Bruce Ismay, the last to arrive, stopped short and bristled at the presence of the German.
“I fail to understand,” Ismay said, “why this murderer is still among us.”
“Mr. Weiss brought this infection aboard,” Captain Smith said brusquely, “and he’ll damn well help us get rid of it. We need his expertise. I will not allow my ship to be overwhelmed.”
“And I say lock him up for his crimes,” Ismay retorted. “Remember who hired you, Captain.”
“And you may relieve me of my duties when we dock safely.” Smith turned his attention to the rest of the men. “As some of you know, a horrible plague has infected
Titanic,
and we must take action immediately. I was skeptical of Mr. Weiss’s claims at first, but I regret to say that I have now seen the zombies myself. God help me, I have already been forced to kill four times, including our poor Mr. King.”
“Zombies?” replied Officer Wilde.
Ismay said weakly, “You killed King?”
“King was a man no more,” said Smith.
“I saw King just this morning … “ protested Officer Murdoch.
“King is dead,” said the captain, “and at my hand.”
“A man can’t be killed just because he’s turned ill!” said Murdoch.
“You’re not listening,” said Smith. “King wasn’t ‘ill.’ He had turned into a monster.”
“With all due respect, Captain, saying there’s a disease aboard is one thing,” Officer Wilde said, trying to sound reasonable. “But this ‘monster’ talk is hard to swallow.”
Dr. O’Loughlin piped up. “Seeing is believing.”
O’Loughlin lifted a heavy canvas sea bag from beneath the table and set it on top with a heavy thump. He donned a pair of sterilized medical gloves, carefully loosened the cinched cord at the top of the bag, and rolled its contents onto the table.
Mr. Andrews made a retching sound and excused himself to the captain’s lavatory. Ismay also choked. The rest of the men simply looked on in horror.
The severed, grotesquely transformed head of Mr. King was terrifying. His eyes were open and staring into the void, sunk into hollows the color of violaceous bruises. Dark, dried fluid and blood stained his features and matted his hair. Though King had been dead only a few hours, his forehead was already rotting, and the gash above his eye had widened to expose ivory skull bone. Worst of all was the smell—a noxious odor of decaying meat and death, but somehow fouler yet, as if fired with Hell’s sulfur.
“My God,” managed Ismay. “It’s true.”
“No one touch it!” Weiss snapped. “If that fluid finds a way into your bloodstream, you could become infected, even now.”
All the men but O’Loughlin took a step back. No one said a word. Dr. O’Loughlin straightened his spine and, with a muffled cough, returned King’s head to the canvas bag.
Captain Smith stood. “The three infected were found in the aft of Deck E,” he said. “That seems to be where the disease has taken hold. Our mission is clear: We must take measures to make sure a proper quarantine is in place.”
“What makes you so sure this madman won’t release more on other parts of the ship?” asked Dr. O’Loughlin.
“Neither the agent nor the Germans have any reason to infect
Titanic
’s passengers,” said Weiss. “He simply needed to authenticate the vial’s contents. Now that he has, he needs to escape with as much of the Toxic as possible to satisfy the German military.”
“Quarantine it is, then,” said O’Loughlin. “What kind of time do we have here?”
“The infection cycle runs in three stages, taking anywhere from seven to fourteen hours, depending on how long it takes for the sickness to reach the brain,” Weiss said. “If we act quickly, math may be on our side. We know of five cases so far, and all the infected have been killed. The contaminated areas have been thoroughly cleaned. It might be too much to hope, but Captain Smith may have stopped the outbreak altogether.”
“I’m
“I fail to understand,” Ismay said, “why this murderer is still among us.”
“Mr. Weiss brought this infection aboard,” Captain Smith said brusquely, “and he’ll damn well help us get rid of it. We need his expertise. I will not allow my ship to be overwhelmed.”
“And I say lock him up for his crimes,” Ismay retorted. “Remember who hired you, Captain.”
“And you may relieve me of my duties when we dock safely.” Smith turned his attention to the rest of the men. “As some of you know, a horrible plague has infected
Titanic,
and we must take action immediately. I was skeptical of Mr. Weiss’s claims at first, but I regret to say that I have now seen the zombies myself. God help me, I have already been forced to kill four times, including our poor Mr. King.”
“Zombies?” replied Officer Wilde.
Ismay said weakly, “You killed King?”
“King was a man no more,” said Smith.
“I saw King just this morning … “ protested Officer Murdoch.
“King is dead,” said the captain, “and at my hand.”
“A man can’t be killed just because he’s turned ill!” said Murdoch.
“You’re not listening,” said Smith. “King wasn’t ‘ill.’ He had turned into a monster.”
“With all due respect, Captain, saying there’s a disease aboard is one thing,” Officer Wilde said, trying to sound reasonable. “But this ‘monster’ talk is hard to swallow.”
Dr. O’Loughlin piped up. “Seeing is believing.”
O’Loughlin lifted a heavy canvas sea bag from beneath the table and set it on top with a heavy thump. He donned a pair of sterilized medical gloves, carefully loosened the cinched cord at the top of the bag, and rolled its contents onto the table.
Mr. Andrews made a retching sound and excused himself to the captain’s lavatory. Ismay also choked. The rest of the men simply looked on in horror.
The severed, grotesquely transformed head of Mr. King was terrifying. His eyes were open and staring into the void, sunk into hollows the color of violaceous bruises. Dark, dried fluid and blood stained his features and matted his hair. Though King had been dead only a few hours, his forehead was already rotting, and the gash above his eye had widened to expose ivory skull bone. Worst of all was the smell—a noxious odor of decaying meat and death, but somehow fouler yet, as if fired with Hell’s sulfur.
“My God,” managed Ismay. “It’s true.”
“No one touch it!” Weiss snapped. “If that fluid finds a way into your bloodstream, you could become infected, even now.”
All the men but O’Loughlin took a step back. No one said a word. Dr. O’Loughlin straightened his spine and, with a muffled cough, returned King’s head to the canvas bag.
Captain Smith stood. “The three infected were found in the aft of Deck E,” he said. “That seems to be where the disease has taken hold. Our mission is clear: We must take measures to make sure a proper quarantine is in place.”
“What makes you so sure this madman won’t release more on other parts of the ship?” asked Dr. O’Loughlin.
“Neither the agent nor the Germans have any reason to infect
Titanic
’s passengers,” said Weiss. “He simply needed to authenticate the vial’s contents. Now that he has, he needs to escape with as much of the Toxic as possible to satisfy the German military.”
“Quarantine it is, then,” said O’Loughlin. “What kind of time do we have here?”
“The infection cycle runs in three stages, taking anywhere from seven to fourteen hours, depending on how long it takes for the sickness to reach the brain,” Weiss said. “If we act quickly, math may be on our side. We know of five cases so far, and all the infected have been killed. The contaminated areas have been thoroughly cleaned. It might be too much to hope, but Captain Smith may have stopped the outbreak altogether.”
“I’m
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