Titanic 2020 t2-1 (13 page)

M
r Stanford, as befitted his position as owner of the White Star Line, was taken to a private cabin. Claire went up with him, holding his hand as he lay on the stretcher. Mrs Stanford was summoned from their suite. Both were advised to stay away because of the danger of them catching the Red Death as well, but they ignored this. They loved him. Also, it didn't seem to make any difference. Mr Stanford hadn't been anywhere near the hospital wing, but he'd still caught it.

Dr Hill was grey with fatigue and despair. Nothing he did seemed to help. In his darker moments he thought it might be simpler to scuttle the ship and end everyone's misery. Jonas Jones thought it was a miracle that the doctor himself hadn't caught it. Dr Hill said that when you first became a doctor you tended to catch everything within the first few months but that the body's immune system quickly built up its resistance, otherwise doctors would be off sick all the time. So he was pretty confident that he could fend off the Red Death, despite being exposed to it all day long. Jonas Jones didn't disbelieve him, but still kept his distance. They communicated by phone.

***

Acrid smoke hung over the city of San Juan as the
Titanic
approached its harbour. Those passengers who were well emerged on to the decks to watch, vainly hoping that the port might be bustling with people, waiting to greet them and sell them cheap jewellery or time shares or who might even try to steal their wallets — anything that would make the world seem normal again. Jimmy was with them on the top deck when a match was struck just to his left, and he turned to find Captain Smith lighting his pipe. They hadn't met since the Captain had made his claims about the newspaper. He took a puff and spoke without turning.

'Two hundred years ago you'd have been swinging from the yardarm for pulling a stunt like that. Mutiny, they'd call it.'

'Two hundred years ago there wouldn't have been a newspaper on a ship, or computers and printers to make it possible.'

'Two hundred years ago you'd have walked the plank for passing seditious rumour.'

'It wasn't rumour — it was all true.'

Captain Smith shook his head. 'Do you know something, Jimmy Armstrong? You'd make a terrible soldier, because you're absolutely dreadful at following orders.' Jimmy started to say something, but the Captain held up his hand. 'On the other hand I suspect you'd make a wonderful general, because once you make your mind up there's no compromise, you absolutely stick to your guns.'

Jimmy shrugged.

'Even great leaders make mistakes. You were right about the newspaper, I was wrong. However, you will also find that great leaders often take the credit for other people's bright ideas, as I did earlier. The point is, lad, that there's only room for one captain on this ship, one leader — particularly at times of crisis. In future, if my orders are disobeyed, I won't hesitate to put you off my ship. Do you understand?'

Jimmy nodded.

'OK. Do you know what they call
The Times
of London?T hey call it the
paper of record.
When historians want to know the truth about the big, important stones of, say, a hundred years ago, they go to the British Library or go on-line and look at
The Times.
Well, I don't think our
limes
should be any different. Tragic as it is, we are experiencing something truly extraordinary, Jimmy. A plague, a breakdown in civilization, who knows what else? It shouldn't go unrecorded. Your newspaper today showed me that. We have to record
our
story; the
Titanic Times
has to be
our
paper of record. That's what I want you to do from now on, Jimmy — and Claire, if she's willing — keep producing the paper, make a history of our voyage, the good bits, the bad bits, the
truth.
Do you think you can do that?'

Jimmy studied the Captain intently. 'Can I ask you something, first?'

'Yes, of course.'

'One day, will you take the
Titanic
home to Belfast?'

Captain Smith looked surprised. 'I thought you were going to ask for money.'

'I would have,' said Jimmy, 'but it appears to be worthless at the moment.'

The Captain smiled. He took Jimmy by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. 'One day, I promise, the
Titanic
will return to Belfast.'

Jimmy put out his hand. 'OK, as long as we have the freedom to write it as we see it, if we have unlimited access to every meeting, every decision, every event, then I'm happy to accept.'

Captain Smith hesitated. 'Why do I have the feeling I'm going to regret this?'

Jimmy gave an innocent shrug.

The Captain shook his head, then instead of offering his hand, saluted. Jimmy, somewhat awkwardly, followed suit.

