Titanic 2020: Cannibal City t2-2 Page 16

  'You'll what? Kill me?' Rain Man laughed. 'You've just saved me. Anyway, I figure I owe you.'

  'Whaddya mean?'

  'Don't get me wrong, Frankie . . .'

  'Frankie?' said Ronni.

  'It's a long story,' said Jimmy.

  'Short for Frankenstein,' said Rain Man.

  'Are you some kind of monster?' asked Ronni.

  'No!' He glared at Rain Man. 'What are you talking about?'

  'Well, Frankie, I still think you're an arrogant, disloyal, disruptive son of a . . . but I still owe you. And I think I know how you can escape. Both of you, if that's what you want.'

  Jimmy stared at him.

  'That's what we want,' said Ronni. She nudged Jimmy. He nodded begrudgingly.

  'What's the big idea?' he asked.

  Rain Man pushed his covers back. He took a deep breath and stood. He immediately sat down again. Ronni went across and offered him her arm. He took it and she helped him up then supported him as he crossed to the window. He leaned on the sill and nodded out. 'Through the fence . . .'

  'Through the fence?' Jimmy exploded. 'Do you not think—'

  'Will you give me a chance?' Rain Man snapped. Jimmy glared at him again. They would never be friends. 'OK. So all of the lights are powered from a central generator. If I find a way to disable it then it's going to be pitch black out there. You'll have at least five minutes before they get the backup working.'

  Jimmy blinked at him. 'You would do that?'

  Rain Man nodded. 'If it makes us even, sure. Anyway, chances are they'll get the lights back on and you'll be shot before you make the woods, but if you think you can do it, why not?'

  'And what if you get caught?' Ronni asked.

  'I'll act all delirious and they'll think I did it by accident. Or something. It doesn't matter, I owe him.'

  Jimmy shook his head slowly. 'Maybe you'll just switch the generator off for a minute, long enough for us to get out there, and then you'll switch it back on again and we'll be sitting ducks. Maybe that's your plan. How do we know we can trust you?'

  'You don't,' said Rain Man.

  26

  Tunnels

  They were being followed, they knew that. Footfalls echoed along the tunnels; they caught flashes of light in the darkness. First Officer Jeffers repeatedly whispered for them to be quiet, but it was difficult, with huge brown rats nipping at their ankles every few metres. They too had developed a taste for human flesh since the plague, but with it running out above ground the Rat Gods had seen fit to deliver a nice fresh dinner below. Or something like that. They were relentless.

  'I hate this, I hate this, I hate this...' Claire repeated over and over in a frozen whisper. She'd always hated the dark. Now she hated the dark and rats. The dark and rats and cannibals. And the fact that their radios no longer worked so far underground. She tried to focus on the one good thing she was holding on to — Jimmy was alive! Babe lives! What else could it mean? But where was he? Was he trying to get back to the ship? What if he'd been alive when he sent it, but was dead now?

  C'mon, Jimmy you can make it.

  Even if we don't.

  She'd thought Jeffers' idea to use the underground tracks was a good one. But the reality was something else. Cannibals behind. Rats all around. Flashlights beginning to weaken. All they needed now was for the cannibals to appear in front of them as well and they'd be trapped. And eaten. She wanted to run, sprint, make it back to daylight, but they had miles to go and they had to keep the speed down because the other passengers couldn't keep up.

  The slowest of them all was the Rev. Calvin Cleaver.

  The minister started to cough and splutter almost as soon as they entered the tunnel that would take them on the first leg of their journey underground to Penn Station. Every few minutes he would bend double and dry retch, forcing Jeffers and the crewmen to call a halt until he had recovered sufficiently to continue.

  Cleaver was apologetic and blamed his illness on an allergy to rats. 'You go on — leave me . . . I know I'm slowing you down . . . I'm sorry . . .' and he looked fearfully back down the track.

  'I'm not leaving anyone behind,' said Jeffers.

  It was a good and noble thing to say, but it didn't sit well with Rodriguez. 'You left my wife behind!'

