In another section of E deck that hadn't flooded yet, stewards were busy herding third class passengers toward the aft end of the ship. No one paid any attention to a door set into the corridor wall that was rattling in its frame, seemingly subject to heavy blows from the opposite side. Finally, the frame splintered as the door flew open with a great crash, bouncing off the adjacent wall.
Fitz and Jemma stumbled out into the corridor, Fitz rubbing his sore shoulder where he'd rammed it repeatedly into the door. They took a second to look around and get their bearings, then linked hands and started following the other passengers down the corridor.
"Wherever they're headed is good enough for me," Fitz muttered as they went, leaning in close to Jemma's shoulder. They received a few curious looks along the way, due to the snapped handcuffs still latched around his wrists and the way Jemma's soaked skirts clung to her legs, but for the most part everyone was too preoccupied with getting themselves to safety to pay them much attention.
Jemma thought they might need to reconsider Fitz's assessment when they reached the end of the corridor and found the main stairwell leading to the upper decks. It was a madhouse. A large crowd was gathered, packed in between the walls and pushing at the steel gate that blocked the head of the stairs. On the other side, a few stewards were struggling to keep the crowd contained, only letting the gate open wide enough to let a few women slip through.
"Women only!" one of the stewards yelled, straining to be heard above the din of the panicked crowd. "No men!"
"This is insane," Fitz muttered, squeezing Jemma's hand tightly between his own. "Why aren't they letting everyone through?" Craning his neck to scan the crowd, his eyes suddenly lit up. "Hunter!" he shouted.
Amidst the fray, Hunter turned around at the sound of his name, and when he saw Fitz and Jemma standing at the bottom of the stairs, he fought his way back down to join them.
"What the hell is going on?" Fitz cried when he reached them. "Why won't they open the gate?"
Hunter shook his head, looking supremely agitated. "I heard one of them say the lifeboats are gone. And half the people down here don't understand English, don't know what they're saying, and they're just scared. They're ready to riot." He cast a worried glance back up at the gate. "It's a powder keg."
"The other end of the deck is already flooded. They can't possibly keep us here," Jemma said, feeling some of the panic of the crowd creeping into her bones. She looked back and forth between Fitz and Hunter in desperation. "Can they? The ship is sinking! We'll all die if they don't let us up!"
Hunter only then seemed to take in their bedraggled state, their wet clothes and the fact that they were both nearly blue-lipped and shivering, but any questions he might have had was cut off by an uproar from the crowd. As one, they all turned to look. Confused and terrified, many of the men were rushing the gate in an attempt to break through, and the stewards on the other side were fighting to shove them back again.
"I say, women only!" the lead steward yelled, pulling out a small revolver and brandishing it threateningly. "Get back! Back, you lot! Back!" When the crowd refused to listen or back down, he directed the other two stewards forward. "Lock it!"
They wrestled with the gate, forcing it shut against the tide of people fighting to get through, and finally locked it. An angry cry rose up from the crowd, and they surged forward, pounding their fists against the gate. The stewards backed up, their eyes wide with fear, realizing they had completely lost control of the situation.
Hunter's jaw set, his eyes going hard. "We don't stand a bloody chance here," he said. "This can't be the only way out."
Fitz looked around them, casting his eyes about over the crowd and the corridor, as if searching for answers. "No, it can't be," he replied. "Come on." He took Jemma's hand again. "We'll find another way out."
They left the chaos of the main stairwell behind, going back into the labyrinth of steerage passenger berth corridors, trying to find another way topside. Jemma was horrified by the number of people still wandering the halls, seemingly lost, and by how little order there was, especially compared to how she'd been treated in first class at the start of the emergency. There was a man trying to console a hysterical woman, an immigrant family trying to find their way through all of the abandoned luggage, and another older couple arguing heatedly in a language she didn't understand. On and on they ran through the maze, dodging other passengers, and Jemma began to fear that they were well and truly lost.
