Burnt Sea: A Seabound Prequel (Seabound Chronicles Book 0)

by Jordan Rivet

  “There are no safe harbors,” Michael said. “The storms are getting worse. There were earthquakes in China and . . . Sir, I can’t speak to you anymore. You have to turn your ship around.”

  Simon swallowed hard, fighting to stay calm. “I know you’re trying to do your job, Michael,” he said, “but if this is the end of the world, isn’t helping a group of innocents the right thing to do?”

  Michael was silent for a moment. “We don’t have any help to give you,” he said after a while. “Guam is basically ruined. The storm surges have been catastrophic. We’re barely surviving ourselves.”

  Simon leaned back in the chair and let out a long breath. So that was it. Things were just as bad here as they were at sea.

  “Thank you for your honesty, Michael,” he said. “We won’t cross into the restricted zone, but please stop pointing your guns at our people. Is there anywhere we can get fuel to keep us going for a bit longer? We have to keep trying to get back to our families.”

  There was a long silence on the other end of the radio. Simon wondered if they had lost the connection. They needed help . . . information . . . something. He had no idea what they were going to do.

  “Seaman Williams?”

  He waited. Still no answer. The men at the guns below hadn’t moved.

  Then the radio crackled.

  “Permission to come aboard your ship, sir.”

  Simon exchanged glances with Vinny.

  “Sorry? Could you repeat that?”

  “Permission to come aboard the cruise ship Catalina,” Michael said. “I’ll collect the passenger manifest to add to our records.”

  “Okay,” Simon said slowly. “But please don’t bring any weapons.”

  “Roger that. Let down a ladder from the starboard lifeboat deck. I will be unarmed. Over and out.”

  Simon pulled the headset down around his neck. “What’s that about?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t want his superiors to hear what he has to say on the radio,” Vinny said. “Otherwise, he’d just ask us to transmit the list—or read it out to him.”

  “But they’ll know that,” Simon said. “I wonder what he wants. Hold down the fort here, Vinny. I’m going to meet our Seaman Williams.”

  Judith

  The loudspeaker on the other ship ceased abruptly. Judith tensed. Would they start shooting? She felt like she was watching the entire scene from underwater. She should duck in case they opened fire, but she still didn’t believe the navy would hurt them. What had happened in San Diego was a fluke, an aberration. Any minute now they’d offer to lead the Catalina in to port.

  The haze had cleared a bit, revealing the coastline of Guam. They were so close. There were definitely warships moored there. She couldn’t make out any buildings, though. That was strange. They should see the city by now.

  A small speedboat appeared from behind the other ship, apparently launched from its stern. It approached the Catalina, manned by a lone sailor. Judith saw the fuzz of a crew cut and thick eyebrows on a high forehead before the boat sped around the side of the Catalina. She jogged after it toward the starboard lifeboat deck, Manny following in her wake.

  A burly blond crewman—she thought his name was Pieter—was lowering a ladder over the side of the ship beside the foremost lifeboat. The little speedboat bobbed in the shadow of the Catalina. It was dark gray, like the sea beneath it, with a powerful-looking outboard motor. The sailor tied the boat to something below and began to climb the ladder. He hunched his shoulders as he ascended, as if every second he expected someone to fire down on him. Judith felt like she had seen this man before. Could it be the same face she had glimpsed behind a gas mask in San Diego harbor? The odds were impossibly slim.

  Pieter reached down to help the young sailor aboard, but he waved off the assistance and climbed up by himself. He wore a crisp uniform and carried himself with an obvious sense of assurance, as if he was completely aware of every muscle in his body at all times. Beneath his thick eyebrows he had striking blue eyes, a classic square jaw, and a full mouth.

  Judith felt suddenly shy. The sailor was movie-star hot. He looked like a high school quarterback in a teen movie, the kind that was always played by a twenty-six-year-old actor.

  Simon appeared in the ship’s entryway.

  “Welcome aboard the Catalina, Seaman Williams,” he said.

