'That's . . . incredible . . . it's fantastic! Isn't it?'
'Yes it is. You saved my life.'
'Pedroza dead like that. . .'
'You saved my life.'
'And overpowering the mutineers . . .'
'You saved my life.'
'And even beating the hurricanes . . .'
'You saved my life.'
'Yes,' said Jimmy, 'I realize that.'
'I'll never forget it,' said Claire.
'All right.'
'Why did you do it?'
'Like I said, I tripped. Or fainted.'
'You jumped. You were going to sacrifice yourself for me.'
'I had every confidence in the lucky penny.'
'Jimmy Armstrong — you love me, don't you?'
Jimmy blinked at her. 'Are you sure you didn't get shot in the head?'
'You love me.'
'Claire — I don't even like you.'
That was harsher than he intended, but sometimes when you're cornered you say things you don't especially mean.
It had taken a lot for Claire to say what she said, and his instant rejection hurt. She flared up immediately.
'Why don't you get out of bed anyway? There's nothing wrong with you! For all I know you probably did trip! And I'm glad you don't even like me, because I'm getting off the ship this afternoon, and you'll probably never see me again. Do you hear me? You'll never see me again!'
She stormed out.
38
Farewell
'Well, Jimmy, what's it to be? Are you staying with us?'
Captain Smith stood beside him at the rail outside the bridge, looking down at the dock and the steady stream of people disembarking. They had been leaving like this for the past hour. Without even admitting it to himself, Jimmy was waiting to see if Claire really was leaving the ship. They hadn't spoken since their bust-up.
'I suppose I am,' said Jimmy.
'That's good. We've missed the newspaper these past couple of days, would be good to get it started again. I think it the passengers a lot. And the crew. At least those who are left.'
He had gathered everyone in the theatre shortly before the ship docked and told them that he intended to remain in Miami only as long as it took to refuel and forage for food supplies. He didn't believe the city to be safe, but he understood that many people wished to leave and they were free to do so.
'I didn't think so many would get off,' said Jimmy. 'It's safe here. Even after everything that's happened. Out there . . . isn't everyone dead?'
'We just don't know. Some places the plague hits, like St Thomas, it kills everyone, others — remember San Juan? — there are really quite a lot of survivors. Here, millions are dead for sure, but there will be survivors, there has to be, and if one of them is your son or daughter or dad, wouldn't you want to find them? Or just make sure they get a decent burial? I expect most will take a look around when they get ashore, realize just how bad it is, then get back here quick as they can. Others will try and make it home — might be twenty miles, might be two thousand. But they'll try.' They watched the line of disembarking passengers for several more minutes. 'Mr Stanford wants us to sail up the coast towards Texas; he's pretty certain we'll be able to refuel there. Then we'll just keep going from fuel depot to fuel depot, long as we can.'
'Does that mean the Stanfords are staying on board?'
'No, son. He hasn't the patience. He's going to try and get to the airport. He keeps a private jet there and he's hoping to fly his family out to the Midwest. They own a big farm — ranch, whatever you call it. Not too many people live out there anyway, so he reckons it will be safer than sticking it out on the Titanic or trying to make it in one of the cities.'
'But it's his ship. Doesn't he cares what happens to it, or to the people on it?'
'Of course he does, Jimmy. But he's done all he can do. He's letting us take the ship, he's brought as many passengers as he possibly could right back to port, and now he has to think of his family. I think that's only right.'
Jimmy understood. 'Do you have a family, Captain?'
Captain Smith took a deep breath. 'It sounds very corny, Jimmy . . .' he waved a hand across the prow of the ship, 'but this pretty much is my family.'
'No wife,' said Jimmy.
'Oh yes,' said the Captain, 'but she's an absolute cow. Don't tell anyone, but this plague is the best thing that ever happened to me. Now I've got an excuse not to go home to her.'
He winked at Jimmy, then turned and re-entered the bridge.