Finally, Fitz found a narrow stairwell tucked at the end of a cross-corridor, and quickly ushered Hunter up ahead of them. They made it up two decks before they were stopped by another locked gate, where a small group of passengers were pressed up against it. It was the same scenario as before, just on a much smaller scale: The passengers were yelling, begging to be let out, while the steward on the other side staunchly refused.
"I said, just go to the main stairwell with everyone else," the steward said with exaggerated patience, standing well out of reach of the steerage men's swinging arms, shoved through the gate's bars. "It will all get sorted out there. You just need to wait your turn."
"This is bollocks!" Hunter suddenly bellowed, his face going red with rage. "We've got women and children down here! You can't keep us caged like bloody animals! This is-" Clenching his hands into fists, he turned in place in frustration. Then his eyes landed on a wooden bench near them on the landing, and he charged over to it. Grabbing one end, he started pulling with all his might, trying to tear it away from where it was bolted to the floor. Realizing what he was doing, Fitz moved to help, along with another man who had turned to look after Hunter's yelling.
Jemma watched with morbid fascination and a swelling sense of pride as the men worked together to rip the bench free of its mooring. With a great snap and splinter of wood, it finally broke loose, and they lifted it up. Startled back into action, Jemma turned to dart up the stairs, clearing a path between the group of passengers clustered around the gate.
"Move aside!" she cried, shooing them away from the gate. "Quickly now, give them some room!"
The others all did as they were told, moving to the sides of the stairwell. Jemma joined them, returning to the rear of the group and pressing herself flat against the wall. Then she looked toward Fitz and Hunter, who were waiting with the bench, aided by the man who had helped them break it free.
Clearing the group had given the steward a direct path down the stairs to see what they were about to do, and his eyes went wide. "What are you doing?" he demanded, fear creeping into his voice. "You can't do that! That's White Star Line property you've damaged, you'll have to-"
"Go!" Hunter shouted.
With something akin to a battle cry, the three men ran forward and rammed the bench into the gate as hard as they could. It shuddered beneath the force of the blow, bending outward but not quite coming loose. "Again!" Hunter cried, over the protests of the steward. Backing up, they rammed the gate once more. This time, it buckled and crashed to the floor, narrowly missing the panicking steward. A shout of victory went up among the passengers, and they surged forward, streaming around the bench and the remains of the gate to escape upstairs.
Exhaling with relief and exertion, Fitz and Hunter dropped the bench to the side of the next landing, ignoring the steward's outraged sputtering. Jemma lifted her skirts to step over the mangled gate and join them
"Look here, you lot!" the steward exclaimed, following them. "You'll have to pay for that! You can't just go tearing the ship apart-"
Fitz stopped in his tracks, turning to face the man. "Oh, shut up," he snapped, his patience gone. "The ship is bloody sinking, what does it matter anymore?"
The steward blinked at him, momentarily stunned into silence. "Well-it's still White Star Line property you've vandalized-"
"Shove it, will you?" Hunter scowled, standing a few stairs above them. "Sort your priorities, man!" When the steward fell quiet again, Hunter gestured for them to follow him. "Come on. Let's leave this poor sod to file his damage report. We've got more important things to do."
Despite the severity of their situation, Jemma couldn't help but give Fitz a small, soft smile as she took his hand and they hurried up the stairs after Hunter. Angry and at their wit's end, he and Hunter had taken matters into their own hands and given both themselves and many others a fighting chance to survive. She was rather proud of him.
When they finally burst from the stairs out onto the boat deck, they found more chaos. Gone was the ordered, sedate boarding of the lifeboats that Jemma had been a witness to earlier. Now, panicked crowds filled the deck, a mix of all three classes, in a mass of confusion, alarm, and desperation. Jemma paused in the doorway, clutching Fitz's arm as she looked around with wide eyes, scanning the deck for any sign of a lifeboat. She found none.