  'Mr Rodriguez, your wife was taken,' said Jeffers, his voice calm but firm. 'To have spent any longer looking for her would have endangered our entire mission. We are all together here now, and I intend to keep it that way. Now keep your voice down.'

  Rodriguez seethed, but said nothing further.

  Cleaver pushed himself erect. 'I think I can go a bit further now,' he rasped.

  As they moved on Claire whispered to Ty, 'Maybe if we left Cleaver behind the cannibals might forget about us and have him for lunch.'

  'There's not much meat on him,' observed Ty. 'Barely enough for a sandwich.'

  'Don't be ridiculous,' said Claire. 'Where are they going to get bread for a sandwich?'

  They giggled. But then there was a cry, a flash of light, and the shadows of perhaps fifty pursuers all jumbled together, were briefly illuminated on the tunnel wall perhaps only a quarter of a mile behind them.

  Already the giggling seemed like a distant memory.

  'Come on!' Jeffers urged.

  Two of the crewmen grabbed Cleaver and bundled him along. Claire found herself jogging along beside Jonas Jones. He was a large man and not terribly fit, but he was still quicker than most of the passengers.

  'This isn't going to work,' Claire moaned. 'They're too fast, we're too slow!'

  Jonas smiled grimly. 'I'm sure the boss has a plan.'

  'It better be a good one.'

  About a hundred metres further on Jeffers stopped abruptly and shone his torch, which was scarcely larger than a pencil, to the left. Then he quickly consulted the map of the network of tracks he'd kept folded in his left hand. As Claire and the rest of them approached she registered the slightest breath of cool air on her face.

  'Mr Benson!' Jeffers barked urgently.

  Benson, hurried up. 'Sir?' he asked, a little warily.

  'Benson, you've been a thorn in my side ever since you joined the Titanic.'

  'Sir.'

  'You're always on punishment duty.'

  'Sir.'

  'Well, if you do this properly, you'll never be on punishment duty again.'

  'Sir? What if I do it wrong?'

  'Then you'll be dead, Mr Benson, and it won't matter. We all will. Now listen carefully — to our left here is a service tunnel. The entrance is marked on the map, but not how long it is or where it goes. However, there's fresh air coming from somewhere. I want you to run down there and make plenty of noise; take your flashlight and make sure they see you.'

  'I'm a decoy, sir.'

  'That's it. We will continue on along the tunnel in the dark, hopefully we'll confuse them for long enough to get a proper head start. You understand what you're doing?'

  'Yes, sir. You're sacrificing me for the good of the company.'

  'No, Mr Benson, you're volunteering to sacrifice yourself for the good of the company. Aren't you?'

  'Yes, sir.' He turned to go, but immediately turned back. 'Sir, if I always screw things up, how come you're trusting me to do this?'

  'Because, Mr Benson, if it comes down to a fight, I want my best sharp-shooters here with me. You couldn't hit a barn door with a cannon from a distance of one metre. Right — off you go. You lead them on, you do your best to lose them. If you make it, you know where the rendezvous point is — we'll see you there in twenty-four hours. Now get moving!'

  'Sir!'

  Benson darted into the left-hand tunnel.

  'Lights out, everyone,' hissed Jeffers. They were plunged into darkness. Jeffers immediately called out as loudly as he dared: 'Not you, Mr Benson!'

  'Sorry!' echoed back towards them.

  His light blinked on.

  'OK, let's move out everyone,' Jeffers whispered. 'Quietly, carefully, and when
I give the word, freeze and don't move again until I say so.'

  They walked cautiously along the railway tracks, Dr Hill in the lead, the next man with his hand on his shoulder, the next on his, and right back. They didn't make a sound when they stumbled. They bit their lips when something furry brushed their legs. Jeffers stayed right at the back, urging stragglers forward, watching the advance of the cannibals behind. There was nothing as disciplined about their pursuers. They were a tumultuous, ravenous horde.

