Lightoller was in the middle of lighting his pipe.
“No, I was the first to see her,” Margaret answered. “She was stumbling around in circles, grabbing on to this and that, barely able to stand up straight. Finally, wham! She just fell over like a pile of bricks and that was it.”
“We ran into Mr. Lightoller on our way down to help her,” Andrews added. “Then we ran into Catherine on our way down here. Her condition has remained unchanged since we found her. Other than, of course, her rising temperature.”
“Catherine said Miss. Brennan had come to see you earlier in the day,” said Lightoller, smoke rushing from his mouth. “Is that true?”
“Yes,” said O’Loughlin. “Though I first saw her yesterday during inspection before we departed Queenstown. As you know, the British Board of Trade requires us to perform physical and mental evaluations for all passengers in steerage. We check for lice, signs of tuberculosis, things like that. At the time, Miss. Brennan seemed to be in good health. She only complained of a bite on the back of the neck where there was a small patch of redness.”
O’Loughlin gently rolled Elise on to her side revealing the purple infected skin inhabiting her neckline—a foul odor emanating from it.
“It’s gotten much worse. I told her to come see me if she noticed any other symptoms. This morning, with the help of Catherine, Elise came to see me again. This time she complained of head and stomach pain. She said she had trouble sleeping and wanted something to help her relax. I gave her some powder and told her to get lots of rest.”
“How did her neck look then?” Lightoller asked. “Is it possible she could have had a reaction to the powder?”
“It looked roughly the same as when I saw her the day before. And while with any drug there is certainly a possibility of side effects, I do not believe this is an allergic reaction, Mr. Lightoller. This is an infection. And it has likely spread to her brain.”
“So you can’t do anything?” Margaret asked.
“No, I’m sorry. I fear the infection will only continue to break down her body. While she may still be alive, she has fallen into a coma, and even if she should somehow come out of it soon, we may still be unable to help her. Unfortunately, I suspect Miss Brennan will be with God before sunrise.”
Andrews sighed. “Thank you for your honesty, doctor, but I must ask you. Given this—this infection, terrible as it is. Should we be concerned?”
“You mean is it contagious?” asked Dr. Simpson. He met eyes with his superior.
Andrews nodded. “Well, yes. Could there be other passengers on board exhibiting similar signs? Could our own lives be at risk?”
“Anything is possible. I don’t have enough information to make an intelligent guess. We could probably order another series of examinations tomorrow morning, but there is no way of knowing how far this thing could have already spread if it is indeed contagious. For now, I think her room needs to be thoroughly searched and then cleaned. Mr. Lightoller, I understand you are currently off duty?”
“I’m never off duty. It’s Murdoch’s watch, but I would rather not bother him with this right now. As it is I’m wide awake, I can give you a few hours.”
“Catherine, if you could take Mr. Lightoller to Elise’s room. Simpson and I will continue to monitor her condition until you get back.”
“And what about her roommate?” Catherine asked.
“Don’t tell her why you’re there,” O’Loughlin replied. “But do be polite and find her another room. William, if you could please prepare one of the beds for Elise. She deserves to at least be comfortable in her last moments.”
“Yes, sir.” Steward William Dunford left the examination room and went into one of the two patient rooms.
“Mr. Andrews, Mrs. Brown, you are free to stay or go as you wish.”
Elise Brennan’s room was located on the same deck as the third-class hospital, and so it took less than a minute for Catherine to show Lightoller the way. Waking up Elise’s roommate, however, took a little longer.
They first tried knocking.
“What’s her name?” Lightoller asked.
“Harriet Bell.”
When knocking and calling her name from the hall didn’t work, they had to go in the old-fashioned way—without permission.
Catherine tried lightly nudging Harriet awake, but the old plump woman just grunted, rolled over, and then continued snoring.
Lightoller used more direct methods—like knocking his boot repeatedly on the side of the bed frame. “Up up now, time to get up.”
