Titanic 2020: Cannibal City t2-2 Page 8

  As he stared out at the passing countryside Jimmy tried to imagine what Claire would have made of Mr Blackthorne. She would probably have drawn up two lists — one of positive things in the President's favour; the other negative.

  Jimmy tried it.

  IN FAVOUR

  1. At least he's trying to do something.

  2. Maybe his story's true — if he was a senator, then power could well have passed to him.

  3. He has already convinced lots of people.

  4. He has his own train.

  AGAINST

  1. He's trying to do something — but is kind of reluctant to say exactly what.

  2. No proof he was a senator. He could have been a plumber or a baker.

  3. The only people he seems to have recruited are kids. And he's given them guns.

  4. He might have been a train driver.

  There were other points to be made, but Jimmy couldn't carry them all in his head the way Claire would. He thought that if there was a trial to decide whether he really was the President and only had the best interests of humanity at heart, then the jury would have been split down the middle. All Jimmy could really add to the argument was that he was usually pretty good at reading people, and meeting Blackthorne had left him feeling uneasy. But then again — you could be uneasy with some people, and it didn't mean they were necessarily bad. He'd felt a bit like that with his old headmaster, Mr McCartney — yet he'd undoubtedly run a pretty good school.

  Jimmy was still gazing out of the window when the Camera Thief plopped down into the seat opposite. He was chomping on a thick sandwich. When he'd swallowed about half of what was in his mouth he waved it at Jimmy. 'You should get one of these,' he said, spraying crumbs across the way, 'they're great. Just down the corridor and ask—'

  'I'm not hungry,' said Jimmy.

  Actually, he was starving. But he was determined not to pay any attention to the Camera Thief.

  The Camera Thief shrugged. He took another bite. 'So you've been to see President Whatisface? Whaddya reckon?'

  Jimmy fixed him with his best steely look. 'I reckon you should keep your pie-hole closed and stop spitting bread at me.'

  The Camera Thief nodded. He continued chewing, now with his mouth closed.

  'Maybe we got off on the wrong foot,' he said.

  'Maybe you killed my friend,' Jimmy shot back.

  'I didn't kill anyone.'

  'Right.'

  The Camera Thief stood up. 'Please yourself.'

  He walked off down the aisle. Jimmy returned his attention to the countryside.

  The steady rhythm of the train induced sleep. He wasn't sure how long he was out for, but he woke to the sound of brakes that needed oiling and the train slowing to a halt. It was dark. Jimmy pressed his eyes to the glass, but could see nothing.

  'Everyone off! Everyone off!'

  The voice came from outside. Camera Thief, who had evidently been sleeping in the seat opposite, stretched before moving to the carriage door. Jimmy followed him. They stepped down on to a small wooden platform along with the soldiers and dozens of other rather dazed-looking kids.

  He's been picking them up all along the line.

  Mohican came marching down the platform, barking at them to form into lines three abreast. He said they had a long walk in front of them. Jimmy asked where they were going.

  'Fort Hope!' Mohican snapped out. Then he paused, grabbed a handful of Jimmy's shirt and pulled him close. 'And don't speak until you're spoken to,' he snarled.

  Jimmy just stared at him. Mohican's eyeballs bore into his for at least five seconds before he abruptly let him go. Jimmy fell back. Mohican turned and shouted down the line.'All right! Let's move out!'

  They all bustled forward, dragging Jimmy along with them. Mohican was at their head. He led them along the platform, down a flight of steps and out on to a road littered with abandoned vehicles, his armed 'soldiers' marching along on either side — either to guide them; or to prevent them from escaping.

  The train station had evidently been a small country halt, because very soon the sidewalk on either side disappeared and the road narrowed significantly until they were marching along between dark hedgerows.

  After about ten minutes they heard a car engine behind them. Mohican ordered them to the side of the road as a long, slick, black limousine sped past. Jimmy caught the briefest glimpse of President Blackthorne in the back. Mohican and the other soldiers stood to attention and saluted as he passed. Camera Thief, who had slotted into the small troop beside Jimmy, saluted as well, but out of the side of his mouth he whispered: 'Always the same — the rich travel in style and we're left out here, cold and hungry.'

