Titanic Twelve Tales - A Short Story Anthology RMS Titanic

by Lynda Dunwell

  “Captain,” cried Klar. “Some of the creatures are jumping into the ocean. Can they survive there?”

  “I don’t know. Their white jackets seem to keep them afloat. But the cold?” Shivering the full length of my backbone, I found I couldn’t watch anymore. Desperate to escape this hostile planet, I called the engine room.

  “Engines fully charged but no reserves,” the Chief Engineer said.

  “Care to rate our chances?” I asked.

  “Chances?” he laughed. “You’ve only got one. I can give you sufficient power to break free of the planet’s gravitational field. Out of the toxic atmosphere we can recharge our energy cells directly from the system’s heat source.”

  “When can we go?”

  “On your command.”

  I’d been waiting to hear that for over a hundred of the planet’s days. “Crew,” I announced on all channels, “stand by for lift-off.”

  Reluctantly my eyes returned to the screen. The ailing ship was listing, her hull tilting. As her stern rose high out of the water, a funnel broke away in a cloud of bright sparks. Hundreds of the creatures were clinging to her decks. Many were flinging themselves into the ocean as the mighty ship broke her back. Sickened by the sight of life, however alien, struggling for survival, their hopelessness reminded me of home. One of our other search vessels might have been successful finding a new planet. I had failed.

  Most of my generation had been lost trying to discover a new homeland. Pulled out of retirement, I’d been given two inexperienced officers and a crew too young to breed, yet not too immature to sacrifice their lives in the final quest for a new home before our planet died.

  How would High Command view my navigational error? I’d risked my ship and the lives of my crew attempting a fast passage across an unknown solar system. Forcing myself to blank all negative thoughts, we had to breakout. “Log all findings in the memory bank, issue a Code D signal warning all future expeditions of the oxygen content of this planet’s atmosphere.”

  “Aye, aye captain,” my two officers replied in unison.

  Belted in the command console, I felt the welcoming vibration as the engines began to stir. In seconds we would break free or die in the attempt. I knew my original course had been dangerous. Saving time and fuel, I’d cut across this little solar system, underestimating the gravitational pull of its third planet.

  Bracing myself for the severe pressure of the launch, I had to believe there were other planets left to explore, but in my heart, I knew time was running out for me and my kind.

  My opposite number in the sinking ship must have felt the same as his powerful ocean consumed him. I felt grateful for his aid, given so unwittingly, because it might just lead to the survival of my species.

  “Sir, the stricken vessel,” announced Sora looking rather pleased, “I’ve deciphered that word. It seems to be her name, Titanic.”

  Third-class souls

  A deep groan of twisting metal grinds the length of the hull, it passes almost unnoticed. Eight bells sound. Several people look up from their daily tasks. An Irish mother grasps the hands of two of her children and marches them towards the dining room. “Come on darlings, time to eat.” The two older boys run ahead, taking their allotted places on the bench.

  A white-coated steward places bowls of hot stew before the boys. “Nourishing food, eat up lads, ‘twill do you no end of good.”

  The mother sits down with her other two children and waves to the steward. “Three more bowls, please.”

  Two stokers join the table. “Mrs. O’Brien, would it be asking too much of you to pass the salt?” Harry asks. She smiles back at him as she hands him the crested salt and pepper pot. “Much obliged,” Harry nods.

  The oldest O’Brien boy grabs a slice of the newly baked bread from the bowl in the centre of the table. His mother smacks his hand, and he drops the bread on the table. “Ask first Seamus, have you learnt no manners since you’ve been aboard?”

  “Sorry Ma,” he withdraws his skinny hand.

  She smiles at him, “Best have it now Seamus, no one’s going to want it now you’ve had your hands upon it.”

  He retrieves the bread, dips it into his stew and pushes the gravy sodden slice into his mouth. “Can Liam and me go to the dance tonight?”

  “Dancing?” Mrs. O’Brien laughs. “Why lads you’re far too young!”

  “But it’s a special celebration. Everybody’s going, let us Ma, please.”

