Robert Walker - Titanic 2012

Then, too, there were the sudden last minute changes in assigned dive partners. Kelly was originally to be with Mendenhall, and David with Bowman, but they’d been shuffled at the last minute without explanation. Nothing rational there, a break in logic and planning and organization—as if to prime them for the unexpected perhaps? Or was it something more sinister?

But for the moment, David’s immediate fear was getting himself snagged on some object, losing suit integrity and losing the liquid breathing medium. A Styrofoam ice chest at these depths would be turned into a cube the size of his thumbnail and as dense as granite—and he imagined his body reacting the same way. Should a diver lose his or her liquid air, he or she would implode before any chance of getting to another breath of the life-sustaining liquid medium could be inhaled.

He turned to follow Mendenhall who signaled that he was going down the Grand Staircase, entering the foyer ahead of David. This was the safest, widest entry to the ship, and from Ballard’s earlier robotic investigations, they had all learned that it would take them to B-Deck at very least, and quite possibly even further into the bowels of the wreck. As strange as it was for David to admit, diving Titanic had quickly become like making any wreck dive—assume danger and death awaited at every turn, and acknowledge that going into any interior was dangerous in and of itself. Any diver who had been inside a wreck knew that a ship might openly invite you in, but it might not let you leave. Something about Titanic only amplified this fear and made him relive the exact moment he lost his friend Terry Wilcox.

Even swimming as cautiously as possible, David and Jacob found their movement cracked away decades of rust, creating a cloud of particles around them as they went. The wooden stairwell on which they stood quivered like a gelatin surfaces under their feet, as wood-boring organisms had reduced the once glorious stairwell planking to a thin, weak apparition of its former beauty.

As they worked their way downward, their lights revealed the path ahead, where scattered debris tightened the space, making it impossible to turn or maneuver. David watched as Mendenhall repeatedly pointed to their feet at what was once the beautiful stained glass doorway granting entry to the First Class Ballroom and from there to the First Class Saloon, which in 1912 was the term for the dining area. They were in fact gliding over top of the spiraling staircase inside the ballroom. Arm-sized statutes lay like discarded children’s toys about the stairs beneath them, and an enormous wall clock with a pair of Grecian goddess statues lay in ruins at the bottom of the staircase.

“We should continue down the main stairwell and get below—to the lower decks, Jacob,” said David over the com-link.

“If we can get to the other side of the Grand Saloon, David, we are likely to have a clear shot at the cargo hold without having to duck and weave through so much debris.”

“Makes sense, except we don’t know what kind of debris lies ahead in either direction.”

“I’m going this way; you do as you wish.”

David wasn’t about to let Mendenhall out of his sight, not deep inside the wreck. He recalled from the final chapters of the journal how the heroics of April 14 th, 1912 had kept the creature at bay.

At least David had more weapons at his disposal than Ransom and the young interns had that fateful night; David had his laser knife strapped to his hip.

For the moment though, he lifted a loose pipe the size of his forearm, pretending to use it to tap his way along and push away any threatening debris that might tear his protective suit. In fact, the pipe could put a hole through Mendenhall’s Cryo-suit or tear rents into his breathing pack, thus killing Mendenhall and the thing within him instantly if need be.

Mendenhall swam on, looking like a long, lean eel ahead of David. Reassuringly for David, Jacob had made no move to get in behind him and likely felt no need to. If he wished to attack David under these circumstances, at these depths, he risked also killing himself in any struggle. At this depth, any sort of altercation could go either way. David felt relatively safe from the beast possibly residing inside Mendenhall, knowing it to be shrewd and calculating, that it would choose its moment with care. So close to its goal, it would take few to no risks. It wouldn’t dare attempt a migration of souls here. There was the Cryo-suit to consider, the liquid air filling both their lungs, not to mention the enormity of the water pressure on their bodies as well as the bitter cold which it had to be terrified of. What might have worked so efficiently against Alandale and Ford on the surface, didn’t stand a chance here.

David strained to see over Jacob’s back at what lay ahead of them. He saw that Mendenhall now pounded at a door that refused to open. He suddenly looked like a trapped animal, searching for alternative paths. He went left, right, overhead where he stood, and then down to where his feet had been, all to no avail. He then grabbed up a small beam the size of a man’s leg and began pounding away once more at the doorway that refused to budge as it was near impossible to get anything resembling a powerful swing going here under water.

“Jacob! It’s no use this way!” David warned him, trying to show the danger of what he was doing. “Are you nuts? Something comes down on you! Or tears your suit, man, you’re dead faster than a Titanic minute. You want this to be your deathtrap and mine?”

Mendenhall acted like a man possessed, as he kept pounding at the doorway. David rushed him and in one swift move, yanked the beam from his hands, shouting, “Stop it! You’ll bring the whole place down on us.”

“You just watch me!” he shouted back as if oblivious to the danger.

David wondered if the pressures here were not getting to them all.

The sound of metal straining to maintain what little integrity remained in these iron walls seemed to reply to David’s silent question. The huge rivets on the interior walls were slowly creaking and moaning, ghost-like. This bit of eeriness and Mendenhall’s rash action, which had sent up a sandy shower of spores, made the creepiness so much more nerve-wracking. At the moment, David felt as if someone was indeed plucking at his nerves as if they were banjo strings.

Suddenly and without warning, as if Titanic were protecting herself from these intruders, the boards below Mendenhall gave way beneath his feet, and suddenly he was snatching at the water overhead.

Both divers managed to avoid being sucked into the sudden gaping vortex Mendenhall’s carelessness had created. As the silt settled, the lights from their masks broke through the darkness to reveal the next level below; more of the same—utter darkness.

Mendenhall immediately made a move to dive below, but David grabbed his arm and using gestures and words cautioned him, speaking into his com-link, “It needs to be larger; you don’t want to rip your suit or your pack, Jacob.”

David had dropped the pipe he’d earlier picked up, and using the beam he’d taken from Mendenhall, he struck the spongy boards and loose piping at their feet. He did so somewhat blindly, unable to clearly see with all the silt, plankton, and spores floating before their masks, filling their vision, when suddenly a third voice cut in on their com-link.

It was the startled voice of Captain Forbes from Scorpio two and a half miles above. “You two need to be far, far more careful, Ingles! Mendenhall!”

“All we can see up here is the cloud you’ve created!” added a startled Dr. Entebbe.

“Never mind about us,” replied David. “We’re fine so far, but how’re Lou and Kelly Irvin doing? Are their vitals OK?”