Waves of Fate | Book 1 | First Fate

by Talbot, Kendall

  “Yes. But it could be just a day.” The vein across his temple pulsed, proving that his calm façade was just on the surface. Turmoil was brimming beneath.

  He turned from her, scanning the bedlam around them.

  It was just like Max to put a positive spin on a dire situation. He’d done the same when she’d been trapped in that car. Her heart squeezed at how much they’d loved each other. Her heart squeezed even more over how she’d let it all go.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please listen. We have plenty to do before we get into the life rafts. I need those of you who are capable to step forward.”

  Max spun to her and when their eyes locked, her breath was taken away by the love in his chocolate irises. For the first time, she fully understood his need to help others. She offered what she hoped was an understanding smile. “Go on. Go help them.”

  Relief flashed in his return grin. He cupped her cheek, leaned in, and kissed her. It was a brief kiss. Gentle on her lips, but utterly brutal to her heart.

  Max knelt in front of their son. “Adam, you stay with your mother. No matter what happens, do not leave her side. If you need to go to the bathroom, you tell her. Do you hear me?”

  Adam’s eyes were huge. “Yes, Dad.”

  Gabby reached for Adam’s hand. “We’ll look after each other, won’t we, Adam?”

  He looked up at her. His distress made him look much younger, more frail . . . more vulnerable. He sucked his quivering lip into his mouth, and she pulled his head to her chest and squeezed.

  Fighting back the knot in her throat, she eyed Max. “You come back to us as soon as you can.”

  “I will. I promise.” He nodded, and knelt in front of Jennifer. “Hey, Jen, you do the same, okay, honey? Stay with Gabby.” Max guided Jennifer’s tiny hand into Gabby’s, and Gabby squeezed it.

  As Max strode through the crowd toward the Captain, she hugged Adam’s and Jennifer’s bodies to hers and surveyed the chaos around her. The scene was the newsworthy despair she’d lived for. She was getting exactly what she’d always wanted—heartbreaking headlines. Was this her punishment for her lopsided priorities?

  As her pulse pounded out a painful beat, Gabby made a promise to herself.

  Nothing would take precedence over her family again.

  If they survived.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Gunner strangled the railing as Rose of the Sea bucked wildly beneath his feet. Unclenching his jaw, he shot his gaze along the sea of stricken faces. The survivors were lined up along the deck, all clad in bulky lifejackets, all terrified. “Sit down! For Christ’s sake.” Over and over he’d been yelling at them to sit, and they would for a minute or two, then when one of them stood, they all did.

  The deck jolted, shifting a good two feet beneath them. The crowd tumbled forward like a pile of drunkards. Most managed to find their feet, but Maude and Frank, an elderly couple, kept going.

  “Hang on,” Gunner yelled out to them.

  He was too far away. Age, agility, and gravity were against them. They hit the railing with a bone-jarring crack and tumbled overboard.

  They didn’t even have time to scream.

  “Son of a bitch!” Gunner bellowed. He wanted to race forward. To peer over the railing and see if they were alive. But it was pointless. Their lifejackets may have saved them, but until the life rafts were deployed into the water, there was nothing else he could do.

  “Sit down! Please! You’re going to get yourselves killed.”

  As the night sky faded, Rose of the Sea’s violent shuddering became more deadly. She’d hit the reef. With each wave that barreled into her, it was impossible to predict what reaction the ship would have. The outgoing tide . . . the thirty-knot winds . . . her broadside position to the reef . . . it was all stacked against her. She had no hope. The entire starboard side was taking the full brunt of the jagged rocks and coral. Each time she rose up and crashed down again, another chunk of her underbelly would be ripped to shreds.

  Each time, Gunner willed her to hang in there just a little bit longer.

  Gunner, Sykes, and fifteen dedicated helpers had checked every foot of the ship, searching for any survivors. They didn’t find one. And the section of deck four that’d been decimated by the plane, remained impenetrable. As much as Gunner prayed that there were people still alive in that section, he also hoped that there wasn’t, as they were about to be left behind and there was nothing anyone could do for them now.

