They stepped into the theatre foyer.
Box office straight ahead.
Concession stand to the right.
The smell of popcorn.
Young ladies in smart uniforms giving out programmes.
No tickets required.
Everyone giddy with excitement.
Up red-carpeted steps and into an auditorium.
What is this? What’s going on?
How can it be so normal?
They’re cannibals!
An announcement came over the PA – ‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, please take your seats for the wildest show on earth!’
34
The Death of Slash
They could hear the pounding music coming from the stage above, but it was distorted by distance and echo and stone floors and wooden beams so that it sounded like a remote signal from another world. It was just about discernible as ‘Food Chain’, a song, Claire thought, about the survival of the fittest.
That’s what we are.
We’re going to pull through this.
Jeffers is a class act: he’s turned the tables, he’s in command.
There was still, however, just a nagging doubt caused by the fact that they were still imprisoned in the bowels of the theatre; that upstairs was heaving with people who believed they were cannibals; and that they were all still obliged to go through with a bizarre charade to ensure that they made it out alive.
What could possibly go wrong?
King Slash and his cronies – the Royal Butchers, the Wolf Men and the other members of the cast of the Broadway production of The Jungle King – had wanted to bargain. They wanted out of New York. Their position was that those hundreds of people who thought they were cannibals, who had resigned themselves to it and accepted the terrible guilt of what they’d done, would not take kindly to suddenly being told that they’d been suckered into believing it all, that they’d been eating rats and obeying the sometimes brutal and often arbitrary commands of a bunch of actors. Although they might be relieved to discover that they weren’t as bad as they thought, they were bound to react angrily and seek vengeance on those who had hoodwinked them.
Slash was still in a strong bargaining position. He remained the king, and one royal command could result in Jeffers and Claire and all of the other prisoners really being eaten. Slash was quite blunt – if that was the only way to save their own skins, then that’s what he would order.
So the plan was this: the prisoners would be paraded on stage at the climax of that evening’s performance of The Jungle King. They would then be taken away to be killed by the Royal Butchers and prepared for the barbecues outside. (Claire, rather stupidly, asked why they weren’t killed on stage. One of the Butchers replied, ‘Because we’re cannibals, not barbarians!’) While the crowds partied around the bonfires, awaiting the arrival of the ‘meat’, the prisoners, together with Slash and the members of the theatre group, would sneak into the sewers beneath the building and escape. They would make their way to Titanic where they would be offered safe passage to a port of their choice.
Jeffers had agreed to this – but had insisted that the detail of it was kept secret from the other passengers and crew. ‘They’re too fragile,’ he told Claire. ‘If they blab it out, if they act differently, they could jeopardise the whole escape. I’ll only tell them what I have to – that we have a way out but that it absolutely depends on them following orders.’
Claire agreed, though she didn’t envy Jeffers having to tell them.
Naturally, when he did, they demanded to know.
Rodriguez was the most vocal. ‘You’ve sold us down the river! You’re saving your own skin! That’s why you want us to be quiet, that’s why you want us to—’
One of the crewmen stuck a finger in Rodriguez’s face and snapped: ‘Shut up, or I’ll eat you myself and save them the trouble!’
Rodriguez went quiet.
‘I think we should trust him.’
It came from what Claire though was the most unlikely source of all. Cleaver. Throughout, he had remained calm and collected but withdrawn, so this sudden support for Jeffers’ plan, even though he too was largely ignorant of it, had a settling effect on those doubting members of the party.
Ty nudged Claire’s arm. ‘What’s he up to?’ he whispered.
Claire shook her head. She had given up trying to fathom what the minister was about.
When the door was finally unlocked and Wolf Man appeared, all Jeffers said was:‘Keep calm, follow orders, everything will be fine.’