***

As they emerged on to Deck Two Jimmy and Claire spotted the two small landing parties preparing to go ashore. One, led by Jonas Jones, would go straight to the fuel depot and attempt to replenish the ship's supplies. The other, led by First Officer Jeffers, had less specific instructions — just to find out the conditions in the city. Jeffers was passing out weapons to members of his eight-man squad when Jimmy and Claire lined up with them.

'And where do you think you're going?' he asked.

'Ashore, with you,' said Jimmy.

'Reporting,' said Claire, 'for the
Titanic Times.'
She held up her camera.

'We'll see about that.'

Jeffers lifted his radio and turned away. They couldn't quite make out what was said, but when he faced them a couple of minutes later he looked rather flushed.

'All right,' he said, 'but stay close, and if I tell you to do something, you damned well do it.'

***

A single gangplank was lowered on to the quayside. Jeffers' squad cautiously made its way off the ship first, with guns raised. When it had secured the immediate area, Jonas Jones' squad followed and was then escorted to the fuel depot. Once Jeffers was satisfied that there was no immediate threat Jones' group was left with a single guard to undertake the refuelling. The rest of Jeffers' squad commandeered two abandoned vehicles and drove towards the centre of the city.

Jimmy and Claire were in the rear of the second vehicle, a Jeep. Jimmy was
still
wearing Ty's T-shirt. Claire was looking altogether cooler in a red T-shirt with a long white skirt. As they roared along she took photos of smouldering shops and wrecked cars. The most remarkable thing here was the complete and utter lack of people. There was no noise, but for the occasional bark of a dog.

'Where is everyone?' Claire asked.

'Maybe they fled the city because of the plague. Or they're all dead.'

'There's one and a half million people live in San Juan. They can't
all
be dead.' She paused. 'Can they? There'd be bodies everywhere.'

The smoke was bitter and harsh on their throats. Everything smelled rotten.

Jeffers, driving the lead vehicle, led them along Calle Cruz towards City Hall. There they left two men to guard the vehicles and mounted the steps into what had been the seat of Government. Their footsteps echoed on the marble floor. Papers were littered everywhere. But still no sign of anyone. When they returned to their vehicles Jeffers took out a street map. 'The smoke . . . seems to be coming from . . .
here . . .'
The section of the map he was pointing to was marked as the historic fortress of San Cristobal, situated on high ground to the east of the city but invisible now because of the smoke. 'Perhaps it's some kind of a signal fire. We should check it out.'

Progress was slow because of the increasing number of abandoned vehicles on the road, and soon the smoke grew so dense that Claire gave up trying to take photographs and concentrated on holding the neck of her T-shirt up over her mouth. The crewman in the front passenger seat passed back a bottle of water for them to wash their stinging eyes.

As they wound up the road towards the fortress the wind at last began to change direction and they soon emerged from the turgid smoke into the summer sun. Jeffers stopped his Jeep in the shadow of a high wall at the rear of the fortress and the second vehicle pulled in behind. Even from the outside, they could feel the intense heat being given off by the fire within. Jimmy climbed out and put his hands against the wall, which appeared to be a metre or so thick, yet was hot to the touch.

Jeffers left two guards with the vehicles then led the rest of them up a set of stone steps to a metal gate which should have given them access to the fortress's central courtyard, but was bolted closed from the inside Jeffers rattled the gate in frustration, then took a step back and looked along the wall for some other means of access.

Jimmy said, 'I'm the lightest. Give me a hand up and I'll get over and open it from the inside.'

'Actually,
I'm
the lightest,' said Claire.

Jeffers looked from one to the other. 'Let me see — the stowaway or the daughter of the owner of the ship. Mmmm. Let's go for the stowaway.'

Two of the squad gave Jimmy a lift up. The climb was easy enough, but was complicated by the barbed wire strung across the top. As he contemplated the best way to get through it, he tried to identify the source of the heat, but the breeze circulating within the walls was blowing smoke in every direction and for the moment he could see nothing. Jimmy pulled at several strands of the barbed wire and managed to prise them apart. He slipped one leg through the gap and followed with the rest of his body, then lowered himself part of the way down the other side of the wall while pulling his other leg through behind. He was almost cleanly over when his shoelace snagged and he found himself hanging in midair; he pulled once, twice, then on the third attempt ripped it free. The force of it caused him to fall hard on to the concrete rampart below, knocking the wind out of him, and forcing an involuntary cry from his lips.