  After that search was complete, they’d loaded two life rafts with as many supplies as possible: the baby formula, all drinking fluids, and all packaged and canned food. Medication, first-aid kits, mobile phones, blankets, towels, bowls and knives.

  The gut-wrenching list with the names of the known deceased.

  Each family were allowed one small backpack of belongings. He hoped they’d chosen wisely.

  The rafts were equipped with an insulated canopy to protect them against heat and cold and contained a pre-packed set of survival gear. They’d previously removed the tinned food and water. But they’d spent all night moving all the additional gear on those rafts onto the four rafts they were about to deploy.

  Each life raft had a repair kit, a non-folding knife with a buoyant handle, an axe, a tin opener, a pocket knife with twenty built-in gadgets, a pair of scissors, a first-aid kit, a whistle, six flares, an anchor, ropes, fishing tackle, and, of course, a survival manual. They had a means to collect rainwater. Paddles. Bailing buckets and signaling mirrors.

  The solar-powered lamps were useless after the EMP, as were the waterproof torches. And the chances of the EPIRB finding a working satellite signal were negligible. But Gunner still resisted throwing those items from the rafts.

  Gunner wasn’t just preparing to vacate the ship.

  He was preparing to be at sea for an unforeseeable length of time.

  With the stocks secured, and sunlight mushrooming on the horizon, it was time to release their first supply raft. Usually, dual electronic winches would lower the rafts with steady precision. Gunner had performed this life-saving task dozens of times in his career, but never under duress, and never without the use of functioning electronic winches. Not once had his training covered life-raft deployment in the event of power failure. The brutal reality of that now glaringly obvious safety breach was that neither he nor Sykes were confident in what they were doing. He was just grateful that they’d had surplus rafts to practice with. They’d already tried two with disastrous results. Thank God he hadn’t had people or supplies in either of them. It took two more attempts before they’d established a workable deployment.

  The rise and fall of the ship was dramatic, a good fifty-foot shift in each direction. To minimize impact on the raft, they needed to release it when it was positioned nearest the water.

  Timing would be everything.

  Calling out to each other over the screams of shredding metal, he and Sykes released the life raft from the clasps that secured it to the deck and it rocked wildly with Rose’s unpredictable movements. The only thing stopping the pod from tumbling into the ocean were two ropes secured at either end by the pulley systems on the winches.

  Gunner studied the waves, trying to assess a pattern.

  The pressure to get it right was like pulling the pin on a grenade and knowing when to toss it for maximum result.

  After four waves, approximately eight to ten feet high, Gunner yelled to his First Officer. “We’ll do it after this one, Sykes. You ready?”

  “Yes, sir.” Sykes’ commitment to his duty was unwavering. The man deserved a medal.

  The ship rose with a crippling shudder that had glass exploding somewhere inside the deck behind him. She listed dramatically to starboard side and the supply-filled raft bounced against the side of the hull like a giant orange football.

  The wave barreled toward them. The eyes of the terrified survivors watched him.

  Rose of the Sea was about to reach its pinnacle and if Gunner was right, seconds later,
she’d slam back the other way.

  The screeching grew louder, more critical.

  The boat bucked beneath them, whipping left and right.

  The raft slammed backward and forward like a toy boat in a hurricane.

  He held his breath, counting out every painstaking second. One. Two. . . Five. . . Nine.

  “Ready!”

  The boat fell out from beneath them.

  “Go!”

  At exactly the same moment, they released the ropes and as Rose slammed back into the water, creating a massive wave, the unmanned life raft plummeted.

  Gunner’s heart stopped. The orange pod hit the water. It rolled to its extreme right, but righted itself within seconds. The crowd behind cheered and the swell of relief that washed through him had his knees buckling. He turned to Sykes and they nodded at each other. A touch of hope coursed through his veins. But it wasn’t over.

  It was a long way from over.

  His reality check was met with another deafening roar from the ship’s hull. This one was different. Deeper. Longer. An agonizing cry for help from a seventy-thousand-ton vessel in peril.

