“Climb dammit.” Gray reaches around my waist and I clamp my thighs around the trunk.
I’m too damn slow and jump off. “You go. I’ll follow.” This way, at least Skye won’t be orphaned.
“Not happening.” He clamps onto my waist and shoves me over his head while I scramble to hold onto the trunk.
From below, he head-butts me. If I don’t move, he’ll never get higher than me. My fingers bleed and my biceps ache as I work to find handholds. The bottoms of my bare feet cup the tree and I inch up but the technique used by the boy and his grandmother is too damn hard.
From the tree next to us, Thomas’ grandmother shouts out encouragement. “Go, missus. You’re almost there.”
When we get about halfway I stop, unable to go further but Grayson climbs behind me, his chest to my back, his booming command in my ear. “Move it, Isabella.”
I do. Again and again I inch up as the tsunami wave looms above us, growing bigger, taller.
These are the last thoughts of my life.
A wall of water crashes over the top of the guest house, then it hits our trees. Ours bends and I wait for it to break. I’d scream but it’s impossible under water. Grayson presses me so tightly to the trunk that even if there were oxygen, I couldn’t breathe.
At the moment my lungs give out, the water level falls below my neck, and I gasp.
Holy shit. This gigantic palm tree heads right for us, roots first.
“I love you, babe.” Grayson shoves his feet toward the oncoming monster, deflecting it enough to bypass us.
Suddenly and horribly, one of its arms grabs hold of him, and he washes away faster than a speeding car.
In seconds, he’s out of view. “Gray! Gray! Grayson. Oh God no.”
Chapter 15
Isabella
“Find me a fucking helicopter. I don’t care what it costs, Cherry, I mean it. Get everyone at Patten working on it. A million dollars to anyone who helps me find my husband.”
Thank God I got through to Gray’s assistant but she drives me fucking nuts.
“Be patient. The bird from Miami should be there any minute now.” From the tone of her voice, I know she’s convinced Grayson is gone.
I’m getting pretty damned tired of trying to convince her otherwise. Slate’s satellite phone battery is almost dead so I hang up without saying goodbye.
I stare up at the Bahamian sky while I pace the circumference of the small hill in the middle of Kit’s decimated island. Slate, my daughter, Thomas, and his grandmother wait with me, necks strained for any signs of the chopper. We found the body of Samuel about an hour ago and nobody shed any tears.
Cherry said the US Coast Guard is on the way and have already rescued a few survivors clinging to debris in the ocean which gives me hope. However, the more time that goes by, the less likely it is I will find Grayson alive which is why I need a helicopter right this fucking second.
Thirsty and needing to keep busy, I hand Skye over to the grandmother, whose name I learned is Irene. Then, I walk to the buried guest cottage, dig with my hands, and break open a window with a rock. After I smash away the jagged edges, I squeeze through.
Up to my knees in salt water and sand in the kitchen, I open the refrigerator door and find much-needed water, a quart of juice, and some bread with cheese. A floating basket at my feet serves as a container to carry my stash. Over my head, everything gets thrust out the window.
When I arrive back at the top of the hill, Slate’s eyes are half-closed and his face flushed. Did his wound become infected? Does it happen that fast or did he lose to much blood?
“Here.” I hand him the orange juice, he takes a swig, and we share with the rest.
Thomas is all teeth and smiles, his spirit amazing. “See dere now. We don’t starve. Den we get on da helicopter, find your mister, and all be fine.”
If only it were that easy.
The blades of a chopper wop-wop and get louder until they’re right overhead. I jump and flail my arms at the pilot who points toward a mud flat. I guess he intends to use it as a landing field.
Just like that, we’re rescued.
On the ground, the pilot leans over and shakes hands with Slate. They clasp forearms, pat each other on the back, then the pilot shouts over the noise, “You let someone shoot you? What are you? A fucking idiot?”
Slate grins and jumps in the back along with Thomas and Irene.