  “Will you be attending Mrs. O’Brien?” the stoker asks.

  “Well if everybody’s going, then I might.” She smiles at Harry again and Seamus nudges his brother Liam.

  “Maybe this place ain’t so bad if only it was warmer,” Liam whispers.

  “What do you mean? You feeling the cold?” Seamus glares at his younger brother and grasps his mother’s hand. “Ma, Liam feels things. He ain’t supposed to, is he Ma? Not here. Not now.”

  Mrs. O’Brien’s face drops, she stares across the table at her second eldest son. “Is this true?”

  Liam’s lower lip quivers. “I know I ain’t supposed to...but I’m feeling cold all the time.”

  “Are you sure lad?” Harry asks, “because you’d the first of us lot down here that does?”

  “I wish I hadn’t said anything.” Liam wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “I’m glad you did son. It’s a sign. The sort of thing we’ve all been waiting for. I’ll tell the others. There’s plenty anxious to know if it’s time. We must ask around. There might be others feeling the same.” He stands up and places his hand on Liam’s shoulder.

  A loud thud from the upper deck shakes the hull. The hollow sound echoes through the ship’s damaged bulkheads. The hub of conversation in the dining room is silenced.

  “What was that?” Seamus whispers.

  No one answers. They listen for the next sound, movement or sign. They wait, as they have done for 73 years.

  A loud clang breaks the silence. Mrs. O’Brien and several of the other Third-class diners gasp. Harry, the friendly stoker, reaches for her hand. She joins her hands with his and smiles at him. The only signs of affection she has given him during their long incarceration.

  Each day is the same, each conversation uses identical words, everything they do has been repeated thousands of times, until today. Today everything has changed because Liam can feel.

  “That sound,” Seamus says, “I’ve never heard it before. What can it be? What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know.” Mrs. O’Brien gathers her two youngest children close.

  “Could it be father? Has he found us?” Seamus asks.

  “Perhaps,” Mrs. O’Brien looks at the stoker. The man she has smiled at for so long.

  He stands up, abandoning his meal. “We’ll find out. Come on Jack.”

  Harry and Jack leave the dining room together watched by hundreds of pairs of eyes. All are anxious for the news they can at last disembark.

  “Come on Jack, this way. We’ll take the First-class stairs, they’ll not see us if we go that way.”

  The men emerge at the top of the forward First-class staircase just in time to see two strange lights pass over the ship’s deck. “In God’s name, what’s that?” Jack cries.

  “I dunno, ain’t like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

  They stand together, just as they did in the boiler room on the fatal night. The lights get closer. “Look there’s some sort of cable attached to the creature and it stretches upwards perhaps even to the surface of the great ocean. It can’t be alive, can it? What has eyes that glow like beacons?” Jack grabs his friend’s arm. “We should go back and tell the others.”

  “Tell them what, that we saw lights coming from a creature of the deep with an endless tail? Trust your senses Jack, this must be a sign, if only we knew what was happening.”

  “It’s what we’ve all hoped for all these years. They’re coming for us, aren’t they? They’ve found us.”

  “That mi
ght be, but we must be sure. How can we tell the others and raise their hopes? They’ll think they’re going home.”

  They watch the creature turn and scan the wreckage. Several times the small metal body with the bright illuminated eyes passes alongside the two men.

  “It’s close enough to touch,” Jack cries. “Look, all I have to do is reach out my hand.”

  “No! Don’t! Can’t you see? We know nothing about this thing. What if it’s not from a rescue or recovery team? What if things have changed in the world since we last saw it? What if this creature is an alien?”

  “Whatever it is, we should tell the others. We must give them a chance to decide what they want to do.”

  “There’s no dancing tonight,” Mrs. O’Brien tells her boys, “everyone’s to gather to hear what Harry and Jack have seen above earlier.”

  When the stokers have finished explaining, a man asks, “Was it a creature or a machine?”

  “We don’t know,” Harry replies, “except it appeared only to be looking, it wasn’t aggressive or violent.”

