Beyond the Sea (4 page)

He stared at his hand, then back at the rock where Paula had been minutes—
moments
—before. But she was gone, and there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do about it. He wanted to curl up and die, but he had to get the passenger out.

Move!

Brian fumbled for the radio, but it was dead. The electrical cables had surely been cut when the plane… He stared at where Paula had just been, forcing himself not to look down.

An acrid smell filled his nose. He bolted up, grappling with his seat belt. The heat singed his hair, fire tearing through the plane—

Except it wasn’t. Chest heaving, heart about to burst through his ribcage, Brian blinked at the remains of the cockpit door. Why was there no fire? Why hadn’t the fuel blown?

“
Hello?
Hello?”

Relief soared through him. “Yes! I’m coming. Stay where you are. Don’t move.” But when he pushed against the door, he heard a muffled grunt from the other side. He squeezed through the opening and found his passenger on his hands and knees, rubbing his nose. “I told you not to move,” Brian said stupidly.

“
I was already moving!” Tom—no, that wasn’t right. Tim?
Troy
. Troy peered past Brian. “What about…?”

Grief seized him, and Brian could only shake his head and grit out, “She’s gone. Get off the plane. Get clear of the aircraft.” He pulled the emergency lever on the door and shoved it open with a grunt. The wind whipped so forcefully he staggered back, the plane rocking as water spilled over their feet. “Can you swim?”

With a jerk of his head, Troy nodded, his wide eyes locked on the violent waves.

Life vests. They needed life vests. He squeezed past Troy in the ruined remains of the fuselage and reached beneath the nearest seats. Distantly, Brian registered that he was in shock and likely had a slight concussion, because his brain simply wasn’t operating efficiently.

Now he was in the position he’d never, ever wanted to be in again: the captain. He was in charge. In control. Get the passengers out. Or passenger, in this case.

Water sprayed violently at the door as they jammed the life vests over their heads. Brian swallowed salt as he tugged on the cords to inflate Troy’s vest and then his own. Squinting into the swirling storm as it hammered the tiny island, he got his bearings. The sandy beach was to the left, only ten feet out of reach, maybe fifteen. But they could be swept away in a blink.

Rope. Emergency kit.

“
Stay back from the door,” Brian shouted as he returned to what was left of the cockpit. He exhaled sharply as he spotted the red heavy-duty backpack. An orange nylon cord was coiled on the side of it, and he managed to unhook the carabiner before strapping on the pack. Metal screeched on the rock as a powerful wave crashed into them.

“
Holy fuck!” Troy yelled.

Brian staggered back, bracing as the fuselage quaked in the onslaught of wind and water that bit into his skin. Somehow, his fingers managed to clip the carabiner to his belt at one end and wrap the cord around Troy’s waist. He knotted it twice. “We’re going left. Not sure how deep it is.”

The water was surprisingly tepid considering the frigid rain, dousing Brian with another wave as he sat on the edge of the open door. Gripping the ledge, he reached out with his feet. He couldn’t feel—

With a blast of wind and sea, he was under, swallowing saltwater. The soles of his leather shoes jolted against a rock, then he stumbled in sand. He pushed with all his might, gasping as he broke the roiling surface. The rope tugged at his waist, and he blinked at Troy in the doorway, his feet planted as he strained to pull Brian back to the plane. Brian felt like he was ankle-deep in quicksand, but forced his legs to move.

“
This way!” He reached up for Troy, taking his hand and digging in to the sand, his thighs burning as he angled them toward the safety of the beach. Troy clenched his fingers so tightly Brian thought they might break.

Heads down, they staggered through the surf. Thank God it was shallow enough to stand. They were practically horizontal, blinded and choking on briny sea water as the beach got nearer inch by inch.

They crawled the last few feet. Brian coughed, his lungs burning as he spit up water and more bile. The sand was almost mud as the relentless rain plunged down and waves crashed over them. Still clutching Troy’s hand, Brian urged him farther up the beach to the tree line. Palms leaned precariously, bowing in the wind’s fury. But they usually withstood cyclones, so Brian parked Troy against the closest trunk and unhooked the carabiner.

“
I’m going back for supplies! Stay here.”

“
What? No fucking way!” Troy swiped water from his eyes. “Are you crazy?”

“
We need water!” He wavered, the wind almost pushing him off his feet.

Troy was on his knees, hooking the carabiner back onto Brian’s belt. “I’ll stay on the beach and pull you back if I need to.”

Arguing wouldn’t help anything, and leaving his passenger alone to fend for himself wouldn’t either. Brian tugged off the emergency pack and undid the straps before hooking them securely around the tree. “You
stay on shore
! The rope should be long enough.”

Pushing back into the waves was even harder than reaching the beach. For every gasping, choking step he took, he was shoved back three. His limbs burned, using every ounce of strength he had to make it to the point where he could dive below the surface and approach the wreckage, skimming along the sandy bottom with his hands outstretched.

With a gasp, he came up just under the wing, nearly thumping his head. He managed to reach the door, and before he could contemplate how the hell he was going to heave himself up high enough, a booming wave swept him inside.

Brian was literally at the end of his rope, the nylon cord taut and digging into his waist. He thought about unhooking it as the plane lurched, metal screaming on rock over the din of the storm, but Troy might panic and come after him.

Stretching his arm as far as he could, shoulder straining, he reached for the closet behind the cockpit, his fingers just able to brush the door handle.
Damn it!

