Titanic 2020 t2-1 (16 page)

T
he
Titanic'
s visit to San Juan had shown how easily control of the ship could be lost. If they hadn't removed the gangplank in the nick of time the crew would very quickly have been overwhelmed. Captain Smith wasn't going to take that chance again in St Thomas — particularly as the island had a long history of sheltering pirates. Cut-throats like Captain Kidd and Blackbeard had caroused there. Sir Francis Drake had launched his attacks on Spanish galleons laden with New World gold from the island. Granted, that was all very far in the past, but traditions have a habit of being handed down in small communities. So instead of sailing into the main port of Charlotte Amalie where fuel supplies were theoretically waiting, the Captain chose instead to sail around the island and drop anchor off Magens Bay. From there he would dispatch a patrol ashore to approach the capital from the rear. If it appeared calm, and the docks could be secured, the ship would then enter to refuel.

Once again, First Officer Jeffers objected to Jimmy being included in the shore party. Once again he was overruled. Nevertheless, Jeffers poked a finger at him and issued a stern warning: 'Don't get in the way; don't cause trouble; don't wander off.'

Jimmy shrugged. He sat in the back of a small inflatable as it was slowly winched down the side of the
Titanic.
He held Claire's camera in his lap. He had stayed with her all night. Less than an hour before, with her in the grip of the fever and having lost all lucidity, he had reluctantly called Dr Hill and he had ordered her immediate removal to the hospital wing. Jimmy knew it was the right thing to do, but he also felt sad about letting her down. He would take as many photos of Magens Bay as he could, and he would make sure they were fantastic. But deep down he knew she would never see them. People didn't get better from the Red Death, even rich people.

They gladed along — Jeffers, Benson, Jonas Jones, two crewmen and Jimmy — on perfectly calm, brilliantly turquoise water towards the beach. As they drew closer Jimmy began to understand why it was so highly rated — there was almost a mile of brilliantly white sand, backing on to palm trees which rapidly gave way to heavily-forested mountains. It all looked absolutely stunning. Jimmy knew that no matter how good his photographs were, they could never do justice to this. He took several panoramic shots anyway, but then he lowered his camera.

'What's that sound?' he asked.

They were still several hundred metres away from the beach, but others on the little craft could hear it as well.

Music.

'It's . . . Bob Marley!' said Benson.

And it was — reggae music, drifting across the water towards them. As they drew closer still they saw that the sunbeds, set at intervals along the entire length of the beach, were nearly all occupied.

Sunbathers!

'My God,' said Jeffers. 'It's passed them by.'

They were all smiles now. This was as unexpected as it was incredible. They ran the boat right up on to the sand. Bob Marley was singing 'One Love'; the smell of French fries and onions assaulted them (in a nice way). Jeffers jumped out first and dashed up towards the first set of sunbeds.

Then he stopped suddenly.

Jimmy and the others crowded up behind him.

Three sunbeds. Three bloated, putrid bodies, swarming with flies.

Jeffers turned immediately to his left and threw up.

Jimmy stared down at them, horrified.

Jonas hurried along to the next set of beds. They were dead there too — and as far as he could see along the beach.

'I don't understand,' said Jimmy. 'If they had the plague, how come they're all still here, as if they're sunbathing?'

'We know there's different strains of it,' said Jonas. 'Looks like this one killed them instantly. No bad thing, maybe.'

Jimmy couldn't bring himself to lift his camera. How could he take a photo of
this
back to Claire?

'OK,' said Jeffers, 'let's remember why we're here. There's a car park over there, let's see if we can find some keys or jump-start something that can carry us all. Jimmy — see if you can turn that music off, maybe get us something to drink.'

Jeffers pointed towards a bar about a hundred metres along the beach, which seemed to be the source of the music.

'See if you can mix me up a nice cocktail while you're there,' said Jeffers.

Jimmy hurried away along the sand. He forced himself to take several pictures — not for Claire, but for the paper. That was his role in life now. He was the official chronicler of the
Titanic.
A journalist and historian. He shouldn't think about Claire, dying on board, or those poor sunbathers, drinking their cold beers and playing with their children one minute, and the next, rotting and stinking. He had to edit it out. He had to focus on his job.