  'Shhhh,' said someone on his other side.

  'At least it's not raining,' said Camera Thief.

  Naturally enough and within five minutes, thunder rolled across the sky, and very soon after, torrential rain began to pound down.

  'Nice work, Rain Man,' somebody spat angrily from behind.

  It was a nickname that stuck.

  Jimmy was well used to the rain at home in Ireland — it rained there virtually every day. And he'd thought he knew what a heavy downpour was, but this was something different. It was harder, thicker and, somehow, wetter. It came down like bullets. There was no question of taking shelter. Mohican led them on without slackening the pace. Within a couple of minutes they were all absolutely drenched, and shivering, and miserable.

  This Promised Land had better be bloody good.

  ***

  The bedraggled troop had been marching for nearly an hour when they first became aware of a growing brightness low down on the horizon ahead of them, and they were soon nudging each other and speculating on what it might represent.

  'It's a city, I'll bet,' one of them said.

  'You've got nothing to bet with,' another answered.

  'Fort Hope, that's where he said we were going,' said one.

  'Maybe Fort Hope's a city, but I never heard of it.'

  'I've been watching the road signs,' said Rain Man, 'and none say there's a city near here.'

  'Where are we then, Rain Man?' someone asked.

  'East of somewhere,' said Rain Man, 'and north of nowhere.'

  Muttered curses came in response. Jimmy just wanted to poke him in the eye. Rain Man thought he was a wise guy. He didn't like him at all. If Claire had been there, she might have said of Jimmy and Rain Man that they were like mirror images of each other. But she wasn't there, and the thought would never have struck Jimmy in a million years.

  The rain finally began to ease off. Jimmy was exhausted and hungry. He marched with his eyes half closed, his feet moving automatically while his mind drifted. He allowed himself to fantasise pleasantly about what lay ahead, that this Fort Hope with its brightly lit streets would welcome him, give him a nice apartment with hot water, a fridge full of fresh food and hot, sweet food. It would have a big Plasma-screen television which played new shows, not like the television on the Titanic which only showed reruns. There might even be a phone. He could call home to Belfast and finally discover that the plague had bypassed Ireland completely, that his mum and dad and Granda and the rest of his extended family were all alive and well. They would tell him how much they missed him and he would do the same, he would tell them that the Titanic was bringing him home and to make sure his room was ready and his school uniform was pressed, because he was going right back there. This time he wouldn't play truant, he would do exactly what the headmaster, Mr McCartney, told him to do. He would even try and resist punching his occasional friend Gary, who had gotten him thrown off the original school tour of the Titanic and thus, arguably, had started off this whole mad adventure.

  The road descended into an area where the trees stood so thick and tall around them that the glow from Fort Hope was extinguished, leaving them to march along in an even more intense darkness than before. The road continued to lead them down for another ten minutes before levelling out for a short distance. Then it be
gan to climb steeply, which was the last thing their tired legs needed.

  They missed the glow. It had lifted their spirits. You could almost feel a weight settling on their sodden shoulders as they trudged uphill. Jimmy, though, had learned a thing or two about leading a team in his short time on the Times. These guys and girls he was marching with, he decided were no different than the rag-tag group of lost souls he'd encountered onboard — scared of what lay ahead, but probably brave enough if they got the right encouragement. (With the exception of Rain Man, of course, who remained his Mortal Enemy.)

  'Won't be long now,' said Jimmy, 'then I bet there's hot dogs.'

  'Yeah!' said someone.

  'How'd you know?' someone called.

  'I can smell them.'

  Urgent mutterings and sniffings came from the troop.

  'I can smell 'em too,' someone called out.

  'And pizza!'

  'There'll be hot baths,' someone called.

  'Playstation 5!' laughed another.

  'Hot dogs, pizza and Playstation 5 all together in the bath!' one shouted.

  Laughter rolled through the troop.

  'Probably get electrocuted,' said Rain Man.