I like this pilot. Maybe he’ll help me out. After we get settled and before we take off, I lean upfront and ask, “You want to earn a million bucks?”
“Sure. And throw in the Brooklyn Bridge.”
He winks at Slate who shouts back, “She’s serious. She’s Patten’s wife.”
The guy nods. “All righty, then.”
He eyes our small entourage. “Hold on a second. You got an infant? A wounded man? Are you shitting me?”
“You want the money or not.” I hold my breath. Did I offer enough?
Slate grunts then adds, “I’m fine. Go.”
“Fucking A. Fine.” The pilot pulls out a tablet with a map of currents I can’t even begin to follow. All I know is we take off and head south in the direction of the tsunami.
“We’ll start here.” He and Slate figure out how many nautical miles an hour the monster wave traveled and make a wide circle on the map.
“You see anything at all, holler. Okay?” The pilot gives everyone, including the kid and Irene, binoculars. For the first time, since the water receded, I have hope.
Skye seems to sense it, too, for her eyes are wide as she smiles and sings, “Da da da da da.”
“Yeah, honey, we’re going to find your daddy.”
Chapter 16
Grayson
When the tree branch grabs me, I hold on and rotate, jet-propelled for miles on the crest of the tsunami.
Strangely enough, as all this is going on, my whole life doesn’t flash before my eyes, just the day Skye was born. I recall my beautiful wife as she held our baby and nursed her for the first time. If I die, that’s the vision I want to take to my grave.
I already thanked God for the earthquake and if the price of saving my wife and daughter is that I’m to be sacrificed, so be it. I just pray they make it through, alive.
Wait a second. Hold on, now. Hell no. I can’t die. I don’t even know if they’re safe. What if they got knocked off the palm tree and like me, are floating somewhere in the ocean, expecting me to rescue them?
The next time my head dunks underwater, I hold my breath until I see stars. When my oxygen-starved lungs take over, I barely have time to take in a breath before I’m sucked under again.
I have no idea how long this goes on but it’s long enough for my arms and legs to shake from exertion. Eventually, the horrifying carnival ride slows to a stop and all that’s left of the tsunami is choppy seas.
Exhausted, I need sleep but know better. If I ever want to see my wife and baby again. I have to force my eyes open. I wish I hadn’t gotten mad at Isabella. I wish I had told her how much I love her. I wish I had gone home every evening at five, given my daughter her first bottle. I wish I hadn’t wasted a second of my life fighting with anyone.
I figure I already used up any favors I might’ve had with God but there’s no one else to talk to.
“Hey, ah, God-Almighty? It’s ah, me again. You might not remember, and I do appreciate the earthquake, but the tsunami? Not so much. You could’ve done one without the other, you know.”
He doesn’t answer which is probably a good sign so I go on. “Listen. I get that I don’t go to church but it isn’t really my thing. Don’t get me wrong, I mean it may work for some people but I never got much out of it. I figure you either believe or you don’t. What need is there for a bunch of holy-rollers on a pulpit telling you what you already know?”
The sky grows a little lighter and I think He heard me or maybe I’ve been swept off to hell. Who knows.
Izzy. My sweet wife.
I see her sad fac
e when she learns I’m dead and that just sucks. I see Skye graduating from high school, from college, and getting married.
“Who the hell will walk her down the aisle?” This, I shout out as I begin to make out shapes in the water. They’re all around me, even under.
At first, I think they’re sharks until I realize they’re dead bodies. How long before I join them. Will I die from the elements? Lack of water? Or, will I fall asleep, let go of this log, and never wake up.
Izzy.
I’m sure, if she’s alive, she has people searching for me but what are the odds they’ll find me?
I check my pockets for what, I don’t know. Maybe I hope to find a coin or something shiny to flash at a search plane. I stop, suddenly stunned. My fucking satellite phone is still in my pocket and the battery shows life.
My hands shake when I dial nine-one-one and get an operator somewhere in Florida.
“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”
“This is Grayson Patten. I’m in the middle of the ocean.”
