Ride the Titanic! (49 page)

I have only one idea left. ‘Stand back, everybody, I’m blowing the main hatch.’

I tap the arming code into the keypad, shout ‘Fire in the hole,’ wait for the others to duck down, and yank the rod-shaped handle as hard as I can. The next instant an ear-splitting HISS of thirty-thousand pounds of compressed air vent into the hinge mechanism and a muffled metallic THUMP – but instead of the hatch swinging open, it doesn’t budge.

Joe says quietly, ‘Now what?’

Lewis says, ‘Start praying.’

Xia says, ‘I’m an atheist.’

A cool breeze brushes my face. With the hatch jammed partially open, the remaining air trapped in the pressure hull is escaping faster and faster, causing us to sink even quicker.

Xia says, ‘How much time left?’

I turn to Joe. ‘If this were one of your subs, what’s your guess?’

He spends a moment, deep in thought, then rubs his hands together as if absolving himself from what he is about to say. ‘Considering we’ve got a breached hatch, my best guess is that water will displace the remaining space in ten minutes, maybe less.’

‘Lewis?’

‘Agreed.’

‘Meaning?’ I say stupidly.

Joe smiles. ‘Meaning I’m heading for the last roundup sooner than expected.’ He drapes his arm around Adam’s narrow shoulders. ‘We all are, unless you got a bright idea of how to get out of a ship with no exits.’

‘I don’t.’

‘C’mon, you dreamed this thing up. I was in your swimming pool when you did it. So was Adam, weren’t you?’

‘Yes sir, Fiona and me helped make it sink, remember?’

Lewis says, ‘Me too.’

‘Will you all please shut up? That was a ride. This is a disaster.’

Xia says quietly. ‘Only if we go down with the ship. Is there some other way out?’

‘Let me think.’

I mentally picture the pressure hull in its original, undamaged, fully functioning glory; the ingress hatch with the EMV lifeboats entering like pearls on a necklace one after another to take their place at the loading station. I ‘see’ the riders streaming down the Grand Staircase entrance ramp for an adventure planned from start to finish to thrill and excite them, not kill them, which will be our fate if I don’t come up with an answer.

I see breasts.

Don’t ask me why. I am a million miles away from being sexually aroused. But on the other hand, it’s a scientific fact that when the human male is under peak stress he often has an erection. I remember Geena telling me this when she worked for NASA, and how I jokingly agreed to show her what I termed ‘hard evidence’ in the privacy of our bedroom. But no erection now. No Geena, no nothing but the shimmering image of breasts, and I mean beautiful ones tightly-packed behind snow-white jumpsuits, about to pop out. Then the ‘camera’ in my mind tilts up until I see the Esposito sisters, the Fincantini Shipyard welders.

‘I got it.’

‘Good,’ Joe says, ‘Because I hear water.’

‘Follow me back down.’

‘Down?’

‘And out, if we’re lucky. The maintenance hatch.’

Counter-intuitive to go toward the danger, I know, but the
Carpathia Rescue
Scene holds the key.

Minutes earlier we rescued Joe and Adam from the canyon-like space on the other side of the
Carpathia
’s railing. No canyon now. Just water rising like a toilet backing up.

‘We could have floated out,’ Joe says.

‘Or drowned. You can’t swim, remember?’

The first time I met the Esposito sisters in Italy they were welding a bracket for the
Titanic’s
door-sized, water-tight maintenance hatch. Depending on how high the water has risen on the outside to match the inside, this could be our way out.

Joe says, ‘Where is the damn thing?’

‘On the other side of Retail. C’mon.’

I slosh across the deck to the double-wide exit doors fitted into the
Carpathia’s
porthole-lined Promenade Deck, through which our riders would exit during the ‘day ride’

Lewis says, ‘Power’s out. Gotta’ force them open.’

What takes seconds to do when our hydraulic system is working, takes a solid minute to wedge the doors open enough to let us escape into the surreal world of
Ride the Titanic
merchandise store.

