The Memory of Eva Ryker (32 page)

In the chart room near the bridge, Andrews pulled out a longitudinal section blueprint of the ship and spread it flat on the table, grabbing a pencil from his vest pocket.

“All right, Captain, let's see what we've got.” He began marking the chart. “Water is in the forepeak, the first two holds, the mail room and the fifth and sixth boiler room. And by the time we got below decks, the sea was already well above keel level.” Andrews' eyes held no emotion as he drew a line from the forepeak back on the starboard side. “That means the berg sliced about three hundred feet from there to there, doing in the first five watertight compartments.”

Smith studied the chart silently. Then he looked up at Andrews. “Where do we stand?”

He pursed his lips, then threw the pencil on top of the chart. “We don't.”

“Goddamit it, man! Are you trying to tell me …”

“Captain, the simple fact is that the
Titanic
cannot float with five compartments open to the sea. Take a look at this.” He pointed with the pencil. “Here you see the bulkhead separating Compartment Six and Compartment Five. It's only built as far up as E Deck. These five compartments will settle so water will naturally spill over the top of the bulkhead into Compartment Six. Then Compartment Seven, Eight, Nine …” Straightening upright, he shook his head. “It's as inevitable as the next sunrise, Captain.”

Smith bent over the chart, examining every detail. Finally he drew back.

“How long do we have?”

Andrews' voice was hollow. “An hour and a half to two hours. At most.”

Neither man spoke. Captain Smith walked out of the chart room onto the bridge and gazed at the ship's commutator. It showed the bow seven degrees down at the head. Even as he watched, the figure changed to eight degrees.

“Mr. Wilde,” he said to the Chief Officer, “uncover the boats.”

When Thomas Andrews went to his cabin to get his lifeboat, a young man waited in front of the door. He looked familiar … ah yes, it was Clair Ryker's latest young buck.

“Good evening, Mr. Eddington. Can I help you with something?”

“I want to know what's wrong.”

Andrews put a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “Now, I'm sure …”

“The truth, Mr. Andrews.”

“Well, I would get my life belts and report on deck. Not that I …”

“… is it serious …”

“I'm sure panic isn't …”

“… are we …”

“… I wouldn't …”

“… is this ship sinking?”

Andrews' smile flattened. “Get your wife up on deck. Get any valuables, too. We don't have more than a couple of hours.”

Pushing past, he went inside and slammed the door behind him.

The news spread quietly. From First Officer Murdoch to Purser McElroy to the stewards, on duty and off. Down through first class, second class, and steerage.

John McFarland got the news from the chief steward during a coffee break. The two men sat alone in the steward's quarters on the port side. He didn't speak until the chief rose to leave.

“Uh, sir?”

“Yes, Mr. McFarland?”

“How serious is all this?”

The chief made a face. “Oh, I don't know. Probably just a precaution. By the way, one more thing. Don't spread any gossip among the passengers if you can help it.”

McFarland nodded, eyes glazed, as the chief left to brief the starboard crew.

Well, he thought, there's no use wasting time. Walking to the faucet, he plucked a glass off the rack, filling it halfway. He gulped the water, then looked down at the glass shaking in his hand. Why, he was being an ass! A grown man quaking like some bloody schoolgirl!

His fingers fumbled and the glass fell on its side, water drooling across the surface. He swore a little under his breath and grabbed a rag. The pool was only half blotted when he stopped and studied the glass. At first he wasn't sure why. Then it came to him. The overturned glass was rolling to the end of the counter.

McFarland snatched up the glass and returned it to the rack. Why would a glass be rolling toward the bow like …

Rolling toward the bow.

McFarland stood still for a moment, his face expressionless. Then he turned and walked, briskly, to warn his passengers.

Stepping into the corridor, he saw a familiar figure. “Mr. Eddington!” he called as Jason brunted past. “I say, Mr. Eddington …”

McFarland's voice died as Jason rushed into his cabin and the door crashed behind him.

Ah well, he thought. He had other passengers to muster awake. The Eddingtons could wait a bit.

