Rose’s POV
I collided with Jack at the bottom of the sweeping staircase, wrapping my arms around his strong body. My own was trembling with an overwhelming mixture of love, terror, and fatigue, so much I don't know how I was coping.
"Rose! Rose, you're so stupid! You're such an idiot…" Jack was kissing me, hugging me close to him, and I could forget my fear and worries, just for this moment.
"You jump, I jump, right?" I asked, breathless.
"Right…" Jack murmured, staring at me. I stared back, and then leaned forward and rested my head on his shoulder. I could feel Christian's presence behind us, could hear his quiet sobs. But I didn't care, not when I had Jack with me.
"Watch out!" Christian shouted suddenly, shoving us. His face was pale with terror, and a second later, as a bullet came whizzing past me, I understood.
Cal was shooting at us, a silver gun in his hand, a manic expression on his face. I was shocked, stunned, that he would do such a thing. And then Jack was pulling me, Christian leading the way down the stairs, and another bullet came flying past, hitting a wooden carving.
The floor of the dining room was flooded with freezing water, but I hardly noticed. I was more concerned with the bullets flying at us, each one getting closer and closer to hitting us.
"Come on, Rose! Run!" Jack panted, pulling me through the water. It was so hard to run uphill in water, and the dress wasn't helping, but I bit my lip and didn't say anything.
"Enjoy your time together!" Cal shouted from behind us, sounding quite deranged.
We entered the dining room quietly, listening for footsteps. I stared around me in amazement, hardly recognizing the room. Tables and chairs floated in a lake of salt water, a lake that was steadily getting deeper. The reality of the ship's doom hit me suddenly, and I reeled backwards in shock, gasping. We were going to die. We were going to die. Die.
I was only seventeen! Surely I was too young! And Jack…Christian…and the countless others trapped on the Titanic. Satine would live, but she would be tormented with survivor's guilt, living alone in a world without Christian.
"Lovejoy!" Christian hissed, grabbing my wrist and pulling me out of sight behind a large, floating table.
"Keep quiet," Jack said, his dancing blue eyes unusually serious. He was focused on Lovejoy, who was prowling around the room, eyes looking for any trace of us. When his back was turned, we crawled toward the next line of floating tables, quiet as mice.
"Stay here," Jack whispered. He crawled forward, Christian right behind him. All was quiet, except for Lovejoy's sloshing footsteps and the creaks and groans of the dying ship.
I watched Jack and Christian move to another row of tables, not seeing the metal cart piled high with a precarious stack of china plates until it slammed into the table next to me. I screamed as the plates showered down on me, little shards of glass scratching my skin and drawing blood. The pain was intense. I scrambled away quickly, my eyes widening when I saw the gun pointed at my forehead.
"Lovejoy," I whispered.
"Miss." He nodded his head formally and cocked the gun, a grin on his face.