"All of the boats are gone!" she cried, her hopes falling in dismay. So Hunter had been right-no lifeboats were left, and with them all of their chances of survival.
Fitz swallowed and scanned the deck as well, his face grim. "That can't be all of them," he said. "There must still be some left. We just have to find them." He curled his hand around hers again and shot her a fleeting smile. "Come on, let's head to the forward end and check there."
He took off running, leading Jemma with Hunter close on their heels. They wove in and out of the crowd, past throngs of angry men and frightened women and crying children, pausing once so they didn't trip over the dogs suddenly underfoot-someone had released the animals from their kennels. They even ran past the ship's band, who was still persevering in playing bright and upbeat melodies in a futile attempt to bring a semblance of peace to the frightened passengers around them. That drew a derisive scoff from Hunter, but he didn't have time to say anything cutting. He was hard-pressed to keep up with Fitz and Jemma, trying not to lose them in the mayhem.
Much to their relief, they found a couple of lifeboats remaining on the port side of the ship. There was a large crowd surrounding them, mostly men, barely held off by the crewmen loading the boats. It appeared that only women and children were still being let on.
"They're still not letting men board," Fitz observed, looking at Hunter. "You'd better go check the other side of the ship."
Hunter nodded. "Right." His eyes lingered on both Fitz and Jemma for a moment before he smiled tightly, then took a deep breath and clapped Fitz on a shoulder. "Good luck, mate." Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd, looking for a way across to the starboard side of the ship.
Jemma watched him go, wondering if it would be the last time she ever saw him. It made her heart twist, but there was no time to linger on those thoughts, because the press of the crowd around them was threatening to crush them.
Fitz wrapped his arms tightly around her from behind, holding her against his chest to try and shield her from the cold. Her breath was coming out in little puffs of vapor in the freezing air, and she was shivering in her thin dress without the aid of a coat. It was also to keep them from getting separated by the crowd: The people around them were pushing and shoving, desperate for a spot on a lifeboat, and the crew members loading them were barely able to keep the throng at bay. The officer in charge of the boat closest to them even had a revolver out, waving it at anyone who dared to get too close.
As they slowly inched forward toward the front of the crowd, watching the crew load women into the boat, Fitz leaned his face over Jemma's shoulder and pressed his cheek to hers.
"Jemma," he said, "you're going to have to get on the boat without me."
She tensed in his arms, her blood running cold as her very breath seemed to stall, the noise of the crowd around them fading away. Intellectually, she had known that this was coming-the officers still weren't letting men board, and she knew that Fitz would insist she get on a lifeboat if she could. But she rejected it instinctively because the thought of leaving him was anathema to her, not after everything she'd risked to save him. Not when she'd finally found the one person in the world who understood her and loved her for who she was.
"No," she blurted, panic rising in her throat. "No, I'm not leaving you."
"Jemma." His arms tightened around her, a hint of desperation coloring his voice. "You have to get on the boat. Please? I need to know that you'll be alright."
It was an echo of what he had told her in the gymnasium, when he'd pleaded with her to leave Grant and save herself. It had only happened that morning, but it felt like a lifetime ago. So much had changed. Covering his hands with hers where they were wrapped around her middle, she clung tightly to him.
"No!" she cried again. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm-I'm not going without you. I just won't."
She felt Fitz take in a deep breath and exhale shakily, and he turned his face to press his forehead to her temple, his nose and lips brushing against her cheek. "I'll find another way," he said, and it was clear he was trying to be brave for her. "Alright? I'll go find Hunter on the other side and maybe there'll be another boat for us there. But-" He squeezed his arms around her again. "I need to make sure that you're safe first. Please, Jemma." His voice cracked. "Please."
Jemma shook her head, a lump rising in her throat and tears pricking at her eyes. Needing to see him, she turned in his arms to face him and lifted her hands to his cheeks. Fitz's eyes were round with worry, his brows drawn together in concern, and the depth of the emotion and care for her in his expression made her heart both swell and break. Perhaps she should listen to him and not let her devotion overrule common sense, but if there was one truth she knew now, it was that she couldn't bear to be parted from him.