“What address are you calling from?”
You got to be fucking kidding me. “I was in the tsunami. I’m in the ocean. For God’s sake trace this call.”
“Hang on sir, stay with…”
The phone up and dies. Fuck it all to hell.
Chapter 17
Isabella
The pilot banks one more time and his voice sounds in my headset, “We need to go back for fuel.”
Pale, Slate grimaces and pats my hand when I look to him with tears in my eyes. I’m so glad he stayed. I should’ve insisted we drop him off at a hospital before our search but I needed his presence with me.
In another of the seats, Skye is buckled in, sound asleep. A good mommy wouldn’t have brought her along, either.
My heart sinks. Maybe this search is pointless. How could Grayson possibly have survived? The ocean goes on for miles and miles and miles. Even if he’s down there, chances are slim to none we’ll find him, even with a whole fleet of helicopters.
A red-light flashes on the pilot’s dash and my hopes sink even further. We must be almost out of fuel. Instead, he puts his hand to his ears to hear better, answers some questions, and nods with a grin.
His baritone voice fills my heart with cheer. “Good news. A nine-one-one operator near Port St. Lucie says she got a call from someone named Grayson Patten. He’s alive.”
“Oh my God.” My heart sings and I thank God as tears run down my cheeks. “Where is he?”
“They’re trying to hone in on his last known signal. I’ll circle back in that direction.”
“Last known?”
“Yes ma’am. After his call, the signal was lost.”
But we’re so damn close. I know it. I feel it. I point my binoculars down at another pile of debris with… oh my God.
Those are dead bodies.
I’ve seen so many today I assumed by now I was immune. Now, the thought of Gray as one of them drives me insane. All day long, when an arm floated on the waves, I swore it was signaling and it creeped me out.
Wait.
There’s another one. No shit. This time there is a hand and it really is moving in the air.
I readjust my binoculars and when I recognize Grayson, scream. “That’s him. Stop. We found him. Right there! See him. He’s alive. Oh Skye! Daddy’s alive. Slate, oh my God, we found him. Holy shit! That’s him!”
Everyone raises their binoculars as the pilot hovers overhead. Quickly, Slate pulls a cord and I help him push an inflatable raft out the door. Holding my breath, I pray Gray has the strength to climb in.
When he swings a leg over and lands in the center, I let out a whoosh of air. Bottled water parachutes down and bobs on top of the ocean, a bright red beach ball. Then, Grayson paddles over and retrieves it.
“Coast Guard is on the way. I need to refuel.” The sound comes from both a loudspeaker and inside my headset.
Brows creased, Grayson gestures and I wave back, tears flowing freely. I want to jump out of the helicopter and swim to him but Slate says we’re up a lot further than it seems. So, I bite my lower lip and stare until the yellow raft is just a speck on the ocean.
The pilot says, “Don’t worry, ma’am. The boat has GPS. The Coast Guard will reach him real soon. We’ll set down in Miami. He’ll be with you in no time at all.”
He grins, no doubt already spending his well-deserved million.
Chapter 18
Grayson
The helicopter overhead may be another hallucination, a side effect from too much seawater. However, when I swim to the life raft, it smells remarkably like rubber. Also, it’s real enough to pull myself over the side, swing up a leg, and land flat on my back. Then, I stare up at the blue sky. Above and to my left, the pilot gives me thumbs up and a loudspeaker blares about fuel but I can’t be sure over the flop-flop of the rotating blades.
Okay, this must be a dream because Isabella is there and holds up Skye to the window. They both grin as if I was leaving for work, not being rescued from a tsunami. Slate doesn’t look as good, but still, smiles ear to ear. There’s the kid who taught us to climb and his grandmother, too.
Everyone’s just waving and smiling.
Jesus.
All I need is a cowardly lion and Toto.
Exhausted beyond measure, I close my eyes, and pray not to wake up in hell.
When I come around, a small boat bounces on the waves and a young sailor reaches a hook which grabs the ropes on my inflatable bed.
