Titanic With ZOMBIES

by Richard Brown

  “Then we make sure they stay there until we arrive in New York,” Lightoller answered. “I don’t have to tell you what this virus is capable of, you’ve seen it. We don’t have much time before these people get their second wind.”

  Murdoch sighed.

  “It can get much worse. Whatever we do, we need to do it now.”

  “Okay, okay. The general room. We’ll put them there.”

  The general room was located at the top of the third-class stairwell on C-deck, beside the third-class smoke room. Decorated like a lounge with white pine paneling and teak furniture, the general room was one of only a few places for passengers in steerage to gather indoors. Thus, the room was usually bustling with activity; reading, writing, and swapping stories the most popular. Since Sixth Officer Moody had successfully cleared out the few night owl occupants earlier, the general room was empty when Lightoller and company showed up with the caravan of infected passengers, many in such bad shape they had to be held up by family members.

  Officer Lowe helped sit the infected along one of the two long benches, while Lightoller stood by the door dreading his next move—telling the families the truth. Murdoch had left for the bridge to confer with Captain Smith, lest he have any misgivings with the plan, and left Lightoller to deliver the bad news. Thankfully, most were from second-class and spoke English as a first language.

  “Listen, I need everyone’s full attention, as I won’t be repeating myself,” Lightoller began. “What I have to tell you won’t be easy to accept. You’re here because you don’t abandon your friends and family when they get sick or injured, and you pray for them to get better. I admire that. I really do. Unfortunately, I’m the person who has to tell you that sometimes prayers aren’t answered.”

  Many of the non-infected gasped at the bold statement, while the infected amongst them heard nothing, their minds too absorbed by the deadly virus that would soon terminate and then reanimate them.

  “I—I don’t understand,” a young woman said. She held her infected daughter’s head against her bosom, running her fingers through her hair.

  “I know you don’t, miss. You see, your daughter contracted a virus when she was bitten, a virus that is already responsible for five deaths on board the ship.” Lightoller glanced down at the bloody markings on the child’s arm. “I wish it could just end with those five. I wish I could tell you that your daughter will pull through this—that maybe she will be the exception, but I won’t lie to you. The virus acts extremely fast and for it there is no known cure. I only hope that all the carriers of the virus are either dead or in this room, for the sake of everyone else on board. That’s why we brought them here, and that’s why they can’t leave.”

  “You expect me to just abandon my little girl here all alone,” the young woman said, sobbing. “She’s all I have, and I’m all she has.”

  “Where is her father?”

  “Her father’s dead.”

  “Well, I won’t tell you to leave your daughter, that is a decision only you can make. I can only warn you of the outcome if you stay. And that goes for everyone. Should you choose to stay behind and watch your loved ones die, know that you will fall to the same fate. Once these doors close, there is no coming back out. Your friends and family did not choose to die, I recommend you don’t either. That’s all. I’ll give you a few minutes to say your final goodbyes, and then times up.”

  Lightoller paced around the room, watching the non-infected passengers hug and cry and tell their sick family and friends how much they loved them. The whole scene made him nauseous. He couldn’t help but feel partly responsible. He had, after all, been left in charge to secure the hospital, and allowed O’Loughlin to break through his defenses. All he could do now was wallow in his regret, while sad eyes tore at his heartstrings. He had delivered something akin to the last rites to eighteen people, and had felt more like their executioner.

  Murdoch returned from the bridge, nodding at Lightoller across the room.

  Lightoller strolled over. “What did he say?”

  “He was very stressed. I don’t think he quite expected it to be this bad.”

  “None of us did.”

  “Still, he trusts our judgment.”

  “That’s nice to know.”

  “Did you tell them?”

  Lightoller nodded. “They were shocked, as expected. Some of them are even determined to stay. I can’t say I blame them. It’s a lot to accept in a short amount of time. I just wish they’d find the strength to save themselves. But it’s their choice.”