Harriet peeled down the bed sheets and looked up at Lightoller. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“Hello there, welcome back. I’m Second Officer Charles Lightoller. We’re going to need you to gather your things together immediately.”
“My things—but—but this is my room.”
“Yes, indeed, this was your room. But there has been a slight change in plans. Catherine here will show you to your new room.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course not, and I wish there was time to explain. But there isn’t. I’m deeply sorry, Mrs. Bell. So up you go.”
Harriet slowly rolled out of bed and then crammed all her stuff into a few bags.
“I do apologize for this,” Catherine said, offering to carry one of the bags.
“Where is Elise?” Harriet asked.
“Clearly not here, is she?” said Lightoller. “Don’t worry about her. We’ll make sure she gets her belongings.”
Harriet shook her head in disgust as Catherine led her out of the room and into the hall.
“Thank you, Mrs. Bell,” Lightoller called out. “Enjoy your stay on the Titanic.”
Lightoller shut the door and got to work, though there really wasn’t much to search.
There were two kinds of baggage, wanted and unwanted. The wanted things, such as clothing, literature, cosmetics, or anything needed on hand during travel, were delivered by the crew to the staterooms on the day of embarkation. The unwanted baggage, larger items like furniture for families on the move, or in the case of William Carter, a Renault automobile, was kept below in the cargo hold. Naturally, passengers in steerage were not afforded the same spacious accommodations available to the higher classes, and most didn’t have much to bring along anyway, so their level of wanted baggage was small in comparison.
Like Mrs. Bell, Elise only had a few bags. One contained all clothing, the other an assortment of various personal effects like photographs and jewelry and scarves.
And a diary.
Lightoller sat on the bed and read the entire contents, feeling at first ashamed, and then horrified.
Elise had written a detailed account of how her sickness had evolved almost to the hour, but more importantly, where it had originated. And she used the diary to reveal her secret.
The secret that she never told the doctors.
The secret that was now killing her.
That her condition had originated on the pier in Ireland—from a strangers needle.
Lightoller ran back to the hospital.
Thomas Andrews was standing in the stairwell just outside the door to the hospital.
“Are you leaving?” Lightoller asked.
Andrews nodded. “Yes, shortly. It’s getting late and there’s nothing more we can do. I already convinced Mrs. Brown to go to her room and get some sleep. We don’t have to be here to pray for Elise. We need to let the doctors do their work.”
Lightoller held up the diary.
“What is that?”
“I think we might have a serious problem on our hands.”
Doctor O’Loughlin and Simpson were discussing the characteristics of Elise’s condition among themselves, when Lightoller barged into the room and tossed the diary on to the examination table.
“You’re back already,” said O’Loughlin.
“It didn’t take long. Found that in her room. I think you’d better take a look at it.”
“
Where is Catherine?”
“Don’t know. I didn’t wait for her.”
Lightoller waited quietly smoking from his pipe as each of the doctors read the first two pages of Elise’s otherwise empty diary, their expressions changing from indifference to alarm. Then Thomas Andrews took his turn.
O’Loughlin finally sighed, breaking the long silence. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Why do you think she didn’t tell you,” said Lightoller. “Because she was afraid. And I can’t really blame her. You’re an educated man. You know she would never be allowed off the ship in New York if there was even a suspicion she was carrying a deadly virus.”
“I understand that. I do. But, still, how was I to help her if I didn’t know the truth?”
“Would it have made any difference?”
“It’s impossible to say. Probably not, given the seriousness of her condition.”
“Precisely.”
“Well, there is certainly no point in arguing about it now,” said Dr. Simpson. “What precautionary measures should we take, if any, to avoid possible contamination of the ship?”
“Well, if it’s a virus,” said O’Loughlin. “It has an extremely fast incubation period, which could very well work in our favor.”
“It could also mean we’re all infected, could it not?” asked Lightoller.
