38

DECK Z CORRIDOR.

MONDAY, APRIL 15, 1912. 12:13 A.M.

The Agent sprang with his pliers, bearing down at the base of Weiss’s throat.

Desperately, Weiss grabbed the Agent’s wrist with both hands, stopping the weapon. Without hesitation, the Agent violently slammed his forehead into Weiss’s nose with a sickening crack. As if observing the scene from above, Weiss thought, “seeing stars” isn’t just a figure of speech.

“Why?” Weiss managed to grunt. “Why were you helping us below?”

“Quite the contrary,” said the Agent, his breath cool and stale against Weiss’s skin. “You helped me. After confirming you lied about the cyanide, and finding you gone from the linen closet, I thought simply to hide till we reached America. But the infection was more powerful than I imagined. I was surrounded by the sick and running for my life when we met. Joining your band was my best chance.”

The Agent pressed harder with his tool, relentlessly, and Weiss gasped as the cold steel met his throat. Weiss grunted, “Don’t leave this ship with the vial. Mothers have been transformed into monsters, for God’s sake. No one deserves such a fate.”

The Agent’s eyes twitched madly as the ship’s bow began to dip into the Atlantic. “Some people most certainly do, Herr Weiss. Some people do. And it will be even more horrific than I dared dream, thanks to you. Imagine the havoc, the power in just a single drop. That’s all it will take to—”

“You took everything from me!” screamed Lou, as she dropped from the hatch at the end of the hallway. The Agent wheeled around, and as he did, a bright white flash burst from Lou’s outstretched hands. The flare gun’s recoil sent the girl reeling backward into the wall as the burning projectile struck the Agent hard in the middle of his chest. The shell bounced to the ground and exploded, blinding Weiss as he rolled away.

The Agent slapped wildly at his burning hair and jacket. He careened into the wall and stumbled recklessly down the hallway. Lou braced herself, reloaded, and fired again. The flare hit the Agent square in the back, knocking him down. He rolled on the floor to douse the flames, then got up and disappeared into the stairwell.

Weiss was trying to blink the sight back to his eyes. “Louise!” he called out. She ran up to him, and he smiled as his hands found her shoulders.

“It’s Lou,” she said.

“Lou,” said Weiss. He could see her smiling at him. “Are you hurt?”

Lou shook her head. Weiss asked anxiously, “Where did Mr. Hargraves run off to?”

“I didn’t see. Too much smoke. But he’s gone now.”

Weiss scooped the girl off her feet, exhilarated despite himself. “Where did you run off to?”

“Doesn’t matter anymore,” Lou responded. “I heard what Mr. Hargraves said and …” She dropped her eyes, a guilty look coming over her face, then threw her arms around him tight. “Now I know what’s what.”

Weiss suddenly understood and returned the embrace. The flare was originally meant for him. “Lou. I’d give my own life if I could bring your mother back. I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But we have to stop Mr. Hargraves.”

“You must get off this boat,” said Weiss. “Leave Hargraves to me.”

“You can’t do it alone,” said the girl. “I’m helping you, and I’d like to see you try and stop me.” She balled her fists.

Weiss laughed despite himself, bending over to pick up flare balls that were rolling very slowly toward the bow of the ship. “Let’s get going, Lou. I don’t know how much longer Titanic has.”

Weiss and Lou took off at a run and up the narrow stairwell the Agent had taken. They stopped short at a jog in the stairs. Ahead, a makeshift gate had been forcibly moved aside and a young officer lay motionless on the steps, his head twisted at an awkward angle.

“Crikey, the monsters must have fought their way up,” said Lou.

“I don’t think so,” said Weiss. He approached the dead man warily. The officer’s eyes remained open with a terrified expression. But except for his ruptured neck and the pool of blood draining from it, he was otherwise uninjured: nothing had feasted on him, nor did he show any signs of infection. The dead man hadn’t been ravaged by a zombie. Weiss knew a different kind of monster had caused the wound.