  Jeffers passed the word back and they flattened themselves against the wall as the cannibals reached the entrance to the service tunnel. A dull, metallic hammering reached them — Benson at work, attracting their attention by banging on the tunnel walls. The rest of them held their breath as the cannibals' lights, most from burning torches, flickered in the sudden breeze from the service tunnel. It was the first time Claire had been able to glimpse their pursuers. She was surprised by their appearance. She had imagined crazed, blood- spattered zombies, but they looked so ordinary. Men, women, even children she might quite easily have passed in a supermarket or sat beside in a cinema. Ordinary people, who wanted to have her for dinner.

  After a brief hesitation the horde surged into the service tunnel. One by one the lights disappeared as they crowded through the narrow entrance. Soon there were only two distinct lights remaining — one elderly man holding a burning torch and a child in short trousers with a flashlight — and Jeffers was on the verge of ordering them to press ahead, when there was a sudden clattering sound from behind Claire. A moment later a torch, having rolled across the ground and struck the far wall, turned itself on. In the brief moment before Jonas Jones threw himself upon it to block out the light Claire saw Cleaver with his hands raised in abject horror and mouthing the word 'Sorry!'

  The old man and the child turned from the service tunnel entrance to look in their direction.

  The old man pointed.

  The child yelled to the rest of his kind.

  'Run!' Jeffers barked.

  He grabbed hold of Claire and propelled her ahead of him into the darkness, pushing the other passengers after her.

  Cleaver stumbled forward. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . .'

  'Just keep going!'

  Jeffers and the remaining crewmen held back. They had their guns out and were aiming back down the tunnel towards the cannibals, who were now pouring back out of the service tunnel.

  Jonas drew his own weapon and came to join them. But Jeffers quickly sent him away. 'You must press on,' he ordered, 'we'll hold them for as long as we can, but you must reach the factory.'

  Jonas raised a hand and saluted. 'Good luck!'

  First Officer Jeffers nodded grimly, returned the salute and then turned to join his men. The shooting started a few moments later.

  27

  Escape

  'Cut it! Cut it! Cut it!'

  'I am bloody cutting it!' Jimmy hissed.

  'Cut it harder!'

  They were at the wire fence surrounding Fort Hope. Rain Man had done what he'd promised to do. The generator was down and this was their one chance to escape. Hand-cranked sirens wailed. Officers screamed orders. Soldiers stumbled out of their barracks. It was utterly black. There wasn't even a moon to give them some guidance. It was total chaos, and exactly what they wanted, but it wouldn't last for ever — and they couldn't cut the damn wire and vital seconds were storming past.

  With the nurse gone for the night Jimmy and Ronni had gone through the surgical equipment stores in the First Aid hut and found a stout pair of jagged-mouthed scissors which cut cleanly through everything they tried them out on — wood, plastic, iron bed springs — but now that they really needed to work they were absolutely useless.

  'Jimmy — do it!'

  'I'm doing my best!'

  But his best wasn't good enough. Jimmy flung them down. He looked up at the fence — the barbed wire that topped it was thick and razor-sharp, there was no way they'd be able to wriggle through it. Nor could they dig under — the fence was tight against the ground and sealed in with cement.

  Ronni pulled at his arm. Jimmy — the gates, we have to go through the gates . . .'

  'Too far away — too many soldiers!'

  'We have no choice!'

  In those last few moments before the lights went out they'd been anxiously scanning the perimeter as far as they could see so they knew the gates had been open then, but the guards' first reaction to the sudden darkness would surely have been to shut them to prevent what must be an enemy attack from penetrating the fort. But Ronni was right — what choice did they have?

  They turned and they ran. The gates were easily two hundred metres away. They collided with other soldiers, running about confused. They picked themselves up and charged on. Someone was yelling, 'Protect the President! Protect the President!' Jimmy was sure he heard Mohican's distinctive tones.

  They came to the gates.

  Open!

  There were guards there, dim outlines against the blackness, but not close enough together. And they were facing the wrong way — out.

  A better army might have had night-vision glasses and could have shot them dead. But these soldiers couldn't see more than a metre in front of them. Jimmy and Ronni slipped between two nervous sentries.

  'You see anything?' one of them hissed. Jimmy could almost feel his breath.

  'I can't see nothin', but there is somethin' there.'