  “Do you think the rescue teams have found us?” a woman asks.

  “I think so, I hope so.” Jack bows his head.

  “And you Harry? What’s your opinion?” Mrs. O’Brien smiles at him.

  Harry acknowledges her gesture with a nod.. “I don’t know what to think. I hope they’ve found the ship because you all know what that will mean to us.” He pauses, as the crowd cheer loudly.

  Jack waves his arms in the air. “Let him speak!” he shouts.

  Harry holds his arms above his head and attempts to calm his audience. Eventually, they let him speak. “Friends, everyone who has become part of this undersea world we inhabit, I believe we have been given the opportunity to make the journey across the unknown, to pass on. I do not know why we have been prevented from doing so for so long. When I lived, I was a stoker, firing the engines of this great vessel we all sailed on with good hearts. Many of you know my story and that of my friend Jack – we didn’t get out of our boiler room in time. Those infamous water-tight doors trapped us below. You know what being trapped feels like because we’ve all shared this grave. We have dwelt together, kept the faith because we knew we would be liberated one day. Hope has kept us going. Yes friends, I do believe this is our resurrection day!”

  Wild cheers ring out.

  “How do we get out?” young Seamus asks.

  “With a faithful heart and belief we shall find peace in the next world,” Harry replies. “When the metal creature returns, we shall in turn attach ourselves to the tail and use it as our guide to the ocean surface. There we shall board the rescue ship.”

  “But how can we be sure they have come for us?” a man demands.

  “Because we always knew they would,” Harry answers. “When the world’s biggest liner goes to the bottom of the ocean on her maiden voyage, man is curious. So much so, he will not rest until he has found out everything he possibly can about why the ‘unsinkable’ ship sank.”

  “Will it be cold outside?” Liam asks. Several people around him laugh. Liam hangs his head hiding his face from those who are mocking him.

  “I don’t know lad,” Harry says with a shrug. “I wish I could answer all of your questions, but I don’t know.”

  Mrs. O’Brien steps forward. “Harry, I believe you have a good heart and you are an honest man. I trust you and my children trust you. If you follow the tail of this creature believing it will guide us to the surface, then I am more than willing to go with you. My boys can decide for themselves.”

  There was no stew the next day for the Third-class souls trapped in Titanic, they were too occupied following Harry. One after another he led them to the surface of the Atlantic Ocean where a small ship waited. Silently, they slipped aboard, unknown, unseen by the crew and scientific team who had discovered the famous ship-wreck.

  At last, the Third-class souls were free to make their long-awaited journey to the next world.

  Graveyard Gang

  Fairview Lawn cemetery, Halifax, Canada

  “Where are all these people coming from?” Joe asked. “Things used to be peaceful around here, just the odd visitor or two, now there are bloody hundreds of them.”

  “Search me,” Buddy shrugged as he sat down on a bench and watched the tourists climb the hill towards the Titanic graves. He took out his lunch and began gnawing on a ham baton, then he remembered the coleslaw. He prised open the lid and scooped out a mouthful with the plastic spoon the deli-take out had provided.

  “Care to ask a few of them why they come?” Joe asked.

  “Nope,” Buddy said, a stray piece of cabbage hanging from the corner of his mouth. He licked it back inside.

  “Go on, I’d like to know why they’ve suddenly started coming up here in their droves.”

  “My mother, God rest her soul, you know she’s over there under the sweet chestnut tree. She used to say if you want to know something then ask.” Buddy continued to munch on his ham baton.

  “I can’t, you know I can’t, but you can. Go on, do it for me, eh?”

  “I’m eating my lunch.”

  “But you’ll be finished soon and there’s a couple of young girls over there. You could ask them. They seem to be looking for someone in particular. Go on, help them out. It’s your job, isn’t it?”

  “Nope, I’m only a gardener around here, part of the graveyard gang. There’s professional guides employed to show folks around. I just cut the grass.”

  “But wouldn’t you like a bit more responsibility? After all, there’s nobody hereabouts knows more about the disaster than you, is there?”