The LED emergency lights reveal an ocean of soon-to-be-sunk memorabilia; T-shirts, sweatshirts, jackets, ship models, paperweights, smart phone cases, hats, books, DVD’s, posters, puzzles – designed to entice and enchant riders whose lives had been ‘saved’ on the deck of the
Carpathia
.

After Xia, Joe and Lewis squeeze through, Adam and I can’t hold the door open and still get inside.

I shout to Xia, ‘Grab that chair from behind the checkout counter.’

Together we jam it into the space.

‘Will it hold?’ she says.

‘We’ll find out soon enough. Okay, when I say ‘go,’ turn loose of the door and jump over the chair. Got it?’

‘Roger, wilco.’ He tenses.

‘What the hell
does
that mean?’

‘Roger means ‘received.’ Wilco means ‘will comply.’’

‘Do both.’

‘Yes, sir!’

He releases his grip and jumps. As expected the massive exit door slips loose and slams against the chair. I scramble forward and bang my shin against the sharp edge of the slowly collapsing chair. My foot slips in between the twisted chair legs. As I struggle to get free Xia grabs my shirt and yanks me forward.

I fall on top of her just as the door crunches shut, collapsing the chair into a pretzel. We stare at each other for a long moment. Nose to nose. Eye to eye. Breath mingling. Ears buzzing. I kiss her as hard as I can.

‘Just in case,’ I whisper.

‘Me too.’ She kisses me back.

Joe shouts, ‘Where the hell’s that hatch?’

‘Hang on. Be right there.’

I kiss her again. ‘Thanks for the ride.’

She smiles as I pull her to her feet, and then she shoves me away. ‘Exit through retail.’

Like the world’s fastest rising tide, water gushes through the jammed-open entrance door. The final tipping point has been reached; the amount of water inside the pressure hull has overcome its positive buoyancy and the death plunge is about to start. We aren’t falling thousands of feet into the depths, just a water-filled trench. But water is water and you don’t need much to drown.

The maintenance access hatch is cleverly hidden behind detachable wall panels that lift out easily to reveal its welcome shape. Unadorned by paint, its no-nonsense steel surface still carries traces of the Esposito sisters’ elegant back-and-forth welds and the grinder scratches to smooth them out.

‘Everybody topside,’ Joe orders.

He opens the hatch with brisk familiarity, twisting the dogging clips and cranking a wheel that simultaneously retracts four pins from their mating holes. He grabs the lever-shaped handle.

‘If she opens, we’re still above water. If not, water pressure will keep her shut.’

He heaves up on the handle and shoves as hard as he can.

Nothing.

Tries again.

Nothing.

He peers through the tiny observation window; darkness.

‘Gimme’ your phone and turn on the light.’

He holds it up to the window. ‘Can’t see a damn thing.’

‘There’s an unlit tunnel beyond the hatch, that’s why.’

‘Wanted to see if there’s any water.’

‘Only way to find out is open it.’

‘No kidding.’

Together we shove on the door, but the sisters could have welded it shut for all the effect we’re having.

Adam says, ‘Sure you undid the door, Mr. Corelli?’

‘Hey, who’s the Navy guy? Me or you?’

‘Just asking, because. . .’

‘Because what?’

‘Well, I don’t know anything about submarine doors, but. . .’

‘Hatches.’

‘Hatches. I think those thing-a-ma-jigs you turned are actually keeping it from opening.’

‘They’re called dogging clips, and I. . .’ He spins around and looks at the hatch. ‘I’ll be a sonofabitch! I did it backwards!’

He twists the dogging clips the opposite way, shoves on the hatch and it opens so fast he falls into the darkness of the dry tunnel beyond.

By now water has submerged the far end of the retail area, carrying with it the floating debris of hats, shirts, books and boxes. Emergency lights waver bravely beneath the water surface, no longer white, now greenish-blue.

The ladder inside the tunnel faces forward, making it fairly easy to climb. In less than a minute everyone except Joe and I have escaped safely topside.

‘Step on it,’ Joe shouts from behind. ‘She’s going fast.’

Every second of buoyancy counts. I shout, ‘Can you dog the hatch behind you?’

‘I’ll try. But there’s so much damn water coming in.’