  He and Sykes raced to the next pod, and within minutes it too was released into the water and quickly began drifting away. Thanks to Sykes’ clever thinking, they’d tied the rafts together, otherwise each surge Rose created when she plunged back into the water would’ve pushed them farther from reach.

  The moment he’d been dreading since Captain Nelson had declared the ship dead in the water had arrived. It was time to abandon ship. Nausea wobbled in his throat. Bile burned in his stomach. Biting it back, Gunner turned to the survivors. They’d been pre-arranged into two groups, sharing those who needed assistance and those who didn’t between the two rafts.

  Their eyes were wide. Their silent screams were terrifying.

  They were counting on him. He was their leader; he needed to lead.

  He nodded at Pauline and Jae-Ellen, and the two women jumped up. Gunner had an immediate swell of pride as they pushed through what would no doubt be immense fear to start shuffling the elderly and injured passengers forward. Gladys was first. As Pauline wheeled her forward, Gunner tried to offer the petrified woman what he hoped was a look of confidence. He stepped up to her, and she clutched her fingers around his wrist. “Please, forget about me. Take the others.”

  He peeled her fingers off his wrist and as she repeated her protests, Sykes, Quinn, and the twins, Col and Ken, manhandled the massive woman through the narrow entrance of the life raft. There was no graceful way to do it, and with the unpredictable movements of the ship and Gladys’ crippled legs unable to help, she tumbled into the escape pod like a soggy cadaver. The process to secure her in the raft took much longer than he’d anticipated. It was time they didn’t have.

  Tossing the wheelchair aside, he reached for Jennifer. The little girl was screaming hysterically by the time they shoved her into the raft. Max followed quickly behind, and despite his damaged hand being strapped to his chest, he still helped his wife and son into the raft with him.

  The sun was a blazing beacon on the horizon by the time they had the thirty-four passengers and five crew into the third life raft, ready to deploy. It was Quinn’s turn to operate the second winch, and Sykes had given him detailed instructions on how to manage it.

  Sykes strode to Gunner and offered his hand. “Sir, it’s been an honor working with you, sir.”

  Gunner nodded. “Likewise, First Officer Sykes. I’ll meet you at the bottom.”

  “I’ll be waiting for you, sir.”

  Sykes saluted, then climbed into the life raft, and after giving Gunner one last look, loaded with understandable apprehension, he flipped the cover closed on the life raft’s hatch and disappeared inside.

  “Okay, Quinn,” Gunner yelled over the thunderous noise. “On my call, okay?”

  “Okay, sir.”

  “Ready. Set. Release the locks.” Once unshackled, the life raft rocked wildly. The screams from inside it were terrifying. Forty people were in that raft, being held by just two ropes. Their lives were in his hands. His brain shattered. Would anybody die in the fall? Would he see them again? His body flashed hot and cold. Acid burst from his gut and barreled up his throat, almost choking him. A panic attack took hold. What if every single person died?

  He shot his gaze from the rocking pod to the churning ocean to Quinn. His eyes were huge, his jaw clenched, his fear obvious. He was waiting for him . . . trusting him to make the right decision.

  Just like every one of the seventy-five survivors.

  “Ready, sir.” Quinn blinked at Gunner.

  Gunner’s movements became robotic. He was no longer a man; he was a machine.

  Doing the improbable.

  Making impossible decisions.

  Hoping for a miracle.

  “Quinn. Ready. Set. Go!”

  The raft released with a sharp zipping sound from the ropes and wild screams from the people inside the pod. An enormous splash from the ship engulfed the pod and for three heart-stopping beats, she vanished beneath a million gallons of white water.

  It popped to the surface, wobbled wildly from side to side, then righted itself. Seconds later, the hatch opened. Sykes stood and when he gave Gunner the thumbs up, all the remaining survivors onboard the ship cheered.

  “Good work, Captain.” Quinn smiled.

  Gunner chuckled and returned his smile to a man who’d barely left his side since the shit had hit the fan. “Good work, Quinn.”

  While Gunner, Cloe, and Quinn coordinated the loading of the remaining passengers and crew into the last pod, Sykes pulled the already deployed supply rafts together and secured them closer to each other.

