Disclaimer: This story contains scenes and actions of an adult homosexual and homoerotic nature. If you are resident in a country where your age does not permit you to view such material, please leave this page immediately. This story also contains references to real people. The author makes no claim to know the sexualities of any of the characters within the story including in particular the members of the Backstreet Boys. This story is entirely fiction and does not represent the views of any of the members of the sites with which it is affiliated. Thank you.
Life Begins:
Chapter Two: Chance Meeting
When Charles woke, he found himself in a different world. The first thing he noticed was the water, lapping at his heels. He heard it gently flow over his feet before receding again and felt it reach higher each time. It took a while until he could open his eyes. When he did so, he was half deep in water and beginning to shiver. His eyes searched around and immediately found his laptop. Surprisingly it had survived the entire event and lay a few paces in front. He felt his body with his mind and examined it for injuries. Finding none, he moved cautiously to his feet.
Pain throbbed dully in his head and left leg where gashes had bled freely into the surrounding water. Ignoring the slight pain, he stood out of the water and took up the laptop. Searching around in the darkness, his eyes became accustomed to the dim and he soon found a stairwell leading up into what was the bottom of the ship. It was twisted and bent out of shape to such an extent that it had become climbable. Tearing his shirt into two strips, he bound his leg with one and lashed the laptop to his back with the other before beginning to climb.
He headed up what had once been a service stairwell for an hour before it came to an end. The climb was made harder due to the twisted metal that stuck out at awkward angles and the shudders that the ship made as the waves rolled it in the ocean. Electrical sparks shorted across the path in several places and broken furniture and china littered the path. He had to tear several more pieces from his shirt to bind burns and gashes that he obtained during the climb. He kept the remaining piece of cloth clean in his pocket and when another stray shard of stair caught his left arm and tore out a chunk of flesh, he left it there and removed the piece from his head to use instead.
The engine room floor was still gaspingly hot and was surprisingly still lit by the backup generators despite the two inches of water that covered the floor. Charles edged his way around floating objects that were once parts of machines or people. The switchboard and radio station were dead; a metal arm skewered the operator to the sparking mainframe. Charles felt his stomach lurch and he hastened through the room towards a doorway. Then, he heard sounds. Voices; other people. His heart jumped with relief but his mind remained cold. Resisting the urge to race through the door to meet the other survivors, he walked carefully into the second engine room.
The water tight bulkheads appeared to have been deployed in time here and the room had not suffered much water damage. Such was the reason for the backup generator lighting the path in pale, unfeeling yellow. Figures stood and lay on the metal ceiling underneath a gaping jagged hole. As he stumbled into the room, a streak of red obscured his vision. Remembering the graze on his head, he brushed the blood from his eyes and walked over to the group. "Who is in charge here?" he asked in a tone that was far more authoritarian that he thought himself capable of. "How many people have survived?" A tall woman answered him dully. "No one is in charge. We got here somehow and now we wait for the rescue. We sent up two flares in the last hour but there has still been no response from anyone."
"And how many are you?" he asked, looking at the small huddle of people. "We got here first and we tried to help the others, but the stairwell collapsed and the rest of them are trapped two decks below us. There is no other way out of the room but upwards and the water is rising." She looked at him with desperate eyes, but her voice had not the strength to convey the sorrow and disgust she truly felt. Charles nodded. "I shall see if I can help. Have you any flares remaining?" She nodded and handed him three sticks. "These are left. But they are damp. We don't know if they will work or not." Ignoring the mutters from a couple of men standing near the hole, Charles took the flares and asked, "Where are the others?"
In answer, the men growled, "Through there. But there is no hope for them. We need those flares to signal for help!" Charles turned to them and glared coldly. "This liner will be seen by radar for thousands of miles and the flares you sent up will have been spotted. People are coming. Is it not right that the others have a chance of survival? These flares might provide that. Don't leave the ship," he said as a young boy tried to climb a makeshift stair made of broken metal. "The sea is still rough. Believe it or not but it is safer in here. I'll be back when the others are free," he told the woman before heading through the hatch that the men had pointed out.
It opened into what had been a storeroom. Except that now what had been the ceiling was no longer there. A gaping hole filled the space and far below, broken voices and blinking eyes gazed up at through a mass of broken steel and wiring. Charles thought quickly. The water would continue to rise faster and faster and with it the people would be crushed into the blockage. He had to either remove it or find another way for them to get up. Manoeuvring carefully around the gaping hole, he jumped the last few meters and found a twisted fire hose. Teasing the material and bending the metal, he hooked it over a solid girder and let the end the reel unwind.
Looking around in the gloom of the dusky light from the setting sun and generator lights, he found a small electric welding drill that had miraculously not been damaged in the accident. He tugged at it, but it was wedged fast in between a console and a pile of broken shelving. Tugging at it shifted the entire mass of metal dangerously but the drill refused to move. Cursing, he searched for something else he could use. Finding nothing in the storeroom, he climbed down the hose and scoured the mass of broken metal, moving carefully as the entire thing shifted under his weight. Screams flowed up as through the hull as small pieces of metal fell below into the water. "Hello!" he called downward. "Can you hear me?" The response came at once, "Yes! Who are you? Get us out of here!" A collection of voices responded in fear and confusion. "Is there anything down there of use? A crowbar or saw or something?"