"I won't leave you," she said fiercely, staring into his eyes and stroking her thumbs over his cheeks. "Not for anything. Whatever comes, we'll face it together."
Fitz stared at her for a moment, his eyes searching hers, until he huffed and looked away, shaking his head and looking almost defeated. Then he surged up to press a hard, fast kiss to her forehead. "Jemma," he said fervently, ducking his head to look at her again, "Jemma, I promise you-"
The crowd around them pushed forward again as a call went out for more women, and someone shoved Fitz hard from behind, knocking Jemma loose from his arms. She cried out as she stumbled backward a few steps, then stopped abruptly as she bumped into someone.
"Oh-excuse me," she mumbled, her social training kicking in instinctively, and started to move back to Fitz. But firm hands curled around her shoulders and pulled her back, and she looked around sharply to see that she'd been stopped by the officer loading the boats.
"Into the boat with you, now," he said briskly, tugging her toward the gap.
Hot panic lanced through Jemma's gut. "No," she blurted, wide-eyed, pulling back on the officer's arm. "No, I don't want to go-" She looked back desperately toward Fitz, who was just realizing what was happening. "Fitz!"
He immediately rushed forward, reaching an arm out to her. Just as their fingertips brushed, the officer whipped around, pointing his pistol at Fitz and the other men who had taken advantage of the opportunity to push forward. "Stay back!" he ordered. "Keep order! Women and children only!"
Fitz stopped in his tracks, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender, his face a picture of pure anguish. Jemma struggled against the officer's hold, but his grip was firm.
"I don't want to go!" she cried again, trying to push past him. "Please! Fitz!"
But Fitz, who was staring down the barrel of the officer's gun, could do nothing.
"I'm sorry, miss, there's no time to argue," the officer said tersely, and bodily lifted her over the gap and into the lifeboat. Then he took a step back and looked at the crewmen manning the falls. "Right, she's the last one for this boat. Lower away!"
"No!" The scream that ripped from Jemma's throat caused the other occupants of the boat look up at her in concern, but she didn't see them; all she could feel was her heart tearing into pieces. The boat gave a jerk as the crew began to lower the ropes through the pulleys that would send them to the water's surface, and she stumbled where she stood; someone behind her-another officer-put his hand on her shoulder and gently said, "Sit down, miss."
"No," she repeated brokenly, but the pressure of the officer's hand pushed her down to the wooden slat beneath her. If she struggled further, she would be putting every other person on the lifeboat in danger, and although she might risk her own life for Fitz's sake, she would not risk others'. As the boat continued to slowly drop, she sat numbly and looked back toward the deck, desperate to find Fitz.
Now that the lifeboat was leaving, people had crowded up against the balustrade next to where it had been, and Fitz was right in front. It was only when they locked eyes that Jemma realized tears were streaming unchecked down her face, his figure blurry against the backdrop of the ship's lights behind him. She blinked, trying to bring him into focus; he was staring down at her, his hands curled over the lip of the rail. His shattered expression only made Jemma's tears come faster. Desperate, she looked around. The lifeboat was crowded to capacity. There was no way for Fitz to somehow jump and save himself, and no room in the boat even if he could, and she had no way of jumping out to get back to him. The boat was descending at a steady pace, taking her farther and farther away. There was nothing left to do except look up at him and hang onto the last precious seconds that she had with him, and realize that this was it. This was likely the end, and this time it would be final: She would never see him again.
"Fitz," she whispered, as tears continued to pour down her face. She kept her eyes on him, unwilling to look away, even as he grew smaller the lower the boat dropped. It felt like her entire world was crumbling, but she was certain she would never forget the sight of him, somehow looking completely alone amongst the tumult surrounding him, standing frozen at the railing of the ship.