Another wave blasted him, but carried him an extra few inches so he could yank open the door. His suitcase rocketed toward him, smacking into his chest. The kitchen had been obliterated, but they kept an extra case of water in the closet. Fortunately, it
thunked
out as another wave pounded the wreckage.

With surprisingly steady hands, he opened the suitcase and shoved in as many bottles as he could. He tucked them into the front pockets and unzipped the expander. When he was done, the small suitcase weighed a goddamned ton, but they needed water. Needed supplies. He dragged himself into the closet, reaching around for anything else they could use. His fingers grazed the stack of blankets, and he stretched to grab as many as he could, snagging the cotton flannel. He shoved three blankets into the straining suitcase and used one knee on top to get it zipped again as water flowed higher.

The pressure remained on the rope, which meant Troy was still okay. That was the most important thing. “Okay. Get back out there.” He was breathing too fast and could barely hear his voice over the storm’s clamor, his words vanishing into the wind.

With the suitcase handles in both hands, he plunged back into the sea, sputtering as he went under. A sharp pain tugged on his waist, and he thought he might get ripped in half as another wave barreled into him.

He realized Troy was hauling him to the beach, and it was a damn good thing his passenger clearly spent a lot of time in the gym. Brian could barely see, salt stinging his eyes as he pushed against the sandy bottom. Crawling onto solid ground, he saw Troy on his back, his heels dug into the sand as he wrenched Brian to safety. With a muscular arm around Brian’s waist, he helped drag the suitcase to the palm tree.

“
We need to take shelter!” Brian jerked his head left and right, ignoring the pain that shot down his neck and made his eyeballs almost explode. He squinted at what was left of the plane. It looked like nothing more than a child’s broken toy against the towering cliff face.

Hell, Paula. Should have been me.

Brian blinked. The passenger was talking. He tried to focus, staggering in the gusting wind. Rain streamed from Troy’s brown hair and over his tanned face. His teeth were very white and straight, and wait, he was still talking. Brian shouted, “What?”

Then he was flying, actually lifted off his feet. The air slammed from his lungs as he hit the sand, tasting grit and blinking it from his eyes. He threw out his hands, grabbing hold of Troy’s bare foot.

They clutched each other and the suitcase, crawling. “It’s getting worse! Holy fuck!” Troy yelled. With shaking hands, he nudged Brian along. “Over there?” He jutted his chin toward the base of the cliff. Hyperventilating, his chest rose and fell rapidly.

Brian nodded, which sent a fresh knife of pain through his skull. They needed shelter against something solid, or surviving the crash would be moot. With the emergency pack and suitcase, they crawled along the tree line and then beyond it into the jungle, hoping it would be safer away from the shore.

Sticking close to the jutting cliff that apparently extended across the end of the island, they found a little cave where the rock seemed to be cleaved in two. The cave barely covered their heads, but they were able to jam themselves and their cargo into the crevasse. Knees to their chests, they huddled together. Troy trembled, his teeth chattering. The uneven stone ground dug into Brian’s ass, and Troy’s elbow was jammed against his ribs.

But his passenger was alive, and Brian closed his eyes, bone-deep grateful that he hadn’t failed in that, at least.

As the wind grew from a howl to a scream, they both shivered. He heard Troy muttering a prayer over and over, and hoped it would be enough for both of them.

Jolting awake, Troy jerked his head from his knees. He blinked at a world of green—nearby trees and vegetation. A jungle.

The memories stormed back, explaining why he was hideously uncomfortable and more tired than he’d ever imagined he could be. Why he ached, starving and soaked, wedged next to a stranger in an opening in a rock wall. His sodden sweatpants clung to him, and he pulled at the damp cotton of his T-shirt.

Thirsty. Fuck, so thirsty. He reached beneath his collar for the plastic water bottle he’d shoved down his shirt to keep it from being blown away. After gulping down the rest, he realized it had not only stopped storming—it had stopped raining too.

It was quiet.

After the relentless howl of the storm, the stillness was eerie. Water dripped from leaves. Birds chirped. Beyond the bent and ragged tops of the palms and leafy trees he couldn’t identify, the sun was a diffuse light low in the sky behind a wall of steel cloud. But the terrible darkness seemed to have passed. The storm was over.

Troy turned to Brian beside him, their arms sweaty where they were squashed together. “Hey—”

Heart plummeting, he inhaled a jagged breath, scrambling out of their little hidey hole.
God. Please no.
Mind reeling, he stared at Brian’s open hazel eyes and the vacant expression locked on his face.

Fuck, he can’t be dead. He can’t be dead! Don’t leave me alone!

“
Dude, are you okay?” His voice scraped out of his raw throat. “Brian?” He touched his trembling fingers to Brian’s bare forearm. His skin was cold and clammy, and he didn’t move. “
Brian
?” This time he shook Brian’s arm, expecting him to topple over stiffly, his eyes still wide.

Slowly, Brian blinked and turned his head. He didn’t seem to actually register Troy, but he was alive. Brian ran a hand over his short brown hair, wincing.
Thank fuck.
For a minute, Troy simply breathed in and out to calm his racing pulse. He cleared his throat. “Brian? You okay, man?”

It was a stupid question, because no, Brian was clearly light years from okay. He was in shock, and the bruise on his forehead had deepened to a purplish red.
Shit.
Troy couldn’t handle this. He needed Joe and Lara and the minions to tell him what to do and how to do it. He wanted to squeeze back into the crevasse and close his eyes until this was all fixed.

Time to man up.