  'Shut up, Rain Man,' said someone, and they laughed again.

  'Quiet back there!' It was Mohican, from the front.'It's not safe out here — keep your voices down!'

  They fell silent, very quickly. Why wasn't it safe? They had guns. What was there to be scared of? They all had these same thoughts. They moved closer together as they marched, peering fearfully into the night.

  The trees finally began to thin out and the glow returned, this time much more intensely, growing brighter until they finally reached the brow of the hill. Without being ordered to they came to a natural halt, looking at the vista below.

  Jimmy had seen many ramshackle settlements, choking on wood smoke and poisoned by disease and bad drainage, while reporting for the Times — but this was quite the opposite. He was looking down the hill and across a flat plain on which a settlement perhaps the size of twenty football pitches joined together had been built. Long wooden huts were laid out in a perfectly symmetrical pattern, perhaps as many as fifty of them, surrounding a pentagonal-shaped group of larger buildings. There were open parks marked out for sports on every side. The whole, massive area was surrounded by a high wire fence and guarded by watchtowers, set into it at intervals of perhaps twenty metres, from which intensely bright spotlights swept back and forth. It was really impressive. Jimmy could sense the excitement around him. The group's fatigue and misery were instantly forgotten as they surged forward, breaking into a jog.

  Mohican led the way, pointing ahead. 'Welcome to Fort Hope!' he cried.

  Jimmy knew he was grinning as widely as everyone else; his legs definitely felt lighter, his head was now clear. Fort Hope — the Promised Land! Yet. . . yet. . . as they drew closer and its massive gates began to swing out, and he saw the guns bristling on the watchtowers and poking out of the wire fence, he couldn't help thinking that it was not only supremely well equipped to keep people out — but also to keep them in.

  14

  The Minister

  Claire lay frozen as the minister bore down on her. She could not scream, she could not even make a sound. The shock was total. The man who had shot her, who had quite possibly killed Jimmy, was here on the Titanic, here in front of her, here almost right on top of her. . .

  . . . and then he passed by. If he even noticed her, he gave no indication; there was just that humming, the slow solid footsteps on the deck, his eyes staring straight ahead under that wide-brimmed hat. Claire hardly dared breathe. Her eyes followed him as he continued along the deck towards the doors at the far end. She put her hand to her chest, trying to still her racing heart.

  What if he turns back?

  He can't fail to see me, the second time.

  But he stepped inside, was visible for a few moments through the glass, then disappeared from view.

  Claire counted to thirty. Then sixty. She got up from the sun bed and cautiously approached the doors. She peered into the area in front of the elevators, and along the corridors leading away. No sign of him. She pushed the elevator button.

  What if they open and he's standing there?

  I haven't the strength to fight him off.

  She glanced behind her. There was a small, red, glass box attached to the wall — fire alarm. If she smashed that then everyone would come running and he wouldn't have the chance to . . . she stepped back as the elevator doors opened.

  Empty.

  Claire jumped in, pushed the button, and prayed that he wouldn't suddenly appear and trap her inside before the doors closed. She went down one level then hurried along to the bridge. When she peered through the door she saw Captain Smith and First Engineer Jonas Jones bent over a computer screen, looking tense. She scanned the rest of the room for First Officer Jeffers. He was easier to talk to, he would understand, he would do something. But there was no sign of him. She asked one of the passing crewmen where he was, her voice high, quivering — part fear, part adrenaline.

  'He's off duty, love,' said the crewman.

  Claire nodded. 'Don't call me love,' she said.

  'All right, darling,' said the crewman. Ordinarily she would have laughed it off — or reported him, depending on her mood — but she just stared at him. 'You all right, love? You look a bit pale?'

  'Fine.' She turned away. Jeffers' quarters were six levels below.

  Keep calm. The minister is one man. This is your ship. She started walking. A cold sweat plastered her blouse to her back. Her arm ached more than it had since she'd returned to the ship. When she reached the elevators her heart skipped again as the door opened and a man stepped out, but it wasn't him, it was one of the chefs going off shift. The Titanic was huge and she knew that the chances of running into him again so quickly were slim, but still she jumped at every movement around her, every sound. She made sure to stay in the interior of the ship. She knew if she ventured out on to deck he might simply step out of the shadows, pick her up and throw her overboard.

