Then silence.
Her voice was barely above a whisper, but Lightoller could hear every word.
“My loving George. The kindest man I’d ever known,” she began, her hands trembling. “Being married to you for the last fifty-three years has been the greatest gift. You took me away from an abusive father, and promised you’d take care of me. To this day, you kept your word. You were a great father to our three beautiful children. You worked so hard to keep us safe and healthy, and you never missed an opportunity to make us smile. There is so much more I would tell you, if there were words to express it. My heart is telling me our time is over, and that we had a good run. But my soul refuses to let it end here. Should you find your way to heaven, I know you’ll save a spot for me by your side. Where you go, I go. I love you, George, and I’ll see you soon.”
She lowered the paper and looked over at Lightoller. From across the room, under the dim overhead lighting, he could see the tears in her eyes. Her words made him think of his wife, Sylvia, and how much he missed her and the boys. He hoped she was at home thinking about—
The thin wood split apart with tremendous force, throwing dust and debris through the air. Before Lightoller even knew what had happened, the grey, muscular arm that smashed through the door seized Abigail and pulled her arm back through the hole, pinning her body against the door.
Lightoller rushed around the table and grabbed a hold of Abigail. The sounds coming from her mouth now weren’t beautiful or poetic. They weren’t even words. They were shrieks of intolerable agony.
He managed to pull her away from the door more easily than he expected. After she collapsed back into his arms and he saw the blood flow out of her like water from a garden hose, he understood why. In a matter of seconds, the undead creatures in the general room had chewed her arm off at the elbow.
Lightoller pulled her close to him, trying to comfort her in her last moments.
“Hold...me...George.”
There wasn’t time to explain to her that he wasn’t her husband. As the blood raced out, so did the life in her eyes. Any moment now, she’d be gone. The infected did not intend to wait, as a dozen hands began clawing at the breach in the door, ripping open a larger hole piece by piece.
Lightoller carefully placed Abigail down against the wall and hustled back to the table to get his revolver. Then he shot all six rounds through the opening in the door, realizing instantly how little it would delay their escape. The door was almost shredded. They could taste freedom. It was literally at the end of their fingertips.
Better go now, Lightoller thought. Before it’s too late.
He slipped the gun into his waistband, grabbed his pipe, and ran out of the stairwell. He continued running up and across the ship until he reached the bridge, the icy cold air outside making it difficult to breathe.
First Officer Murdoch was standing between the bridge and the wing cabin.
“Aren’t you supposed to be—”
“We have a big problem,” Lightoller said, leaning over to try and catch his breath. “They’re out. They broke through the damn door and escaped.”
“You’re serious?”
“After the shit we went through last night, you think I’d lie to you?”
“Sorry, I’ll go inform the captain. You keep watch here.”
While he waited, Lightoller reloaded his revolver. His hands were so cold he could barely hold the bullets between his fingers. He glanced up every few seconds to see if any of the infected had followed him. He thought he had closed the door to the stairwell, but doors didn’t seem to matter much anymore.
Through the thick glass windows, Lightoller could see Captain Smith enter the wheelhouse, followed by Murdoch, Moody, and Lowe. Smith then handed Sixth Officer Moody his revolver. A moment later, all but the captain came back outside.
“Come on,” Murdoch said.
“What’s the plan?”
“He wants the four of us to go back there.”
Lightoller walked swiftly beside Murdoch down the boat deck, Moody and Lowe followed closely behind. “Back where? To the general room?”
“Yes.”
“For what? There’s nothing we can do. We are vastly outnumbered.”
“What other choice do we have?”
Lightoller sighed, causing a white puff of cold air to drift from his mouth. “Last night two people managed to infect eighteen. How many do you think eighteen could infect? Fifty? A hundred? We can’t quarantine that many people. It’s impossible.”
“I know that, but if we all go in together and take down enough of them, maybe we can slow the spread.”
“Or die a horrible death.”
“I don’t plan on dying tonight,” Murdoch replied.
“Then you won’t mind if I stand behind you.”
SMITH
Looks like it’s going to be another long night, Smith thought, slipping on his overcoat.
He had come to his personal sitting room only to retrieve the coat, and then he would head back to the bridge. Normally, it would be First Officer William Murdoch’s watch, but with Murdoch off on an unscheduled hunting trip with three of the other officers, Smith was forced to stand watch in his place.
He had ordered Third Officer Pittman to accompany Chief Officer Wilde on a sweep of the ship, with the goal of once again getting all passengers to vacate all public areas. It was a lofty undertaking, and just like the previous night, would likely produce mixed results.
First-class passengers often didn’t respond well to being told they had to leave the comfort of the free flowing Brandy and cigars and return to the quiet solitude of their staterooms. The lower classes were used to falling in line, so they took less convincing. Wilde was armed, and could be quite the intimidator when he needed to be, yet Smith knew some passengers would take a bullet long before surrendering their post at one of the lounges or smoking rooms.
Smith returned to the wheelhouse, where he was met by the assistant wireless operator, Harold Bride.
“Sir, Jack asked me to relay a message to you.”
“Yes, what is it?”
“The Californian has stopped, surrounded by ice.” Smith gestured for Harold to go on. “The rest was cut short, sir. However, a few hours ago, the Mesaba also reported ice in our area, and advised to keep a close watch.”
“Okay, thank you.”
Smith followed Harold Bride out of the wheelhouse and strode up next to Fourth Officer Boxhall leaning against the handrail. He was staring off into the dark horizon beyond the ship’s bow.
“It’s a cold night, but without much wind.”
“None whatsoever,” Boxhall agreed. “The sea is calm.”
“Calmest I’ve seen in recent memory. It will make spotting bergs more difficult.” The breaking of waves was often one of the first visual cues that an iceberg loomed ahead. “At least the stars have come out in full tonight. Their reflections may be of use.”
Boxhall nodded, looking around at the bright stars shining as far as he could see. “Indeed. Quite wonderful a sight.”
LIGHTOLLER
The four officers approached the aft well deck, carefully looking out for any infected that might be wandering around. Lightoller was glad to see that he had in fact shut the door to the third-class stairwell.
“Okay. We go in slowly, and we watch each other.” Murdoch reached for the door handle. “Oh, and aim for the head.”