Titanic 2020: Cannibal City t2-2 Page 18

  'I don't understand,' Claire said to Jeffers. 'Usually you never want me along.'

  'This is different.'

  'How?'

  'Because they want to negotiate.'

  ' What? How do—'

  'Shhhhh.'

  There was a door at the top of the steps with two armed guards stationed outside. One of them opened it and they followed Wolf Man into a large, mostly empty space, with mirrors along one wall. As a child Claire had attended ballet lessons in a room similar to this. A throne like the one she'd earlier seen pushed on to the stage sat at the back of the room. It was empty, but men wearing cheetah heads stood on either side of it. Each of them gripped what appeared to be samurai swords. They stared straight ahead and didn't acknowledge either of the prisoners as they approached the throne. A tap could be heard running from a smaller room off to one side. Then it was turned off, and a moment later King Slash appeared, his lion head in place, wearing a flowing white gown with some kind of ceremonial dagger in a jewel-encrusted belt looped around his waist. He was wiping his hands on a paper towel, which he rolled up and threw to one side. He nodded at Wolf Man, who turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Slash mounted two steps to his throne and sat. 'Have you met the Royal Butchers?' he asked.

  Claire shuddered as the two swordsmen stepped forward, in perfect time, until one was behind her, the other behind Jeffers. Then they performed an about turn, so that they were facing their king again.

  'They will carve the meat from you while you still breathe.'

  Claire swallowed.

  'They will suck the marrow from your bones and—'

  'Enough.' Jeffers' voice was quiet but steady.

  Silence.

  Claire wanted to scream at him, Be quiet! Don't make them angry! They're going to slice me up alive!

  Slash rose slowly from his throne. He stepped down to their level. He stood in front of Claire. He moved his impassive lion face right into hers. Slash sniffed at her. Sweat dripped down her back.

  'Please . . .' she whispered.

  Pure dread.

  He moved on to Jeffers. Two sets of eyes bore into him — the unmoving lion eyes and the brown human eyes, narrow, piercing. Jeffers stared straight ahead.

  'What do you want?' Jeffers asked.

  Slash began to laugh, but it sounded odd, hollow, through the mask. Suddenly, and with considerable speed, he whipped the dagger from its sheath and held it to Jeffers' neck just below the ear. Claire let out an involuntary cry.

  'What do I want?' Slash hissed. 'I want Titanic.'

  31

  Hang On

  They came to their second station platform of the afternoon, but they were still resolutely out in the country. They were exhausted. New York seemed as far away as ever. Jimmy knew they weren't going to be able to do anything to help Titanic if they didn't get a move on. The war had probably already started. The President versus King Slash. It sounded like something you'd dream up in a nightmare.

  Ronni lay down on the platform and refused to budge. 'Just ten minutes,' she pleaded.

  Jimmy stared up the line. He thought they were probably walking along a track that had only been used irregularly even before the plague had struck; it just felt remote, even though he knew the massive sprawl of New York could not be that far away. Possibly it looped right around the outskirts of the city, serving small outlying communities. There must be a connection somewhere up ahead which would have transferred the President's train on to the main line leading directly into the city. But it could still be miles away.

  He returned to the platform, wandered past the ticket window and down a set of moss-tinged wooden steps into a small car park. There were three cars there, but they had been stripped of their essential parts and drained of fuel and now they lay with their doors open, windows smashed. It was a pity. A car would at least have gotten them as far as the outskirts of the city. If New York was anything like Miami or any of the larger cities he'd recently visited, that would have been the limit of it's usefulness — everywhere he'd been the streets had been impassable because of abandoned vehicles.

  At the end of the car park there was a wooden shack with a sagging roof which had collapsed at one end. He pulled the bolt back on the door and looked inside, then nearly had a heart attack as a bird or a bat or something flashed past him. He took a deep breath and stepped in. It was a mechanic's workshop. Benches were piled high with spare parts and tools; it smelled of oil and paint. At the end where it had caved in there was a crumpled tarpaulin which had protected something from the cascade of rotten wood and rubble. Somewhat apprehensive of setting off a further collapse, Jimmy nevertheless cautiously raised the end of the tarp and peered beneath.