There were a dozen dead people in the bar. Some had clearly been sitting at stools when the virus struck and just toppled off on to the floor. Others were at tables with plates of food before them, slumped down as if they'd decided to take an afternoon nap. The smell wasn't too bad because the air conditioning was on. A glass-fronted cooler behind the bar was still lit, and of course there was the music, which was so much louder up close. Clearly the bar had its own private generator which had continued working ever since death had paid its nightmare visit. Jimmy hunted around for a few minutes, and finally found it outside, around the back. He pushed a lever up, and Bob Marley slowly ground to a halt. Now all that could be heard was the buzzing of tens of thousands of flies around the bodies.

Jimmy re-entered the bar and opened the fridge. He took out a can of Diet Coke, popped the lid, and took a long drink.

From behind, a voice said, 'That's one dollar.'

Jimmy laughed and turned, expecting to see one of his companions, but it wasn't. There was a bare-chested man in khaki shorts with a shotgun raised and pointed at him.

'One dollar,' he repeated.

'I don't have one dollar,' said Jimmy.

'You better have. It comes out of my wages if you don't.'

Jimmy swallowed. 'I really don't have it.'

The man opened fire. As Jimmy threw himself to the ground the CD jukebox behind him exploded.

'One dollar!'

Jimmy raised his hands in a calming fashion and slowly got back to his feet. 'Won't . . .
that
come out of your wages?'

'No! I'm not responsible for the jukebox! Just the bar!'

'OK . . . all right. . .'

Thundering footsteps sounded along the wooden walkway outside the bar, and a moment later Jonas Jones and Benson appeared in the doorway. The man with the shotgun immediately swung towards them. They raised their hands.

'Is it a drink from the bar you want?' the man asked. 'Or are you here for something to eat?'

Jonas and Benson exchanged glances.

'A drink would be nice,' said Benson. 'And then if we could look at a menu.'

'Take a seat,' said the man, indicating one of the vacated bar stools. 'I'll be with you in a minute.' He jabbed the shotgun towards Jimmy again. 'Well?'

'I . . . uh . . . left my wallet . . . on the beach . . .'

The man studied him suspiciously for a moment, then snapped: 'Well go and get it. If you're not back in two minutes I'll come looking for you.'

Jimmy backed out of the bar.

Outside he immediately ran into Jeffers and the remaining crew. He quickly explained that there was a crazy man with a gun inside, and that Jonas and Benson were nevertheless ordering drinks.

'They're
what?'
Jeffers demanded.

Jimmy explained again. 'Now — do any of you have a dollar?'

They checked their pockets, but none of them did. There was no need to carry money on the
Titanic
at the best of times, and now that these were the worst of times, there was even less point. As Pedroza had realized, dollars were now completely and utterly worthless. Jeffers nodded back down the beach. 'If you want dollars, that's where you'll get them.'

It was a disgusting notion — but he was determined to go back to the bar. The man with the gun was terrifying in his madness, but also kind of fascinating. Jimmy darted along the sand, found a woman's handbag and searched through it, all the time keeping his eyes averted from her swollen corpse and, in particular, her two feet, right beside the bag, which rats had partially gnawed away. He found thirty dollars.

When he got back to the bar Jeffers was peering into it through the half open shutters. The man had set the gun down and was mixing a cocktail for Benson. He'd already poured a glass of beer for Jonas. Neither of them looked particularly uncomfortable. Jimmy moved towards the doors.

'Jimmy!'
Jeffers hissed. 'What are you doing?'

'I owe him a dollar.'

'Stay where you are, that's an or—'

Jimmy ignored him. He stepped into the bar, holding the dollars up before him and grinning at the man behind the bar. 'The drinks are on me!' he cried. The man waved him in. Jimmy, in turn, looked back at Jeffers and waved
him
in. Jeffers hesitated, then shook his head and reluctantly holstered his gun.

A minute later they were
all
sitting on bar stools, sipping drinks, the floor behind them littered with mouldering corpses.

It was very surreal.

