Waves of Fate | Book 1 | First Fate

by Talbot, Kendall

  Clenching his jaw, he slapped that thought away. “Pauline?”

  She jumped. “Sorry, sir. Yes, it will begin to ramp up within two hours.”

  “Right.” He fought simultaneous urges to question her certainty and hit the major panic button. If she was right, they had one hell of a tight time schedule on their hands. “We need to get away from that ship. ASAP.” As his peers looked at him with wide, fearful eyes, the enormity of the situation truly hit home.

  For his entire career, he’d contemplated being the Captain of his own ship. He’d idolized the idea. Romanticized it. Even pretended it was the most important goal in his life. He’d been so wrong. Nothing was more important than the passengers and crew around him. But even more so, his wife and daughter. His family, who were counting on him to get home.

  Precious lives were in his hands.

  It didn’t matter how he got the captaincy role. He had a job to do.

  Command this ship.

  A powerful sense of honor blazed through him. The headache that’d started the second he opened his eyes that morning hit a whole new level, but he forced it away. Unclenching his jaw, he tried to ignore the crowd gathering around them and looked at each of his crew in turn. “In about five hours, we’ll have both the tide and the wind against us. Our best opportunity to get us off that monstrosity is right now. I’m open to any ideas on how we move our seventy-ton ship without power?”

  Quinn cleared his throat. “Could we try to catch the wind somehow? Like a giant sail?”

  Gunner tried to picture how to construct such a contraption. “Good idea, but I think the time involved in doing that would outweigh the possible outcome.”

  “What about decreasing the weight of the ship? We could toss things overboard to lighten our weight,” Jae-Ellen offered.

  Gunner shook his head. “The heaviest items are the ones that will be impossible to move, and the time involved with tossing hundreds of small items will be a waste. But good suggestion.”

  “Could we put the anchor into a life raft and somehow haul it out over there.” Quinn pointed to port side. “Drop it into the ocean and then just winch us away.”

  Gunner didn’t need to think about this one. “Each link in the anchor chain weighs three hundred and fifty pounds. Put them together, and there’s no way any of us can lift the chain, let alone the anchor.”

  Rose emitted another high-pitched squeal. Gunner clutched onto the railing and glanced at the water between the two ships. An idea began to form. He turned back to the group and felt the weight of a decision in their eyes.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll toss anything that floats over this side. With a bit of luck, it’ll provide a buffer between us.” The crew began nodding. “Anything that cushions us from getting pummeled is a good thing. The more we toss into the gap, the greater the distance will grow.”

  Another horrific crunch reverberated through Rose. Gunner silently prayed it wasn’t her hull shredding apart. So far, the damage looked superficial. But it was only a matter of time before that changed.

  Time they didn’t have.

  “Okay.” Gunner stepped back and turned to the crowd that were hovering around. “Listen up, people. We need everyone’s help. We have to toss anything that floats, like mattresses, plastic chairs or foam, over this side to create a cushion between the two ships. First, I need two people to stay here and relay any messages from Sykes and Zon. Cloe, that’s you and Brandi.” The young girl did a double take, and he recalled her defiant expression the first time he’d met her. The poor girl had aged ten years in the last four days. The prospect of imminent death did that. “Yes? You got it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Cloe nodded.

  “Okay, anyone who is able, follow me.” Gunner strode along the deck and entered through the single fire door at the end. The bulk of deck six was cabins—exactly what he needed. These cabins had already been raided for food, water, and medication, so every door had been smashed open. He strode into the first cabin, yanked a mattress from the top bunk and tossed it toward Quinn, who hooked it and a second mattress under his arms and disappeared out the door. Cindy was next. The young bartender still had glitter on her cheeks. Her smile was gone though. Lindsay, one of the passengers who was always quick to offer his help, stepped forward next. The retired train driver was in his seventies, yet he had more vitality than some of the younger crew. His wife, however, was the opposite and the poor thing had been suffering terribly with sea sickness.

  The ragtag team of crew and willing passengers took turns transporting the mattresses from Gunner to the outer deck, where they tossed them overboard.

