Titanic With ZOMBIES

by Richard Brown

  Perfect, Lightoller thought.

  Apparently, the infected man on the stairs didn’t think so, nor was he smarter than the rest, because he finally decided to flop into the water.

  “Aye. Come get me.” Lightoller gripped the axe with two hands and waited for the infected man to get within range. “I’ve got something for ya.”

  He swung the pointed end of the axe through the infected man’s forehead, cracking and caving the skull in on the brain. It was as easy as poking a finger through an eggshell.

  The infected man dropped his arms and stood frozen in the water, held up only by the axe rooted in his head. The axe had fixed itself so deep, Lightoller had to twist and pry apart the skull to get it back out. Once the axe was free, the dead man floated away face down.

  Lightoller swam over to the stairs and then climbed up until he was out of the water. Then he sat down to rest.

  The cold made his lungs feel like they had shrunk to half their normal size, making it difficult to breathe, and his legs and midsection were so numb he wondered if he’d even be able to stand back up.

  He took out his pocket watch and checked the time. It had stopped at 1:15 a.m. He sighed and threw the watch in the water. Then he took off his drenched officer’s coat and laid it on the stairs next to the fire axe.

  It’s not over yet, he thought, putting his head back and listening to the familiar sounds coming from above.

  The staircase he rested upon led up to the third-class open space, which was, as the name implied, simply a large open space designated for third-class gatherings. It was almost the same size as the second-class dining saloon, and was often used as a spot to dance or play music and games. There were tables and chairs all along the perimeter for spectators.

  But it didn’t sound alive up there right now.

  No.

  It sounded dead.

  He’d wait and let his muscles reload, let the blood in his veins begin to flow, until the water told him it was time to go.

  How long he had, he did not know.

  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 t
he 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.”

  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 agains
t 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.”

  Lightoller left the first officer lying on his back by the edge of the boat deck, and climbed back up on to the roof of the officer quarters to finish what he had started. Not thirty seconds after he walked away, he heard the gunshot, and knew Murdoch was now free from the nightmare.

  He went back to work removing the last bit of rope holding down collapsible B. It was a grueling balancing act, as the ship was now leaning forward at a severe angle, raising the stern ever-upward like the lighter side of a seesaw, with the Titanic’s three giant propellers emerging from the water.

  Below him, Lightoller could see the bridge was flooding rapidly. He tucked the axe into his belt so he could hold on to the railing to keep from sliding off the roof. Collapsible B, with nothing now to hold it in place, succumbed to gravity and slid off, flipping upside down as it connected with a rush of water splashing up over the bridge. Lightoller watched as it floated off to the port side.