Jimmy knew he was only joking.
At least, he thought he knew he was only joking.
***
Twenty minutes later Jimmy spotted Claire as she left the ship with her parents. She had a pink bag slung over one shoulder.
'Claire!'
She didn't look up. He shouted again, but got no response. She was already too far away.
Well.
That was it.
She was gone.
Jimmy sighed.
Good. She was no friend at all. He'd be fine by himself.
He kicked at the guard rail.
And then he started running. He took the stairs six at a time. He moved faster than any elevator. By the time he reached the gangplank he could hardly breathe for the effort of it. First Officer Jeffers was on duty there, with a gun at his side, reminding everyone to check their watches.
'We sail at six, if you're coming back make sure . . .'
'Don't you worry, young man,' the elderly Miss Calhoon was saying, 'my watch has perfect time, and if by any chance I forget to check it, my Franklin will remind me.' Franklin was nestled in her arms. She raised one of his little paws and waved it. 'Won't you, darling? Franklin always— oh!' Miss Calhoon was spun around as Jimmy flew past. Franklin yelped and hid his little head, frightened.
'Jimmy, are you leaving us?' Jeffers shouted after him.
'No!'
Claire was now several hundred metres away along the dock, standing close to the main entrance to the passenger terminal, where, ordinarily, returning travellers would have had to pass through passport control then wait to retrieve their suitcases. But not today. The arriving passengers were hauling their own luggage, and there was nobody there to check their documents. They were back on dry land, but it wasn't the land they'd left. Doors blew back and forth in the stiff breeze, luggage carts lay upturned, cars abandoned.
Several bodies lay around the door itself. They were not only rotting, but they appeared to have had most of their flesh torn away from them. Claire stood clutching her father's arm as they looked down at them.
Mrs Stanford said, 'Dreadful . . . dreadful . . .'
'Claire.'
She turned. She tried extremely hard not to smile when she saw Jimmy. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying.
'I'm sorry,' said Jimmy.
Claire shrugged. She looked at the ground.
'I wish you weren't going,' he said.
'I wish I wasn't going.'
'It's those ponies, isn't it?'
'No . . . Jimmy, why don't you come with us?'
'What? Where to?'
'Our farm. Daddy's going to fly us there.'
He looked at the ground. 'I can't.'
'But why not? We'll be safe there, I'm sure of it.'
'I can't, Claire. I need to stay on the ship. Captain Smith thinks one day he'll take her back to Ireland. It's the only way I'll get to see my family again.'
'But they're probably . . .' She stopped herself. 'I'm sorry.'
'I know they probably are. But still.'
'Claire. Will you hurry up?'
It was her mother, standing in the doorway.
'Mum, it's not like we're going to be late for anything!'
'Don't be cheeky! Now hurry up!' Claire looked at Jimmy. Jimmy looked at Claire. 'So,' said Jimmy. 'So,' said Claire.
'I'm going to keep doing the paper.'
'That's good. No — that's great. I wish . . .' She sighed.
'Well. See you around.'
'Suppose.'
Jimmy nodded, then began to turn away.
'Jimmy?'
As he turned, she just jumped on him. She wrapped her arms around him and planted a kiss on his lips.
He didn't quite know what to do. So he kissed her back.
39
The Flesh Dogs
Jimmy was miserable. He went to the Times office and tried to start work on the next edition of the newspaper. All of the equipment had now been retrieved from the various hiding places they had used during Pedroza's brief reign, and Claire had even persuaded her dad to order that some extra equipment be sent across from the Olympic before the ropes were cut and it floated off to its doom.
But he couldn't concentrate.
Ty, who had also chosen to remain on board, told Jimmy to relax, that Claire could easily be replaced. 'There are plenty more fish in the sea,' he said.
Jimmy threw a printer at him.
He imagined Claire at that very moment, flying through the air, on the way to a new life on her farm.