  It took way too long to get everyone inside the final pod. It was time they didn’t have. Every ticking minute, Rose reared with another spine-jarring jolt that confirmed she was suffering. If they didn’t get off this thing soon, then they were going to suffer too.

  After Quinn climbed in, Gunner leaned into the capsule’s hatch. That tiny space was destined to be their home for the unforeseen future. God help them all. Thirty-four people looked at him with wide-eyed fear. “Listen up. When I release the clips, the raft will start rocking. As soon as I can I’ll release the ropes. Just hang onto those handles and it’ll be over before you know it.”

  His gaze fell on Zon. The big man’s eyes were wide, fearful. Zon had insisted on being in this specific life raft. He had assumed it was because Zon had packed the supplies into this one. But maybe Zon wanted to stay with Gunner.

  “It’s okay, Zon. You’ll be safe in no time.” Gunner hoped his words didn’t sound as hollow as they did in his own brain.

  Zon’s scowl implied he had no idea why Gunner had singled him out.

  “Good luck, everyone. I’ll join you soon.” Gunner flipped the sheeting back over the entry hatch and clipped it into place. He turned his attention to the two ropes still keeping the pod in position. Sykes had rigged it so Gunner only had to release one tether to set the pod free. It was as simple as it was brilliant.

  The catch was, someone had to stay back to do it. Him.

  He was the Captain. It was his job to be the last man to leave the ship.

  Gunner wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Once everyone else was safe, all he had to do was jump off and swim out to the raft.

  Easy.

  Provided he judged his timing of the waves right.

  His heart banged against his ribs, nearly crippling him when he considered the enormity of his plan.

  But he had to get through deploying the raft first.

  The ship emitted a long groan. It was deep. It was loud. It was catastrophic.

  She was on her last legs. Any minute now, Rose of the Sea would break into pieces. It was time to do this.

  “Okay, hang on,” he shouted. “I’m releasing the clasps.”

  He unhooked the fasteners. The raft flopped out with the roll of the ship. Terrified screams bellowed from
inside the raft. The squeals around him were like those of strangled demons.

  Timing was everything. He studied the roll of the ocean for a good couple of minutes, searching for a pattern to the waves. “Okay, get ready.” He counted them down. “Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”

  He flicked the latch. The rope whipped up, released from the other side, but it snapped around his wrist. His arm jolted upward and the clipping mechanism crunched down on his hand.

  A spray of blood shot across his face.

  Gunner howled. His feet slipped out from beneath him. The only thing stopping him from toppling overboard was his trapped hand.

  The ship bucked violently, slamming his loose legs onto the railing.

  Bile shot up his throat. Every breath was caustic. He couldn’t think.

  Screams bellowed from the pod. Gasping through the pain, he looked down. The raft was still there, banging into the ship. Its angle was all wrong, perilous.

  Rose thrust upward. Higher this time. Committed. An almighty roar confirmed she was taking her final beating. Glass shattered. Metal squealed.

  Gunner couldn’t do a thing.

  Pain ripped up his arm. He saw stars. He saw blood. He saw mangled fingers.

  His scream was a strangled cry. Of mortal terror. Unworldly.

  His throat burned. His eyes stung. His legs banged against the railing, shooting barbs along his shins.

  The raft slammed onto the ship’s hull. Terrified screams burst from the pod and in that one bracing instant, Gunner knew he’d failed them.

  He was trapped, and all the people in the life raft were trapped with him.

  Zon’s head appeared through the hatch. His mouth was moving, apparently yelling up to him. Gunner heard nothing but his own agonizing moans.

  The ship bucked beneath him, and he slammed against the life raft’s holding bracket. His temple smacked into a giant bolt. Pain darted to his brain and for a brief second, he forgot about his hand.

  The crippled life raft swung about. Screams of caged horror ate at his soul.

  Panting against the pain, Gunner looked up at his hand. Blood drained from his body. Two crushed fingers were protruding from beneath the metal clasp. Two were missing altogether.