And so they were escorted out in single file, First Officer Jeffers following Wolf Man, Claire behind, and the other passengers and crew tailing back. As they rose through the levels towards the stage the music grew in clarity and volume, with the building vibrating both to it and to the frenzied stamping and clapping of the audience. Those nagging doubts were beginning to multiply in Claire’s mind. What if the bargaining really had just been a way of keeping them quiet? What if Jeffers’ exposure of King Slash and the Butchers as a fraud had merely prompted them to pull off another scam – making them think they were going to be released while all the time the plan was to shut them up until they could be executed? Were they, even now, walking placidly to their deaths? Killing them would allow Slash to continue his reign. Killing them was expected. Even if they hadn’t actually murdered or eaten anyone before, if they started now nobody was going to know the difference, or punish them. There was no law but Slash’s law. They could do exactly what they wanted.
The passengers and crew reached the backstage area. They were corralled into a tight group and prodded forward as the roars from the audience, prompted by a Wolf Man on stage, grew in intensity. Claire wanted to bolt, to hide, but there was nothing she could do but emerge blinking into a blaze of stage lights and the wall of sound.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! I present to you . . . dinner!’
Jimmy could hardly believe his eyes. Claire was there on the stage before him, together with Jeffers and Dr Hill and . . .
Oh my God . . . the minister!
How was that possible?
Up until then Jimmy had actually been quite relaxed. They had sat unrecognised and undisturbed in a theatre, enjoying a musical. Even Ronni had been chilled enough to actually tap her feet and sing along. For a few minutes they’d been able to drift into a land of make-believe, to imagine that everything that had happened to them in the past few months might actually be some kind of bizarre fantasy, that what they were doing now, what they were seeing on stage, wasn’t bizarre or surreal, it was the real world and they were just a boy and girl enjoying a night out at the theatre.
But then Claire had stepped into the spotlight, pushed and harried with the others, while King Slash strode around, revving the crowd up further as he sniffed and pawed at them, roaring his pleasure, stamping his feet. He lifted an arm here, a leg there, pretending to bite at it. The Royal Butchers moved along the back of the line, swords drawn, teasing and delighting the audience as they feigned stabbing their victims, their supper.
Slash came to the minister. He knocked the wide-brimmed hat from his head, bent and picked it up, then skimmed it through the air into the crowd. It floated back five or six rows until someone jumped from their seat and grabbed it, to universal applause.
The minister hardly reacted at all – at first. Slash moved closer. He began to sniff up and down him. He pawed at the minister’s dog-collar. The minister moved for the first time. Jimmy thought he was just moving his arms to protect himself, but then there was a flash of metal, a blur of movement and suddenly Slash wasn’t sniffing at him any more.
The Jungle King staggered backwards. He pawed uselessly at the air. Then he collapsed down on to the stage.
The crowd jumped to their feet, cheering, convinced it was all part of the act, even as blood began to seep out of his costume and across the floor. It was only when the minister stepped forward, and they saw a long, thin dagger in his h
and; when they saw him wave it in the air and shout something out, once, twice, again and again, that they finally began to fall silent, that the music ceased and the relentless druming of feet faded and they at last began to understand what had happened as they heard the words of the wild-eyed man holding the bloody knife aloft and screaming:
‘Long live the President! Long live the President!’
First Officer Jeffers was the first to react. He stepped forward and grabbed Cleaver’s arm; he snapped it back, causing him to release the dagger. As it clattered on to the stage floor Jeffers twisted Cleaver’s arm further up, and at the same time kicked at the back of his knees, which gave way, forcing him to the ground. The Royal Butchers, the Wolf Man and the rest of the cast all crowded around Slash; the audience surged forward, screaming and howling. They began to clamber on to the stage. As they advanced Jeffers yelled back at Claire: ‘Get out of here! Move it!’ Claire was frozen to the spot. Until Dr Hill clamped a hand on her arm and began to pull her backwards she hadn’t realised that the others had already begun to move off the stage. Jeffers himself now bounded away as the mob descended on Cleaver. As fists and boots began to rain down on him there was a massive clump of a noise, and the entire building shook. Masonry showered down on the stage and across the seats in the auditorium. Another dull explosion came, even louder, with shock waves strong enough to throw half of them to the floor.
