked her head and a lock of hair fell forward across her face, he left his position at the front of the bodies and walked toward her. The curiosity on her face multiplied as he approached.
Gunner held his hand forward. “Hello, I’m Captain Gunner McCrae. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself under better circumstances, but have we met before?”
She did a little chuckle and swept her hair aside. “I’m Gabrielle Kinsella. You may have seen me on television? I’m the anchor woman for America Today.”
He clicked his fingers. “That’s right. I saw your report on America’s food crisis. It was very interesting.”
“Thank you.” She grinned at Max, and Gunner had the impression she was giving him some kind of an I-told-you-so look.
Max, however, seemed unfazed and offered his good hand. “Hello, Captain. How are you holding up?”
“I’ve been better, Max—that’s for sure.”
“Oh, you know my husband?” Gabrielle’s frowning eyes bounced between them.
“Sure do. Max has been more than helpful, especially considering his injury. How is your hand?”
“Getting there but, man, I tell you what, Gladys has a brutal bedside manner.”
Gunner chuckled. Gladys had fooled everyone. She may be an elderly cripple who’d just lost her husband and had hands riddled with arthritis, but her mind was still as quick as a whip. And although she hadn’t practiced medicine for a dozen years, she’d proven to be invaluable with helping Gunner handle the mounting casualties. “I hope you followed her instructions?”
Max grinned however Gunner didn’t miss the pain in his expression. “Are you kidding? Of course. She scares the hell out of me.”
Gunner huffed; he knew exactly what he meant. He’d seen Gladys in action. “Did she manage to ahhh . . .” He paused, glancing at Max’s hand, trying to piece his question together.
Max shook his head. “She could only reposition the dislocated fingers. The two broken ones will require surgery.” His arm was in a sling, but it wasn’t enough.
He needed a hospital and pain medication and a plaster cast.
A silent beat passed between them. Both men knew the likelihood of Max receiving the attention he needed anytime soon was negligible.
Gunner touched Max’s shoulder. “Right, well don’t go overextending yourself, okay?”
“Yes, Captain.”
Gunner turned his attention to Gabrielle. Her cheeks were smudged black with soot and her hair was a tangled mess. He imagined she would never have looked so disheveled in her life. “Gabrielle, can you help me?”
She palmed her chest. “Me?” She scanned the field of bodies, and the crowd of mourners standing around them. She turned her gaze back to Gunner and the confusion had her brilliant blue eyes darkening. “How can I help?”
“As a recognizable figure, I wonder if you’d be able to help me and all these mourners by saying a prayer, or at the very least saying something in honor of the deceased.”
Her eyes bounced from Gunner to Max, who nodded in what Gunner hoped was encouragement. Then she gazed at the elderly woman beside her. Gunner followed her gaze to Muriel . . . the elderly woman whose husband had been one of the first to die. His pacemaker hadn’t stood a chance against the EMP. Yet, despite her loss, Muriel had told Gunner that her husband of forty-seven years would’ve been happy with how his life had ended. Not only had he experienced the holiday of a lifetime, but he’d been playing the slot machines with her at his side, and a whiskey in his hand when he’d passed.
Muriel placed her frail hand on Gabrielle’s arm. “Go on, dear. We’d like to hear something nice.”
Gabrielle nodded. “It will be my pleasure.”
“Thank you.” Gunner indicated for Gabrielle to walk ahead of him and as she did, she tucked her hair behind her ears and ran her hands down her crinkled skirt, as if trying to straighten it.
Once positioned at the front of the crowd, Gunner cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to Gabrielle Kinsella. Some of you may already recognize her from America Today.” A murmur rumbled through the crowd and people gave knowing nods. “Mrs. Kinsella--”
“Oh, please call me Gabby,” she interrupted.
“Gabby has kindly offered to say something on behalf of our loved ones.”
