Shifting Tides

  Summer Adrift

  E.V. McMillan

  Published by Color Your World Press, 2024.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  SHIFTING TIDES

  First edition. February 22, 2024.

  Copyright © 2024 E.V. McMillan.

  ISBN: 978-1733878821

  Written by E.V. McMillan.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Shifting Tides (Summer Adrift)

  1

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  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

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  14

  15

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  19

  20

  21

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  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  Exclusive Preview

  Prologue.

  1

  2

  3

  Acknowledgements

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  About the Author

  Every story I create creates me. I write to create myself.

  ~ Octavia E. Butler

  To my family, friends, and all of the extraordinary people who have supported and uplifted me in this venture.

  Letter To the Reader

  Dear Reader,

  I hope this letter finds you well, and I want to start by expressing my heartfelt gratitude for your support and enthusiasm for my writing journey. You, my readers, are the lifeblood of the stories I create, and I couldn’t do it without you.

  I’m writing to introduce you to a special edition of a book that is dear to my heart. It’s a book that marked the beginning of an incredible adventure – my first foray into storytelling. Since its original release as Summer Adrift, I’ve had the privilege of crafting more tales in this series, and your feedback has been invaluable in shaping the world and characters within.

  In this revised edition, Shifting Tides is the first book in the Summer Adrift series, and you’ll find significant changes. I’ve listened to your comments and embarked on a journey of refinement, revising not only the words on these pages but also the essence of the story itself. Characters have evolved, scenes have been reimagined, and the narrative has been honed to its truest form. As you delve into these pages, you may notice shifts, both subtle and significant. Perhaps the characters will resonate with you in new ways, or you’ll discover fresh layers to the story that have emerged in the process. I believe these changes have elevated the tale to new heights, and I’m excited for you to experience it anew.

  I want to extend my appreciation to those who supported the original version and to newcomers who are embarking on this adventure for the first time. Your engagement and feedback are invaluable to me as I continue to craft stories that captivate and entertain. So, whether you’re revisiting this world or stepping into it for the first time, I hope you enjoy the journey.

  E V McMillan

  PART I

  1

  Biarritz Pays Basque Airport, Biarritz, France

  Josh

  Josh Brenner sat at the table in the airport lounge, looking very GQ in his charcoal gray suit, pale blue shirt, and dark, calf leather moccasins, sipping an espresso and reading the latest copy of the glitzy sports magazine Waves.

  He’d opened the magazine to Mike Ryder’s article, Riding High: Josh Brenner’s Epic Surfing Triumph, and was reading it with amusement, making note of the exceptional photos that were sprinkled throughout.

  In the world of professional surfing, there were legends, and then there was Josh Brenner, the Aussie sensation who’d been making waves — quite literally. His team had the privilege of witnessing his epic showdown in Biarritz, France, where he’d faced off against none other than the defending champion, Piper Lewis.

  As the sun-kissed shores of Biarritz served as the backdrop, the stage was set for a showdown of epic proportions. This wasn’t just another surf competition; it was a battle for supremacy, and this final heat had been his best opportunity to take the title from the American, Lewis. The clock was ticking, with only five minutes left on the timer. If Brenner couldn’t pull off a 9.33 or better, Lewis would continue his reign. It was down to the wire, and the stakes couldn’t be higher.

  Brenner had been a force to be reckoned with throughout the competition. His fearless approach to every wave and the jaw-dropping maneuvers he executed left both spectators and judges in awe. It was safe to say that he was the surprise package of the event.

  What set this man apart? Was it his willingness to take big risks? He was known for crushing every turn. Was it his aerials, like the big air reverse he pulled off in the previous heat? It was that move that secured his spot in this final showdown. Was it his cool, calm, and ability to remain undistracted? He knew what he needed to do. He did it well, with focus, determination, and a dash of Aussie resilience. Altogether, these things are what made him the new Ultimate Surfer Challenge Champion!

  With a big grin on his face, Josh folded the magazine and leaned over to show Sean Hargrove, his best friend, the photo of him standing on the winner’s platform, the Ultimate Surfer trophy held high over his head and a huge grin on his face.

  “Yeah, I saw it. Did they mention how your face graces the covers of surfing, sports, and gossip magazines and is a favorite on all the major ‘The Most Eligible Bachelor’ and ‘Bachelor of the Year’ lists?” Sean asked satirically.

  “Yeah, he did. Right here. Wanna read it?”

  “Of course, they did. Don’t they ever write anything new? Same old stuff over and over.”

  “Why bother when the old stuff, as you call it, is still so true?”

  “Come on, we need to get to the gate. Boarding should start in a few minutes.”

  Josh closed the magazine and tucked it into a pocket of his duffle bag before standing and shouldering the strap. He followed Sean and Colin from the Air France lounge as they headed to their gate. The three of them were off for a well-deserved vacation in the US after three long years of hustling non-stop on two surfing circuits. Josh had only recently agreed to take a break, but now he was excited. They were flying into Paris tonight and catching the red-eye to Los Angeles. California awaited, and the waves were calling their names.