"The water has ruined everything, but there is a metal pipe. Is that of use?" Charles thought for a moment before answering, "Yes. If it is long enough, pass it up!" A few moments later after much splashing of water and strained voices, a long thin iron pipe was pushed through the mesh of rubble. Charles seized it at once and hauled it up. It was about ten feet in length; the perfect lever. Steeling his heart, he left the crying voices behind and slowly climbed back up the reel, struggling against the added weight and cumbersome pipe. He turned his attention back to the buried drill and focusing his strength, shoved the pipe into a gap and pushed down hard on the other end.
The rubble toppled at once but most of it fell toward the wall. A clamour of metal on metal rang through the hull. A wave of fearful cries echoed around as the mass subsided. Ignoring the new wave of pain across his chest, Charles stepped up from where the edge of a metal table had knocked him down and wrenched the drill from the rubble. "What on earth are you doing in there?" demanded a voice from the engine room. "Pass me the generator cable; I can get the others free! Quickly we don't have much time!" he replied. Pausing in the doorway for a moment, the man considered the command before acting. Charles linked the drill to the power supply and climbed back down the hose. Within moments, he had begun to cut a hole in the debris.
He had cut a half circle in a large girder when screams from down below were accompanied by a rush of water. In seconds, the water had risen several feet, bringing the pale and scared survivors towards the mesh of debris with surprising speed. "Get back!" yelled Charles as he tossed the drill aside. He stamped hard on the partially cut disc. It buckled. He stamped again and the ledge creaked alarmingly as part of the supporting girder fell away. "Up here!" he yelled into the opening. A scramble of men and women rushed through the opening as the water carried them higher. There were twenty in total, each cut and bruised and soaking.
The last man up was unconscious. He was hauled through the gap by four others, each filled with despair for their comrade. "Get up the hose and go through into the other room. This entire area has become unstable," instructed Charles. "What about Nick?" asked one of the four. "We can't leave him here!" Charles bent down beside the unconscious man. Something about him looked familiar but he could not place it and there was not time to think on it. "How long has he been out?" Charles asked. "Not long, only a few minutes. But he is hurt real bad," replied another of the four.
"Help the others," instructed Charles. "I'll bring him up." At first they stood there, unsure of what to do. "Go!" he urged. "There is not time!" Turning back to the fallen man, he lifted the remains of his shirt away to reveal a large gash across his abdomen.
Blood oozed thickly from the wound and his chest moved erratically as the injured body tried to hang on to life. Charles removed the bands from his leg and chest and, ignoring the pain that brought, formed a crude wad of cloth and pressed it hard over the cut. Holding it in place with more cloth, he bound it as tightly as he could and lifted the man to his shoulder. Slowly, his eyes opened and he tried to speak. "Stay quiet for now. Save your strength," Charles told him. Everyone had now climbed the hose and the group of four who had hauled Nick through the gap were standing above, looking downward.
Unable to hold the man and the laptop at once, now the straps had been removed, Charles laid the computer carefully on a high ledge and began the arduous process of climbing the rope whilst carrying the swooning body. It took half an hour before he made it to the top. As the four men pulled him over the edge and laid Nick out on the small edge around the gaping hole in the storeroom ceiling, Charles prepared to go and fetch his laptop. "What in God's name do you think you are doing?" asked one of the four men; blonde and wearing white trousers that were now a dirty grey. "I must get my laptop. It is my life. Without it I am ruined."
"Are you insane?" asked another. "You can't go back down there! This entire place is too unstable; it's falling apart!" As if heeding his words, the ship lurched. Nick groaned and tried to stand. "No buddy. We'll carry you for now," the blonde one told him. He lifted Nick up with the help of three of the others and they made towards the door. "You are crazy to go back down man, but there ain't nothing I can do to stop you," said the remaining man. "God save you if you go back." Charles stopped at the edge. He could make it in time. The water had not yet reached the ledge. His work, his life lay a mere few meters down. He could easily go back and get it. He needed it. Without it he was nothing; incomplete.
A shudder reverberated through the hull, followed by an almighty crash that sent everyone sprawling. The entire room tilted sideways and a mass of metal hurtled around the room. Nick was thrown into Charles and the two flew across the room to the other side of the ledge. The metal ledge had been completely dislodged and shards of metal were sent soaring into the air along with the laptop. The dust settled leaving Nick and the laptop teetering on the edge of the hole yet on opposite sides. Charles lay between the two in a mass of rubble. When he opened his eyes, the ship moved again. Fate left the choice open to him. His life? His work? Everything he had ever been and had ever done lay within that computer. His future. His career. No one would blame him for saving it over the stranger.
But those eyes. Those blue eyes that were so like his own. Nick hung on with one good arm around a metal peg. But he could not hold forever and his grip was slipping. The computer was also slipping; sliding ever closer to the watery doom. Charles looked one way and found knowledge and understanding. Then he looked towards the other and found meaning. A connection charged the air and for a brief moment, all other concerns became nonexistent. Then, time moved forward. Charles lunged forward just as the laptop plummeted down towards the water. A loud splash echoed around the storage room followed by shouts and screams from the people in the adjacent engine room. He had chosen.
That's the second part. Cheers for the feedback; nice to already have a good response. Starting on the next few ideas now to build the parts up. Keep reading and writing! lankymon@hotmail.com