13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Getting from the boat to the land had been like navigating a rubbish tip. The water was awash with everything from branches and leaf litter to what Owen could only assume were the remnants of people's homes. Timber boards and broken furniture jostled for position in the dank water. There was even a half-submerged car shoved amongst the damaged boats that remained at the jetty. Howard had trouble mooring the boat, so Owen had eventually slipped over the side into the sea, holding his boots and pack over his head as the water rose to his chest, cold and dirty. What the fuck if Sebastian had been in this muck? It was no doubt full of sewerage and God knows what else. Owen had tried not to think of that as he waded to the shore and stumbled up on land. He turned and waved to Howard, unsure if the man could see him as he captained the boat, but hoping he understood that Owen was all right. He said a silent thank you to the man who'd brought him this far. Owen only stopped briefly, just long enough to wring out his clothes and stuff his feet back into his boots, before he stumbled up the road from the Alonnah waterfront, seeing a few people wandering about looking dazed. He finally came across a house with a sedan parked in the driveway.

He then proceeded to have the most amazing discussion with the owner after knocking randomly on the door. A woman answered the door, four kids milling about her legs. The children were all silent, unnaturally so given they all looked to be under ten. She'd hardly blinked when Owen had asked to use the car. Just handed over the keys and waved him on his way, mumbling something about her husband being out helping the neighbours but he'd be coming home soon with the other car.

So Owen found himself driving a strange car, given to him by a trusting and wonderful island resident, which enabled him to reach Adventure Bay and his own house in under fifteen minutes, despite a road that was littered with vegetation and sludge.

Owen sat in the sedan and stared at the small house for a moment as fear of what he'd find washed through him. He finally dragged himself from the car and approached the house, intentionally keeping his eyes fixated on the front door, not the devastation of the garden. He raised a hand to the door then paused, hovering, suddenly afraid to grip the door handle. After all the effort to get to the house, to get to Sebastian, he was nervous as to what he'd find inside. He shook his head to clear the dark thoughts—for the umpteenth time today, he reminded himself to keep positive and stop dwelling on how bad things could be. But jeez, it was difficult.

He finally turned the handle, pleased to see it wasn't locked. The effort required to move the door surprised him and he gave it a bit more of a shove, putting the force of his body into it.

"Sebastian?"

His call was met with silence.

"Sebastian?" he tried again, his voice a bit louder this time.

No response.

He stepped inside the house, pausing briefly to let his eyes adjust to the gloom after the bright sunshine outside. He then stepped further into the room, looking down as his foot squelched. Squelched? What should have been polished floorboards looked like the banks of the creek that ran alongside their property. Muddy sand, a couple of inches thick and dotted with debris, covered the floor. The low bookcase that usually stood along the wall just inside the entrance, was pushed up against the back of the door. No wonder it had been so hard to open.

Owen navigated his way around overturned furniture, the tightness in his chest and sick feeling in his belly worsening with each step, and the knowledge the water had the power to toss chairs around. He moved carefully through the slush towards the front of the house, the side that faced the bay, the side that looked to the ocean and would have taken the full brunt of the avalanche of water that had rushed through the house. The floor-to-ceiling windows were gone, the shattered glass no doubt mingled with the sludge on the floor. A couple of panes of glass in the louvre windows that bordered each side of the main opening, hung loosely. Owen was glad he was wearing boots.

He ignored the broken remnants of their home as the panic swelled and threatened to choke him. "Sebastian. It's me, Owen. Are you here? Sebastian?" He skirted the dirty kitchen, and headed straight for the bedrooms, peeking into the bathroom on his way past. Nothing. Where the fuck is he?

Owen stood on the soggy carpet of the bedroom and fumbled for his phone, crossing his fingers there'd been some miracle and mobile reception had returned. The tiny letters of the "SOS" on the display mocked him. Yes, this was a freaking emergency, but he needed to call Sebastian, not the emergency services, although he wondered if that function would even work. He'd never had reason to use it in the past. Maybe he should try the emergency services after all. Perhaps they could put him in contact with someone who'd know what the fuck was going on. What if something had happened to Sebastian? Did they keep a list of injured people?

A sudden thought hit Owen. He needed to report Sebastian as missing. Someone—the coastguard or the State Emergency Service or whoever—someone needed to know to look out for Sebastian. He sat on the edge of the bed, ignoring the moisture that soaked into the seat of his still damp jeans. But telling the authorities that Sebastian was missing made it real.

Fuck! It is real. He's not here. I don't know where the fuck he is. He could have been washed out to sea and drowned. Fuck!

Owen looked around the devastation of the bedroom and something caught his eye. The glass bowl he'd bought for Sebastian was resting on the carpet. Oh, God, he hadn't even realised Sebastian had brought it with him to the island. Owen picked it up, using the hem of his T-shirt to wipe at the mud. Dark smudges smeared across the surface, dulling the glass, but it was whole and unscathed.

Owen's eyes burned as the tears finally came and overflowed, rolling down his cheeks to seep into his T-shirt. He clutched at the bowl and gave in to the pain in his chest, and great wracking sobs spilled forth.