  When she eventually reached Jeffers' quarters she knocked lightly on his door. She would have hammered on it, but what if that drew the attention of the minister and he came thundering down the corridor and killed her before Jeffers could answer?

  She knocked again. After what seemed like an eternity Jeffers opened the door, his eyes bleary and his hair sticking up at a mad angle. He tutted the moment he saw who it was.

  'Claire, what the—?'

  Claire threw herself forward, pushing the door fully open and thrusting past him right into his cabin.

  Jeffers' mouth dropped open in surprise. But he recovered quickly 'Claire! I'm tired, I haven't time for your . . .' He stopped. His eyes had cleared now, and he could see the horror etched on her face; her bottom lip was quivering, her eyes were wide with fear. 'Claire — what is it?'

  'He's here!'

  He moved towards her. 'Who is, Claire?' He put his hand on her shoulders and bent slightly so that she was looking straight into his face. She collapsed against him and burst into tears. Words came out in a torrent, but they were incoherent, jumbled half-sentences. 'Claire! Claire, shhhhh . . . just slow down — I can t . . .

  He led her across the cabin and eased her on to the side of his bed. 'It's OK,' he said gently, 'you're safe now.'

  'But . . . he's . . . out . . .' She squeezed her words out between snorts and wheezes and cries. 'What . . . if . . . he. . .

  'Shhhhhh. Breathe. Deeper. That's it . . .'

  Slowly, slowly, she regained control of herself. He got her a Coke from the mini bar. 'I'm sorry . . . sorry . . . it's just . . .'

  'Tell me.'

  She told him. She tried to remember Scoop's journalistic training. She kept it as simple and succinct as she could. When she was finished she apologised again for getting into such a state.

  'It's fine.' He stood up. He rubbed at his jaw. 'I know who you're talking
about,' he said. 'He came on board at Cooper's Creek, the last stop. In fact, I interviewed him. His name's . . . his name's Calvin something . . . Cleaver, I think. Some kind of Presbyterian minister. Said he got stuck at a church convention in New Orleans when the plague broke out, been trying to make his way back to his congregation in New York ever since.'

  'He's a murderer.'

  'Claire — are you absolutely sure?'

  'One hundred per cent.'

  'Because that type of minister, they all wear those outfits, the big hats, you could easily have mistaken him for someone—'

  'It's him. He's not a minister, he couldn't be.'

  'And according to what you've told me, you only ever saw him at a distance.'

  'It's him! You have to arrest him!'

  Jeffers shook his head. 'No, Claire. At least, not yet. I'm going to have a little chat with him.'

  'But—'

  'Claire, you're perfectly safe. He didn't approach you up top because he didn't recognise you. If it was him in the woods then the chances are he didn't get a proper look at you. And besides he would have no reason to suspect either that you're alive, or alive and onboard this ship.'

  Claire shook her head incredulously. 'But he could find out! He could talk to someone! He'll come looking for me! You need to lock him up, you need to . . . you need . . . !'

  There was no convincing him. And, deep down, Claire knew he was right. There were ways to do things. She would be perfectly safe. Or reasonably so.

  ***

  Now that she had a job with the Times and felt pretty grown up, Claire had stopped living in her parents' suite — with their approval, because she drove them to distraction. So they were quite surprised when she arrived back at their cabins in the company of First Officer Jeffers and informed them that she was going to spend the night.

  Mr Stanford, who was wearing a scarlet dressing gown and smoking a cigar, immediately jumped to the usual conclusion. 'What has she done now, Mr Jeffers?'

  Claire sat quietly while the first officer explained. Mrs Stanford, listening from the bedroom, emerged towards the end and gently put a comforting arm around her daughter. Claire would normally have shrugged it off — but this time she allowed it to stay in place. It was actually quite comforting.