'Jimmy — are you all right?' Jeffers called from the other side.

'Ugggggggghhhhhhhh . . .
yes.
I think so.'

He was sore, but nothing seemed to be broken.

'Open the door then!'

'All right — hold on to your . . .'

He stopped. The wind had changed direction again, clearing enough of the smoke to give Jimmy his first proper view of the inferno below. The base of the fire not only covered almost the entire circumference of the courtyard, it was also built up several metres high. A steady roar came from the blazing heap and there was a staccato popping and snapping as branches splintered and split.

Then he realized that they weren't branches.

They were bones.

Thousands of them, twisted and broken.

He saw skulls, with flames licking through hollow eye sockets.

White hands opening and closing in the heat. Fingers pointing . . . pointing at
him.

'Oh my . . . oh my . . .' Jimmy whispered.

'Jimmy! Open the door!'

Still dazed by the horrific sight before him, Jimmy nodded vaguely and began to turn — and then his heart almost stopped.

A man stood before him, with a rifle raised and pointing at him. His skin was almost translucent, his eyes were red and raw, his hair matted. He wore a military uniform blackened with smoke and ripped and stained by unknown fluids.

'Who are you?' the soldier demanded, his voice raspy and jagged. 'What are you doing here?' He jabbed the gun at Jimmy.

Jimmy held his hands up. 'I . . . I . . . I . . .' He pointed vaguely towards the sea. 'The ship . . . I'm from the ship . . .'

The man didn't even look. He was mad with panic and fear. His finger was already curled around the trigger and his hand was shaking.
All
of him was shaking.

'This is . . . Government property! You are not . . . allowed here!'

'Jimmy!' Jeffers shouted from the other side. 'What's going on?' The man's eyes rolled back in his head.

'Please,' said Jimmy, 'we're here to help, we can take you . . .'

The man opened his mouth to speak again, but no sound would come. He was racked by a sudden coughing fit; the force of it bent him over and he dropped the gun. He sank to his knees and toppled backwards, thumping into the back wall. Jimmy turned quickly and unbolted the gate. Jeffers, with his gun drawn, was the first through. He immediately pushed Jimmy to other side and covered the fallen guard with his weapon. Another crewman kicked the dropped rifle over the edge of the rampart into the flames below.

Claire came running up to Jimmy. 'Are you all right?'

Instead of speaking, Jimmy nodded towards the fire. The other squad members were noticing as well.

'Oh my God,' said Claire. 'There must be . . .'

'Take a photo,' said Jimmy.

'I can't . . . they . . .'

'You have to.'

Claire took a deep breath. She nodded. 'I'll climb . . . higher. A better angle . . .'

Jimmy helped her up on to the wall and held her shins as she steadied herself and began to take her pictures.

***

Jeffers knelt beside the sick man and gave him a drink of water. He gulped greedily from the plastic bottle then splashed some over his face. Jimmy had thought he was an old man, but as the ash and dirt washed away he realized that he probably wasn't much more than eighteen or nineteen.

'What happened here?' Jeffers asked gently.

'My commander, he orders . . . burn the dead . . . but they just . . . kept coming . . .!'

'Where is your commander now?'

'He . . . didn't come back . . .' The guard stared down at the inferno below. 'Ten thousand . . . I counted. Ten thousand . . .'

'Where have the rest of the people gone?'

The guard was started to drift away. Jeffers gave him a gentle shake. 'Where are they? Where did they go?'

The guard's burning eyes flicked up. 'They haven't gone . . . anywhere . . .'

He looked towards the fortress walls, then he was wracked by another coughing fit and slumped down again.

Claire had finished photographing the huge funeral pyre. She turned to look down over the city. The smoke was slowly drifting to the south, and as it thinned out over the harbour the
Titanic
began to emerge. Claire raised her camera and took a picture. She noticed some movement around the gangplank but couldn't quite identify it, so she increased the magnification. For a moment she didn't understand what she was seeing. The whole area around the dock seemed to be moving; then there were short flashes of light. She increased the magnification once more — and then she let out an involuntary cry.