“That would depend on the particular virus. Unfortunately, the diary only tells us how she came to be sick, not the nature of the sickness itself. It’s possible the syringe contained some sort of chemical agent or drug and that it is that substance and not a virus that is responsible for Elise’s condition.”
Steward William Dunford slipped out of Elise’s room carrying a wet cloth. He dropped it into a bucket in the corner next to a medicine cabinet, and then looked solemnly out at the four other men in the room and spilled the news.
“I’m afraid she’s passed.”
“What? Are you sure?” asked O’Loughlin.
The two doctors hurried past Dunford and into Elise’s room. Lightoller and Andrews stayed by the door to the stairwell.
“Why do I have the feeling this is not over yet,” said Lightoller. He checked his watch. 11:08 p.m.
“I don’t think any of us are going to get much sleep tonight,” Andrews replied.
“It’s not losing sleep I’m worried about.”
O’Loughlin and Simpson came back into the examination room a minute later, shutting the door to Elise’s room behind them.
“It’s true,” said O’Loughlin. “Whatever caused her body to shut down, it didn’t waste any time.”
“I should notify the captain,” said Lightoller, heading for the door.
“No, not yet,” Andrews interjected. “I don’t think any of us should leave this room until we can be sure we’re not infected, for the sake of everyone on the ship.”
“What about Margaret? Or Catherine?”
“I shouldn’t have let—” Andrews jumped, as there was suddenly a knock at the door behind him.
Catherine Wallis opened the door and came inside. “Harriet is all settled into her new room.”
“Thank you, Catherine,” said O’Loughlin.
“Wait a minute—Harriet—she’s been staying with Elise for more than a day now.” Lightoller began to feel a glimmer of hope. “If it’s a virus, wouldn’t she have caught it by now?”
“Mrs. Bell seemed fine,” said Catherine.
“My point exactly. She didn’t seem ill at all. Grumpy, sure, but not ill.”
“Good observation, Mr. Lightoller. But I’ll need to examine her all the same,” said O’Loughlin. “Catherine, could you show me to her room?”
Catherine looked upset by this. “But she just went back to bed.”
“So wake her up,” Lightoller said. “I don’t want to spend all night in this room if I don’t have to.”
It wasn’t five minutes after Dr. O’Loughlin and Catherine Wallis left the hospital that they heard the first of the sounds.
The moaning.
Thomas Andrews was actually first to point it out. They had all been making small talk, when during a brief moment of silence the unusual sound caught his attention.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” asked Dr. Simpson.
“I heard something,” said Andrews. He glanced over at Lightoller sitting beside him.
“Don’t look at me. I didn’t hear anything.”
“Shhhh.”
Andrews, Simpson, Lightoller, and Dunford all sat quietly and listened.
Lightoller finally shrugged and began to light his pipe. “All I hear is the hum of the engines.”
Everyone relaxed except Andrews.
“I swear I heard something.”
“What did it sound like?” asked Dr. Simpson.
“I don’t know. I guess it sounded like a person—like a person in pain, I suppose.”
“A person in pain?” Dr. Simpson repeated.
“Yes. And I do believe it was coming from Elise’s room.”
“I think you need sleep, Andrews,” said Lightoller. “Need I remind you Elise is—”
Again the moaning sound, much louder than before. This time everyone heard it.
“Dr. Simpson, is it possible...”
“That Elise isn’t deceased?”
“Is it possible?”
“Mr. Andrews. She wasn’t breathing. Her heart wasn’t beating.”
“Perhaps I should check on her,” said William Dunford. “Just to be sure.”
The guttural moaning grew louder.
Closer.
“Well, doctor. Obviously Elise is not dead,” said Andrews. “She’s alive. Somehow she’s alive.”
Everyone stood up and huddled around the door to the second patient room.
A new sound now accompanied the moaning.
A dragging sound.
“Elise, is that you?” asked Dr. Simpson.
“Of course it’s her,” said Lightoller. “Who else would it be? Go in and check on her—what are you afraid of?”
