Lightoller shook his head. “I left it behind. But I got this,” he said, holding up the axe, “and it’s been getting the job done. Excuse me.”
He went to his cabin not ten feet away on the left and quickly changed into a dry, blood-free uniform, including a new coat, and then returned to the deck to help Murdoch lower lifeboat two.
BROWN
No one said a word.
There was nothing to say.
There was nothing to do.
They had stopped rowing out some time ago, and now they sat rocking back and forth in the water, snuggled together for warmth, watching the massive ship and all their loved ones they had left behind be slowly swallowed by the Atlantic.
Minute by minute, the bow sunk further and further down, until finally the water came up over the railing completely submerging the forecastle and well decks, marking the beginning of the end. The white front anchor crane disappeared below the surface not long after, with the foremast and attached crow’s nest being the only thing left visible on the bow. Because of the forward pressure, the stern would now start to rise at a quick pace.
Margaret shared a large blanket with two others, frozen in shock. It had all happened so fast. Just over two hours ago, she had been lying in bed reading, waiting for the calm comfort of sleep to take her. Now she was wide-awake, tears welling up in her eyes even as the frigid air tried to fight them off, listening to the screams and cries of less fortunate passengers who knew their deaths were forthcoming—viewing the disaster from afar like an audience member to some mass execution. The fact that the ship’s lights remained on, making the demise of so many easier for her to observe, was all the more unsettling. But there was nothing she or anyone could do but wait and pray it wouldn’t last much longer.
So she sat there quiet, feeling guilty for being in a lifeboat, for having a family to return to, for being blessed with wealth.
For the unfairness of life.
SMITH
“You have done a great service, and should be proud,” said Smith, bracing himself in the doorway of the wireless room so he didn’t fall backward. He had come one final time to relieve Jack and Harold. “There is nothing more expected of you. In times like these it is every man for himself.”
“Captain, you don’t have a lifebelt on,” remarked Harold Bride. “What are we to make of that?”
“Not a thing,” Smith replied. “Save yourselves. My retirement is written in stone.”
He left the wireless room and sauntered back on to the boat deck, passing the orchestra. They finished playing Songe d’Automne, and then as a team used their violins and cellos in a way they had never imagined—as weapons. They fought strong and hard against a particularly bad outbreak of infected that had taken over most of the boat deck, and like so many others, eventually lost the battle.
Captain Smith crossed over to the port side, observing the continued chaos and loading of the final lifeboats. All sixteen numbered boats had been launched, along with collapsible C. Pittman, Boxhall, and Lowe had all safely made it off the sinking ship and in command of a lifeboat. Moody had not been so lucky. Murdoch and Lightoller’s fates were very much undecided, as they were still on deck about to launch collapsible D, constantly fighting off the onslaught of infected.
“Mr. Lightoller, it’s your turn to go,” said Smith, approaching the pair.
“Not damn likely,” Lightoller replied. “I can still be of help here, captain. We need to free the two remaining collapsible boats from their lashings before they go down with the ship.”
“We haven’t much time.”
“We have to try, sir.”
Smith nodded. “Go ahead.”
LIGHTOLLER
He climbed on to the roof of the officer quarters where collapsible B was tied up, and then began splitting the ropes with his trusty axe. On the starboard side, crewmen had set up oars at an angle against the roof to gently slide boat A down. A moment later, they shrieked as the oars slipped away and the boat fell on top of them.
Lightoller hacked away at the ropes, feeling the ship begin to descend at a faster rate. The water had now poured over on to the promenade deck and within minutes would approach the bridge. On the boat deck, the screams and cries of hundreds of passengers intensified, as they trudged around the blood-spotted wooden deck in utter terror. Some decided not to wait any longer and jumped off the side of the ship, choosing a cold death over becoming a warm meal.
He had one more rope to split and the boat would be free. As he shifted around to the front, he looked out at the crow’s nest and saw what looked to be a man and a woman huddling inside. Since the infected couldn’t climb ladders, the nest was no doubt an excellent place to hide out early on, but unfortunately for the two lovebirds, things had changed. The icy cold water now posed the biggest threat, and in no time would follow through on it.
He kneeled beside the final rope and then flinched at the sound of a loud bang behind him on the port side.
A gunshot.
Then another, and a scream.
Lightoller turned and looked down upon the boat deck. A dozen or so passengers scrambled back in a half-circle, fearing that they’d be accidently shot if they stepped in to help First Officer Murdoch. An infected man had him by the collar, dragging him down and nearly off the side of the ship.
Lightoller climbed on top of the small white railing that wrapped around the roof of the officer quarters and then leapt off, soaring directly over many of the scared passengers. He held the axe with two hands over his head, and as he landed, brought it down hard into the back of the infected man’s skull, splitting it in half like a rotten block of firewood.
The force from Lightoller coming down on them caused Murdoch to roll off the edge of the ship. He managed to catch himself just in time, holding on with both hands as his body dangled over the side. Lightoller pushed his most recent kill aside and then reached down to grab hold of Murdoch.
“I can’t hold on,” Murdoch cried.
“Yes, you can.”
Murdoch was able to plant a foot on the frame of a window from the partially enclosed promenade deck and use it to help climb up.
“There you go,” Lightoller said, pulling and lifting the first officer the rest of the way back on to the boat deck.
Now that he no longer needed to use both hands to hold on, Murdoch put one against his neck. Blood trickled out between his fingers.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Yes. He bit me.”
“Damn,” Lightoller muttered, leaning over the first officer. “I’m sorry, Will. I should have gotten down here sooner.”
“It’s not your fault,” Murdoch replied, wincing in pain. The blood kept coming out of his neck. “Could you hand me my gun?”
He had dropped the Webley revolver during the fight with the infected man. It was now lying a few feet away. Lightoller handed it to Murdoch.
“One left,” Murdoch said, flicking open the revolver and checking the cylinder. Then he looked back up at Lightoller and offered the gun.
“You keep it. I don’t need it.”
Murdoch struggled to hold the gun out, taking short breaths. “But would you help me, Charles?”
“No,” Lightoller said without a moment’s consideration. “Don’t ask me to do that. I wouldn’t blame you if you did...but there are some things a man has to do on his own.”
“You’re right.” Murdoch finally brought the gun down and rested his arm on his chest. The other hand remained pressed against the wound on his neck. “Go now. Leave me. There is still hope for you.”