Richard Brown - Titanic With ZOMBIES

Better go now, Lightoller thought. Before it’s too late.

He slipped the gun into his waistband, grabbed his pipe, and ran out of the stairwell. He continued running up and across the ship until he reached the bridge, the icy cold air outside making it difficult to breathe.

First Officer Murdoch was standing between the bridge and the wing cabin.

“Aren’t you supposed to be—”

“We have a big problem,” Lightoller said, leaning over to try and catch his breath. “They’re out. They broke through the damn door and escaped.”

“You’re serious?”

“After the shit we went through last night, you think I’d lie to you?”

“Sorry, I’ll go inform the captain. You keep watch here.”

While he waited, Lightoller reloaded his revolver. His hands were so cold he could barely hold the bullets between his fingers. He glanced up every few seconds to see if any of the infected had followed him. He thought he had closed the door to the stairwell, but doors didn’t seem to matter much anymore.

Through the thick glass windows, Lightoller could see Captain Smith enter the wheelhouse, followed by Murdoch, Moody, and Lowe. Smith then handed Sixth Officer Moody his revolver. A moment later, all but the captain came back outside.

“Come on,” Murdoch said.

“What’s the plan?”

“He wants the four of us to go back there.”

Lightoller walked swiftly beside Murdoch down the boat deck, Moody and Lowe followed closely behind. “Back where? To the general room?”

“Yes.”

“For what? There’s nothing we can do. We are vastly outnumbered.”

“What other choice do we have?”

Lightoller sighed, causing a white puff of cold air to drift from his mouth. “Last night two people managed to infect eighteen. How many do you think eighteen could infect? Fifty? A hundred? We can’t quarantine that many people. It’s impossible.”

“I know that, but if we all go in together and take down enough of them, maybe we can slow the spread.”

“Or die a horrible death.”

“I don’t plan on dying tonight,” Murdoch replied.

“Then you won’t mind if I stand behind you.”

SMITH

Looks like it’s going to be another long night , Smith thought, slipping on his overcoat.

He had come to his personal sitting room only to retrieve the coat, and then he would head back to the bridge. Normally, it would be First Officer William Murdoch’s watch, but with Murdoch off on an unscheduled hunting trip with three of the other officers, Smith was forced to stand watch in his place.

He had ordered Third Officer Pittman to accompany Chief Officer Wilde on a sweep of the ship, with the goal of once again getting all passengers to vacate all public areas. It was a lofty undertaking, and just like the previous night, would likely produce mixed results.

First-class passengers often didn’t respond well to being told they had to leave the comfort of the free flowing Brandy and cigars and return to the quiet solitude of their staterooms. The lower classes were used to falling in line, so they took less convincing. Wilde was armed, and could be quite the intimidator when he needed to be, yet Smith knew some passengers would take a bullet long before surrendering their post at one of the lounges or smoking rooms.

Smith returned to the wheelhouse, where he was met by the assistant wireless operator, Harold Bride.

“Sir, Jack asked me to relay a message to you.”

“Yes, what is it?”

“The Californian has stopped, surrounded by ice.” Smith gestured for Harold to go on. “The rest was cut short, sir. However, a few hours ago, the Mesaba also reported ice in our area, and advised to keep a close watch.”

“Okay, thank you.”

Smith followed Harold Bride out of the wheelhouse and strode up next to Fourth Officer Boxhall leaning against the handrail. He was staring off into the dark horizon beyond the ship’s bow.

“It’s a cold night, but without much wind.”

“None whatsoever,” Boxhall agreed. “The sea is calm.”

“Calmest I’ve seen in recent memory. It will make spotting bergs more difficult.” The breaking of waves was often one of the first visual cues that an iceberg loomed ahead. “At least the stars have come out in full tonight. Their reflections may be of use.”

Boxhall nodded, looking around at the bright stars shining as far as he could see. “Indeed. Quite wonderful a sight.”

LIGHTOLLER

The four officers approached the aft well deck, carefully looking out for any infected that might be wandering around. Lightoller was glad to see that he had in fact shut the door to the third-class stairwell.

“Okay. We go in slowly, and we watch each other.” Murdoch reached for the door handle. “Oh, and aim for the head.”

“A shot to the chest isn’t enough?” asked Moody.

Maybe it was just the freezing temperature, but Lightoller wondered if this was the first time Moody had ever held a gun. The youngest officer was constantly fidgeting and readjusting his grip.

“No, it’s not,” Murdoch said. “Don’t ask me why, only God knows.”

“What about shooting them in the legs?” asked Lowe. Unlike Moody, Lowe wielded his personal seven-shot Browning like Jesse James ready to rob the town bank.

“Now that’s not such a bad idea,” said Lightoller.

“The head is a sure thing.”

Murdoch slowly opened the door about six inches and then peered inside the stairwell. The other officers tried to look over his shoulder.

“See anything?” Lightoller asked.

“Not yet. You sure they got out?”

“Aye.”

Murdoch opened the door the rest of the way and carefully stepped inside. The rest of the unlikely gunslingers followed his lead. Once inside, it was obvious where the infected had gone.

“Down the stairs,” said Lowe. There were streaks of blood on the floor from the general room to the staircase.

“I kind of thought that might happen,” said Lightoller, looking down the stairs. “But since they couldn’t use a door knob, I figured maybe there was a chance—”

Out of the corner of his eye, Lightoller saw a tall man appear from around the corner to the general room and lumber, arms extended, directly toward Murdoch. His grey skin and beard of blood instantly confirmed he was infected. Murdoch saw him coming as well, and squeezed off three shots in rapid succession. The first shot missed to the right. The second grazed the top of the right shoulder, tearing a hole in the attacker’s suit. The third shot hit the head, but only enough to detach an ear.

Lowe stepped forward with the Browning and took the fourth shot, shattering the man’s kneecap into pieces. Unable to balance on one leg, the tall, pale-skinned man fell face first to the floor. Lowe then placed one final shot in the head.

“Thank you,” said Murdoch.

“What was that you said about a sure thing?” asked Lowe. “You took three shots at the head and only got an ear.”

Lightoller and Moody exchanged smiles.

“I didn’t see you two do anything,” Murdoch scoffed.

“We thought you had it under control,” said Lightoller. He walked around the corner to the general room to make sure there were no more surprises. “Next time, take a second to aim.”

“I did. He moved around too damn much.”

Lightoller looked down at the remains of Abigail Barnes outside the broken down door to the general room. The infected had cleaned almost every inch of flesh off her body, leaving behind an old, frail skeleton slouched in a slop of blood. He found four more sets of bones in the general room; the four who had decided to stay behind and take care of their sick loved ones. At some point, the tables had turned, and their sick loved ones had taken care of them.