  Cabin after cabin, they repeated the process. Sweat dripped down his back and under his arms, and caked in his hair. The rooms were stifling hot, and without water and little food in his belly, with each new cabin came increasing dizziness. But Gunner didn’t stop.

  The pressure to have this plan succeed was like having crosshairs on his back. Only the shooter was a massive rust bucket set on dragging their ship and everybody onboard her down with it. The agony over the debate to abandon ship grew with each mattress he tugged free. There were still only two options: stay on the ship and hope for a rescue, or scramble to the life rafts and hope to find land. Stay and fight, or jump and pray? It was like teetering on the edge of a giant cliff with a starving tiger eyeballing them for dinner.

  Neither option was a good one.

  “Sir. Captain.” Cloe’s voice lurched his brain from the tumbling abyss.

  He searched for the voice, and the room and everyone in it wobbled like apparitions. He struggled to focus. Stars darted across his vision, and blinking them away, he saw her standing at the door. “Cloe? Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, sir. Zon found a container full of baby products, and we thought that you might be interested in the baby formula.”

  “Baby formula!” He huffed. “That’s like finding gold.”

  “That’s what we thought, sir. Sykes and Zon can toss the tins over, but we’ll need you all to help us catch them.”

  Gunner nodded, straightened, and blinked back his dizziness. The idea of returning to fresh air sounded almost as good as a cold beer. Almost. “Come on. Let’s take a break and go help.”

  Gunner followed the small group of men and women who’d been proving themselves time and time again since everything went to hell. They looked like they’d just finished playing a football grand final which they’d lost, badly.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this . . .” Quinn chuckled, “. . . but I’m pretty darn keen to eat some of that baby food.”

  “As long as you don’t start crying like a baby.” Cloe slapped her husband on his shoulder. “Or shitting like one.”

  “Num, num, num, get me some baby food in ma belly.” Quinn rubbed his stomach, and as he and everyone else laughed along, Gunner wished he’d met them all under better circumstances.

  The instant they arrived at the railing, two-pound tins of baby formula started flying across the gap. Gunner’s energy returned almost immediately with the excitement of those around him. Just the thought of having food, even though it was baby food, was a dose of elixir for everyone.

  But with each tin Gunner caught, images of his baby girl, Bella, flashed across his mind. Her laughing. Her dancing. Her brilliant smile that lit up the room. A blaze of guilt rocketed through him. He should be with his wife and daughter. They needed him. How much had the EMP affected them? Had Adelle rallied with their neighbors, Phil and Roxanne, who helped her so much when Gunner was away and during Adelle’s cancer treatment. Was her father helping? Or was he downing the whiskey instead?

  Their marriage was perfect. It was so exciting when they’d decided to start a family. But it wasn’t easy. Adelle had two miscarriages before their beautiful daughter was born. Bella was six weeks premature and things were a little touch-and-go for a while. But she was now seven years old. . . going on thirteen. Every time he returned home, Bella was just th
at little bit bigger and much cheekier.

  Rose of the Sea pitched sideways, jolting Gunner back to reality.

  A dozen passengers, who’d been standing back, tumbled over like they’d been hit with an invisible wrecking ball. Screaming, they were a mass of uncontrollable limbs as they hit the railing full on.

  Five of them went right over the top.

  Gunner dashed forward, but he was too late. He leaned over the side, desperate to see them. Their screams stopped when they hit the water. He tried to spot them amongst the masses of mattresses. But it was impossible. They were gone.

  “No!” A man bolted to the railing. It was Lindsay, who until moments ago, had been helping Gunner with the mattresses. “Cheryl! Cheryl. Oh God. No.” He burst into wracking sobs and fell to his knees. “No. No. No.”

  It happened so quickly. Nobody’d had time to think.

  Five more people dead. Just like that. Never to see their families again.

  Will I ever see my wife and daughter again?

  Shoving the thought aside, he dashed to help the eight lucky people who’d been on the brink of death. As he pulled them back, he declared that no matter what, he would make it home to his wife and daughter. Even if it took years.