  Fifth Officer Lowe stepped up beside them.

  “The captain said he wanted one of us to stand guard outside the door at all times,” Murdoch said.

  “Given what happened at the hospital, I’d say that’s reasonable,” said Lightoller.

  “You’re first,” Murdoch said to Lowe.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re gonna need protection.” Murdoch pulled the Webley revolver from his waistband and presented it to Lowe.

  “Got my own.” Lowe pulled open his coat and showed off the seven-shot Browning revolver.

  Murdoch shrugged. “Very well.”

  “We better get a move on, aye,” said Lightoller.

  “Yes, indeed.”

  Lightoller stepped out and said, “Everyone, it’s time.”

  Along with the young mother who wouldn’t leave her daughter, three others chose to stay, leaving a total of twenty-two locked inside the general room. Lowe stood watch outside while Lightoller and Murdoch retrieved a small table and chair from storage. They set the table up opposite the door to the general room. Lowe placed his revolver on the table and sat down.

  “Need anything else?” Murdoch asked.

  “Cup of coffee would be nice.”

  Lightoller smirked. “We’ve got some unfinished business to attend to right now. Maybe we’ll bring you one when we get back, if you’re still here.”

  “I can’t leave,” said Lowe. “So thanks, I guess.”

  “Just don’t let anyone alive or dead through that door.”

  “The dead can’t walk, so...”

  “You’d be surprised,” Lightoller replied.

  As they walked away, Murdoch turned to Lightoller and whispered, “What unfinished business?”

  “Follow me.”

  Lightoller led Murdoch down the third-class stairway one floor down to D-deck. He quickly glanced into the men’s lavatory, and then in the third-class hospital. The cleanup was going better than he expected. Boxhall had done an admirable job assembling a team so quickly and for such an unpleasant task.

  They continued through the second-class section of rooms where most of the passengers had been bitten, and where Lightoller had encountered Dr. Simpson and the mother and son. He was again pleased to see a lot of progress had already been made. All the bodies were gone, though the images he wouldn’t likely forget for a long time, especially the look on the young boy’s face. He had to tell himself to remain focused, even as a chill ran up his spine.

  “Where are we going?” Murdoch asked, following Lightoller through the second-class dining saloon back to the main hospital.

  “You said you went to O’Loughlin’s room but he wouldn’t answer, right?”

  “Yes, and the door was locked.”

  Lightoller stopped at a small staircase across from the infectious rooms that led up to C-deck.

  “I think you may have caught him at a bad time. He might answer now.”

  O’Loughlin’s room was right at the top of the stairway on the right, positioned for quick access to the hospital in case he was needed for an emergency. A surgical room was on the left. Dr. Simpson’s and Steward William Dunford’s rooms were further down the hall.

  Lightoller stopped in front of O’Loughlin’s room and knocked on the door. A moment later, they heard the moaning.

  “Told you he might answer.”

  “He’s infected? How did you know?”

  “I didn’
t. Not for sure, at least,” Lightoller said. “I caught him sneaking around in the third-class hospital earlier in the evening. When I confronted him about his intentions, he became defensive. Two of the patients were his friends, and he had issues accepting the reality of what had become of them. So he went in there later and tried to feed them. I’m sure you noticed the bread and water all over the floor. Instead, he became the food, and you know the rest. He probably came back here and locked the door after being bitten, knowing the dangerous monster he’d become—the monster we now have to destroy.” O’Loughlin moaned louder, as though he didn’t approve of what Lightoller was saying about him. “You loaded?” Lightoller removed his Webley and checked the cylinder.

  Murdoch drew his gun and did the same.

  They both thumbed back the hammer on their revolvers and then took turns kicking in the door. The door finally gave way and broke open, knocking the doctor backward to the floor. The two officers raised their revolvers and waited for O’Loughlin to right himself before shooting. The doctor had something repulsive growing out of his neck and numerous other pus-producing lacerations across his face and hands. His clothes were stained with blood from head to toe.