“For God’s sake, let me do my job.” Dr. Simpson put his hand on the door handle. “Elise, go and lay back down on the bed.”
Elise bellowed something that almost sounded like NOOOOOO and then began beating her arms on the other side of the door.
Dr. Simpson took a deep breath before turning the handle and opening the door.
The formerly deceased Elise Brennan fell out on to him, clutching his shoulders with morbidly stiff hands, and aiming her open jaws for his face. The doctor put his hands around her neck and tried to push her off as the struggle quickly moved to the floor.
Andrews yelled for Elise to stop.
She didn’t.
“Get her off of me! Please! Please! Get her off of me!” Dr. Simpson shouted.
Steward William Dunford was closest to the doctor and first to react. But as he grabbed Elise’s arm, she turned and clenched her teeth into the side of his hand. Blood spurted out from the newly shredded flesh. Dunford screamed in anguish and fought to withdraw his mangled hand from her jaws. Once free, he collapsed into a heap in the corner.
Lightoller was next up, though he wasn’t nearly fast enough to prevent Elise from sinking her teeth into the side of Dr. Simpson’s face.
“Oh God,” Andrews cried.
Lightoller grabbed Elise from behind by a fistful of her hair. She immediately released her bite on the doctor and tried to snap at Lightoller.
“I don’t think so, dear!”
Dr. Simpson scuttled out from underneath her as Lightoller yanked Elise back to her feet and then slammed her face first into a wall.
“Andrews, come help me,” said Lightoller. “Grab her right arm.”
Andrews did as instructed. Lightoller secured the left arm and still had control of her head by her hair. Elise tried to shake them off but wasn’t strong enough. Her mouth was trembling in the anticipation of more warm flesh.
A voice from behind.
&n
bsp; “What is going on here?”
Lightoller and Andrews turned Elise around so she was facing the door to the stairwell.
Dr. William O’Loughlin and Catherine Wallis looked frightened. They cautiously surveyed the room, instantly struck speechless. O’Loughlin peered around the examination table. Two of his best men were crouched over in the far right corner, both a bloody mess.
“Simpson, are you okay?”
“Don’t get near her,” Dr. Simpson grumbled. “She bit me on the face.”
“William...”
“My hand. She got my hand, sir. I think it may be broken.”
Dr. O’Loughlin slowly stepped closer to his associates, never taking his eyes off Elise. Catherine wisely chose to stay back by the door.
“What happened here?”
“She went crazy—that’s what happened,” Lightoller replied.
“But—how—how is she...”
“Alive? I don’t know. You said she was dead. How can a dead person come back to life?”
“They can’t,” O’Loughlin replied, moving closer to get a better look. “Clearly our pronouncement of death was premature. Elise. Elise. Can you hear me? Why are you doing this? Tell me what I can do to help you?”
“There’s nothing you can do,” said Lightoller. “Unless you have a cure for insanity.”
Elise was still moaning and trying to escape.
If she wasn’t dead, she sure didn’t look alive. Her face was as ashen and grey as the paint on the walls. Her mouth was open in a snarl revealing the red blood glistening between her teeth—many of which had cracked or broken in half when she bit into Dunford’s hand. Even more blood, globs of it, ran out of her mouth and down her chin.
Dr. O’Loughlin sighed. “I fear you may be right. Somehow, this poor girl has been cheated of an honest death, and further robbed of any genuine mental capacity. When I look into her eyes, I see...well, nothing. No life there. She doesn’t know where she is, or who I am. She doesn’t even know who she is. All that she has left is the most basic carnal instinct, to survive by any means necessary.”
“By attacking us?” Dr. Simpson said from the corner. He had a cloth pressed against his face to slow the bleeding.
“By feeding on you.”
“And now I’m next—we’re next, aren’t we?” said Dr. Simpson, indicating William Dunford sitting nearby bandaging up his ruined right hand. “We’re gonna turn out just like her.”
Titanic With ZOMBIES Page 3