Another man, also dressed in blue with a bright orange vest, comes aboard my raft and opens a knapsack. “Mr. Patten?”
I nod, throat still raw from seawater, and frankly, I’m still not comfortable speaking with my mirage.
“I’m Dr. Veejay, Coast Guard medic. Are you hurt?”
I shake my head no and rasp, “Just waterlogged.”
When I show him my pruney fingers, the brown man chuckles, nods at the first boat, and a motor starts up. Soon we’re dragged to a white ship with big black letters and a red stripe. Two more sailors drop a ladder over the side and help me climb onto the deck amidst cheers from the rest of the crew.
A bit choked up, I try to smile as a woman in a white uniform briskly steps forward. She’s about fifty, the bars on her shoulder indicating rank.
“Welcome aboard. I’m Captain Quint.”
Pumping her hand, I smile. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the lift. Was my wife really in the helicopter that found me?”
She nods. “She offered a million-dollar reward for anyone that found you. Insisted the helicopter pilot start searching the minute he picked her up off the island.”
Dr. Veejay brings forth a wheelchair and I decline. Again, the crew cheers, the captain slaps me on the back, and I’m ushered to sick bay. There, I’m given a slew of antibiotics in an IV drip.
As the doctor examines me, a seaman in blue hands me a phone while shaking his head, “This woman has been on hold for over an hour and refuses to hang up.”
“Grayson? You there?” Isabella’s sweet voice chokes me up. I thought I’d never hear it again.
“Yeah, babe. It’s me.”
“Oh, thank God.” When she sobs, my eyes sting as well.
“Don’t cry, Izzy. I’m fine.”
“I know, I know. It’s just so good to hear your voice. I thought I’d lost you.” She cries some more while I console her and wish she were in my arms.
It was so close.
“Listen, I got to go. They need the airwaves. They’re taking me to Miami. I’ll be there real soon. Okay?”
“Wait. How are you? Broken bones? Anything serious? Should I have a surgeon standing by?”
“Stop, stop. I’m fine. Just a few cuts and bruises. I’ll be home before you know it.” Suddenly I remember Slate and although it’s fuzzy, I’m pretty sure he was shot.
“Did I see Slate in the helicopter with you?”
“Yeah. He’s in the ICU, recovering from surgery.”
“Skye?”
“She’s in the pediatric ward. Don’t worry, she’s fine. They just wanted to give her some antibiotics. I’ve been alternating between floors, checking on them both.”
“Okay, the seaman here says I need to stop hogging the phone. Lots of people are still in the ocean and need their help. Tell Cherry to call my man Oliver to help fund the rescue effort in whatever ways we can.”
“I will. I love you so much.”
“Me, too. Give Skye a big kiss for me.”
“Thank you.” I hand the phone to the man with his hand out.
Hearing her voice, knowing she and Skye survived without hardly a scratch when so many died, amazes me.
What are the odds we would have someone on the island to teach us to climb a tree, that there would even be a tall enough palm? That I would have the satellite phone on me and it would work?
Again, I mutter a prayer to God and ah, I guess to his son. Not sure what the protocol is when it comes to religion but I want to cover all my bases.
I got quite a lot of scratches and need stitches but my skin is too water logged, or so I’m told. Instead, I’m slathered in antibiotics and covered in bandages. I look a lot worse than I feel.
Dr. Veejay flashes a small light into my eye and stares. “Do you recall what happened?”
“I was on top of a palm tree, on a private island off Nassau and was hit by a tree going over a hundred miles an hour. Well, actually first I was hit by a tsunami, then by a tree. I rode the crest of the wave and held on to the trunk until a helicopter spotted me.”
His brows raise. “You habitually climb palm trees?”
“No, never.”
He scratches his beard and scribbles something down in his tablet. “So, how did you manage?”
“We had a local kid with us on the island. He showed us what to do. Saved our lives.”
“Most fortunate. You seem to have a lot of good luck, Mr. Patten.”
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