The table lamp threw Jason's torso shadow over the bed as he drew close to Eva. His skin looked gaunt and membrane-tight, like drying leather stretched over bones.

“Come here,” he said to Lisa in a raspy whisper. “I want to talk. Alone.”

Eva clung to her hand. “Don't leave me, Lisa! Please don't!”

She shook away. “Don't be silly. Nobody's leaving you!”

Lisa joined her husband in the semidarkness of the bathroom.

He licked sweat off his lip. “We're going to sink.”

“What do you mean …”

“… I talked with Thomas Andrews …”

“But we can't be! We just …”

“He was telling the truth …”

“But sinking …”

“God damn you!” He shook her. “Don't you understand? We don't have more than a couple of hours!”

Lisa stared at him, her face sagging like a wax mannequin in a hothouse.

Eva Ryker sat up in bed and watched them tower over her. She frowned. She wasn't sure why. Then she could see it in their faces. The lips. Around the eyes. They were strangers.

Jason and Lisa both reached for their life belts stashed under the bed.

Eva looked alarmed. “What're you doing?”

Jason grappled with the belt and glanced at her in irritation. “Everyone has to get to the lifeboats.”

“But why?”

He stood above her, arms akimbo. “Why in the hell do you think?”

Scared by the tone of his voice, she began to sniffle. “I … I want my mommy!”

“For Christ's sake, Eva,” he mumbled, fiddling with the life belt strap, “will you please shut up?”

“I want my mommy! Let me go!” Tears brimmed over her eyes. “I want my mommy!”

Lisa looked dully at her as she put on her jacket. “You can't see her.”

“I want her! I want to see her now!”

Jason tapped one of the bedposts with his foot and broke into a smile of a sort that Eva had never seen. “You want to see her?” Walking to the door, he unlocked the latch. “You go out and find her.”

Eva gaped uncomprehendingly.

“You little bitch! Get out of here! We don't need you anymore. Just get out!”

“I thought you were my friend.”

He snorted in disinterest.

“You just wait!” she yelled, her face red. “Wait until I see J.H.! He'll beat you up real good!”

He grinned at Lisa. “I'll bet.”

“You'll see!” Eva bounded for the door. “One word from J.H. and my father'll get you!”

Jason helped his wife with her life belt. “Sure, kid.”

“He'll tell my father all about you!” Eva's fingers curled around the doorknob. “He'll see him right away! As soon as we dock! He's got a package he's giving him right from the ship!”

Smiles vanished on the Eddingtons' faces. Leaping across the cabin, Jason dragged Eva, kicking and screaming, away from the door and locked it behind him. He threw her on the bed and Lisa held her down.

“A package?” Teeth flashed in Jason's face. “What sort of package?”

She said nothing.

His fingers lightly massaged her throat.

“You're going to tell me, Eva. And you're going to tell me now.”

Surrounded by the calm sea, the
Titanic
sat motionless in the water. Seen from the distance with its lights ablaze, the ship resembled an improbable stage prop pasted on a starry backdrop. Even up close it seemed sublimely confident. But the lowest portholes were no longer parallel with the water-line. They slanted toward the bow. With painful slowness the forward porthole sank underwater.

Deep within the flooded forecastle hold water seeped into the crate marked “Ryker Industries.”

The passengers gathered out on the Boat Deck; first class in the middle of the ship, second class to the rear, and steerage at the stern and bow; covering their ears against the noise of the steam hissing from the funnels.

Under Officer Wilde's direction crewmen started uncovering the boats. There were four near the bridge, both port and starboard. The same number toward the stern. Completely full, they could accommodate 1, 178 people

The
Titanic
carried 2,207 on this maiden voyage.

Passengers watched the crewmen bustling around the boats, unsnarling lines, stashing lanterns, and pulling off tarpaulins.

New arrivals up on deck stood by the railing and watched the boats begin to totter away from the ship's side. Roused from their cabins by the stewards, some scrambled into their clothes while others dawdled.

The couple in B-78 were going to be dawdlers. John McFarland could sense it as he knocked softly on their door. Mr. Klein peeked through the crack.

“What is it?”

McFarland patiently explained.