  ~

  May 12th, San Diego, California

  Ten Days Later

  The water off the coast of San Diego was warm, yet it had a nice, clean texture that Josh appreciated.

  He could always tell the difference, which made him feel like he belonged to two worlds—land and sea. Today, floating on his surfboard, he felt the ocean’s embrace as a sweet reminder of why he’d turned pro. Surfing wasn’t just a sport for him; it was the sense of communion with nature, a dialogue between him and the vast expanse of the ocean.

  He also loved the challenge of maintaining control of his body and his board at lightning speeds while atop a wall of powerful, rushing water. The extreme momentum and unpredictability of the water left no room for doubt or errant thoughts. He needed to stay focused as a wall of water approached and feel the wave as it rushed beneath his board. Instinctively, his awareness and concentration would shrink to a single point of tension between the foaming, churning water and the waxed surface of his board. Like now, he’d paddle hard to match its speed.

  Standing up on his board, the world around him brightened, the sunlight almost blinding as it refracted in the spray. The wave curled, forming a monstrous barrel over his head—a tunnel of aquatic power. Josh felt like he was in the belly of some mythical sea creature, and he loved it. Time seemed to stretch, making his ride through the barrel feel both instantaneous and eternal. Finally, he burst into the sunlight, exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He was exhilarated and breathless. That had been the tallest, most powerful wave of the morning and that barrel the most impressive. He could have almost ridden it standing straight.

  For the past nine days, he, Sean, and Colin had free surfed some of the most iconic spots along the California coast: from Ventura to Malibu, Hermosa, and Redondo, Huntington and Newport Beaches, down to the Trestles and San Onofre State Beach. And their last stop was here in San Diego. Ten days of pure relaxation. Tomorrow, they were returning to Los Angeles to fly to vastly different parts of the world. Sean was headed to Hawaii to surf the Pipeline in Oahu. Colin was going home to Australia to check on his family. Josh was flying to Johannesburg to meet with execs at Walther Industries, a top manufacturer of wetsuits, and one of their major sponsors. He would spend the next two weeks doing a promotional tour and magazine shoots.

  Josh’s stomach growled. They’d been out since early morning, and he was ready to dig into the sandwiches and drinks they’d packed in Igloos in the back of the truck. He was about to call it a day when an annoying buzzing sounded above his head. Turning, he spotted a drone, its camera aimed squarely at him.

  “Oh, come on! Really?” he muttered, rolling his eyes. Then he tho ught better of it and offered his best photogenic smile. Instead of taking his picture and moving away, the drone dipped lower, almost within arm’s reach. Amateurs, he thought, shielding his eyes as he looked up into the sun. He sat upright on his board, letting his feet dangle in the water, and faced the horizon. The reflection of the sun on the water was dazzling, making it difficult to immediately identify Sean and Colin among several other groups of surfers. When he saw them, he waved to catch their attention and hooked a thumb towards the shore.

  The drone began to fly in a wide circle, flying away from Josh and then returning to hover over his left shoulder. Becoming irritated by the drone, he started swatting at it. Didn’t the fool operating the drone know any basic rules of etiquette? It was so annoying—and distracting, to be buzzed, especially while engaging in water sports. It was important to be alert to changing conditions on the water, not a stupid drone trying to take action shots. Besides, shouldn’t there be some local ordinance in effect against flying too low and too close to people? Josh felt like he could almost grab the damn thing as it flew past him.

  Colin seemed to see and understand that Josh was going back to shore and started paddling towards him. Josh turned around and laid on his board, and with long, powerful strokes, he started to make quick work of the fifty yards or so back to the shore. Suddenly, he heard a loud splash and felt his board jerk violently. A few seconds later, something struck his board so forcefully that it lifted him and his board out of the water.

  2

  Mia

  Dr. Mia Thomas clocked out and left the hospital.

  Her shift had been grueling, but that was nothing new. It was always demanding in the ER, especially when the beaches opened and tourists flocked to the city. She gathered her hair into a tight ponytail and began a series of stretches to limber up. Dressed in running shorts, a cropped shirt that bared her midriff, and her favorite, most comfortable running shoes, she was ready to burn off some of the adrenaline she’d accumulated overnight. A run on the beach for a few miles would feel good and help her sleep.

  It was a beautiful morning; a cool breeze blew in off the ocean, and the sky was a clear lazuline blue, free of clouds. The ocean was only a ten-minute walk west of the hospital, but she decided to drive the few miles north to her favorite stretch of beach.

  Dolphin Beach was a beautiful sweep of white sand and serpentine coastline, a favorite spot of local surfers and paddle-boarders. After a long, hard run, she would often sit on the rocks to catch her breath and watch them take on the powerful, pounding waves. Swinging into the parking lot, she noticed it was unusually empty — a few cars scattered around the lot, likely belonging to the surfers she could see already on the water. The sandy beach also seemed somewhat empty; a couple running together were the only people she saw. Glancing at her smartwatch, she surmised it was too early and maybe too cool for most people to be out, staking out their territory with colorful beach umbrellas, blankets, coolers, and toys. Once the temperatures rose, however, the beaches would be packed.