He could not have been further from the truth.
Mr Stanford had commandeered a Miami Port Authority transit bus. He had also, somewhat reluctantly, agreed to drop Miss Calhoon, Franklin and half a dozen other passengers in downtown Miami.
They had been driving for over an hour, but had only managed to travel about a mile from the port because the roads were almost impassable. Wrecked and abandoned cars, bodies, burned out and collapsed buildings — everything combined to make their progress agonizingly slow.
Claire stood behind her dad. 'This is impossible,' she said. 'It will take for ever.'
'Nothing's impossible,' her dad snapped.
From behind her her mother said: 'Your father didn't become a billionaire by saying things were impossible. He went out and did them.'
'Isn't that nice,' said Miss Calhoon. Franklin barked.
The closer they got to the city centre, the worse it got. There was nothing but devastation and destruction. Fires had burned out of control, laying waste to entire blocks. There did not appear to be any survivors.
'Oh damn it!'
Smoke began to pour from under the hood. A few metres further on the bus shuddered, then ground to a halt. Mr Stanford quickly ushered them all off. Just as he prepared to take a closer look at the engine, it burst into flames.
'Great,' said Claire.
***
They began to hunt for an alternative means of transport capable of carrying them all. Mr Stanford himself was desperately keen to go directly to the airport, but he had accepted the responsibility of giving the other passengers a ride into the city and didn't feel that he could abandon them — especially with a dog like that eyeing them up.
It was a huge beast, like a cross between a German shepherd and a Rottweiler, standing less than a dozen metres away, its teeth bared and dripping.
'Easy, boy,' said Mr Stanford.
At about the same time, another passenger, a Mr Greening — an elderly man with a hearing aid and walking stick — stumbled across what he thought was a survivor. A man was lying face down on the sidewalk — but still appeared to be moving.
Mr Greening struck the ground with his stick to attract the others' attention. 'There appears to be someone . . .' But then he stopped. A small dog had wriggled out from beneath the body, and was now snarling at him. Its teeth were bright red. Strips of rotting flesh hung from them. The old man began to back away.
Mr Stanford, sensing danger, was just beginning to usher them all back towards the safety of the bus — even though it was still smoking — when two more snarling, snapping animals wriggled out from beneath it, cutting off their approach to the open doors.
Then there was another dog, and another, and soon they were surrounding the little group, pressing them closer and closer together.
'My God!' Mr Greening cried. 'They've been eating the dead! They have a taste for human flesh!'
The dogs were now a mass of spitting, snapping beasts, intent only on tearing them apart and devouring them.
They drew closer and closer.
Claire clung to her father. He tried to kick at one, but instead of ducking away it lunged at him and sank its bloody teeth into his shoe. Mrs Stanford screamed. The dog was now attempting to drag her husband away. Claire kicked at it. Momentarily surprised, it lessened its grip for just a fraction of a second — enough to allow him to twist his foot out of his shoe and scramble backwards.
The dogs moved closer again.
'Oh, they just need to know who's in charge!' It was Miss Calhoon. She patted Franklin's fluffy head and stepped forward.
'No!' Claire shouted.
But the old lady wasn't frightened at all. Miss Calhoon raised a warning finger to the flesh dogs and shouted, 'Sit!'
The flesh dogs growled and roared. 'SIT!'
One dog actually did. 'SIT!'
Then another sat, and another, until one by one all of the dogs surrounding them were sitting obediently.
'Now,' said Miss Calhoon, turning and beaming triumphantly at her companions, 'why don't we all get back on the bus. I'm sure it will be perfectly safe.'
They hesitated. It was Claire who made the first move. 'Come on, Mum, let's go.'
She took her hand and moved towards the encircling dogs. Mr Stanford ushered the others forward. One by one, and hardly daring to breathe, they passed through them and began to climb back on to the bus. Only Miss Calhoon stayed where she was, her finger raised and repeating over and over: 'Stay . . . stay . . . good boys . . . stay . . .' until they were all on board.