  He moved deliberately, but Judith could tell he was nervous.

  “Are you Simon?” the sailor asked.

  “I am.”

  “You’re the captain?”

  “No. The captain of the Catalina is indisposed,” Simon said. He stood at a distance from the young sailor, not offering his hand.

  “I see.”

  “Why are you here, Michael?”

  The sailor scanned the deck, as if expecting someone to be listening in. He noticed Judith, and his eyes widened slightly.

  “I want to come with you on the Catalina,” he said finally.

  “You’re deserting?”

  Michael flinched at the word. “I’ll work in exchange for a lift,” he said.

  “You won’t be any better off with us,” Simon said. “We’re dangerously low on fuel, as I said on the radio.”

  “I know where you can get more fuel,” Michael said. “Enough to sail on to Asia.”

  “Why are you here?” Simon repeated the question so quietly, Judith could barely hear it.

  Michael’s jaw tensed. Finally, as if the words were being torn from him, he said, “We’re being ordered to gun people down. Refugees, any ships that get in our way, anyone who won’t listen to our warnings. I can’t do it anymore.”

  Judith couldn’t believe it. The world had gone mad. The navy was supposed to help them!

  “Are they guarding something on the island?” Simon asked.

  “We don’t have much in the way of food and fuel, but they’re defending whatever’s left,” Michael said. “There’s no leadership. The men are fighting each other. They don’t know what else to do.”

  “But why come with us?” Simon asked.

  “The navy is supposed to be better than this, sir. I want to do what’s right. I have to get back to my family. My first duty is to them. You reminded me of that.”

  Simon didn’t answer. He studied the younger man, but his face gave no indication of what he was thinking. Judith wished she could read his thoughts. Did he believe this stranger? Would he trust him?

  “Has there been any news from back home?” Simon asked.

  “The East Coast is a shambles,” Michael said. “There were riots after the eruption, and then some sort of tsunami. I’m not really sure what happened. All the food’s gone, hidden away in people’s homes—if they still have homes. Water supplies are tainted. No one knows where the president is. If he’s still alive, he’s not talking to us.”

  “What about internationally?”

  “Same thing. Panic. Looting. They don’t have aid to send. It’s the end of the world.”

  Judith stared at Michael. He seemed to be confirming what that crazy conspiracy theorist said on his website. About the East Coast. About the complete breakdown of order. It couldn’t be that bad. It just couldn’t.

  “Things will have to calm down eventually,” Simon said, his face grave. “We need to hold on until then. I’ll be honest with you, Michael. You wouldn’t be any better off with us.”

  Michael looked back toward his ship. It drifted silently on the waves, the guns still pointed at the Catalina’s decks.

  “I can’t stay in Guam.” Michael turned back to Simon. “If you give me a ride to land, I can help you get more fuel. But we need to move fast.”

  “We’ll have to put it to the council,” Simon said slowly.

  “There’s no time,” Michael said. “You just have to trust me. I swear I’ll help.”

  Simon studied Michael for a moment, then walked over to Judith and leaned close to speak to her privately.

  “I’m not sure what to do, Judith,” Simon said
heavily. “What do you think?”

  Judith met Michael’s eyes. They were a blue so light they made the sky seem gray. His navy uniform looked clean and sure, like order, authority. More importantly, he had an open, honest face. He seemed like he meant what he said. He was trying to do the right thing.

  “We need fuel,” Judith whispered, “and if he’s telling the truth, he might be the only one who can help us get it. I think we should trust him.”

  “Okay then,” Simon said. “I agree.” He turned back to Michael and said, “You may join us. What do we need to do?”

  Michael nodded, his shoulders relaxing a bit. “There’s a wrecked cargo vessel off an atoll that we haven’t had time to salvage,” he said. “It’s carrying a load of fuel tanks, but we need to move fast. They’re scheduled to retrieve them at 0900 tomorrow.”

  “What about your comrades on the other ship?”