  O’Loughlin took two steps toward the open door before being peppered with gunfire. Both Lightoller and Murdoch knew to aim high, placing most of the rounds into the head and neck. They shot until their guns went click and they were out of rounds. No need to reload. They had done enough. O’Loughlin crumbled to the floor in an awkward position with his back twisted unnaturally.

  Lightoller looked over at Murdoch shaking in his boots. “You okay?”

  Murdoch drew in a deep breath and said, “No.”

  “I think we’ve both had enough of this for one night.”

  ANDREWS

  He had gone to bed early, and slept good and long. Upon waking Sunday morning, he felt refreshed and full of vigor, ready for what he hoped to be a day of relaxation.

  Since Thursday, Andrews and his team had inspected almost every inch of the ship from the top down, so far compiling only a small list of aesthetic changes, but no major problems. Mechanically the ship was sound. The crew talked up the improved working conditions. Passenger comments were also almost unanimously positive, often remarking on the smoothness and predictability of the ship’s motion as it coasted gracefully up and down across the water. Seasickness was an issue few had to face.

  Satisfied with the way things were going, Andrews gave his team the day off, and planned to resume inspections on Monday.

  Although the horrible nightmare of Friday night was still hanging on the edge of his thoughts, and at times, his natural inquisitive mind would try to persuade him otherwise, Andrews remained committed to not getting further involved, just as he had told Mrs. Brown. He had let it go. He had joined her for dinner last night just as he promised, and they didn’t speak a word about it. She had let it go, too, just as she promised.

  Success.

  But gossip can travel fast across a ship, even one as large as the Titanic, and by the time Andrews sat down for the Church of England service in the dining saloon, he had already heard numerous different versions of what had happened overnight, stories that just a few days ago he wouldn’t have believed.

  Captain Smith presided over the church service, leading the group in prayer and singing hymns like “O God Our Help in Ages Past,” or “Eternal Father, Strong to Save,” all the while pretending like there wasn’t a giant elephant in the room.

  Afterword, the captain didn’t hang around to take questions, leaving most attendees to soak in their curiosity, and trying to piece fragments of various stories together. Andrews noticed there was one common thread all the stories contained.

  The general room.

  And of officers standing guard.

  Andrews left the dining saloon and hurried across the ship. As he stepped out on to the promenade deck and into the fresh morning sun, a familiar voice called out his name from behind. He turned to see Margaret Brown coming toward him, holding her voluminous red-feathered hat with one hand to keep the wind from blowing it out to sea.

  They stood behind the mainmast looking down at the aft well deck, just as they had on Friday night where they had spotted Elise Brennan.

  “You didn’t think you were getting away that easy,” Margaret said, smiling as wide as her hat.

  “Forgive me. I didn’t see you at the service.”

  “That’s cause I wasn’t there. It’s such a beautiful morning, I decided to sit outside and finish some letters over breakfast.”

  “That sounds pleasant.”

  “It certainly was,” Margaret replied. “Anyway, I meant to pull you aside last night after dinner and thank you for being so understanding of me, and to apologize for my rudeness. I shouldn’t have done what I did yesterday—interrupting you like that while you were working.”

  “It’s quite all right. I know you were just concerned, as was I.”

  “Yes, and I’m glad we put those concerns to rest. Still, I have a tendency to get a bit worked up at times, if you haven’t noticed. It’s a good thing I’m not looking for acceptance, because I’ll probably never be accepted by many of my peers. But you’ve been a good friend to me on this trip, Mr. Andrews. You’ve helped keep my mind off my grandson. For that, I thank you, and I hope you accept my apology.”

  “I’m sure your grandson will be fine, Margaret. I also value your friendship, and I often find myself envious of your candor. The way you speak your mind so boldly and without fear of rejection. You stand up when all of society is telling you to sit down, and I really admire that.”