'You see?' said the old woman, 'they're all just scared and hungry, aren't they, Franklin?' She raised the little poodle up to kiss the top of his head, but as she did Franklin suddenly snapped at her. He was a spoiled little creature, and had snapped a thousand times, but this was the first time in his entire life that he had actually bitten her. Probably, he didn't mean to. Possibly he was just nervous, with all those other dogs there. But his little sharp teeth jagged into her nose, drawing blood, and causing a shocked Miss Calhoon to drop him.
The watching dogs, smelling fresh blood, immediately stood and began to snarl.
Miss Calhoon only had eyes for Franklin, who was scampering away. 'Franklin!' she cried, and began to shuffle after him. 'Franklin!'
The dogs growled and edged closer.
'Miss Calhoon!' Claire shouted from the bus doorway. 'Don't . . .!'
The Rottweiler snapped at her. Miss Calhoon immediately ordered it to sit again — but her moment was gone.
The flesh dogs attacked.
40
The new Voyage
Chief Engineer Jonas Jones reported that refuelling was completed. First Officer Jeffers presented the figures for the returnees — of the two hundred passengers who'd gone ashore, eighty-five had returned. Out of fifty crew who'd left, twenty-six were back on board. The cruise line's dockside food storage facility was found to be intact and an emergency generator used to keep it frozen had apparently only failed within the past few days, leaving nearly all of it in edible condition. This had been brought on board, together with several tonnes of tinned foods which Jeffers had 'liberated' from various supermarkets.
'Very well, gentlemen,' said Captain Smith, 'let's get her underway.'
***
Jimmy was back in the Times office, typing up a story. He'd interviewed a number of the returning passengers about their experiences in Miami, and he was depressed even writing about it. The city was a mess.
He had paused as the engines started up, then forced himself to continue writing. They were off now, on the next voyage of the Titanic. There were new adventures to come, he was sure of it. Yet he felt empty.
Alone.
He was alone, as Ty Warner was too frightened of being attacked again to return yet. But — alone alone.
Jimmy typed for another five minutes. He reread what he'd written.
It was rubbish.
&
nbsp; He deleted it and started again.
There was a knock on the door.
'Get lost, Ty, I'm busy.'
It was knocked again.
'I'm serious. Just leave me alone.'
When it was knocked for a third time, Jimmy leaped from his chair and yanked it open. 'Will you just. . .!'
He stopped.
'Hello,' said Claire.
'Oh.'
'What's got you all fired up?'
'Uhm. Nothing. What are you doing here? I thought . . .'
'Job to do, haven't I?' She slipped past him into the office and crossed to her desk. She pulled out her chair and sat down.
Jimmy remained in the doorway. 'Claire?'
'It's no big deal. We couldn't get anywhere near the airport — every road is blocked. Miss Calhoon got eaten by wild dogs. We decided to come back to the ship.' 'Miss Calhoon . . .?'
'Torn to pieces, actually.'
Jimmy cleared his throat. 'I don't suppose you . . .'
Claire gave him a look. 'No, I didn't get any photos of it. And you are one sick individual.'
Jimmy closed the door. He returned to his own desk. He typed something. Without looking up he said: 'I passed by the gangplank two or three times, you know, interviewing people. I didn't see you come back.'
'No, we were late. Daddy borrowed a little speedboat and we caught you up.'
'Ah. Right.'
Claire studied her own computer. Without looking up she said: 'All that stuff, you know when you woke up, and then on the dock, when we said goodbye . . . I was just upset about Pedroza getting shot dead like that, and then me having to leave the ship. I didn't really mean any of it.'
'I know that.'
'I just want to do the paper.'
'That's OK. Me too.'
'It's important, and it's fun, and there's no point in spoiling that.'
'Absolutely not.'
They both nodded.
'Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Captain speaking.'
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