Waves of Fate | Book 1 | First Fate

by Talbot, Kendall

  But when they pushed inside, the stink wasn’t that bad. The open windows woulda helped.

  “Hello? Is anyone here?” Sykes strode to a pile of computer monitors. They were blank and a microphone that dangled on a spiral cord bounced from side to side with the sway of the ship.

  Zon spied a stack of soda and beer cans in the corner and walked toward them. He was two feet away when he found the reason behind the stink. The body slumped on the floor didn’t look no good, and there weren’t no way Zon was gonna check he was alive. He turned to Sykes. “Hey, there’s a body here.”

  Sykes strode over. There was no need to check for a pulse. The dude’s grey face was enough to know he was a goner.

  “What do ya think happened?” Zon asked.

  Sykes shrugged. “Same as us. Without fresh water, disease is rife. It could have been any number of things.”

  “Shit, huh.” Zon shook his head, pretending he was sad. “How long they been dead, you reckon?”

  Sykes frowned. “Days, probably.” He returned to the computers and as he jabbed a few keys, the boat did its rumble thing again. “Their system’s fried too. Come on. Let’s keep moving.”

  Zon glanced out the window. A crowd of people were lined up on the cruise ship, looking their way. “Hey, they can see us.” He waved and a heap of people waved back.

  Sykes looked at him all weird, but Zon just shrugged and waved again. When he turned away from the window, the cans caught his attention and he picked up a beer. It was empty. “Think they’ll have more beer stashed?”

  Sykes nodded at the can. “Hopefully they have some food or drink.” He opened the door and disappeared into the stairwell.

  Zon followed Sykes out the door and back down the stairs. This time, he went along the narrow corridor and the metallic squeals were even louder.

  “Hello?” As he walked along, Sykes yelled between the screechin’. “Hello, is anyone here?”

  The doors along the passage that weren’t shut opened and slammed over and over. With that goin’ on, and the boat creaking and groaning like it was alive or somethin’, it was creepy. And Zon didn’t do creepy.

  With each step, the passage grew darker. They checked out two rooms and found three more bodies. Sykes didn’t even bother confirming they were dead. One look was enough.

  The next room they went into, though, the guy looked like he musta just died. Like minutes ago. His skin was normal and he was sitting in a chair with a book in his lap. The whole time Sykes had his fingers beneath the dude’s chin, Zon expected the body to wake up and start swinging.

  But he didn’t. Pity. Zon woulda liked to have seen that.

  Sykes stood, and when he looked over Zon’s shoulder his eyes snapped even wider, like he was shittin’ bullets.

  Zon spun around and looked right into the eyes of the fuckin’ walking dead. “Fuck me.” He stumbled backward.

  A scrawny white dude was in the doorway, and the stupid fucker was naked. Blood covered his lips and chin, and his squinty eyes were so fuckin’ red that he doubted he could even see. The color of his skin was like his granddaddy’s was, not after they’d pulled him off the flaming griddle, but just before that, when it was gray, like the underside of a fish that’d spent its life scavenging in the mud.

  The man took a step forward and some kinda weird noise came outta his mouth. Like he’d lost his tongue or somethin’. Maybe that was what all the blood was about. The dude had eaten his tongue. As Zon pondered whether that was even possible, Sykes pushed past him and stepped up to the walking stiff.

  “Hey, buddy, it’s okay. We’re here to save you.”

  “Help me.” His voice was straight outta a crappy ghost movie, all wobbly and cursed.

  “We will. We’re here to help.” Sykes led the man into the room and sat him down on a chair next to the other dead dude. The weirdo either didn’t know he was naked or didn’t give a fuck. Sykes solved the issue by snatching a pillow off the bed and placing it across the man’s lap.

  A bloody bald patch on his scalp made it look like he’d pulled out a fistful of his own hair. His mouth stayed open and his breath came out in a creepy wheeze, like he’d been punched in the throat.

  “See if you can find water.” Sykes eyeballed Zon.

  “Yeah, all right.” Zon stepped back through the door and bounced off the walls as he strode up the narrow passage. It was hot and dark, and the squealing was fuckin’ noisy. Unlike Sykes, he didn’t bother knocking on the doors. He just shoved them open, scanned inside, and kept on goin’.