  ***

  Ronni was out for the count. She'd only meant to rest her legs, but her exhausted body had overridden that intention and the moment she allowed her eyes to even flutter, she was gone. What brought her back was a roar. Her survival instincts had been so finely honed by her horrific experiences over the past few months that even before she was really awake she had rolled off the platform on to the track and was running with all the speed she could muster. But the roar was getting closer and closer. She daren't look back, she just had to escape, she had to—'

  'Ronni, do you want a lift?'

  Jimmy cruised effortlessly past her astride a gleaming red Kawasaki motorcycle. Ronni stopped, gasping for breath, as Jimmy turned the bike and came back towards her.

  'Jimmy! You nearly . . . !'

  He ignored her. He was in love. He'd occasionally ridden scrambler bikes over rough terrain with his friends back in Belfast, but this was something altogether different — fast, powerful and with half a tank of petrol. The bike was far from new, he could tell that, but someone long dead had lavished a lot of attention on it. It felt fantastic.

  'So, what are you waiting for?' Jimmy laughed. 'Climb on!'

  Ronni looked at the bike, and then at Jimmy, doubtfully. 'Crash helmets?' she asked hopefully.

  'Yeah, right.'

  In fact, she loved it too. She tucked her legs in and held tight to Jimmy, peering over his shoulder as they roared down country roads, the wind in their hair, teenagers having fun. Even as they entered the suburbs of the city he was able to weave in and out of abandoned cars and mount sidewalks, and it barely slowed them down. Ronni wasn't quite so relaxed now — she shouted above the engine that the noise of the bike against the silence of the city was sure to attract attention. But he wouldn't listen. He was enjoying himself too much. Of course he didn't say that. He shouted back that the further they could get at speed the better. There was no time to waste. They would have to take the chance — and besides, it was a huge city and they'd barely entered the outer limits of it. She had no choice but to hold on. They skirted the edge of Newark Airport, the huge fleets of abandoned planes a stark reminder of the scale of the disaster.

  A couple of miles further on the engine began to splutter and cough. Jimmy gunned it, trying to coax life back into it, but within a few hundred metres it died completely.

  'Out of petrol,' he said as he dismounted.

  He looked about him; there were strip malls on both sides of the street.

  'OK,' said Ronni. 'It got us this far, now we start walking.'

  Jimmy took hold of the handles and began to push it. 'Not yet,' he said. 'There'll be a petrol station further up.'

  He was already straining to support the weight of the bike.

  'Jimmy — now it'll slow us down. You have to leave it.'

  'No.'

  He pushed on. Ronni walked out in front, occasionally casting disapproving glances back at him. She was scared now. She had felt a certain measure of security with Jimmy, but now that he was acting so childishly the knowledge that he really wouldn't be able to protect her if the cannibals spotted them was growing with every step she took. What was she even thinking of, returning here? Why hadn't she stayed in the security of the camp? What if they're watc
hing us already? What chance would we have? She tramped on, her eyes darting suspiciously from building to building.

  They came to two petrol pumps in front of a 7-Eleven grocery store. But there was no electricity to work them. Jimmy thought if he could gain access to the underground tanks he might be able to siphon enough out to get them going again. While he tried to work out exactly how to do that Ronni quietly picked through what was left of the store — it had already been looted long ago — for something to eat. She was able to forage several bottles of Coke and a box of half-melted Hershey chocolate bars. She smiled to herself as she tucked in: if the plague and the cannibals didn't get her, the cholesterol probably would.

  She was just emerging from the store to offer Jimmy a share when a hand was clamped roughly over her mouth and the muzzle of a gun was placed against the side of her head. 'Shhhhh.'

  ***

  Jimmy used a discarded wrench to pry off the metal casing over the underground storage tank, and was just looking down into the darkness, trying to determine if there was actually any petrol left in there, when a shadow fell over him.

