Robert Walker - Titanic 2012

Declan popped his head back inside to address Smith. “Sir, I must say I’m sorry that we had to bring you this ugly truth… that the most magnificent ship on the high seas today is riddled with death and destruction.”

“Son, do you have an estimate of how many people on board are now infected?” asked Smith.

“We’ve no sure way to know just how far it’s spread, and Mr. Lightoller’s plan is hopeful, our last chance at life for ourselves and all aboard, but I fear it comes too late. We must prepare our minds for the worst—prepare to take life in order to preserve life.”

“Spoken like a true doctor,” said the captain, taking Declan’s hand and shaking it. “We must all do our duty—however… terrible.”

“Whatever we succeed in doing, not a single cell of this infestation can survive,” Ransom said. “The ramming of an iceberg assures that, while Lightoller’s plan relies on perfection.”

Smith nodded “Something old men like us know doesn’t exist.”

“I have never seen it in life—save for a woman I love.”

“This ship was perfect at one time.” Smith swallowed hard, a man on the verge of breaking down.

“I suspect sir, that Murdoch had it right; that we should scuttle the lifeboats while we can; there is bound to be pandemonium.”

“We give Charles a chance; even so, gentlemen, we have here entered into a conspiracy, a cabal to see Titanic to the deep.” Smith dejectedly walked off, going for the bridge where he likely needed to hold onto something solid. He stopped instead and stuffed the Marconi messages about the miles-long ice field ahead back into his pocket. He then added, “I think I am of no further use here. I think I will turn in.” Fatigue and confusion appeared on Smith’s face, worrying Ransom, who began to think Smith more like Ian Reahall than himself.

“Call me if there is a need.” Smith said, then left through a second door that led out onto the boat deck.

Lightoller and Thomas had returned to hear the captain’s last words. The two looked from Declan to Ransom and back but could learn nothing from their sad expressions. Lightoller went to the small window in the door, and there he stared out at his captain. “He’s a gallant cruise liner captain, he is. Now one who finds himself in a war. Look at him. Like a lost ghost wandering about the ship out there.” Lightoller had to fight back a tear. Ransom put a firm grip on his shoulder.

“Wonderful old chap, really,” added Lightoller. “We must prevail, gentlemen. We must.”

“We arm ourselves first, and if you get anywhere near that black thing again, shoot to kill.”

“Shoot to kill, correct. Now we must organize that search party if we’re to beat the clock.”

“Had I a gun when we stormed stateroom 148, I would have killed or wounded it,” replied Alastair, teeth clenched, eyes clear. “You organize your search, Mr. Lightoller. Meantime, we will rely on the dog’s nose.”

“But we need every man if my plan is to work… to beat Murdoch’s orders.”

“Declan, Thomas—tell Mr. Lightoller what you told me about this thing’s young.”

“They have no stomachs, no digestive system, not even mouths,” said Declan, his eyes meeting Lightoller’s.

“But I have heard them scream.”

“Some sort of vibration to pierce our ears; not sure how it manages that. May never know for certain but I theorize a bony or cartilage-lined hollow space where an attached muscle is fused to the bottom layer of skin rapidly contracts and relaxes a skein of flesh that—”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” admitted Ransom.

“That acts like a cone, a speaking cone like those on a phonograph which vibrates to create soundwaves—theoretically.”

“I’ll take your word for it, Dr. Irvin.”

“What gets me is how badly it smells of sulfur,” added Thomas.

“Sulfur… like sulfuric acid?” Lightoller’s expression turned to despair.

“Look, sir, we haven’t the equipment to study them in any sort of detail,” continued Declan. “But we believe they feed through a strange form of osmosis or as we saw, in and out of the orifices. And the little ones may very well be capable of simply worming their way through human flesh like ring worms you pick up from a pond. How they get into the bone for the blood there, I don’t pretend to understand. But they seem capable of it with the same ease you and I breathe air.”

“Perhaps those thin, tubular veins we’ve seen attached to the bones of the men we’ve dissected,” said Thomas, “those are probes that bore into the bone.”

“Perhaps indeed,” replied Declan thoughtfully. “They take up residence inside the human or animal body, send out thin, tubular veins and feed from every vital organ, mining for every drop of fluid in the body until nothing remains. In adult form, as we have seen, this parasite can control the limbs and even rudimentary thinking—and if the carrier is any indication, it grows in sophistication as it feeds on us.”

“We’ve given it a name,” said Thomas to Ransom.

“What’s that?” asked Lightoller.

“Parasite Rex… .”

“Rex? As in—”

“Yes, as in King of all parasites.”

David Ingles, shaken still by Jacob Mendenhall’s implosion, remained agitated while in search of Kelly, terrified that something awful had happened to her as well, as still no one had heard from either her or Lou. The continued loss of contact with both divers had them all in the dark. Forbes had been able to raise the divers at the aft section a mile away but not here—and since the implosion David’s link was going in and out as well.

What could be wrong with the transponders that had been placed on the ocean floor for their communications link?

Gambio and Bowman were talking about the Café Parisien that they had found, saying it was filled with elegant dishware, each pewter utensil and plate embossed with the White Star Line logo. They were excited, knowing that each plate alone would bring in thousands of dollars, but their celebration was immediately silenced when Forbes informed them of Mendenhall’s horrible death and that he had two other divers out of audio and video contact.

“I’m going to try to locate Kelly and Swigart,” David informed Forbes.

“We’ve tried every possible frequency and have raised neither of them, David. Be careful; we don’t want to lose you, too.”

“Thanks… you getting this?”

David had gone for the refrigerated cargo hold, believing Swigart—driven by the creature—had targeted this very compartment from the get-go. He feared the worse had already happened to Kelly; that she had already joined her ancestor here in Titanic . Although in her case, if she were gone, it was no accident.

He saw a giant black-lettered sign that simply read ‘G’ and he realized that he was indeed on Deck G where the refrigerated cargo holds were located. Where is she? Where is Kelly, he kept asking himself. And where is Lou?

“What in God’s name’s happened to them?”

David’s mind raced, filled as it was with the image of Mendenhall’s body imploding, and now he feared that the same had happened to Kelly—if not worse. It all made sense, separate them, and use Kelly to be the final conduit to getting those damnable demonic eggs out of frozen storage.

He passed by floating mail room bags, a pair of sturgeons the size of his legs careening by, and he curiously watched them go to the roof overhead. Following the only sign of life here with his eyes, he gasped on seeing fleshy bodies being picked clean where they’d become jammed among jagged beams overhead, forced there and held by what appeared a pair of giant pinchers—steel girders and loose wires.