But he’d wait and rest before going back into battle, before throwing all caution to the wind.
SMITH
“Come alongside,” Smith shouted through a megaphone. He waved his arms attempting to get the attention of the eleven lifeboats already launched.
He had ordered the seaman in charge of each boat to row a good distance out to avoid a pile up during the launching process. Now he needed some to return. Many had left without a full load or had dwindling numbers due to the sick sneaking aboard and then later wrecking havoc when the infection made them hungry.
“Come alongside,” Smith yelled again. He knew all of the boats should still be within earshot of his megaphone, yet none returned.
“They’re ignoring you, captain,” said Fifth Officer Lowe, loading lifeboat sixteen. “They’re afraid of being overrun, and I can’t say I blame them, sir.”
Smith bit his tongue and nodded.
Lowe fired off two shots with his seven-shot Browning, killing two infected as they tried to rush the boat. Then he stepped inside the lifeboat and blew away one more.
“When you get down there, try to secure the boats together and condense everyone in to as few boats as possible.”
“I’ll do my best, sir,” said Lowe.
“That’s all I ask.”
Most of the forward lifeboats had now launched, and so passengers began heading toward the stern. Some of the male variety, fearing they wouldn’t get a seat off the sinking ship, jumped over the side and tried to swim out to the fleet of wooden boats. Few survived. Others, both well and unwell, went over the side without consenting. Even fewer of them survived.
Smith walked back to the wireless room to check in on Jack and Harold. The Carpathia kept in contact but was still hours from their position, and the steamer slowly slipping away on the horizon never responded to their signals. As the burst of light from the last rocket burned out, so went all hope.
All the while, the orchestra played on. Alexander’s Ragtime Band, their current tune.
LIGHTOLLER
Chop, chop.
Whether he was ready or not, the water didn’t care; it was actively consuming the staircase, reminding the second officer of its cold vengeance.
He decided to leave behind his coat, as it would only slow him down. He also left the empty revolver for the same reason. The axe, on the other hand, would hopefully speed things up.
Lightoller quietly crawled up the stairs to the third-class open space, trying not to draw any attention from the herd of infected. The open space contained four staircases aligned in a rectangle, with the two staircases leading up to C-deck closest to the bow. It was a straight shot from where he was, but he’d have to pass dozens of infected along the way. There was no way of slipping around them either, no way to lead them in a circle as he had before. Once he came out of hiding, they’d swarm on him like a colony of roaches. He’d have to be swift.
And deadly.
He popped up and dashed directly at the first infected in his path. It was a skinny, middle-aged man wearing a white shirt and suspenders. He didn’t have a drop of blood on him until the fire axe connected with his head. Then the dark red blood splattered out of the hole in his skull like an exploding jar of marmalade, everywhere, exciting the crowd.
That did the trick, Lightoller thought, as every grey faced soul in the room turned and acknowledged him.
After the first kill, the rest wouldn’t have a face. They wouldn’t be wearing this or that, be skinny or fat, or even be male or female. They’d just be things in his way, and he’d chop them down one by one. They’d be a blur.
Like his axe.
The next one lost its head thinking it could sneak up from the side. It rolled away, the mouth still trying to snap at air even without a body, tripping up others following behind.
The third took the butt of the axe to the chest, knocking it backward.
The fourth was lucky it staggered when it did, as the axe missed its target and connected squarely with the shoulder. Lightoller planted a front kick in its sternum then spun and put the pick-shaped end of the axe into the mouth of another.
Two went down with one swipe, and one more said goodbye to its head.
So far so good. Except he had only made it about a third of the way and the herd was closing in fast, surrounding him. They just kept coming and coming. No matter how many of their friends fell, they knew eventually they’d get him, and so did Lightoller.
Change of plans.
There were tables and chairs set up against the wall to the right. Ordinarily, they were an excellent place to sit and play a friendly game with a fellow passenger. Lightoller would use them like squares on a chessboard.
He lifted off a chair to get on to the first table and then quickly hopped over to the second. He didn’t stop to time each jump; he didn’t want to lose his forward momentum, or let the infected catch up.
He made it to the fourth table before his foot slipped causing him to fall off, and the axe to fly out of his hand. The table fell over too, but thankfully not on him.
In spite of the slight pain in his back from the fall, the plan had worked well. He had managed to cross most of the open space, leaving the majority of the horde in the dust, and the staircase to C-deck just yards away.
The axe had slid under the table in front of him, trailing blood along the way. He hurried under the table, grabbed the axe, and then crawled out the other side. As he stood back up, he felt relieved to have the axe back in his hands. Then he put it in someone’s chest, smashing apart their ribcage.
He chopped two more down on his way around the corner of the staircase, and then decapitated another who had sadly tumbled down the stairs in a rush to get a quick meal. At the top of the stairs were double doors that led out on to the forward well deck.
The thirty-two degree air outside hit Lightoller like an angry ex-lover, made worse by his sopping wet clothing. But he was glad to be free of the confined quarters below, glad to see the stars again lighting up the night sky.
He went up a series of staircases on the port side, delighted to finally pass some people who weren’t infected, all the way up to the boat deck. First Officer William Murdoch was right at the top of the stairs helping load lifeboat two.
“Speak of the devil,” Murdoch shouted, seeing Lightoller walk up bloody axe in hand. “We thought you were dead.”
“As did I, more than once.”
Murdoch handed a baby over to a woman sitting in the lifeboat. Lightoller instinctively took notice of any infected nearby. There were none in the general vicinity, but he watched as a few further down deck surprised a crowd of unsuspecting passengers.
“Where is Moody?”
“He didn’t make it,” Lightoller said. “We got cornered.”
“That’s a shame,” Murdoch replied. “Well, I’m happy to see you. We could use the help.”
“It looks like it.”
“I don’t think the ship can stay up much longer.”
“No, it’s filling fast. I barely outran the water.”
“I can tell.”
“How did all this come about?”
“Oh, you don’t know? We hit an iceberg on the starboard side. Thing apparently came out of nowhere, and we’ve been going down by the head ever since.”
“Unbelievable,” Lightoller said, looking out at all the lifeboats in the distance.
“Right, you’re gonna freeze to death if you don’t change out of those clothes. Also, if you still have your gun you might want to pick your shots wisely because we ran out of ammunition.”