Considering his words for a moment, Klein eased open the crack. Through it McFarland could see Martha Klein sitting up in bed. Albert Klein bent down and whispered the news to her. In her nightgown she rose and gathered her best dress from the closet as her husband returned to the door.

“It'll be a few minutes.”

“Please don't take too long,” McFarland called, but the door had already shut.

In B-76 Eva Ryker struggled uselessly against Lisa's arm as Jason's blue eyes examined her coolly. His lips smiled in reflex action.

“The package, Eva. You know something. Tell me.”

“No!”

“Don't be clever, Eva. We don't have the time. You said J.H. had a package. I want to know where it is!”

“No! Leave me alone …”

Eva's words ended in a scream as his hand crashed across her face. Lisa's hand clenched over her mouth.

“You stupid twat! Do you think this is some sort of game?”

Two eyes stared, terrified and unbelieving, over Lisa's palm.

In B-78 Albert Klein tied his shoes, then grabbed his suspenders, while his wife tugged at her corset strings. Out in the corridor John McFarland stood waiting, one foot tapping impatiently. He heard the low voice of Jason Eddington in B-76, but paid it no mind.

“Now, I'm going to ask you once more,” Jason whispered. “Tell me where the package is.”

Lisa eased the grip over her mouth. Jason turned one ear toward her.

“Well?”

Eva said nothing.

His face grew red and clotted. “Come on, Eva!”

No answer.

“I'm warning you!”

She bit down hard against any escaping words.

Jason's chest rose and fell. He smiled slightly, lips trembling around the gums. “All right, Eva. Have it your way.”

Full force, he hit her in the mouth. Across the face. Again and again. The cut opened, blood dripping down her eye. Again and again. Forming screams were stopped by the next blow. Again and again.

Out in the corridor McFarland ignored the faint noises coming from B-76. Albert and Martha Klein were finally emerging from their cabin.

“Fine, fine,” he nodded, examining the life belts tied around them. A strap needed a tug here, a pull there.

Eva blinked the blood away from her eyelids. Tears running down her cheeks shone in the lamplight. Her lips were slack and bleeding.

“Up front,” she groaned like a Victrola near death. “In the front.”

Jason's face thrust up next to her mouth. “Tell me again, Eva. We can't hear you.”

“Up front. A big crate. He was lowering a big crate.”

“Up front? You mean the bow?”

“Up front.” Eva shut her eyes against the pain. “Where … where the crates are.”

Jason and Lisa glared at each other in the common knowledge that they were too late.

Up on the bridge the commutator clicked off sixteen degrees. A baby grouper, sucked through the gaping gash in the
Titanic
's hull, swam curiously among the cargo in the forecastle hold, his tail brushing by the crate labeled “Ryker Industries.”

Jason stood erect, his eyes averted from Eva. “Come on. Let's get out of here.”

Lisa nodded, went to the closet, and rummaged through suitcases for their ready cash.

Eva lay motionless and blankly watched them bustle around the cabin. She tried to move. An arm. A leg. Nothing happened.

“So long, Eva.” Jason bent down close and wiped the hair matted with brown blood on her forehead.

She snapped at his hand and sliced down to the bone, tearing away meat by his thumb.

His lips snarled slowly; a low feral growl. Bloodstained fingers grappled his trouser buttons.

“Jason!” Lisa ran to him. “What in God's name …”

Eva's scream tore through the cabin walls, stopping John McFarland in his stride. Spinning away from the Kleins heading upstairs, he ran to the door.

“Open up! What's going on? Open up!”

No answer.

McFarland kicked through and rushed in. Light from the corridor cut through the cabin.

The figures within strobe-flashed onto his retina, pinned down and frozen under the light.

Slumped against one wall, Lisa Eddington stared at the bed.

Eva Ryker lay on the mattress, blood dripping down the side of her face, down scratches on her arms, down in a thin stream from between her legs. The face was shrunken and dark.

The door slammed behind him, cutting off the horror images. McFarland had time to see a shadow behind him before a fist hit the base of his skull. Without a sound he crumpled at the foot of the bed.