***

They talked about the weather. They talked about sports. And music. There had been a wide-eyed look about the man from the start, but as they sat there it gradually diminished. He said his name was Nick Tabarrok and he'd worked as assistant manager of the beach bar for the past seven years. A week previously the manager had suddenly resigned following a row with his wife, packed his bags and caught the ferry to a neighbouring island, leaving Nick in charge for the first time. He was determined to prove that he was up to the job. Everything went perfectly for the first day. On the second, everyone died. But he was absolutely set on keeping the bar working and the books balanced until its owners returned.

'Don't you think,' Benson hesitantly suggested, 'it would have been a good idea to move the bodies out of the bar?'

Nick peered at them, almost as if he was seeing them for the first time. 'Yeah. Suppose. Health inspectors won't be too keen on that . . .' He laughed, but just for a moment. His brow furrowed and he shook his head. 'I . . .
should
have . . .'

Jonas finished his beer and set his glass down. 'Set us up another one there, Nick.'

Jeffers glanced at his watch and gave Jonas a hard look.

Jonas ignored him. As Nick poured him another drink he said, 'So, Nick, how come you didn't . . . you know . . . with the rest of them?'

Nick set the glass down before the Chief Engineer. 'But I did.'

Jonas laughed. 'What are you, a ghost, then?'

'No, I mean, I flopped down just like the others, most of them were gone in ten minutes, but then Mamma Joss appeared and gave me her medicine and when I woke up the next day, I was fine.'

'Mamma Joss?'

'Mamma Joss. She's my granny . . . or auntie . . . or something. She lives up on the mountain. She's . . . about a hundred and twenty years old. She's . . . a doctor. Not got certificates, but . . . knows all the old cures.'

'And she cured you?' Jeffers asked, his voice heavy with doubt.

'Oh yeah,' said Nick. 'I was always her favourite.'

'And what about all those guys out there, she didn't help them?'

Nick shook his head. 'Course not. She doesn't like tourists. We don't see her down here much, she stays clear. Good thing she came down that day, though.'

'Where is she now?' Jimmy asked.

'She went home, I guess. She has chickens. A goat. Need to be fed.'

Jeffers drained his glass, then tapped his watch. 'OK lads, we've work to do.'

Jonas picked up his newly poured beer and sank it in one. Nick lifted their glasses and began to wash them. Jimmy left money on the counter for the drinks, and told a grateful Nick to keep the change.

Back in the car park Jeffers took only a couple of minutes to select a people carrier capable of carrying them all to Charlotte Amalie and to usher them on board. But as the others climbed in Jimmy stayed where he was. Jeffers wound down a window. 'C'mon Jimmy,' he snapped impatiently, 'we're already running . . .'

Jimmy shook his head. 'We can't go.'

'What?'

'The old woman. Mamma Joss. We have to find her.'

'Jimmy, what are you talking about? We have to get moving,
now . . .'

'No — didn't you hear what he said? She has a cure.'

Jeffers laughed.
'Jimmy
you didn't believe all that, did you? He's barking mad! There is no magic cure.'

'Then how do you explain that every single one of those people out there is dead and he's alive?'

'That doesn't prove anything!
We're
alive, aren't we? Now get in the car!'

'No.'

'Jimmy . . .'

'Just . . . just
wait
a minute. Look — if there's even a tiny chance she has a cure, isn't it worth finding out? Hundreds of people are dying on the ship, so why not take a chance and find out if there's anything in this?'

Jeffers drummed his fingers on the side of the car. 'You, Jimmy Armstrong, are a pain in the arse.'

'I know that.'

'We have to get to Charlotte Amalie. The ship needs to refuel.'

'I know that.'

He drummed his fingers again.

'Right.' Jeffers turned in his seat. 'Benson?'

'Sir?'

'Get another car, get hold of the mad barman, then take him and Jimmy up into the mountains and see if you can find this woman.'

'Sir? Why me, sir?'

'Do you really have to ask, Mr Benson?'

'No, sir.'

'Right then. Get on with it.' Benson reluctantly climbed out. 'And try not to drop your radio this time.'

'Yes, sir.'

Jeffers nodded at Jimmy. 'Good luck,' he said.

'Thank you.'

'See you back on the ship with your magic cure.'

He laughed to himself, then put his foot down hard on the pedal and the vehicle roared off in a cloud of dust, leaving Jimmy and Benson with dozens of rotting bodies and a mad barman for company.