Jemma kept watching him, unable to let go, until Fitz was little more than a faint silhouette against the lights of the ship. Then the lifeboat touched down in the water, the crewmen detached the falls, and they began rowing away to join the other boats that were escaping the foundering ship.
At a distance, the disaster was even more terrible to behold. Nearly a third of the ship was completely underwater as the hull continued to fill, causing the stern to rise at an angle. Passengers were visible making their way aft on the upper decks, trying to escape the rising water, but some had already jumped overboard and were struggling to swim away from the ship.
As much as Jemma wanted to look away, she found that she couldn't, knowing that Fitz was still aboard and fighting for his life. She didn't want to think about him alone in the chaos with barely a chance of survival. She had been prepared to stay with him, possibly even die with him, but she wasn't prepared to sit helplessly and watch him perish. She'd been snatched away against her will once again, and the pain and unfairness of it all, like a vise grip squeezing her chest, was unbearable.
Nearly paralyzed with grief, Jemma barely noticed when someone wrapped a woolen blanket tight around her shoulders. For the briefest second she was transported, back to the open deck on a night just like this, except the ship wasn't sinking, and it was Fitz pulling his jacket snug around her-
Looking over, she saw that it was the officer who had forced her to sit down. "So you don't catch a chill, miss," he said.
She couldn't summon up the words for a proper thank you, or to tell him that she was already freezing from the cold air anyway, so Jemma simply turned back to look at the specter of the dying ship they'd all thought to be unsinkable.
Water was flooding over the bridge and onto the uppermost deck, washing scores of passengers overboard. As it crept up on the first of the ship's funnels, the metal started to buckle and crumble. One by one, the wires lashing it to the deck snapped, flying into the water like giant whips. As the people in the lifeboat watched in horror, the funnel toppled into the sea with a loud groan, instantly crushing everyone in the water beneath it.
"My God," someone in the boat muttered.
Jemma huddled deeper into her blanket, trying desperately not to think of Fitz caught beneath the funnel. Surely he was still on the ship, well away from the water boiling up the deck. She had to tell herself that, because any of the alternatives didn't bear consideration. He had to be alive.
Hardly anyone in the boat spoke as the stern of Titanic continued to lift into the air, pitching the ship at an ever-increasing angle. They could only stare, transfixed and speechless, as the disaster continued to unfold in front of them. It was still hard to fathom that a ship so grand and seemingly impervious as Titanic was truly lost, and terrible to think of those still trapped aboard, desperately clinging to anything they could to keep from falling into the icy water below. Everyone hoped help would arrive before it was too late-but they knew, deep down, that it wouldn't come.
As the massive bronze propellers rose out of the sea, the lights of the ship-which had stood out brightly like a beacon in the black of the remote north Atlantic night-blinked erratically a few times before winking out completely. Someone near Jemma gasped. The darkness that suddenly enveloped them felt claustrophobic, made worse by the unsteady rocking of their boat on the water, and she struggled not to panic. Blinking rapidly, she peered through the night and was just able to discern the outline of the ship, lit by pale moonlight and starshine from above.
Suddenly, a terrible sound unlike anything she had ever heard before rent the air. With a shuddering, guttural groan and angry cracks and snaps, the great ship began to split down the middle. Several people in the boat cried out in alarm and fear, and the crewmen manning the oars rushed to pick them back up and row them farther away, desperate not to get caught in the fury. It was a horrific sight, watching the decks buckle apart like twigs breaking, the remaining funnels toppling as the stern crashed back down into the ocean, sending up a huge wave in its wake.
Even at their distance, the wave managed to rock their boat, but Jemma barely noticed. Fresh tears had sprung to her eyes. All she could think of was Fitz, still fighting for his life, living a nightmare. Were he alive at all, that is. And she was powerless to do anything about it-all she could do was watch, impotent, knowing the man she loved was being dragged down into the frigid sea.
For a moment, the remaining portion of the ship bobbed on the surface of the ocean like a cork, sparks spitting out of the jagged end and pieces breaking off and plunging into the water below.
