Despite being perpetually starving, she’d shared her food with Peanut. That was what she’d called her . . . Peanut. After her favorite food . . . peanut butter. It was a cruel joke though. Especially as she’d thought she’d never taste it again.
Peanut slept down her shirt, tucked in right next to her belly, sharing their warmth.
That little mouse had saved her in so many ways.
Sometimes Peanut would disappear for so long that Madeline feared Flint had killed her. Then she’d magically reappear.
Madeline had taken way too long to comprehend that Peanut had a way in and out of the room.
After that realization, each time Professor Flint visited Madeline she stopped using the light to watch him. Instead, she searched for Peanut’s access point. It seemed like months before she saw it. It was a tiny pipe in the very corner where the foul carpet met the wall.
When she was alone again, plunged into pitch blackness, she’d crawled to that spot, got down onto her belly and peered into the pipe. There’d been nothing but a tiny breeze that had touched her lips like butterfly wings.
She’d lain there, breathing in that fresh air, and that was when she’d felt a bulge beneath the carpet. Scraping it back, she discovered a trap door. The construction had been rough. The timber splintered. She’d thought maybe a kid had made it. Her memory was so vivid she could still feel the adrenaline rush that had blazed through her when she’d thought she’d found a way out.
But it wasn’t.
What she’d found in that hole still fed her nightmares.
It had taken her a while to work out what she was touching. But when she did, she’d screamed until her throat had burned.
It had been bones and a skull and shriveled up skin.
The light had come on and as Flint had dragged her from that pit, she’d seen two things that scarred her for life. One was a skeletal mummy with leathery skin that had barely held the bones together, and empty eye sockets that had stared at her like the devil. The other was that the trap door led to nothing but a grave pit.
Madeline’s hope of escape had been shattered into a million pieces.
Here’s your escape route, little girl. Ha ha ha ha ha. You can spend the rest of your life in the ground, little girl. Ha ha ha ha ha.
Professor Flint had taught her a valuable lesson that day. When he’d punished her for trying to escape, she’d learned that handling pain was as easy as flicking a switch in her brain. She’d screamed the first time he’d driven the lit cigarette into her arm. She’d screamed the second time too. But not the third. Nor the fourth. She’d learned how to block out pain.
From that day forward, nothing he did hurt her.
As Madeline moved her exploration from the back wall to the other side of the elevator, she tried to shake the rotten memories free, but something was there, niggling at the edges of her thoughts. Telling her to keep digging.
Digging.
The escape hatch she’d thought she’d found.
Digging.
The mummified skeleton hidden beneath the carpet.
Digging.
The answer came to her out of nowhere. “The carpet! There might be a door under the carpet.” She rolled to her hands and knees, feeling along the edges.
“What?”
“There could be a door beneath the carpet.” Madeline dug her fingernails into the join where the carpet met the wall, desperate to get some purchase. “Help me.”
Sterling crawled in next to her.
“We need to pull the carpet back.”
“Okay. Okay.”
The carpet was secured tight, making it impossible to get into the groove, let alone beneath it. “We need something to wedge in there.”
“My swipe card.” She unhooked her lanyard off her neck and shoved it into the gap between the carpet and the wall. “Come on!” she yelled into the blackness.
“How about my phone case?” Sterling shuffled about, no doubt fishing his phone from his shorts.
“Good idea.” The smoke was becoming thicker and more pungent. More potent too. If they didn’t get out of there soon, they’d likely pass out from smoke inhalation. When Flint’s house had caught fire, and smoke had poured into her dungeon, she’d crawled beneath her rubber mattress. The fireman who’d saved her had called her a very clever girl.
It’d been the first nice thing anyone had said to her in five and a half months.
Sterling leaned forward. “Okay, let’s see.” His words were ironic, given that they couldn’t see a thing.
Whatever he was doing made a squeaking noise. “It’s working.”