  In one room, he found three bodies. He didn’t bother checking if they was alive. Just like when his grandmama died, these guys had checked out with their mouths open and their tongues stickin’ out, like they’d been strangled to death. Maybe they had.

  That thought hit him like a punch in the nose.

  Maybe they had been strangled to death. Runnin’ out of water woulda made ’em do crazy things. Last man standing got whatever was left.

  Last man standin’ looked to be the zombie Sykes was tending to.

  Now that’d be interestin’.

  Zon pushed open another door and stepped into a kitchen. He strode toward the fridge. Two steps later he jumped back.

  “Ahhh fuck.” Two bodies were on the floor.

  But that wasn’t the problem. Rats were crawling all over ’em.

  Rats! Why did it have to be rats? He could handle any other critter . . . snakes, spiders, roaches. But not them filthy bastards. It was his mama’s fault. She’d told him the half-moon shaped scar on his arm was from rats. According to her, they’d feasted on him while he was still in his cot. Over the years, he’d got to thinkin’ about that story. And if he had been eaten by rats, then it was her fuckin’ fault. Whether it was true or not, he hated her for that. Hell, he hated her for a whole lotta stuff.

  Fuckin’ vermin. He’d take a gator any day. At least that beast had some pride.

  Rats . . . they ate their own.

  He grabbed a chair and flung it at the feasting swarm and they darted all over the place. Which was way fucking worse. He shoulda left ’em where they were. Some, though, kept right on chewing, either oblivious or fearless. He grabbed another chair, ready to chuck it at ’em if needed, and with one eye on the corner of the room and one eye covering the rats, he strode toward the fridge. He was halfway there, when he realized it was propped open, so his hope that there’d be somethin’ worth eating quickly evaporated.

  Stepping around another dining table, he tugged the fridge door wide and jumped back. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” A crap-load of rats spilled from the shelving. Whatever had been wrapped in the tin foil was long gone. Hell, even the foil was half-eaten.

  He slammed the fridge shut. The fuckers still inside would probably eat themselves to death.

  Using a broom handle, he tugged open the cupboards and except for a pile of rusty old tools, they were all empty.

  He turned on the kitchen tap and wasn’t surprised when it didn’t work.

  Zon turned back to the door. A dark patch on the floor caught his eye.

  His heart skipped a beat.

  A gun.

  It was sitting right there in the middle of the kitchen . . . in full view, like it’d just been used.

  He collected the Glock and checked the magazine. Three bullets. One whiff of the barrel was enough to figure it’d recently been used. He turned to the bodies, searching for bullet holes in their foreheads. But with the rats feasting on their faces, it was impossible to decide if it had been the cause of their deaths.

  Zon shrugged. He’d had his share of lucky days lately. Today was another. He pushed the gun into the back of his jocks, pulled up his jeans, covered it with his shirt, and ramped his search up to triple time. Now he was less focused on food and water, and more on weapons and bullets. He found a bolt-cutter and chain, but both were too heavy to keep as weapons.

  The heat in that kitchen became more unbearable with each cupboard door he opened. And he cou
ldn’t ignore the fuckin’ rats . . . their smell . . . their gnawing teeth . . . fucking darting about the place. Deciding to settle with his lucky find, he headed back toward Sykes and the zombie. The gun metal touching his lower back already had him feeling stronger.

  Sykes looked up as Zon re-entered the room. “How’d you go?”

  Zon shook his head. “Found more dead people. Nine I think.” He hadn’t thought to count ’em. Not that it mattered. “No food or water.”

  “Yeah, he told me as much.

  “He’s talking, huh?” Zon assessed Zombie, checking out his bloodshot eyes, and wonderin’ if the scrawny fucker woulda had it in him to kill the others.

  “Yeah, his English is minimal and he’s really weak. Delirious too. He can’t tell me if it’s been three or four days since he last had water and food. He told me the Captain took their only life raft along with all their supplies. He’s the only survivor.”

  “Shit, huh? What an asshole. The Captain, I mean. Not him.” Although . . . Zombie could be an asshole. They just didn’t know yet.