  The strong odors of salt, fish, and clumps of seaweed drying on the beach permeated the air while birds wheeled overhead, screeching and cawing as they scavenged for breakfast. Mia walked down to the wet, hard-packed sand, plugging her wireless earbuds in her ears and queuing up her favorite workout playlist on her phone. She completed a few yoga stretches to limber up before starting a slow jog to warm up. It wasn’t long before she was one with her music, her feet pounding the sand in time with the beat, a gentle breeze pushing against her back. Foamy whitewash rolled in and back out, scouring the sand, clearing her footprints, and leaving clumps of seaweed along the shore. Towering palms with thick hula skirts shielding palatial homes built on the bluffs that overlooked the ocean swayed in the gentle wind.

  The night’s pent-up adrenaline and stress exuviated from her spirit and body. Sweat dripped from her chin and ran in rivulets down her torso as she found her rhythm. Her muscles moved fluidly, her brain and body responding to the release of endorphins. She became absorbed in the music, pace, and her body’s motion, oblivious to how far she’d run or for how long. Slowing down to catch her breath and figure out where she was, Mia guessed she had run much further than usual, at least by a mile or two. Bent over, hands braced on her thighs, drawing deep breaths, she felt her legs quivering, a sure sign to turn back. Her muscles were loose, and heat radiated off her body. Mia felt like a furnace burned inside her, and she peeled off her thin windbreaker and tied it around her waist. She took it a little slower, walking back to her car, singing aloud with her playlist, unsettling the gulls that had descended onto the sand.

  Just yards from where she started, Mia neared a group of people staring out at the ocean in horror. She stepped up to see what drew their attention and watched as a surfer and his surfboard were hurled up in the air, and a shark rocketed up out of the water beneath him. She watched, stunned, as they splashed back down in the water. It seemed like hours passed, though it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds before the surfer bobbed back to the top of the water. A group of surfers and people on paddle boards made a lot of noise, pounding their surfboards and slapping the water to run the shark off so another surfer could get close, grab hold of the victim of the attack, and hold his head above water. She watched as they helped tow the victim to shore.

  She pulled out her cell phone and dialed emergency services for an ambulance, giving the dispatcher as many details as possible, including her name and the name of the hospital where she worked, and letting them know she would help stabilize the victim until the ambulance arrived. Assured that help was on the way, she shoved her phone back in the pocket of her shorts and ran into the rolling surf to help bring the injured surfer on to the beach.

  “I’m a doctor,” she said, taking over and helping several people hoist the unconscious man out of the water. “Lay him down here, away from the surf washing up.”

  Blood drained from his leg and soaked into the sand, and Mia could see where the shark had bitten him, taking a chunk out of his calf. The surfer who’d brought him in kneeled beside her.

  “Can you help him, Doc? Please, you’ve gotta help him,” he pleaded, helping to lay the unconscious man out in the sand.

  “I don’t know yet. Can you keep the crowd back? They’re too close. I need room to work, and I don’t need them kicking up sand.”

  “Wait,” he said, looking around, eyes wide, appearing terrified. “My friend... my other friend... I think he’s still out there in the water. He was close to Josh when the shark came.”

  “Another surfer?” she asked, shocked since she hadn’t seen another person being attacked. But he nodded, and she understood. “Alright, go see if your friend is okay. I’ve got this.”

  “Okay, yeah. Yeah. I’ll be right back,” the man said, turning away and searching along the beach. Obviously not finding his friend there, he ran back toward the water, calling to a group of surfers who’d just come onshore. Mia watched the surfers turn and run back into the water. A woman, wet from the ocean and still in her neoprene suit, came and sat down beside her.

  “Hi, how can I help?”

  “Can you help keep everybody back?” Mia asked, trying to rip the leg of the man’s wetsuit so she could see the scope of his injury. Blood was gushing from his leg. The woman nodded and spoke to one of a dozen surfers standing in a group off to the side. The group then circled Mia, the woman, and the man, edging the crowd back and blocking several people who’d pulled out their cell phones to take pictures and video. Mia focused on what she was doing, unconcerned with the onlookers. The woman handed her a pocketknife, and Mia cut the neoprene suit. Blood drenched her hands as she worked. She ripped her jacket from around her waist, emptied her pockets, and used it as a tourniquet, folding and wrapping it around his leg, tying it in place with the arms.

  “Okay, does anyone have any unopened bottles of water and blankets? Any with you or in your cars? I need to rinse this wound to see the full extent of the injury and wrap him in blankets to warm him up,” she said, looking around at the people watching her. Besides severe loss of blood, she worried he might suffer hypothermia.

 

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