Madeline gripped the edge and together they tugged on the coarse matting. Sharp popping noises confirmed it was coming away from the clips securing it in place. Fighting against the stiff fabric, they curled it over and stood on top to stop it from flipping back.
On her hands and knees, Madeline examined the dirty floor. “Here it is!” Her heart leaped. “I knew it.”
The rectangular panel was flush with the rest of the floor and she ran her fingers around the outer edge, seeking a latch, but there was nothing. Sterling was right there with her. His breathing was erratic and she couldn’t decide if it was the smoke or his eagerness caused his panting.
“Oh, here we go. It’s a ring pull,” he said. “Get back.”
She crawled aside and a loud bang confirmed he’d flipped it right back so it had hit the floor.
She leaned in, and shoulder to shoulder, they peered into the hole. A slight draft wafted over her face with a combination of smoke, fumes, and sea air. When her eyes finally adjusted to the gloom, a glimmer of light flickered below.
But a chill raced up her spine.
It was a very long way down.
Chapter Fourteen
Zon kicked a chunk of glass away, and leaning against the railing, he scanned up and down the outer deck. After that explosion, he was expectin’ more people to come running. As long as they kept on runnin’ that was fine with him.
But the minutes ticked on and nothin’ happened.
Not a single person was around. Normally, this area would be full a people coming an’ goin’ between the fancy restaurants and the stupid dance shows. It was like all the fuckin’ passengers had jumped overboard. Other than him, the only person around was the dead dude near the slot machine.
The lack of light was weird, but it was the quiet that gave him the creeps. Except for that explosion, he hadn’t heard nothin’ for ages.
His hankerin’ for a cigarette was huge, but there weren’t no way he’d waste time goin’ to his cabin to get one. Not when he had a pile of loot to take care of.
He could take the stuff down to his cabin, grab a smoke while he was there. But he had so much, it’d be a bitch to haul it all that way. Besides, he needed to figure out what was goin’ on. The boat swayed again, and he thumped his head on the life raft.
“Fuck yeah.” He grinned. The life raft saved him before. It was gonna save him again. It was the perfect spot to hide everything.
With nobody around, he didn’t need to go all covert. He undid a hook, and a ladder slid down and halted on the deck. Zon glanced left and right, confirmed he was still alone, and climbed up. The front and back covers of the raft were solid orange plastic. But the middle third had a soft canvas section. He flicked shards of glass off the cover, unhooked it, and peeled back a corner. It was too dark to see inside, but he didn’t care.
Returning to the deck, he wedged the cardboard box beneath his arm, carried it up the ladder, and shoved it through the gap in the canvas. The box musta tumbled sideways as hundreds of them poker chips rattled around like bullets in a barrel.
The trash can full of booze was a different story. It was too heavy to carry up the ladder. Not the worst problem in the world. He solved it by cartin’ the liquid gold up in three trips. It took way longer than he’d anticipated, yet not one person came along. He’d a liked to have hidden the stuff better in the life raft, but wit
hout light it was impossible.
He climbed back down, and when a burst of lightning sizzled across the sky, he scanned the deck again. The whole fucking thing was deserted.
Somethin’ serious was goin’ on. And for the first time since he came on board, he felt like he was missin’ out. Riding the sway from side to side, he strolled the deserted deck, heading toward them fancy restaurants at the back of the ship. It was mighty quiet.
“Fuck me.” The engines had stopped.
Maybe they’d all abandoned ship, and he was the only bastard left onboard.
The boat groaned and pitched him sideways toward the railing. He gripped it for support and as another streak of lightning blazed through the sky, it lit up dozens of white-crested waves beyond the railing. He’d seen nothin’ but flat ocean since they’d left LA.
No wonder the boat was rocking all over the place.
He needed to take a piss and trying not to bang into the railing no more, he headed for the restrooms at the end of the deck. He pushed into the men’s room and the stench hit him like a sonic boom. Vomit and shit. He backed the hell outta there, shaking his head, trying to rattle the stink free.