  Margaret glared at Andrews through dead serious eyes. “Are you gonna accept my apology or not? I ain’t got all day.”

  “In that case forget everything I just said,” Andrews replied. Margaret found his comment funny, as he had hoped she would. “And I’ll accept your apology only without further discussion of it.”

  Andrews parted company with Margaret feeling both surprised and relieved. Surprised because she obviously had no idea what happened last night, and relieved because she had no idea what happened last night. He had assumed when she stopped him that she had sought him out for information, as she had yesterday, but that wasn’t the case. Somehow, Margaret of all people was totally in the dark on this one, quite amazing since the rumors were spreading like wildfire. The terrifying nature of the stories forced Andrews to abandon his commitment to ignorance and seek out the truth. No need to bring Margaret along. She’d find out soon enough, hopefully from someone else.

  Andrews entered the door to the third-class stairwell. Chief Officer Henry T. Wilde sat behind a small wooden table opposite the general room.

  “What is going on here?”

  “If you don’t know,” said Wilde, “then it’s nothing you need to be concerned about.”

  “Everything that happens on this ship is my concern.”

  Wilde shook his head. “Not this.”

  Andrews made a motion toward the door to the general room.

  “Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Wilde took his hands off his lap and rested them on the table. In his right hand, he held a small revolver. Andrews looked down at the gun and then turned his attention back to the door. As he reached for the door handle, he heard Wilde pull back the hammer on the revolver.

  He glanced back at the chief officer, the gun still flat against the table, the barrel pointed at him. “You’re really going to shoot me?”

  “I don’t know,” said Wilde, sweat glistening under his eyes. “I’d prefer you not put me to the test.”

  “This is more serious than I thought,” Andrews whispered to himself. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to open it. I know more than you think.” He could easily hear the chorus of moans spill through the door. “You’re using the general room as a prison for the infected, and by the sound of it, there’s quite a few in there. Tell me...how did this happen?”

  “It’s a long s
tory.”

  “I’ve got plenty of time.”

  After a little more cajoling, Wilde finally gave in and told the whole story. When he was done, Andrews left feeling sick to his stomach. He hung his head all the way back to his stateroom, where he sat at his desk and imagined the headlines that would follow once the Titanic docked and word began to spread. Boy, the editors would be happy, and the White Star Line would take hell trying to explain how they allowed such a deadly plague to pass through inspections. With only a maiden voyage under its belt, the Titanic name would already be scarred. The ship that Andrews built, the ship of dreams, was slowly turning into the ship of nightmares. Whether caused by plague or not, he was disgusted by the horrific acts of violence displayed on a ship he had put his heart and soul into constructing.

  “What else could go wrong?” he asked the quiet emptiness of his stateroom.

  It offered no response.

  SMITH

  The wireless room was located on the boat deck not far from the bridge and officer quarters. Inside, twenty-five-year-old Jack Phillips, and his twenty-one-year-old assistant, Harold Bride, worked to get caught up on the backlog of messages after the wireless set had broken down during the night.

  Jack and Harold were not employed by the White Star Line, nor were they official members of the Titanic’s crew. They worked for the Marconi Company, named after Guglielmo Marconi, the inventor of the radio telegraph, and once at sea, the pair took orders only from Captain Smith.

  The use of radios on ships had only recently begun to take on more popularity, particularly among wealthy passengers, who marveled at the novelty of such an invention that would allow them to send out personal messages from the ship.

  While many captains were hesitant to greet the new technology, Captain Smith tried to keep an open mind, seeing the potential of the device to become a valuable tool for navigation, or at the moment, for the reporting of ice in the area.

  Smith stood behind Jack and Harold and read the latest message from the White Star steamer Baltic. Earlier, he had received a similar message from the Caronia. The reports of ice weren’t unexpected this time of year, however, the Atlantic was unusually calm today, and as dusk fell, icebergs would become harder to spot. After what happened last night on D-deck, the ice warnings only reinforced the two bad choices facing Smith.