‘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 others 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.
Claire was looking at a quite pleasant-looking man, perhaps in his mid-thirties; he had short, sandy hair, a wispy moustache and a pair of glasses. His face was pale, and now that Claire could properly see his eyes she realised that they were wide and fearful and blinking uncontrollably. Instantly all of her fears and concerns evaporated.
‘Please – don’t hurt me . . .’ Slash took a step back. Now that the wooden lion mask wasn’t acting as a buffer to his voice, making it deeper and causing it to echo, it sounded really ordinary.
Jeffers spun towards the Butchers. ‘Yours too!’ he snapped.
The Butchers hesitated for a moment, looked at each other and then rather sheepishly removed their cheetah heads. If anything, the two men inside were even less impressive to look at than Slash.
Claire was utterly astounded. ‘I don’t understand . . . what . . . ?’
‘You know already, Claire,’ said Jeffers. He shook his head at Slash and the Butchers. ‘You’re actors – you put on your masks and act scary and people fall for it. Isn’t that right?’
Slash nodded warily.
‘Please,’ begged one of the Butchers, ‘you can’t tell anyone.’
Jef
fers ignored him and pointed at Slash. ‘You. What’s your name?’
Slash cleared his throat. ‘Billy. Billy Whitehouse. I, uhm, received a Tony Award for my role in The Jungle King. I—’
Claire had heard enough. ‘Let’s just get out of here – stop even talking to them, they’re still cannibals . . .’
‘No,’ said one of the Butchers, ‘we’re really not.’
‘Honestly,’ said the other.
Jeffers looked from one to the other. ‘Tell me.’
But it was Slash – Billy who stepped forward. ‘Please – this is all my fault. We haven’t done anything wrong – we’re just trying to, you know, get through this . . . You have to understand – we were rehearsing up here when the plague struck, there were twenty of us. . . and somehow it passed us by. We knew there were other survivors out there, but we stayed hidden in here, scared and hungry and . . . well, there were rats down in the basement, we killed some of them and I . . . well, when I wasn’t working I used to have a job in a restaurant, so I know how to cook, so I made this stew out of them, managed to rescue some spices, dried vegetables . . . and it was really not bad. Soon we were making it every day and word got out that we had fresh food and other survivors started to arrive and they ended up laying siege to the theatre and so we had to come up with a plan . . .’ He shrugged helplessly.
‘We put on our costumes,’ said one of the Butchers. ‘We opened the doors and let them all in, we put on our show for them, and then we fed them – and halfway through Billy told them that we were cannibals, that they were eating human flesh, and that we would continue to feed them if they followed our commands – and that we would eat anyone who didn’t. You have to understand, we are good actors, we play terrifying very well . . .’
‘They so absolutely believed us,’ said the other Butcher, ‘and there’s an inexhaustible supply of rats down there – they come up through the sewers.’
‘So they only think they’re cannibals?’ Claire asked.
‘Yes!’ said Billy. ‘We are not monsters. We only have the appearance of monsters.’
‘But what about the people you capture? The bones down at the harbour?’
‘It’s just a charade! If we capture someone, we tell them that they’re going to be eaten, we turn it into a big party, we make a huge rat stew, and then right before we’re supposed to kill them we “accidentally” leave their cell unlocked. They escape and when they get outside the city they tell everyone they meet that cannibals control New York, which scares people from coming in, so we’re left in peace . . .’
‘You’re left in charge, you mean,’ said Jeffers.
‘It’s not like that. Please believe us. Even the bodies that we burn, it’s all stage dummies and special effects and make-up. There are millions of bones lying about, we just carve a few up to make it look like they’ve been skinned and toss them on the fire. It’s all basic stagecraft.’ He sighed. ‘Look, we’ve . . . gotten used to doing it. It’s been a real kick, but we knew it couldn’t last. We honestly haven’t harmed anyone, we just came up with a scheme to keep people in line as a way of protecting ourselves. The problem is, it’s gotten a bit out of hand. It started out with just a few believing us – but now there’s thousands of them and they all think they’re cannibals. But if they find out it’s all been . . . a trick . . .’
‘They’ll eat you alive,’ said Jeffers.
33
Tunnels
Jonas Jones’ directions were precise. There was a train station a short distance from the 7-Eleven. They were to follow the underground tracks through half a dozen minor stops to Penn Station, and then continue on to Grand Central. They should wait at the rendezvous point there to see if anyone showed up, and then make their way to the harbour for the prearranged pick-up by the Titanic. He tried to make it sound as if it would really be as straightforward as that, and they nodded as if there was a remote possibility that it might be. But they all knew the truth. They were still walking into the heart of Cannibal City.
Jonas roared off on the newly refilled Kawasaki, bound for a mysterious factory and carrying on his broad shoulders the Titanic’s only hope of escaping from New York.
As they watched him go, Jimmy said: ‘I do believe that man just stole my bike.’
Ronni was still a little shocked – not only because she’d thought her time was up, but also at discovering that the man who’d put a gun to her head was a friend of Jimmy’s.
