Titanic With ZOMBIES Read online

  Titanic With ZOMBIES

  Richard Brown

  This is the story...

  of a shipbuilder who designed the greatest ocean liner ever imagined.

  of a captain on the final voyage of his long and distinguished career.

  of a crew dedicated to the safety and well-being of all passengers.

  of an unsinkable woman who stood up when everyone told her to sit down.

  Oh, and there's an infection that turns hundreds of passengers into violent, flesh-eating ghouls.

  That's right. This ain't no love story.

  This is the story of the Titanic with ZOMBIES.

  All aboard.It's about to go down!

  http://www.richardbrownbooks.com

  Copyright @ 2012 Richard Brown

  For Kelly Brown.

  May Hugh Jackman always keep you safe.

  WARNING!

  If you exhibit any of these conditions,

  proceed with caution!

  Pregnancy

  Heart Problems

  High blood pressure

  Motion sickness

  Weak stomach

  Fear of water

  Fear of dying

  Fear of not dying

  No sense of humor

  Easily offended

  “When anyone asks how I can best describe my experience in nearly 40 years at sea, I merely say, uneventful. I never saw a wreck and never have been wrecked, nor was I ever in any predicament that threatened to end in disaster of any sort. You see, I am not very good material for a story.”

  - Captain Edward J. Smith

  “You weren’t there at my first meeting with Ismay. To see the little red marks all over the blueprints. First thing I thought was: ‘Now here’s a man who wants me to build him a ship that’s gonna be sunk.’ We’re sending gilded egg shells out to sea.”

  - Thomas Andrews

  “Control your Irish passions, Thomas. I’ll not have so many little boats, as you call them, cluttering up my decks and putting fear into my passengers.”

  - Bruce Ismay

  “The press is calling these ships unsinkable and Ismay’s leadin’ the chorus. It’s just not true. I know this isn’t scientific, but this ship’s warning me she’s gonna die and take a lot of people with her.”

  - Thomas Andrews

  April 11, 1912

  ELISE BRENNAN

  Elise Brennan waited amongst a crowd of other passengers to board the White Star Line tender Ireland. The tender America had just left the dock at Queenstown with over sixty passengers and was en route to the RMS Titanic anchored off Roche’s Point.

  Elise, a native of Westmeath, Ireland, and only seventeen-years-old, hadn’t planned on sailing across the Atlantic by herself.

  Times had been tough since the death of her mother less than a year ago, and her father, a farm labourer, had purchased the third-class tickets with what little money he could spare. The last of their family, he and Elise had sold everything they owned and would make for the great city of New York in search of new opportunities, like so many other Irish immigrants before them.

  But then her father had died suddenly of heart failure only three weeks ago.

  Elise imagined the stress of starting over at his age had been too much for him to handle, and his heart simply gave up.

  With no other choice, Elise prepared to embark on the journey to New York alone, without the love and wisdom of her father, and by way of the newest ship in town.

  The papers called it, The Ship of Dreams.

  The creation of Bruce Ismay (the managing director of the White Star Line) and Lord James Pirrie (a partner at Harland and Wolff), the Titanic and its sister ship, the Olympic, were said to pave a new way for big, luxurious passenger liners.

  The two ships were built over the course of three years in Belfast by Harland and Wolff, under the direction of Thomas Andrews, the nephew of Lord Pirrie. The Olympic was first to launch, and conducted its maiden voyage on June 14, 1911.

  Elise remembered that June well, as it was just after her mother passed away. Her mother had been a housekeeper all her adult life, and while she didn’t earn much, the loss of her income had placed immense pressure on Elise’s father to make big changes for the betterment of his daughter.

  Ten months later, Elise stood on the dock in Queenstown, after a series of train rides from Westmeath, to take part in the Titanic’s maiden voyage, and in many ways, a maiden voyage of her own, but in the company of strangers.

  Elise watched as port officials finished loading the last of the luggage into the Ireland.

  She had said her goodbyes to the place she grew up, from the hills to the plains to the many rivers that divide them; to her friends whom she promised to write; and to her parents, who would forever remain buried in this land, yet whose memory she would carry no matter her station in life. God willing, in a week she would be an American.

  One by one, port officials began checking tickets and allowing passengers to board. The crowd pushed in closer, anxious to get moving.

  Elise examined the sea of faces. In front of her was a woman with three sons, the youngest maybe two-years-old, all clinging fearfully to their mother’s skirt. To her right, an older gentleman around her late father’s age, as solemn and quiet as she, presumably taking the trip alone as well. To her left, a young husband and wife with four children, the kids loud and rambunctious, playing off each other’s energy.

  It was just after one of the four children, a boy around five or six, had accidently bumped into her, and she had smiled down at him with understanding eyes, that she felt the piercing sting on the nape of her neck.

  Something had bit her.

  She immediately massaged the sore spot with her index finger, returning a small amount of blood.

  What kind of bug could possibly be out this chilly afternoon and amongst such a large an active crowd, she wondered?