I risk a quick backward look. Joe’s hunched shape in the dim light seems like a movie, except that it’s for real. ‘Forget it. Just get the hell out.’

‘Aye, aye.’

I turn and start climbing. The last twenty feet feel like twenty miles. Nearly pitch-dark in the unlit tunnel, and then suddenly I’m free.

The cool rush of outside air clears away the metallic taste in my mouth from having been trapped inside. The maintenance hatch is just forward of the hinged stern section, now completely vertical, meaning the
Titanic
is about to go down for good. The entire hull, save for her vertical stern, is less than three feet from being totally underwater.

Lewis crouches with Xia and Adam on the deck, holding onto the stanchions for dear life. He shouts, ‘Watch your step, its steep as hell out here.’

Just how steep I discover seconds later when I slip and slide my way over to join them. I grab Lewis by the arm. ‘Climb out onto the stern and wait for her to go down. You and Xia and the kid use those life preservers when she’s gone.’

‘They’re props.’

‘They’ll float. Use them!’

I slog and slide back to the open maintenance hatch and shout Joe’s name into the darkness, but hear nothing but the rising hiss of water that matches the sound of water hissing across the deck toward me. Within seconds the two will meet and what little air remains in the tunnel will vanish, and along with it, my father-in-law. I start back down the ladder. But as I do, the outside water surges over the hatch lip and onto my head. Spitting and coughing, I descend as fast as I can and moments later bump into Joe, his arms hooked through the ladder rungs and breathing heavily.

‘C’mon Pop, let’s roll.’

He shakes his head. ‘Can’t. Ankle.’

‘Can you put any weight on it?’

‘I would if I could, and my arms aren’t strong enough.’

I think for a second – which feels like forever – and then say, ‘Gimme’ your belt. Hurry.’

He slips it off halfway, fumbles with it, and I yank it the rest. ‘Cross your wrists.’

‘What the hell?’

‘Saw this in a movie. Cross them!’

I tie the leather belt it as best I can.

Joe tests my work. ‘Granny knots.’

‘Shut up and c’mere.’

I duck down, twist around, and slide my head up into the open space between his arms so that his body can rest along my back.

‘Which ankle?’

‘Right.’

‘Use your left to boost. Here we go.’

I grab the ladder, take a step and grunt under the deadweight of Joe’s compact body. ‘Shove with your left foot, damn it!’

For every rung we manage to climb, the water level seems to double, so that by the time we’re halfway to the top, it’s around our waists.

‘Not great,’ I gasp.

Joe pulls himself up and shouts in my ear to be heard over the cascading roar. ‘Let me go,
paisan.’

‘Shut the hell up.’

Another rung. . . the water temporarily defeated, but then up it rises again.

Joe says, ‘Don’t die for an old man. Live for your wife and kids.’

‘We’re not dying!’

Another rung.

‘I’m already dead, remember?’

‘Shut the hell up.’

Another rung. Ears ringing, neck muscles cramping from his weight. Then Joe’s voice. Lighter this time, almost sweet. ‘Should have tied a reef knot,
paisan
. Granny knots slip.’

The sudden release of his weight almost topples me backwards. As I turn, a waterfall explodes over my head and nearly blinds me, except for a fleeting glimpse of Joe falling backwards and disappearing into the darkness. Seconds later, as if in malign agreement, the inside and outside waters meet, filling the tunnel completely. With what little breath I have left, I strike for the surface, not ten feet away but increasing with every second as the
Titanic
sinks deeper and deeper.

People say your life flashes before your eyes when you die. But all I see are red sparkles of light dancing around like embers from a campfire when you throw on a log. All I hear is a roaring, rushing sound. And while my body fights desperately to stay alive by flailing upward, my mind humbly acknowledges the simple fact that after all the work, the worry, the struggles, the confusion, the arguments, the little victories, the big defeats. . . on balance, my life came up short. No standing on Mt. Everest, no walking on the moon, no ticker-tape parade, no Medal of Honor, no pinnacle of achievement. Just one more scared human being ending his earthly existence – in my case inside a steel tunnel filled with water in the middle of a desert at the end of a broken dream.