"Look, she's floating," the woman sitting next to her said, her voice cautiously optimistic.
For the briefest instant, hope swelled within Jemma that the stern would stay that way, that it would miraculously float and keep all the remaining passengers aboard safe until help arrived. But water was rushing into the open wound that the split had created, and the end of the ship began to rise again, faster and faster, until it stood nearly vertical in the water. Then, as everyone watched with stalled breath, the ship slowly sank down until it slipped completely beneath the waves with barely a splash.
No one in the lifeboat said a word. It didn't feel right. It was absolutely unbelievable that the world's most majestic sea vessel had simply vanished, broken into pieces, just as fallible as any other ship even though she had been deemed unsinkable. And they had watched it happen.
But in the void that the great liner left behind, a new, even more horrific sound arose: an unearthly wailing, loud and heart-wrenching, that chilled Jemma to the bone. It was the sound of hundreds of people now adrift in the icy Atlantic, all crying out for help.
Panic and helplessness rose like bile in her throat, and she clutched at her blanket as she looked around frantically. Fitz was out there. Fitz, who had no life jacket, who might not even be a strong swimmer. And the water was freezing. There was so little time left.
"We have to go back," she blurted.
"What? No, you're mad, absolutely not," one of the crewmen snapped. She twisted in her seat to look at him; he was sitting two rows behind her, clutching the post of his oar.
"We have to," she insisted, desperation lacing her tone. "They're-can't you hear them?! They're dying!"
"And we will too, if we go back!" the crewman countered sharply. "They'll swamp us! The boat is nearly full as it is. We should stay here."
Around him, several of the boat's other occupants murmured in agreement, sounding frightened, and Jemma wanted to scream. How could they simply sit and do nothing when their fellow passengers, their fellow people were so close by, suffering and in dire need of aid? How could they bear it, hearing them yet choosing to ignore them? Even though she knew the chances of finding Fitz amongst those stranded in the water were astronomically low, at least they could save someone . Maybe they could even save a few people. It would be worth it; it had to be.
A sharp, piercing sound came drifting across the water in long bursts over the sound of shouts and screams. It was the shrill blast of a whistle.
"That's one of the officers," the officer sitting behind her said grimly. "He's calling the boats back."
"You see?" Jemma cried, looking back at the others. "We have to go back now. It's-it's an order. We have to help them."
The crewman shook his head. "I told you, they'll swamp us the instant we arrive, and drag us down with them. It's too dangerous." This time, there was much more vocal agreement from the others.
"But-" New tears of frustration filled Jemma's eyes, and the only thing her mind could focus on was Fitz Fitz Fitz. "That's-that's your men out there! Your husbands, your brothers, your... my..." Her voice cracked. "Please. "
Someone else on the boat, a woman, was crying softly. Jemma could hear her, the quiet hitching breaths and tiny sobs ringing out over the silence of the others. Their refusal to support her felt damning, and she looked up at the officer behind her in despair. She could barely make out his face through the darkness, but his expression was sorrowful. Despite that, he was clearly unwilling to go against the wishes of the majority and put them in possible danger.
Burrowing back down into her blanket, shivering against the chill that it couldn't keep out, Jemma let the tears flow freely down her cheeks again. As the minutes ticked by, the agonized cries of those cast into the sea gradually began to fade away. She knew what was happening: no one could survive long in freezing water. Shock from exposure would overtake them, leading to fatal heart attacks, or hypothermia would set in. Those without life jackets would drown. Slowly, every person not in a lifeboat was dying.
Eventually, even the whistle grew quiet. That more than anything drove home the sheer horror of all that had happened. The absence of the whistle, and the complete silence that shortly followed, was the final blow to Jemma's hope. Titanic was gone, and Fitz with her; there was nothing left to do now except wait for a rescue that might not ever come, and wonder if they could somehow also salvage the pieces of her devastated heart.