Harold Lowe has managed to claw his way up the career ladder of the British merchant marines, rising from a ship's boy to a master mariner with one of the world's elite passenger lines. Along the way, he's learned to master not only his craft, but...
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The officer took hold of Corrine's arm and helped her back down to the boat deck. He didn't say a word, but his eyes shone with sympathy for her hopeless plight.
"Mr. Murdoch!" At the urgent call, they both turned around. The young officer she had seen loading the boat next to Harry's was gesturing wildly, his blue eyes frantic. "We need your help with the collapsible on the officer's quarters, sir!"
Murdoch let go of her arm and ran off after him, throwing her one last apologetic look as he went. As she watched them move through the crowd together, she spared a worried thought for the young man, wondering why he was still on the ship. Weren't all the junior officers supposed to be manning the lifeboats, like Harry? She hoped he would be able to find a way off soon.
But was there another way? She looked around quickly. All of the lifeboats - including both collapsibles - appeared to be gone. The crews who had launched them had moved off somewhere else; she didn't see many people left at this end of the ship. The slant of the deck was so steep now that Corrine had a hard time keeping her footing. Any minute now and the boat deck might go under and into the sea, dumping her in the icy water.
She had to do something. She couldn't just stand here and wait to die. Should she jump for it? Maybe she could swim out to one of the lifeboats she was sure had to be waiting nearby. The water here was so close that she could practically step off the deck; the impact would be minimal at this height. She rushed back over the bridge to the port side, since the ship was listing that way and the water would be even nearer. She looked down at the short drop to the icy sea, which glowed eerily green in the lights from the submerged lower decks.
As she stood there, trying to summon her courage for the jump, a man ran from behind her and flew into the water, landing several yards away from the ship. Although he had not leaped from a great height, his subsequent screams chilled her to her bones. She watched for several minutes as the man suffered, his cries gradually quieting, until she turned away in shock and sorrow.
No, she couldn't do it; she couldn't throw herself into the sea. Shuddering from the horror of what she had seen, she turned toward the stern. To her utter disbelief, it was slowly rising out of the water, like some behemoth out of a nightmare. Panicked groups of people ran headlong up the steep incline of the still-lit decks, screaming for help, for a salvation that wouldn't come. For the first time that night, she considered the very real possibility that she could die, and panic welled up in her throat.
She knew her only hope lay in staying dry. A plunge in that water would quickly prove fatal, and she had seen first-hand the suffering that she would endure. She might only prolong her life by minutes, but her instinct for survival overrode her common sense. She began running as well, fighting gravity to try and reach the stern. Maybe... if she were lucky... at that height, she might catch a glimpse of the lifeboats and reassure herself that Harry was safe before she died.