  'Raise your hands, you cannibal monster,' said a ragged voice.

  Jimmy raised them.

  'Now turn around very slowly . . . and throw me the keys.' Jimmy started to turn. 'If you try anything I'll put a bullet in her.'

  Jimmy completed his turn.

  Ronni was bug-eyed with fright. The man with his hand across her mouth and gun to her head was overweight, steaming with sweat and covered from head to toe in grime.

  'Hello, Jonas,' said Jimmy. 'Long time no see.'

  32

  Betrayal

  They were given thirty minutes to think about it.

  Jeffers remained silent as they were escorted from King Slash's throne room back to their prison below. Once the door was closed and locked behind them the passengers and crew clustered around Jeffers and Claire, demanding to know what had happened.

  Jeffers asked for silence, his face grim.

  'This . . . Slash — he wants the ship,' he said. 'He wants us to lure Titanic into port, and then he will seize her. If we do not agree he will kill one of us every thirty minutes and roast our bodies on the fire for supper. He will keep doing this until we give up the ship, or until there's none of us left.'

  They all stared at him. They had expected to die from the moment they were captured, but when it hadn't happened instantaneously they had allowed themselves some small measure of hope. But now this situation seemed even worse. They were being offered a chance to save themselves — at the expense of the ship that had saved them.

  Dr Hill was the first to speak. 'We cannot risk the Titanic. There are hundreds of passengers and crew still on board — if they get the ship they will surely kill them as well as us. They have no reason to keep any of us alive.'

  'We don't know that,' said Rodriguez. 'Maybe he just wants the ship — not the people inside.'

  'If it buys us some more time,' said one of the passengers — Mr Robinson, clutching his wife's hand tightly — 'maybe we should agree. Captain Smith might be able to find a way to rescue us.'

  Dr Hill shook his head. 'If Captain Smith becomes aware that we're being held hostage, he will not attempt a rescue. He will sail away rather than lose the ship.'

  'But he can't sail away,' observed Claire. 'Not without the missing part.'

  'We don't know that for sure,' said Dr Hill. 'Jonas may still be alive. He could still make it back to the ship.'

  'He's gone,' said Rodriguez. 'If the cannibals didn't get him, the rats surely did. He could hardly walk when I saw him. The ship is dead in the water. We have to try and save ourselves.'

  They argued back and forth. There was angry pointing and raised voices, threats and warnings and cries of despair. The only members of their company who did not contribute were First Officer Jeffers himself — and the Rev. Cleaver, who remained sitting, off to one side, hands clasped, eyes closed, his lips moving every so subtly, apparently in prayer. Claire looked at Jeffers two or three times; he was at the centre of the group, he appeared to be listening, but there was something about the distant look in his eyes that made her think he had zoned out, that he was thinking his own course through it all. Eventually, as they continued tearing each other's arguments to shreds, he pushed through them and went and stood in front of the door, just staring at it. Claire also detached herself from the group and stood by him.

  Without looking at her, he said: 'There's something about this that isn't right.'

  'There's none of it that's right.'

  'No — I mean . . . I don't know exactly what I mean. It's about the show — the musical, the costumes — they're all . . .'

  'Actors,' said Claire.

  Jeffers nodded.

  'Their language, the way they act — it's like a performance . . .'

  Claire wasn't really sure what he was driving at, but she was prepared to trust his instincts more than most of those still arguing amongst themselves on the other side of the room. Dr Hill would go with whatever Jeffers decided. Probably the remaining crewmen would continue to obey orders. Ty would do the right thing, she was sure. The remaining passengers, though — they might do anything to survive, even if that meant betraying the Titanic.

  Eventually, with everyone still arguing, the door opened and a Wolf Man entered. Silence fell immediately.

  'Have you come to a decision?' He demanded. 'Are you prepared to give up the ship?'