Jimmy and Ronni, caught up in the surge forward and now picking themselves up, might have been the only ones in the entire theatre who realised what was happening.
Artillery.
A familiar sound from Fort Hope.
The theatre was under attack by the President’s army.
The war had begun!
Panic gripped everyone as more shells began to land.
A hole was blown in the ceiling and when the smoke cleared the night sky was clearly visible.
They heard an urgent rat-tat-tat of gunfire. People were running everywhere – some towards the exits, others swarming across the stage looking for a way out.
Only Jimmy seemed to know exactly where he was going – he kept his eyes firmly fixed on where Claire had disappeared backstage and charged after her, dragging Ronni along with him. They ducked as the theatre was struck again and scenery crashed to the floor all around them. Jimmy would not be stopped, but there was a moment of confusion when he got backstage and he couldn’t see Claire any more. Then he caught just a glimpse of Jeffers’ baseball cap as he disappeared down a set of stairs on the far side. With people running everywhere it took them a while to get across, but soon they were on the stairs and taking them four and five at a time, sliding down using the hand rail for support.
Another explosion – and the lights went out. There were screams of pain and shouts of confusion. Jimmy kept a tight grip on the rail and just kept going.
‘Jimmy – please . . .’ cried Ronni. ‘We’ll kill ourselves!’
He said nothing. He pressed ahead. Ronni kept a tight hold of his T-shirt and allowed herself to be dragged along. Then – dead ahead, a flashlight beam. He focused in on that.
Down another two sets of stairs and along a corridor, the air thick with dust.
A metallic clank – and then the flash beam disappeared.
‘Hey!’ Jimmy called. ‘Hey!’
But another shell had struck, an alarm had finally gone off, and there was too much noise for him to be heard. They hurried blindly forward. They tripped and fell and righted themselves. They came to what was their best estimation of where the light had suddenly disappeared. Jimmy began to feel his way forward, his foot out in front, his arms stretched left and right, anxious not to miss the avenue of escape. It was the stench that made him stop, then the choking, fetid air. Somewhere below . . .
He foot-skimmed the floor until it came to a hole, then felt around with his hands to detect the circumference. Yes, wide enough. And there, a ladder.
‘Jimmy . . . ?’
‘Down here.’
He lowered himself into the hole, then began a rapid descent, no thought for what might be below.
‘Jimmy – wait for me!’
‘Come on!’
As they disappeared below ground level the whump and crump of the explosions faded, to be replaced by the sound of gushing water. The stink of sewage and rats. They came suddenly to the dank, slippery floor and stood in the complete and utter darkness. For the first time, Jimmy was actually lost – there were only two ways to go, but it was impossible to be sure which way was right. He was almost overwhelmed with the despair of realising that he had come so close, but was now on the brink of failure.
There was nothing for it but to yell.
‘Claire!’
‘Shhhh!’ cried Ronni.‘What if—’
‘Claire! Claire!’
They heard it echo along the sewage tunnel.
‘Jimmy . . .’
‘Shhhhh listen . . .’
Then there was nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Until, from a distance of not more than a metre, a torch blinked on and they were blinded. As they shielded their faces and prepared for the worst a familiar voice said, ‘What?’
35
Encounter
It was not exactly as Jimmy had imagined it, this reunion, deep in the sewers beneath a theatre which was being reduced to rubble by a man who had deluded himself into thinking he was the President of the United States. Claire stood in the back-glow from the torch, bedraggled, thin, pale, angry. Jimmy didn’t have the faintest clue what to say. He wanted to hug her, but could not bring himself to. He wanted to apologise for what he’d done, for letting her down, for allowing her to be shot, for betraying the Titanic.
But all he could manage was: ‘Bad hair day, is it?’
The torch flashed from Jimmy to Ronni. ‘Who’s she?’
‘Ronni,’ said Ronni.
‘She’s my friend,’ said Jimmy.