  'Should we shoot?'

  'Not me, I don't give orders!'

  'Sir! Somethin' movin' — can we shoot?'

  'What is it?'

  'Don't know!'

  'Where is it?'

  'Not sure!'

  'Hold your fire!'

  Jimmy grabbed Ronni's hand — there was too much chance of losing her in the dark — as they raced away from the fort. Jimmy's legs, so recently sucked of all strength by the river, wobbled beneath him. Ronni had lain largely immobile for weeks and her muscles now strained and threatened to rip apart. But they kept going. The plain seemed to roll on for ever. Their feet, rushing though the knee-length grass, sounded incredibly loud purely because they were trying to be so quiet.

  'We . . . must . . . nearly . . .' Jimmy wheezed.

  'We . . . have to be close . . .'

  And then, as simple as someone flicking a switch, the lights of the fort came on — just bright enough to turn them into running shadows, and they still had a hundred metres of the open plain to cross before they reached the relative safety of the woods.

  For a few achingly long seconds they ran on, unobserved, but then the searchlights began to sweep back and forth. They passed in front, then behind, before finally converging on the escapees.

  Without speaking or even looking at each other Jimmy and Ronni began to zigzag. The beams lost them for a moment, then caught up again. They let go of each other's hands; Jimmy veered left, Ronni right. There was blessed darkness for another ten seconds and then they were found again, and this time they couldn't shake them.

  A shot rang out, then another and another, then the steady clatter of a machine gun. The soldiers of Fort Hope were not trying to capture them alive.

  Jimmy threw himself the last few metres, crashing through undergrowth and rolling over three times before coming to a dead halt up against a gnarly stump. Although he was just a few metres into the trees it was suddenly absolutely black again, as if a giant wooden curtain had been pulled behind him.

  'Ronni!' he shouted. 'Ronni . . . !'

  There was only silence. For a moment he feared that she was still out on the plain, shot down as she ran, but then he heard a low groan.

  'J-jimmy — are you . . . ?'

  'I'm here!'

  Jimmy scrambled sideways. 'Keep talking, I'm coming!'

  He'd moved about a dozen metres when he collided with her.

  'Are you OK?' he asked breathlessly.

  'Sore . . . sore but fine. Just fine. We did it!' cried Ronni.

  'We really did it!'


  They hugged each other, jumping up and down — and then abruptly found themselves very embarrassed about it and separated. Just as they did they heard the unmistakable rumble of a diesel engine. They hurried to the edge of the woods and peered out. A truck laden with solders was roaring across the plain towards them.

  They weren't done with running!

  28

  Captured

  Claire ran and ran, but it was no good. Not long after the shooting stopped the horde caught up with them. She screamed as they pounced on her, screamed as they pinned her against the wall and prepared to rip her to pieces and devour every inch of her. Inside she prayed harder than she could ever have imagined that they would kill her quickly and eat her later, that she wouldn't suffer too much, or at all. But there was one image that stayed with her through all the horror. In the moments before she was overwhelmed she caught sight of Cleaver standing with his hands clasped before him like a martyr. As they surrounded him and grabbed at him his eyes fastened on to hers and if she hadn't been so concerned with her own impending death she might have sworn that she saw him smile.

  ***

  Death was . . .

  . . . not instantaneous. Instead, the horde, once it was certain that it was in control, quickly calmed itself. The prisoners were herded against one of the walls and counted. The Hawaiian-shirted Rodriguez was begging not to be eaten. They just laughed at him. Cleaver stood at the end of the line. He appeared unfazed. Ty, standing beside Claire, touching her shoulder, was physically shaking. Or maybe it was both of them. She tried to get her heart to stop racing. Steady breaths. She darted a glance up the line of prisoners and realised that Jonas Jones wasn't amongst them. Had they killed him? The last time she'd seen him he'd been struggling to keep up. She wondered whether he'd collapsed from a heart attack. Or could he possibly have escaped? He was the only one amongst them who knew what part was needed to save the Titanic — his duty was not to think of them but to try and retrieve it. She crossed her fingers.