  Years!

  Could it really take that long?

  God, he hoped not.

  There was no time to mourn the new losses of life, and maybe the crew arrived at the same conclusion because they quickly lined up at the railing with him again and resumed catching the tins.

  Thankfully, most of the curious onlookers had retreated inside, and Gunner didn’t have to worry about any of them tumbling overboard. Max curled his arm around Lindsay’s shoulder and led the inconsolable man away. Gunner made a mental note to offer his condolences to Lindsay as soon as he was free.

  When Rose shuddered beneath him and parted from the cargo ship, Gunner glanced between them. There had to be at least three hundred mattresses down there and yet the two ships were still slamming into each other.

  He’d been certain his mattress idea would work.

  Now, though? He wasn’t so sure.

  It seemed like hours before Sykes and Zon tossed the last of the tins, and when half the guys crumbled to the ground with absolute exhaustion, Gunner stepped forward, gripping the rail. “Anything else worth saving?” he yelled across the void.

  Sykes cupped his mouth. “No, sir. Just fancy cars. Fridges and freezers. Televisions. Nothing of value.”

  The irony in his response was almost laughable.

  Would he ever know a normal day again?

  Gunner glanced to the heavens. He wasn’t one to resort to praying, but this seemed like as good a time as any to start. As a lone albatross dipped and swooped nearby, he silently prayed that all the remaining souls on Rose of the Sea made it home to safety.

  His ship bucked and groaned beneath him, as if she’d heard his prayers, but she had a completely different plan.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Zon was fucking tired of tossing them damn tins. There were thousands of ’em. The first shipping container he’d broken into, he’d thought he’d hit the big time. It had just two cars: a Jaguar I-Pace and a Porsche 911 turbo. Sweet rides. He’d a done anythin’ to take one of ’em for a spin.

  The next container was loaded to the max with fancy TVs and stereos. He’d never had anything like it, and it was a damn shame they was gonna end up on the bottom of the ocean. The fridges and freezers were boring and he was shitty that he’d wasted time breakin’ into that container. But when he’d found the fuckin’ baby food and crap, Sykes had carried on like he’d dug up treasure or somethin’.

  Zon felt totally ripped off. All that fancy stuff within reach and not a damn thing he could do about it.

  By the time they’d finished tossing the tins over to the others, he’d decided that if Captain Dickhead didn’t reward him with much more than the scabby rations he’d been getting so far, then the new weapon in his jocks was gonna make a show very soon.

  Rolling his shoulders, he turned to Sykes. He was bending over Zombie who was still sprawled on his back, lookin’ deader than ever.

  Zon had forgotten all about the freak. “You got a plan for him yet?”

  Sykes wiped his hand across his forehead and rubbed the sweat onto his pants. “Not yet.” He hooked his arm around Zombie and dragged him toward where they’d jumped onto the ship. Each time the deck dropped out from below them, Sykes and Zombie slammed into a shipping container. Zon nearly tumbled over twice his-self. Things were getting out of control.

  “He ain’t gonna make it, you know,” Zon said.

  Sykes didn’t respond.

  “Just leave him here.”

  Sykes didn’t respond to that neither, but he did attempt one of his pathetic death stares.

  “What?” Zon shrugged. “Sometimes it’s best to let nature do its thing. Besides, we don’t have enough food for everyone already.” It was only a matter of time before they’d be tossing Zombie overboard like all the other dead people. Zon was looking forward to that moment. It wasn’t very often he got to say I told you so. Especially not to a man like Sykes, who thought his shit didn’t stink.

  When they finally got to the spot where they’d jumped across ships, Captain Dickhead and about twenty other people were all standing at the railing, looking over at them.

  Sykes lowered Zombie to the deck, all careful like, then he picked up the rope they’d tossed across earlier, strode toward the nearest shipping container tower, and climbed up them like he was some kind a monkey. At the fourth one up, he looped the rope around the ladder and tied it off. The rope was on an angle that sloped from the shipping container down to the cruise ship.