‘Bad luck you,’ said Claire to Ronni.
From away along the tunnel Dr Hill yelled: ‘Claire! Come on!’
Claire looked at them. ‘Well if you’re coming, let’s go.’
She spun away. They didn’t see her wipe a tear from her eye.
Jimmy, obviously, didn’t wipe a tear of his own away. That would have been ridiculous. Absolutely not. No way.
Ronni said, ‘Are you OK?’ as they quickly followed after Claire.
‘Yes, of course I’m OK. Why wouldn’t I be OK?’
‘I thought she was your best friend?’
‘I never said that,’ said Jimmy.
After a while they stopped, gathering in a wider section of the sewer tunnel where it branched out in several directions. Jimmy was surprised to see how many of them there were – not just Claire and Jeffers and Dr Hill, but various crew and passengers he recognised, plus an odd assortment of men and women in animal masks which they were only now beginning to discard – wolf heads and cheetah heads tossed into the river of sewage and drifting away.
While Jeffers and Dr Hill conferred at the crossroads, Jimmy sat on the damp floor. He said nothing, he asked no questions. Ty had given him a big hug and tried to engage him in conversation, but as soon as he established the extent of the frostiness between Jimmy and Claire he decided to leave them to it. He winked at Ronni, then drifted off. Claire sat with her back against the wall, looking wherever Jimmy didn’t.
Ronni crouched beside her. ‘Aren’t they cannibals?’ she whispered, nodding towards the group still partially attired in animal costumes.
‘No,’ said Claire, ‘they’re actors.’
‘But they’re cannibals as well! They all are!’
‘No,’ said Claire, ‘it was a trick. Everyone thought they were eating human flesh, but it was rats. Rat stew, mostly.’
‘That’s . . . not possible – I saw them . . .’
‘You thought you did. You didn’t. Is he your boyfriend?’
‘Who, Jimmy? No. I thought he was your
s.’
Claire snorted. ‘I don’t think so. So how come you two hooked up?’
‘We were both at Fort Hope.’ Claire’s brow furrowed in the torchlight. ‘Fort Hope – it’s like the President’s . . . where he keeps his army . . .’
‘The President? The President President?’
‘No,’ said Jimmy, finally approaching, talking to Claire but not looking at her. ‘He just thinks he is. He used to be a senator or something. That’s his army up there, attacking New York, saving it from cannibals.’
‘Well, what are we doing down here, then?’ Claire asked Jimmy, although she was looking at at Ronni. ‘Shouldn’t we be up there supporting him? Telling him they’re not cannibals?’
‘No,’ said Jimmy, ‘we shouldn’t, for the simple reason that the second part of his master plan is to sieze the Titanic.’
Without looking at him she asked if Jeffers was aware of this piece of information.
‘No,’ said Jimmy.
‘Well don’t you think you should tell him?’
Jimmy grunted, and passed on up the line.
Although the rat-catching actors had explored some of the sewage system, their escape from the theatre had taken them beyond those limits, and without any kind of map or guidance system, Jeffers decided it was time to take everyone back up into the city in order to establish their bearings. Then they would make their way back to Grand Central to hook up with the other groups – if any of them had made it back. Hopefully from there they would also be able to re-establish radio contact with the ship and warn Captain Smith of the coming Presidential attack.
Jeffers sent out a scout into each one of the tunnels in order to locate an access ladder to the surface. Within a few minutes a shout went up that one had been discovered. The other scouts were called back and the entire group set off into a right-hand tunnel. When they found the ladder Jeffers was the first on to it, climbing rapidly, followed by Dr Hill; the rest bunched around the bottom, pushing and shoving for their turn. They were all desperate for fresh air, and without the natural discipline Jeffers’ presence encouraged, it all became a bit chaotic. Jimmy and Claire found themselves squeezed towards the back, while Ty grabbed Ronni by the hand and forced her forward. They were amongst the first to pull themselves up out of the scrum to begin their climb towards the world above.
Titanic 2020: Cannibal City Page 20