The Company of the Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

allegedly in full view of the sinking Titanic . It had been the Carpathia that had rushed to the Titanic ’s rescue. Captain Rostron had given the order to ‘go north like hell’. The Carpathia had arrived too late to save the ship, but had taken all seven-hundred-and-five of the survivors on board.
    Wells asked again, “Have we heard from the Carpathia ? Is she coming?”
    “The only ship we have heard from is our sister ship and she is five-hundred miles away. Cape Race is attempting to contact other vessels,” Lightholler replied. He glanced at Andrews. “I had best be returning to the bridge. Is there anything I can tell Captain Smith?”
    “I have told him everything,” Andrews said softly.
    Lightholler nodded.
    Wells cleared his throat. It was worth a shot. “Perhaps if we kept moving?”
    “I beg your pardon?” Lightholler said.
    “Perhaps if we kept the ship moving. We might take on less water.”
    Lightholler stared at him blankly.
    Andrews shook his head. “I don’t know, Jonathan,” he said. “I don’t know. It is impossible to say.”
    Wells continued hopefully. “Back in New York, we conducted a study on ship collisions. Projections suggested that ships with tears along their bow would ride higher, take on less water, if they kept in motion.”
    Lightholler shook his head. “I’m not familiar with that article.”
    Wells persisted. “The passengers might find it reassuring as well, if we were under steam.”
    He turned to look at Andrews. Suffused in the red reflection of the furnaces, the man’s face shone wetly. Condensed steam—or tears—streamed down his cheeks.
    “In the face of the damage we have sustained, I cannot be certain whether it will help or hinder our situation,” Andrews replied.
    They all fell silent.
    “I shall run it past Captain Smith,” Lightholler offered finally. He gave a brisk nod. “See you up top then,” he said, and he strode back the way they’d come.
    Water was coursing through the lower portion of the bulkhead, swirling at the feet of the engineers and boiler men.
    “What are you going to do now?” Wells asked Andrews. “I have to remain down here for the moment. There still may be a way we can purchase some time.”
    Wells left him in the boiler room.

IV
    Scotland Road was empty.
    Wells imagined a low tide at its bow end, inexorably working its way up in frigid ripples to swallow them all. He spun around in the empty passage, aimless, and his eyes fell upon an axe cradled within a sealed glass cabinet. Above it a sign read “In case of Emergency, smash glass”. He lashed out with a booted heel. The glass cracked. He kicked again and it shattered, spraying his leg and chest. A shard stung his face. He stood breathing raggedly, staring at the broken cabinet, the axe that hung within.
    He leaned back against the wall and slowly sank to the floor. His hands were splayed out on the cold steel floor. Flecks of drying blood peppered his knuckles.
    Did I do all that I did just to end up here?
    A faint vibration teased his fingertips. He felt it through the heels of his boots. He spread his palms wide, confirming the fact. They were moving again.
    He raised himself off the floor uncertainly. “Well, what do you know?” he murmured. He brushed the flakes of broken glass from his coat and trousers. He looked up and down the corridor. Ahead lay the stairs to second class that he had descended. He started up the inclined passageway.
    On the D deck stairwell, crewmen stood shouting at a small crowd that had formed behind the flimsy barricade. The steerage passengers were calling back in their native tongues. Other members of the crew were erecting a small metal gate of trellised iron. One of them turned to see Wells on the staircase, surveying the scene. “Back in business?” he shouted.
    Wells shrugged and continued up the staircase. On C deck he glanced down the corridor that led to his cabin. Two men had a steward penned up against a wall. He