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.'
Jeffers 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 hike 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 station's 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.'
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 thought 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.
Titanic 2020: Cannibal City t2-2 Page 19
