Read Online The Company of the Dead by David Kowalski - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Kowalski
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to do was compound this night’s terrors and there were no more bargains to be made.
Out to sea he saw a number of lifeboats scattered across the ocean’s expanse. Lanterns flickered, a mundane reflection of the panoply above. The ship’s stern twisted again and began to rise heavenwards. Wells grabbed the protesting cat and replaced it in his coat pocket. He took a firmer grip on the railing that seared his flesh with ice.
A terrible grinding sound ensued from below. He could see it in his mind’s eye. Every unfixed object crashing forwards. Grand pianos tearing through elegantly papered walls. Plates, tables, chairs—people—hurtling into the chasm. The boilers would be shearing themselves from their fixtures, dropping through bulkhead after bulkhead till they finally ripped through the bow to pepper the ocean floor.
The waters seethed as the great ship slowly began her corkscrew descent. He pressed himself into a tight ball, locking his legs under and around the railing. The world began to spin. The first of the ship’s funnels slapped into the roiling waters with a furious thunderclap. Two huge waves shot away from the descending funnel to sweep into the enlarging circle of waters and dissipate.
Wells looked on in horror as he saw first one and then another of the lifeboats drift towards the forming maelstrom. The air was filled with one long scream. It was as if a new voice joined in as the previous one faltered, to continue the hellish, unbroken chorus of misery. His own throat felt hoarse and dry. He bit down hard on his lower lip. The taste of blood was bitter and thick in his mouth.
The ship began to revolve faster, the ocean rising in great gulps to meet him. The second funnel snapped as it slammed into the water, sending a towering spume into the air. The two lifeboats began to circle rapidly in the spiralling ocean.
The airborne mass of the great ship was now almost perpendicular with the boiling surface of the ocean. He swung himself back over the railing and gripped the ship’s metal floor, now almost upright. A deluge of passengers fell from the decks above, crashing into portions of the superstructure or plunging straight into the unforgiving waters.
The Titanic began her final ear-splitting descent into the vortex she had created. She sliced into the heart of the whirlpool.
As the last of the funnels smashed into the ocean he felt himself cast from the railing. Unsure if he jumped or fell, he tumbled through the air and landed in an icy explosion of pain. All was black. A million frozen needles speared him.
He clawed at the razor-cold water, a seizure of blind movement that brought him spluttering to the surface. His coat billowed around him, dragging him down. He flailed wildly, finding purchase on a jagged piece of wood, a fragment from one of the shattered lifeboats. He scratched his way up the sodden flotsam and threw himself onto its widest portion, laid outstretched on the wooden shell, his feet dangling in the burning cold waters.
He reached to his coat pocket and undid the flap. The cat’s waterlogged mass lay unstirring beneath his probing fingers. He raised his eyes to observe the Titanic’ s stark silhouette, now entirely unlit, standing black against the cimmerian night.
With a last protracted groan, she vanished into the churning waters.
He felt the deathly cold rising to envelop him. It stole its way up nerve endings, through the hollow stems of his bones. The air was filled with a low keening sound. Around him, bodies bobbed and jerked in the ocean’s eddy amid the detritus of man’s boldest creation.
His makeshift raft was moving faster now, caught up in the inexorable swirl of the mighty ship’s departure. His eyes stung with salt, his breaths were a concertina of stabbing gasps and wrenching hacks.
He cleared the crest of the whirlpool’s eye and stared down into the abyss, his face frozen in a bare-toothed snarl. The black ocean’s wall broke down upon him.
Out to sea he saw a number of lifeboats scattered across the ocean’s expanse. Lanterns flickered, a mundane reflection of the panoply above. The ship’s stern twisted again and began to rise heavenwards. Wells grabbed the protesting cat and replaced it in his coat pocket. He took a firmer grip on the railing that seared his flesh with ice.
A terrible grinding sound ensued from below. He could see it in his mind’s eye. Every unfixed object crashing forwards. Grand pianos tearing through elegantly papered walls. Plates, tables, chairs—people—hurtling into the chasm. The boilers would be shearing themselves from their fixtures, dropping through bulkhead after bulkhead till they finally ripped through the bow to pepper the ocean floor.
The waters seethed as the great ship slowly began her corkscrew descent. He pressed himself into a tight ball, locking his legs under and around the railing. The world began to spin. The first of the ship’s funnels slapped into the roiling waters with a furious thunderclap. Two huge waves shot away from the descending funnel to sweep into the enlarging circle of waters and dissipate.
Wells looked on in horror as he saw first one and then another of the lifeboats drift towards the forming maelstrom. The air was filled with one long scream. It was as if a new voice joined in as the previous one faltered, to continue the hellish, unbroken chorus of misery. His own throat felt hoarse and dry. He bit down hard on his lower lip. The taste of blood was bitter and thick in his mouth.
The ship began to revolve faster, the ocean rising in great gulps to meet him. The second funnel snapped as it slammed into the water, sending a towering spume into the air. The two lifeboats began to circle rapidly in the spiralling ocean.
The airborne mass of the great ship was now almost perpendicular with the boiling surface of the ocean. He swung himself back over the railing and gripped the ship’s metal floor, now almost upright. A deluge of passengers fell from the decks above, crashing into portions of the superstructure or plunging straight into the unforgiving waters.
The Titanic began her final ear-splitting descent into the vortex she had created. She sliced into the heart of the whirlpool.
As the last of the funnels smashed into the ocean he felt himself cast from the railing. Unsure if he jumped or fell, he tumbled through the air and landed in an icy explosion of pain. All was black. A million frozen needles speared him.
He clawed at the razor-cold water, a seizure of blind movement that brought him spluttering to the surface. His coat billowed around him, dragging him down. He flailed wildly, finding purchase on a jagged piece of wood, a fragment from one of the shattered lifeboats. He scratched his way up the sodden flotsam and threw himself onto its widest portion, laid outstretched on the wooden shell, his feet dangling in the burning cold waters.
He reached to his coat pocket and undid the flap. The cat’s waterlogged mass lay unstirring beneath his probing fingers. He raised his eyes to observe the Titanic’ s stark silhouette, now entirely unlit, standing black against the cimmerian night.
With a last protracted groan, she vanished into the churning waters.
He felt the deathly cold rising to envelop him. It stole its way up nerve endings, through the hollow stems of his bones. The air was filled with a low keening sound. Around him, bodies bobbed and jerked in the ocean’s eddy amid the detritus of man’s boldest creation.
His makeshift raft was moving faster now, caught up in the inexorable swirl of the mighty ship’s departure. His eyes stung with salt, his breaths were a concertina of stabbing gasps and wrenching hacks.
He cleared the crest of the whirlpool’s eye and stared down into the abyss, his face frozen in a bare-toothed snarl. The black ocean’s wall broke down upon him.
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