  A ruckus erupted behind her as a short and burly man with a bald head bullied his way backward through the crowd. Many furiously cursed his lack of manners, while Elise just stared in bewilderment. It wasn’t until the little boy beside her asked if she was okay that she understood what had happened.

  She blazed through the path created by the bald man and ran under an awning used to shelter passengers from less friendly weather. Today it was mostly empty aside from a few security personnel who lumbered about. She yelled at them to help her, but they only insisted she slow down and explain herself.

  Forty yards ahead, her assailant climbed over a stone ledge up on the left that led to a row of hotels and pubs.

  Elise made it over the ledge and around some bushes on to the open road just as the bald man escaped out of sight in an alleyway. She stopped to catch her breath and looked back at the dock. From this vantage point, she could see the dock was nearly clear of passengers. Almost everyone was on the Ireland now, waiting for the final few to board so they could be ferried out to the Titanic.

  She looked back at the alleyway.

  The bald man was long gone.

  As she climbed back down the ledge, she found a small needle covered in dirt, its glass barrel smashed. She didn’t dare pick it up or tell security in fear that they might not allow her on the ship. They adhered to a strict policy and would treat any potential illness very seriously. Even if her life could be in danger, she couldn’t risk being stuck here, alone and penniless. On the ship, she could at least receive free medical attention.

  The crew of the Ireland waited for Elise to make her way back down the dock. She was the last passenger to board. The others eyed her with wordless irritation, as though she had purposely delayed them. She caught sight of the little boy who had most likely been the only witness. He was playing with his siblin
gs, completely absorbed in his youth. He had obviously said nothing to his parents.

  Elise rubbed her neck again. The spot where the needle had gone in no longer bled, and it no longer hurt. Most of the pain had come and gone with the initial prick, all that lingered now was a growing fear that her health and well-being could be in jeopardy. She could think of no rational explanation for what had happened, and as best she could recall, she had never seen the bald man before in her life.

  Who was he?

  What did he want with her?

  But more importantly—what had been inside the syringe?

  What was now inside of her?

  Before dropping any passengers off, the Ireland first had to stop by the Deep-water Quay to load mail bags carried by train. The short trip to the Quay was quite rocky, with the wind and waves off the shoreline battering against the small boat. A few rowboats ran alongside carrying local venders out to the Titanic to sell crafts and other native goods to wealthy passengers.

  The Titanic was anchored roughly two miles from the dock at Queenstown. It had already picked up the great majority of passengers the day before in Southampton, England, and then later on in the evening in Cherbourg, France.

  Elise had a firm grip on the metal hand railing as she stood on the top deck of the Ireland and looked out at the magnificent port side profile of the Titanic as they drew closer.

  The ship stood over twenty stories tall, a marvelous creation of modern engineering that embodied mankind’s never-ending quest for greatness. There was a strong, masculine contrast to the black and white paint that covered most of the ship’s exterior, further exemplified by the four yellow and black tipped funnels equally spaced down the center, two of which currently expelled dark grey clouds of smoke. But more than anything, Elise was astonished by the number of portholes—there had to be five hundred just on the port side alone—and hoped her room would have such a thing.

  At the top of the foremast flew the red, white, and blue of the American flag with the forty-six stars of the United States, the ship’s destination. On the mainmast was the red swallow-tailed pendant with a single five-pointed white star signifying the Titanic as a member of the White Star Line.

  Elise listened as many of the other passengers chatted amongst themselves, amazed by the sheer size and grandeur of the ship, the largest passenger vessel ever produced. They were equally excited to check out the amenities on board, even though most would be travelling in steerage, as the ship was advertised as having excellent service and accommodations in all areas.

  Elise was just glad they stopped leering in her direction. She felt fine despite the mysterious incident that had occurred back on the dock. Sure, she was nervous to be leaving her homeland, knowing she might never return, but she was also hopeful of the possibilities that lay ahead. The Titanic symbolized the first step of a journey toward a new beginning. How could she possibly worry in the presence of such shared anticipation and childlike wonder?

  They passed the tender America as it headed back to Queenstown having already docked and unloaded its passengers and luggage. The captain of the Ireland made a wide circle and slowly came up on the port side of the Titanic. Elise waved at many of the passengers standing high above on the Titanic’s second-class boat deck.

  Moments later, the small tender came to a stop even with the foremast of the Titanic. As the boat rolled back and forth, crew of the Ireland rushed to tether the ship to the Titanic via two thick ropes, and then began securing the gangway into place.

  Passengers were allowed to board first, then the local venders, who passed from their rowboats into the Ireland and then into the Titanic. After all the passengers were on board, port officials loaded the luggage and mail.

  Elise made her way through the gangway and up a flight of stairs to the forward well deck. She joined many of the other passengers against the railing and looked down as the Ireland took on a handful of passengers to be ferried back to the mainland. For those below, the journey on the ship of dreams was already over.

  At around 1:30 p.m., a series of whistles indicated the Ireland was departing. Soon after the tender was out of sight, the Titanic weighed anchor and prepared to depart.