  Buddy glanced at the empty place next to him on the bench. “Now that’s bullshit, nice flattering bullshit, but bullshit just the same.”

  “Okay, old man, so you can see through me, but you can’t blame me for being curious.”

  “Look Joe, I know you’ve got a vested interest in the Titanic, perhaps you haven’t realised how her story has spread. Look, why not go down the town and take a look in the museum? They’ve got loads of new displays and some of the real artefacts.”

  “I’ve been and I don’t like what I see. The place gives me a weird feeling. Too many memories. I prefer the outdoors, talking to you.”

  Again Buddy glanced at the empty space on the bench. “Ain’t that because I’m the only one you can talk to?”

  Silence.

  “Look Joe, no offence intended, so don’t go off in a huff. If you’re still there and I’m guessing you are. I don’t know why I can hear you and nobody else can. Have you tried talking to others? What about some of these folks. Surely there’s somebody over there that might be able to hear you. Look at those girls, I’m guessing they’ve found the grave they’ve been looking for. Ah, tears, see that! They’re shedding real tears over that poor sod.”

  “Buddy, stop it! I’m still here but I’m going over there to take a look at what they’re doing. If my eyesight isn’t failing me, those girls are shedding tears over me.”

  “Bloody Hell!” Buddy abandoned the remains of this lunch and jumped to his feet. He was panting when he reached the top of the slope where the group of tourists stood listening to the story of how the bodies recovered from Titanic were brought to their final resting place.

  A blonde teenager wiped her eyes and pointed to the stone that bore the inscription J Dawson April 15th 1912 Titanic Victim. “There he is, that’s Jack’s grave,” she said.

  “Is that the real Jack Dawson?”the other girl asked the guide “We know Leo’s not dead, but the artist he played in the film, is that really him there?”

  The guide smiled. “There’s been a lot of people up here recently asking the same question. Guess that film’s got a lot to answer for.”

  The blonde crouched down and caressed the stone. “I bet he was as handsome as Leo.”

  The guide moved towards her and pointed to a small squared block headstone.“This is the grave of J. Dawson, and Jack was a very commo
n name in 1912, so yes, this is the grave of J. Dawson but we’ve no proof that he was an artist, like in the film.”

  “I wish he’d sketch me,” the blonde sighed.

  “And me, too,” the other girl said, kneeling down in front of the stone as if it was a shrine.

  Buddy watched in mild amusement, he caught the guide’s eye and gave him a knowing look. This pair must have been the tenth lot that day and it was only lunchtime. Lunch, he remembered the baton and coleslaw he had left on the bench. He turned to go back down the hill when he remembered Joe. He looked back at the girls unwrapping two red roses. Carefully they laid them in front of J. Dawson’s stone.

  “I loved the moment when he tells Rose, this is it!” the blonde said.

  “My favourite was the bit in the back of the big old fashioned car. Oh yeah, I’d like some of that.”

  “I don’t understand. What are they talking about?” Joe asked.

  Buddy jumped. “Don’t creep up on me like that!” he said under his breath. A few tourists looked in his direction. “Sorry folks, I didn’t mean you.”

  They gave him another suspicious look and backed away.

  “See, what you’ve made me do? I ain’t supposed to scare off the punters.”

  “What’s going on? Two young girls upset, crying over a grave and going on about some film. Level with me Buddy. I want to know the truth, none of your stories, give it to me straight.”

  Buddy had never heard Joe so angry before. “Look, let’s walk over here, away from the crowd. I guess it’s about time we had a real talk.” He started to walk back to the bench and hoped Joe was with him. When he reached his lunch spot, several flies were crawling over the remains of the meat. He picked up the half-eaten bread roll and deposited it in the nearby bin, along with the carton of coleslaw.

  He sat down in disgust, dragged his hand across his mouth and waited to hear if Joe had followed him. The party of tourists with the two “Titanic” film fans wended their way down the slope towards the gate and their bus. A fresh party were waiting at the information point for their guide.