Givin’ up on that idea, he carried on along the deck and finally spied a glow filtering through the viewing windows in the double doors ahead. He pushed through, and followed the light toward the Chinese restaurant.
When he heard voices, a weird rush of blood skipped through him, like he was relieved he wasn’t alone. It was an odd feelin’. Zon would rather be alone any day; it was the only way to avoid bein’ fucked over.
When he rounded the corner, his jaw dropped.
About fifty people were using cell phones for light as they stood around the Chinese buffet. Pickin’ at the food with their hands, they were shoveling it into their mouths like they hadn’t eaten for a month.
He swaggered over, acting all chilled.
A few glanced his way, but the majority just kept on going, shoving handfuls of fried rice or satay beef into their mouths. Nearly all of ‘em were in Hawaiian shirts, like they were part of a dance group or somethin’. Although their fat guts indicated they were not.
Zon joined them at the buffet. “What’s going on?” He scanned the food. It didn’t look so appetizing since they’d scavenged through it and as no steam rose from the trays it’d have to be stone-cold. “Why’s there no power?”
“Plane crash,” the chick beside him said, her mouth full with what looked like chicken.
“Didn’t you see it?”
“A plane crashed into the boat.”
“An explosion killed the power.”
They all answered at once, speaking over each other and shoving food into their mouths as they added bits to the conversation. Zon kept his mouth shut, sharing his gaze between who was talking and the grub.
“At least it’s just the power, and not the start of a pandemic, like on that Ruby Princess ship in 2020.”
“That’s true. We figured we better eat before we get rationed like them poor people on that Carnival cruise ship.”
“Yeah, the Carnival Triumph. Remember that? Four whole days without power. What a disaster.”
“They sued, you know. Hey, maybe we could make some money.”
Zon silently sniggered. He’d already made a shit load of money. He plucked a couple of pork ribs from the buffet and began nibbling as they carried on their yabberin’.
“Next they’ll be telling us to shit into plastic bags.”
“Oh yeah, they called that cruise disaster the poop cruise.”
A few of them laughed. But Zon reckoned they’d stop laughing once they smelled that stench in them bathrooms. Or the dead bodies, like that old guy who’d keeled over in the casino. “So did many people die?”
About six people looked at him with bulging eyes.
“Where you been hiding, man?” A young chick with six earrings in her right ear glared at him like he was an alien. “A heap of people died. The plane took out about six decks. There are bodies everywhere.”
“Huh. That don’t sound good.”
“Nope. Not good at all,” said a skinny guy whose Hawaiian shirt featured a bikini babe on a giant surfboard.
A light blinked off and one of the chicks reached for her phone. “Ah shit, it’s dead.”
“Yeah, mine died ages ago.”
“Maybe we should turn a couple of them off. Save them for later. Who knows when we’ll be able to charge them again?”
“Good idea.” A group of them reached for their phones and when they turned off the lights, the room grew even smaller.
Zon licked his fingers. “I heard the Captain was dead.”
“Really? So who’s running the ship?” Earring chick picked at something in her teeth.
Zon shrugged. “Don’t know.”
The chubby guy at the end who was just about to bust outta his shirt reached for a chicken leg. “I’m not worried. They have plans for stuff like this.”
Zon scooped up another couple of ribs. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was and even though the ribs were stone-cold, they still tasted mighty fine. The ship swayed and a few of them rode it out with a bit of a cheer, like they were on a roller coaster or somethin’. “You reckon they’ll abandon ship?”
“Nah, the crew just keep telling us to remain calm.”
“Yeah, just chill. I don’t hear any sirens.”
“Maybe they can’t sound the siren without power?” Zon said.
A few of them looked at him, and he could tell they were thinkin’ it through.
“Nah,” the fat one said. “They’d have a back-up plan. Nobody’s that dumb.”
“Here. Want some prawn crackers?” Earring chick handed him a bowl and he took it.