  After having survived inspection and the challenge of finding her room, Elise went back up to watch as the large ship made a quarter-circle and then headed down the Irish coast. Hundreds of seagulls soared above guiding the way.

  The Titanic steamed down St. George’s Channel passing the Old Head of Kinsale, its lighthouse faintly visible four or five miles away. They also came dangerously close to a small fishing vessel. The fishermen aboard cheered as they were hit with spray from the bow of the Titanic.

  Elise began to weep as the lush green fields of Ireland began to disappear into the distance. She said a final prayer for her mother and father at rest, for her friends she was leaving behind, and for the land that she loved.

  As the sun began to set, the coastline receded to the northwest and the last of the Irish mountains slowly slipped away under the cover of darkness.

  CAPTAIN

  EDWARD J. SMITH

  Captain Edward J. Smith stood in the wheelhouse on the Titanic’s bridge and looked out into the dark of the night, the steep bow of the Titanic gently rising and falling before him. At the command of the ship’s wheel was Quartermaster Robert Hichens, with Alfred Olliver assisting.

  It had been a stressful few days preparing for his final voyage as commodore of the White Star Line, and at sixty-two-years-old, Captain Smith looked forward to the rest and relaxation that would hopefully accompany his retirement.

  Smith had been with the White Star Line for over thirty years, and had previously held the helm of such ships as the Baltic, the Majestic, and the Adriatic. He had also served in the Royal Navy Reserve, helping to transport troops to South Africa during the onset of the Boer War in 1899. But despite all his experience, navigating a ship as large and demanding as the Titanic was a whole new challenge.

  He had learned a lot as captain of the Olympic, the Titanic’s sister ship, and he hoped to use that knowledge to make for an even smoother trip this time.

  Smith strode up next to Quartermaster Hichens. “How does she feel?”

  Hichens had a light grip on the wheel. “Great, sir. Like every man’s dream.”

  Smith smiled and said, “Good,” and then exited the bridge.

  The air outside was crisp and cool. A light wind blew from the southwest.

  First Officer William Murdoch was standing under the lamplight of the bridge’s wing cabin as Captain Smith approached.

  “What is the status of the cleanup?”

  “Still ongoing, sir,” said Murdoch. “A bit more troublesome than expected.”

  Yesterday, on the short trip from Southampton to Cherbourg, a fire had broken out in a starboard coal bunker in one of the boiler rooms. A number of crewmen had been assigned to keep hosing down the burning coal, and to clear out the bunker.

  “Have you seen Wilde?”

  “I imagine he’s sleeping.”

  “I trust you hold no ill feelings?”

  “None at all, sir. I fully understand why the decision was made.”

  “It’s only temporary,” said Smith.

  William Murdoch had originally been selected as chief officer for the Titanic’s maiden voyage. But then on the advice of Smith, White Star had decided to bring on Henry T. Wilde from the Olympic, forcing Murdoch to step down to first officer. Wilde had a good understanding of the ship’s handling, and Smith felt he could offer valuable assistance during the Titanic’s first trip across the Atlantic. Wilde was scheduled to return to the Olympic once they got back from New York.

  Smith patted his first officer on the shoulder. “You’ll make a fine captain one day, Murdoch.”

  “As fine as you, sir?”

  “I do believe so.”

  April 12, 1912

  THOMAS ANDREWS

  Morning came as the sun rose over the stern of the ship in a
glorious display of brilliant color, its golden light gleaming atop the endless seascape and glowing ever brighter as it ascended into row after row of circular white clouds.

  Being the first real morning at sea, many passengers came out to watch the natural spectacle. They stood on one of the uppermost decks and watched the swell of the sea extend outward from the ship to the horizon line—watched the white foamy road left in the Titanic’s wake be wiped away by the blue-green waves that curled inward from opposing sides.

  Those not outside admiring the sunrise could be found enjoying a nice breakfast in the dining saloon. First-class passengers could choose to have breakfast delivered to their stateroom, while those in steerage were just glad to be fed, since only a few years back they would have had to bring their own food to last the entire trip.

  After breakfast, passengers would wander off in different directions to explore the ship. The men often went in packs to the barber shop for a quick shave, women to the swimming pool or to try out the Turkish baths. The gymnasium was also proving to be a hot spot of activity.

  On this Friday morning, however, one passenger in room A-36 at the top of the aft first-class staircase chose work over adventure.

  His name was Thomas Andrews.

  He sat at a desk covered with plans and charts, scribbling notes and observations on to a small notepad. One entry in particular dealt with converting part of the reading and writing room into additional staterooms, as the room had proven less popular than initially imagined.

  Thomas Andrews was the managing director and lead designer at Harland and Wolff, the shipyard that had built the Titanic, the second of three ships to be built under his careful eye; the first being the Olympic, and the third still in production, the Britannic.

  Andrews had overseen construction from start to finish, and had come along for the maiden voyage of the Olympic in June a year earlier to scout for any possible improvements. Now aboard the Titanic, he had the same task before him.