  They all looked to Jeffers. He nodded around them, then faced the Wolf Man. 'Yes,' he said, 'we will surrender Titanic.'

  Claire's mouth dropped open. Although most of their group had argued for such a decision, to hear it coming from Jeffers was quite a shock.

  'I am the senior officer present,' he said. 'I have made my decision. Dr Hill, you're in charge until I return.'

  Claire never thought in a million years that Jeffers would give the Titanic up so easily. She was about to protest — though, she noted, nobody else was — when Jeffers addressed the Wolf Man again, 'The Titanic is yours, subject to one condition.'

  The Wolf Man immediately barked: 'What?'

  'That's between me and Slash.'

  Because of his mask it was impossible to read his face. There was a long moment when nothing was said, before he angled his head to one side and snapped, 'This way.'

  In turn Jeffers indicated for Claire to follow him. She hesitated, unsure if she wanted to be part of this great betrayal. But then she decided it would at least give her the chance to make one last effort to talk him out of it. As they were led back down the corridor she hissed: 'What are you doing? You can't give her up!'

  He didn't look at her, and as he spoke his lips barely moved. 'I need you to trust me.'

  ***

  Slash sat regally, with a Royal Butcher on either side. The Wolf Man bowed, approached and whispered in his ear; Slash nodded and the Wolf Man withdrew.

  'A condition?' Slash sneered. 'You are not in a position to make a condition!

  'I believe I am.'

  Slash bristled. The Butchers inched closer; Claire was aware of their hands moving to the hilts of their swords.

  'I am giving you the Titanic, said Jeffers, 'I believe that deserves something in return. All I want you to do is kill me and to let the rest of my party go free.'

  Claire spun towards him. 'You can't—'

  'Be quiet! It's my decision.'

  This then was his grand plan — a noble sacrifice to save their lives . . . or an easy escape from the guilt of giving up his ship?

  Slash's real face was hidden, but he sounded like he was smiling. 'You have my word. Now, how can you be so sure that you can deliver the ship?'

  Jeffers looked emotionlessly at Claire. She knew immediately what was coming. 'Don't—' she began, but there was no stopping him.

  'This is the daughter of the owner. If she sends a distress signal, they will come ashore to rescue her. They would only do it for her, not for me or anyone else. As long
as you have her, you have the ship.'

  Claire glared at him. 'You . . . you bastard! How could you?'

  'Be quiet, Claire. It's done.'

  Slash stood from his throne and stepped down, rubbing his hands together. 'It has been a pleasure doing business with you. Now, my Butchers, take him away and—'

  Jeffers shook his head and said, 'No.' Slash stopped. 'That wasn't the bargain. My condition was that you kill me.'

  Slash laughed. 'And get blood on my hands? I don't think so. Guards, take . . .'

  Jeffers suddenly took a step forward and ripped the jewelled dagger from the sheath on Slash's waist. Before Slash or the Butchers could react he plunged it into his own neck.

  Claire screamed.

  But instead of blood spraying out, instead of Jeffers collapsing down dead by his own hand, he stood where he was.

  No blood.

  Unharmed.

  He turned swiftly to one side and chopped one of the Butchers across the neck; as he fell, Jeffers spun and punched the other. As he tumbled backwards and Slash stood, stunned, Jeffers calmly bent and lifted one of the samurai swords, stepped forward and thrust it deep into the king's chest.

  Slash took a step back.

  But he remained standing.

  Claire stared — shocked, mesmerised.

  He has a sword sticking out of his heart. Why isn't he dead? Why isn't Jeffers?

  Her questions were answered almost immediately as Jeffers pulled the sword out of the king — again there was no blood and no gaping hole — and showed it to her. 'See? Retractable blade! It's not real, Claire, it's a theatrical prop!'

  He threw it down. Behind him the Royal Butchers were groggily getting back to their feet, but he ignored them and instead took hold of Slash's lion mask.

  'No . . . !' Slash cried, but it was too late. Jeffers ripped it off his head to reveal — well . . . someone very, very ordinary.