  “Give me a hand. We have to get him out of here.” Sykes raised Zombie to his feet and when the pillow dropped to the floor, Zon couldn’t believe he was still fuckin’ naked. Zombie wobbled and Sykes wrapped his arm around his waist and hooked his bony arm up over his shoulder. Zombie’s eyes were open but it was like he couldn’t move them or something ’cause all he did was stare at the wall.

  “Come on.” Sykes hissed at Zon. “Help me.”

  Zon raised his hands and backed away. “Ain’t no way I’m touching that.”

  “You’ll do as I say, and that’s an order.”

  “Fuck off. I don’t take no orders from no one.”

  “Ahhh, for fuck’s sake.” Sykes shuffled forward and Zombie half-stepped, half-dragged his feet.

  Zon held the door open and as the pair shuffled past, Sykes glared at Zon, but if it was meant to be a death stare, Zon had seen better on his bitchface sister.

  Zon was stuck behind ’em, and the whole time, as they bounced off the walls, all he could look at was Zombie’s white ass. The dude sure could use a bit of sun. “You shoulda dressed him, ya dickhead.”

  Sykes groaned. “Well, go find some clothes.”

  The way Sykes said it confirmed Zon was right.

  “And make it snappy. This rocking is getting worse.”

  Zon strode back down the passage, pushed into the first room he reached and stepped over a body to open the cupboard. He plucked a pair of pants from the shelf and a shirt off a hanger. But before he returned to Sykes, he searched the room. He wasn’t looking for no food or water, though that’d be nice. He was lookin’ for guns and ammo.

  He rifled through two more rooms, but figuring his delay wouldn’t look so good, he strode back to Sykes.

  The ship shuddered up and down, makin’ more damn noise than his mama did in the shitter.

  Sykes was waiting for him at the intersection of the three doors. “We have to get out of here, Zon, so fucking help me.”

  Maybe it was the feel of the cold metal of the gun at his back that made Zon feel all generous, ’cause he let Sykes shove Zombie into his arms to hold him upright. Zon wanted to get this shit over with. He had a gun he needed to stash.

  Gritting his teeth, and trying to block out the rotten stench coming from Zombie’s breath, Zon held the scrawny asshole upright while Sykes pulled the duds on. The second he was dressed, Zon shoved Zombie back at Sykes, shuffled around ’em and opened the door to the outer deck. His nose whistled as he sucked in the fresh air, but the wind howling through the containers, like it was possessed or something, blocked it out.

  When they’d first got on the cargo ship it had rolled from side to side. Now it was up, down, side to side, and bucking like a gator with a bullet in its jaw. It was makin’ it damn near impossible to stay upright. Especially once they got in amongst the shipping containers. Zon kept watchin’ ’em, wonderin’ if the damn things could actually keel over. He’d like to see that. There’d be all sorts of shit inside ’em. Computers. TVs. Hell, there could even be cars. He could be standing amongst a gold mine. A soon-to-be-deserted gold mine.

  And the whole damn lot was gonna end up on the bottom of the ocean.

  With an ear-splitting screech, the ship bucked sideways, and both him and Sykes tumbled over. Zombie hit the deck like a dead man and as Zon scrambled upright again, he watched the scrawny dude for a bit, hopin’ he really was a dead man.

  But no, no such luck.

  Zon eyeballed Sykes. His eyes were as big as beer cans. Zon had felt fear before . . . known it like it was injected into his veins. He wasn’t even close to that now. Sykes, though . . . he looked like he’d seen the devil his-self. “What?” Zon bellowed over the bedlam.

  Sykes ran in the opposite direction of the cruise ship. Zon chased after him.

  Without warning, the whole damn place scuttled sideways, knocking him off his feet. Zon’s head slammed into a shipping container, givin’ him another whack that hurt way worse than the last one. Ignorin’ it, though, he scrambled his-self upright and chased after Sykes.

  He reached Sykes’ side and the damn deck dropped out beneath him. Zon gripped the railing as they fell a good ten feet. Lucky he’d hung on or he’d a gone ass over tit into the ocean.

  “Fucking hell.” Sykes was leaning over, looking down. “She is stuck on a reef.”