  Sykes climbed back down and squared off at Zon. “I’ll need your help with the next bit.”

  “Yeah . . . what for?”

  The boat slammed down again and Sykes fell flat on his ass. Zon thought it was kinda funny that the man who practically lived on boats couldn’t keep his-self upright.

  Sykes stood again, and this time when he looked at Zon, he scowled like he’d eaten a rotten shrimp. “I need your help.”

  “So you keep sayin’.” Zon glanced from Zombie to Sykes and saw two things: one was a guy who was settin’ to die any minute. The other was a guy who was desperate.

  He saw one more thing. An opportunity.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll help. But I want extra rations. Food and water.”

  “Fucking hell, you’re a piece of work. You know that, don’t you?”

  Zon shrugged. “I’m telling you, he ain’t gonna make it. And if you’re makin’ me risk my life to save a dead one, then I wanna get somethin’ for it.”

  Sykes had his jaw clenched so tight it looked like he could snap a tooth. Instead of answerin’ Zon, he just picked up Zombie, flopped him over his shoulder and strode back to the container stack he’d tied the rope to. “Get over here, Zon.”

  Zon swaggered that way. “Do I get my extra rations?”

  “I’ll make sure you do,” Sykes said it all calm, and Zon liked that Sykes had finally figured out who was in charge.

  While Sykes climbed, Zon had to stop Zombie’s sorry ass from fallin’ off his shoulder. It wasn’t easy, ’cause the freak’s stupid feet kept getting caught. They were lucky Zombie only weighed a hundred and twenty pounds, or maybe less.

  At the top, Zon had to hold Zombie while Sykes climbed onto the rope, which was flopping about all over the place. Sykes moved so he was hanging upside down with his hands and feet crossed over the rope.

  “Feed him through, onto my stomach,” Sykes yelled over the screeching boats.

  Sykes’ plan wasn’t gonna work. But he did it anyways.

  Hanging onto the container, he tried to hand over Zombie, but between the two of ’em hanging on, and the ship bucking all over the place, and zero help from the dead man, they were fucked.

  Zombie toppled sideways and Zon only just managed to grab his scrawny ankle.
He had no idea why he’d done that . . . shoulda let Zombie go. Then they wouldn’t a had the problem no more.

  But when he heard a cheer from the cruise ship and glanced over to see the crowd waving and cheering, he got a warm an’ fuzzy feelin’ like when he drank too much tequila.

  Damn, it felt fine.

  Ten minutes after Sykes began his fucked-up idea, they were right back where they started . . . on the cargo ship’s deck with Zombie flat on his back at their feet.

  After Sykes stopped leaning over his knees and huffing and puffing like he’d run from a smash-an’-grab or somethin’, he turned to the crowd, cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled, “I can’t do it. I need more help.”

  “Okay,” Captain Dickhead yelled back, and then him and his buddies huddled together.

  Zon searched the crowd, hoping to see Jessie. The cargo ship bucked beneath him, catching him unawares. His feet whipped out from beneath him and he slammed into the corner of a container. Pain burst through his mangled foot and a howl burst from his throat. “Fuck!”

  Stars darted across his eyes. Stabbing pain shot through his remaining toes.

  He stood. He’d had enough of this shit. With fury driving him on, he picked up Zombie and tossed him over his shoulder like he’d done with dozens of animals.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Getting this shit over with so I can eat. I’m fucking starving.”

  At the front of the container, he shifted Zombie’s body for better balance, then began climbing. Each time he reached for another grip hold, Zombie’s head whacked the middle of Zon’s back, and all he kept thinking about was Zombie’s blood gettin’ onto his Louisiana Ragin’ Cajuns football jersey. It was his favorite. He’d even lined up to get his favorite player, Tillman, to sign it. And he didn’t do lineups.

  Sykes was with Zon when he reached the rope, and at exactly that moment, the two ships collided. A huge fuckin’ boom followed. Zon figured that another tower of containers had lost it. Knowing his luck, the one he was on would be next. Then again, his luck was gettin’ good these days.