‘What are the chances of that happening, city this size?’ she asked.
‘Slim,’ Jimmy agreed. ‘Then again – everything’s so quiet, our bike could probably be heard for miles.’
‘So others might have heard it.’
They both scanned the surrounding buildings. ‘Let’s get moving,’ said Jimmy.
They hurried towards the station entrance. Though he didn’t say anything, Jimmy’s mind was racing.
Claire’s here in the city.
Jonas had escaped capture by sheer luck. In attempting to outrun his pursuers in the dark he’d stumbled over a caved-in section of the tunnel and had hidden behind the rubble while the cannibals swarmed all around the other passengers and crew. He had then watched helplessly as they were taken away. But yes, last time he’d seen them, they were all still alive, including Claire. Jimmy had thought Claire had died in the woods, and that it was his fault for falling out with her over Babe. Now that he knew she wasn’t dead – or hadn’t been when Jonas had last seen her, which was, admittedly many hours ago – surely it was his responsibility to try and help her? Jonas had ordered them back to the ship, but how could he do that? On the other hand, he also had a responsibility to get Ronni to safety. Was there a compromise? Or should he just not tell her that he was going to try and help Claire? Jonas had followed the captives at a discreet distance until they had exited the tunnels at Times Square, so Jimmy had at least a rough idea of what part of the city they were in. It was more or less on their way. Probably less.
As they entered the stations tunnel, Ronni said: ‘You’re very quiet.’
‘Thinking,’ said Jimmy.
‘I had a friend like you, once,’ said Ronni. ‘Every time I said to him don’t put your head out of that window, he put his head out of that window.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘His head was cut off by a passing train.’
‘That’s probably not a true story,’ said Jimmy.
They walked on, their way lit by a torch one of the passengers had left on the rail tracks and which Jonas had recovered. It showed them the way ahead, but it also showed them thousands of rats.
‘Better rats than cannibals,’ was Ronni’s opinion.
Jimmy wasn’t so sure. Every time he kicked one, another tried to bite him. The ones on the ground weren’t so bad, it was when they unexpectedly fell off the ceiling and landed on his head that they really got to him.
‘And swearing at them isn’t going to help,’ said Ronni.
‘It helps me,’ said Jimmy.
They came to Penn Station and continued on their underground path towards Grand Central. In another ten minutes they came to Times Square.
Jimmy stopped. ‘If we continue on from here, next stop we’ll be in Grand Central.’
Ronni nodded and looked on down the line. ‘So . . . ?’
‘So if we arrive in Grand Central we’re going to be kicking our heels all night until the rendezvous time.’
‘So . . .’
‘So I could quite easily take a wander upstairs here, see what’s happening. You could wait down here, if you want.’
‘With the rats?’
‘Better rats than cannibals, you said.’
‘Jimmy – your friend ordered us to keep going.’
‘Yes he did. But I’m only talking about taking a look. I mean, they’re probably all dead or in a pie. What harm can it do?’
‘We could end up in a pie, that’s what. I almost did already.’
‘Not if we re careful. You
told me yourself, the only reason they knew you weren’t one of them was because you screamed. If you just, like, zip it, we’ll be fine.’
‘Jimmy – please, it’s NOT SAFE. We’re not going and that’s final.’
Ten minutes later they walked out of the subway station and joined the crowds milling along the overgrown sidewalk, all moving in one direction – towards Times Square. They looked so normal, at least compared to the folks he’d encountered in the new settlements. They always looked permanently lost and deprived – this lot looked together. And they looked well fed.
All around him there were happy, jaunty people. Jimmy was pretty good at blending in; Ronni not so much. She walked stiffly, her eyes almost out on stalks, hardly daring to breathe.
He told her to relax.
‘I can’t’ she hissed. ‘I keep thinking one of them is going to turn round and bite me.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ whispered Jimmy. ‘They’d want to cook you first.’
‘That’s . . . not . . . funny!’
But she smiled a little bit, and it helped. She didn’t look quite so robotic – at least until they saw and smelled where the crowds were leading them. Ronni searched instinctively for Jimmy’s hand as they saw the flames licking up from three massive bonfires burning in the middle of the street outside the New Amsterdam Theatre. Spits had been placed across them, surely ready to receive whoever the cannibals had captured.
Claire.
What can I do even if I find her? I have no weapon – and there’s hundreds of them, I’ll be torn to shreds if I try anything.
They had expected the cannibals to gather around the bonfires, but instead they were entering the theatre itself, which was the only building in the entire imposing square which was lit up. Jimmy stared up at the glowing neon sign above the theatre.
The Jungle King.
‘What do we do?’ Ronni whispered.
‘We follow them in.’
‘But we don’t have . . .’
‘Tickets?’ It sounded ridiculous. ‘If they ask just keep smiling and act dumb. That shouldn’t be hard. Let me do the talking.’
Titanic 2020: Cannibal City Page 19