“The navy will probably rescue us tomorrow.”
“That’d be cool.”
“We’ll be on the news.”
Zon remembered what that chick in the white uniform with the bouncing tits had said earlier. “I heard one of the crew say it was an EMP strike.”
Several of them gasped and dropped their food. The conversation stopped.
“Are you for real?” The fat dude’s eyes were enormous.
“Yeah. What?” A whole bunch of ’em looked like they’d shat their pants. “What the fuck’s an EMP strike?”
Chapter Fifteen
Gabby screamed as jagged wires clawed at her dangling legs, tearing her flesh. Pain ripped up her shins, her thighs. Splintered wood and broken pipes stabbed into her back and neck. The agony was excruciating. Tears stung her eyes as she snapped her gaze from the destruction around her up to Max.
His jaw was clamped. His eyes flared. His knuckles bulged white, clutching desperately around her hand.
Her heart banged in her ribs, set to explode. “Pull me up, Max. Pull!” she screamed at him. Her voice was panic-driven, shrill.
“I’m trying.” A growl released from his throat, like he was an angry beast, as he adjusted his grip.
Searing pain ripped through her shoulder. Her arm was being pulled from its socket. She shrieked at the agony. It sounded wrong, barbaric.
The ship swayed. Max tumbled sideways.
She scrambled to hold on, digging her nails into his wrist.
I’m going to die!
But her fury took over. Max spent half his life in the gym. He boasted non-stop about how strong he was, yet he couldn’t pull her up. His eyes were wild with confusion. Like he too couldn’t understand. “Jesus Christ, Max, what’re you doing?”
“Kick, Gabby!”
“I am!” But each kick against the debris sliced another gash in her flesh. She clenched her teeth blocking out the torture. Using her other hand, she clawed at shredded metal and crumbling chipboard and mangled wires—anything that would give her purchase.
Inch by inch, he dragged her upward.
Inch by inch, her body came under attack.
Her gaze snapped from Max’s bulging arm to the demolition around them. Her thoughts sla
mmed from her blinding misery, to Sally and Adam. Her mind bounced from one brutal mental image to another.
Sally’s bloody body, crippled and lifeless.
Adam, unconscious, surrounded by smoke.
Chunks of skin carved off her legs.
Max released an almighty groan and yanked her up over the final mangled edge. A tortured scream ripped from her throat at the vicious scraping of her legs. She flopped onto the ground, her emotions wobbling between relief and agony.
Max crawled to her and pulled her to his chest. “Oh, babe, are you okay?’
She forced back tears, determined not to cry. Determined not to look at her aching legs. Horrifying questions zapped across her brain. None of them had an answer.
Is our cabin destroyed?
Were the kids in there?
Are they injured? Her chin dimpled. Are they dead?
No! She refused to believe that. She’d seen dozens of accidents where people survived the impossible.
Max glided his hand down her back. “I told you we had to be careful.”
“Jesus, Max.” She shoved him back and thumped his thigh. “Why the hell did you have to say that?”
“What?” Max’s candle provided the only light, creating equal shades of light and dark. But it was enough to see his irritation.
“I already feel like a fool. You don’t need to rub it in.”
“I’m not—” He huffed. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” His eyes shifted to her legs. “Do you think you can walk?”
In the dim light, the rivers of blood threading up her shins made it look like she’d crawled through barbed wire. The cuts were deep. The scars would be unsightly. She’d never be able to wear a skirt again. Shutting down that ill-timed thought, she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yes, I’m fine.”
Anger and emotion swirled together, fighting for dominance. With each ragged breath, she sucked in the acrid smoke. It burned her tongue. Stung her eyes.
The surging adrenalin that’d been holding her upright evaporated in a flash, and her body melted into Max’s embrace. “Do you think . . . the kids—” Her chin quivered. Tears blurred her vision. “Do you think our cabin—”
Waves of Fate | Book 1 | First Fate Page 11