She nodded and when she stepped forward, he eased back, away from the attention, and spied the hideous gashes running down her legs. The pain she would be suffering would be excruciating. He made a mental note to make sure she sought medical attention for those wounds.
“Hello everyone. It’s with a heavy heart that I’ve been asked to do this today.” Gabby’s voice wobbled and her bottom lip quivered. But just when Gunner thought she was going to crumble, she cleared her throat and did a little head shake, like trying to rattle her emotion free.
“Every one of us has been touched with this unspeakable horror. Our cruise on Rose of the Sea was meant to take us on a journey of fun, excitement, and discovery. But this disaster is beyond anything we’ve ever experienced or even could have imagined. The fact that we . . .” She swept her hand toward the crowd. “. . . you . . . us . . . all of us are standing here is a miracle. But sometimes miracles come at the result of unspeakable loss. Every one of us has lost on this cruise. It may be a loved one, or a friend or an acquaintance. At the very least, we’ve lost our happiness.”
She paused to let that sink in. Gabby was good. She had the crowd hanging off every word. Gunner was relieved he’d at least made that decision right.
“Now we have no choice but to send the bodies of those who have left us into the ocean. Yes, this is incredibly sad, however. . .” she half turned, “look at this incredible sunset. Look at the view. This is probably one of the most beautiful sights you will ever see. From this day forward, every time you see a sunset shimmering orange, yellow, and gold, you will think of this moment with the knowledge that you did the very best possible for your loved one.”
Again, she paused. Her eyes fell on Gunner and he nodded his approval.
“So, I encourage you all to say your last goodbyes.”
Twenty feet away, a woman with a swollen black eye and a bandage on her arm stepped forward, and with her head bowed, she placed her hand on a shrouded body. Muriel followed suit, hunching over to touch a covered body that Gunner assumed must be her husband.
Others followed and soon nearly every single person in the crowd was saying goodbye to someone beneath a sheet. Gabby waited several moments before she too stepped forward, leaned over, and placed her hand on the cloth-covered head of a body that nobody else was touching. It was a couple of beats before Gabby looked up, and when she did and gazed Max’s way, Gunner had the feeling something truly special had crossed between them.
Gabrielle stood again and when she straightened her skirt,
Gunner noticed one of the cuts on her legs was now bleeding. That wasn’t good. Why hasn’t she had her injuries seen to? He and his crew had made every effort to ensure the injured were looked after as much as possible. Their medicinal supplies were minimal, but despite their numerous attempts, they’d been unsuccessful in breaking through that damaged section of deck four to access the medical center.
His heart clenched. Was Doctor Merkley still alive?
Or Safety Officer Hastings, who Gunner had sent to find the doc?
Gabrielle cleared her throat, dragging Gunner from his impossible questions.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. And now, if you care to join us, please help in sending these people on their final journey.” She looked at Gunner, and using her eyes, she indicated to the body she’d touched.
Gunner and Sykes stepped forward, and with both of them grasping the electrical wiring tied around the deceased person’s body, they tugged the cadaver forward and tipped it into the ocean. Seconds later it splashed, dipped below the water and then bobbed back to the surface. As body after body joined the first, the crowd became a collective of harrowing cries. Some were just sniffles; some were gut-wrenching howls of despair.
Somebody started the Lord’s Prayer and as Gabby added her voice to the mourners’, Gunner and Sykes stepped up to the remaining bodies, and as gently as possible committed them to the ocean.
Once it was done. Gunner stood back to watch the field of white bodies, bobbing like corks on the water as they gradually drifted away. Gabrielle was right; despite the horror of what they were doing, it truly was a beautiful scene.
Next second, a giant splash coincided with a body disappearing beneath the water.
Then another.
Someone screamed.
Gunner stepped forward. His eyes darted from one cadaver to the next. His heart launched to his throat. A fin cut through the water like a knife. “Get the children back,” he yelled over the screaming. “Get them back!”
Waves of Fate | Book 1 | First Fate Page 23