  “The captain’s son is my friend,” Michael said. “We were in basic together, and I helped him out of a tight spot. The captain owes me. As long as we don’t let on that we’re going after the fuel, he’ll let me go. I just need to talk to him.”

  “Okay then. Welcome aboard,” Simon said. “Judith, will you take Seaman Williams up to the bridge? I need to explain the situation to everyone, and then I’ll join you so we can make a plan. Manny and Pieter, would you get everyone else off the deck, please, just in case?” Simon gave Michael one final, long look before heading off.

  Judith jerked her head toward the doorway, and Michael followed her into the ship, leaving the view of Guam behind them. She led him through the corridors toward the bridge.

  She wasn’t sure what to say to him, so they walked in silence. He was tall and broad shouldered, and the way he carried himself made him seem much larger. Judith was conscious of her seawater-washed hair and sweats. She had grown used to seeing the same faces on the ship, and it was very strange to have a newcomer.

  “So,” Michael said finally. “You’re Judith?”

  “And you’re Michael.”

  They climbed a service stairwell, the same one that Manny had taken her through a lifetime ago. She stayed two steps ahead of Michael, and she felt the added height gave her a slight advantage. She still didn’t know what to say. How were you supposed to start a conversation with someone who had just told you the world was ending?

  “So . . .” Michael tried again. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

  “Seriously?” Judith smiled in spite of herself.

  “Worth a shot,” Michael said. “Where are you from?”

  “San Diego. We escaped from the harbor.”

  Judith glanced back fast enough to see a flicker of uncertainty cross his face. She stopped short. He took one step up, closer to her, before he stopped too.

  “I—”

  “Were you there?” she demanded.

  “My ship escaped from San Diego, yes,” he said.

  “You gunned through all those people.”

  “We couldn’t help them,” Michael said. “Any ships that stopped would have had their equipment clogged by ash in minutes. We barely escaped.”

  “But you’re the navy! You should be helping, not firing on civilians.”

  “You’re right,” Michael said. “When that ash cloud rolled in . . . the officers just panicked. I know we let people down. I was scared shitless, just like everyone else.”

  “That’s no excuse,” Judith said.

  “No, it’s not,” he said. “The navy should be better. I never thought we’d do something like that.” Michael met Judith’s eyes steadily. “I gave my whole life to the navy, you know, to serving my country. I was really part of something, but now . . .”

  Judith scowled. “I thought a crisis was supposed to bring out the best in people,” she said. “How could they just turn the Catalina away when we came to them for help?” She had put so much hope in the navy waiting for them in Guam. Deep down she believed what had happened in San Diego was an accident, a one-off. Now she felt betrayed.

  “I don’t know,” Michael said, “but I want to make it right, do what the navy really stands for, even if my superiors won’t. That’s why I’m here.”

  He seemed sincere, but Judith wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. The people they should be able to count on had let them down again and again. She felt like she was caught in a whirlpool, grasping for some kind of stability, for an anchor. Tears welled up, and she tried to blink them away.

  Michael put a hand on her arm.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said.

  Judith met his eyes, startled by the physical contact, the sudden intimacy with this stranger. His eyes were very, very blue.

  “Do you think it’s too late?” she said. “Even if we get the fuel from this shipwreck that you mentioned, is the world really—?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, dropping his hand from her arm. “I don’t know if the human race is going to last much longer. I don’t even know if my family is still alive.”

  Judith was so close to Michael that she could have touched his face. For a moment she wanted to, here in the half-light of the darkened stairwell. She wanted to reach out to this man, to forget about everything that was going on in the world. But something held her back. She turned around and continued up the stairs. Michael followed in silence.

  When she reached the bridge, Ren and Nora looked up from their usual posts at the computers. They stared as the stranger followed her through the door.

  “This is Michael,” Judith said. “He’s going to lead us to some fuel. Simon says to let him use the radio.”

  “Um, what about Guam?” Nora said. “You know, that bit of land right in front of us?”