  Zon peered over the railing. Waves crashed onto a crap-load of jagged rocks that covered an area about the size of his bayou back home.

  “Jesus Christ.” Sykes pulled away from the railing and looked at Zon like he had a hook in his eye. “There’s no way we’re getting this ship off that reef. She’ll start breaking up in no time.”

  As if it were agreein’, the boat screeched like a fucking psycho and slammed down again.

  “We need to get Rose off this thing, or we’ll go down with her.”

  “How?”

  “No idea. Come on. Let’s tell the Captain.”

  Sykes took off and Zon tried to keep up. He was halfway back to Zombie when the ship crashed down again. A massive groan roared around him. He shot his gaze upward and the air punched from his lungs.

  “Fuck!” Zon dived backward, scrambling on his hands and knees, as an entire row of shipping containers tipped sideways and slammed into another tower. It was the loudest fuckin’ thing he’d ever heard.

  “Fuck, Zon, get out of there!” Sykes waved him forward.

  Zon clambered to his feet and with one eye on the wobbling padlocked towers and one eye on Sykes, he ran faster than he’d done in years. With each crippled step, he expected the toppled containers to make him into mincemeat. The towers swayed. Sykes’ eyes grew bigger. The groaning got louder. Zon’s heart set to explode as he dove out of the row of containers, skidded across the deck and landed at Sykes’ feet.

  Sykes clapped him on the back and offered his hand to help him up. “Jesus, man, you’ve got some balls.”

  Zon grinned, barely noticing his nose was whistlin’.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Sykes bent over to pick up Zombie, whose head had rolled back and mouth had fallen open.

  “You sure he’s alive?”

  A frown messed up Sykes’ forehead as he put two fingers beneath Zombie’s chin. “Yeah, he’s alive, but barely.”

  The cargo ship jolted sideways, takin’ the legs out from under ’em. Zon slammed to the ground ass-first, but Sykes and Zombie weren’t so lucky. Sykes came up with blood on his chin, and the other guy now had a cut across his cheek that made the Zombie name suit even better.

  Zon dusted his hands and eyeballed Sykes. “So, genius . . . any ideas on how you’re gonna get Zombie over to our ship?”

  When Sykes pulled a face, confirmin’ he had no fuckin’ clue, Zon shook his head. “Well . . . while you’re thinking that shit through, I’m gonna check out what’s in these containers.”

  Zon didn’t bother waitin’ for no response. Instead, he trott
ed toward the wheelhouse, and in particular, the kitchen cupboard where he’d seen that large bolt cutter.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Gunner’s heart had just about stopped as he’d watched Sykes and Zon jump over to the Korean ship, and it didn’t get any better when they landed safely or when they disappeared into the wheelhouse.

  But he had things to do, and he had to believe that Sykes and Zon would make it back safely.

  His eyes shot to the rising sun. Clouds were brewing on the horizon, but not enough to warrant concern. Thankfully, the breeze was minimal . . . it’d barely register on the anemometer. If they had a working one, that was. It made him realize just how technology dependent they’d become. He’d always been obsessed with weather watching; now it was even more important.

  Rose bucked beneath his feet and screamed her objection at the collision with the other vessel. The swell was driving them into the giant rust bucket, but high tide was protecting them somewhat. When the wind picked up, as it always did in the afternoon, they’d be in serious trouble.

  What they were experiencing now was nothing compared to what was coming.

  They were positioned to take a battering. And he wasn’t sure Rose of the Sea could take much more.

  Forcing his gaze from the cargo ship, he turned to his remaining crew. They all looked like he felt: completely shattered. They were also looking to him for answers. He wiped sweat from his brow. “We have about five hours before the swell decreases. Do you agree, Pauline?”

  Pauline’s diminutive frame seemed to have shrunk in the recent days. Her eyes were sunken too, no longer offering the intelligent spark they’d had when he’d first met her and she’d talked about her new fiancé. She blinked up at him as if trying to formulate a response. “Yes, sir. I concur.”

  “And the wind. How long is it going to remain like this?”

  Again she blinked, then she turned her gaze to the sun, and something shifted in her eyes. Maybe she was contemplating if it would be the last sunrise she’d ever see.