  “We’re not going to Guam.”

  Judith slumped into a chair and avoided looking at Michael. She was embarrassed by her outburst. He wasn’t the navy personified. He had just been following orders, scared like everyone else.

  “I was afraid of this,” Ren said grimly. “Where to, sailor?”

  Simon

  By the time everyone had been pulled off the deck, the patient optimism of the last few days had evaporated. The news about not being able to disembark in Guam spread, filling the ship with despair. When the people had somewhere to go and something to do, they’d been almost cheery. But now the fear and grief of the past week came crashing down like a tsunami.

  Simon walked through the plaza before going up to the bridge. People stopped him as he passed, asking him if it was true, if they really had to keep sailing. He hated the way their faces fell when he told them what had happened.

  Frank sat straight down on the ground, white and shaking. Constance Gordon, the young mother who was only recently back on her feet, held her newborn and stared at nothing. Little Cally caught her mood and began to cry. People were too stunned to complain. Even Rosa Cordova was at a loss for words. She simply gathered up her children and hugged them close.

  Simon didn’t know what to tell them. He dug through his inner reserves and found nothing. He’d tried not to lay all his hopes on Guam and the navy, but he too felt betrayed. They had nowhere to go. He trudged up the plush steps of the grand staircase as their little community struggled with the truth. The chandelier above him tinkled softly.

  But on the third balcony at the top of the plaza, he found a different scene. A small group gathered around a little gallery full of painted seascapes and photography. They seemed to be leaning in so they could see through the doors of the shop. At its center, someone stood near a large painting of a stormy sea with a single ray of light cutting through the clouds.

  A few people in the doorway stepped back so Simon could see who everyone was looking at in the gallery.

  It was Penelope Newton. Her eyes were the size of dessert plates, and she clutched her cross necklace so tight that it must be cutting into her palm. She closed her eyes, and the people in the shop crowded closer. Then she spoke.

  “I know ya’ll are hurting
right now, but I think it’s time we turned to Jesus. I believe we’re living in the Last Days. He is the only one who will get us out of this here mess. Would you join me on your knees as I implore the Almighty to see us through?”

  Then she got down on her knees by herself in the middle of the little gallery and began to pray. She looked plump and motherly, but she had a magnetic presence, somehow both zealous and reassuring. And she had a voice like an old-time revival preacher’s. It was her confidence, Simon thought, which gave it that quality. She truly and fervently believed that when she prayed the Almighty listened.

  Something happened to the tight knot of people in the gallery as Penelope spoke. Movement rippled as some dropped to their knees. Others seemed to draw energy from the woman kneeling in front of the painting, from her voice and demeanor more than her words. As Penelope’s voice rang out, soft and strong, the people in her little following seemed to swell with renewal.

  Simon reached within himself too, hoping to find some sort of connection to God or a higher power or energy or whatever Penelope was accessing, but still he felt empty. He knew people often turned to religion in times of trouble. He was a little surprised that he couldn’t find that connection himself. Why in this darkest hour could he not find some sort of faith to keep him going? The people around him were taking hope; Simon felt only sadness.

  “Come quickly, Lord Jesus. Amen.” Penelope finished her prayer and turned around to sit on the floor, as if she’d expended all of her energy and given it to the crowd. She looked directly at Simon, and he stepped back, allowing those massing outside the gallery to make their way further in. He didn’t fully understand what he’d witnessed. But if it comforted people, he was glad of it.

  Unexpectedly, he felt a sense of release at the knowledge that people were looking to Penelope and to God instead of to him. He didn’t always have to be the one with the answers, the one staying strong in the midst of everything. He could share the load a little.

  He continued on toward the bridge, his steps a bit lighter. He would work out a way to retrieve the fuel from this shipwreck with the young sailor. It was a measureable goal, something Simon could work with. He may not be able to find hope in a seemingly hopeless situation, but he would do what needed to be done. He sensed a thread of calm making its way through his body. It was time to make a plan.