'So you think there is a chance . . .?'
'I just don't know, Jimmy — but I do know I've tried everything I can. I know that all the scientists in the world have tried their best to come up with a cure and that they're probably all dead now. So what have we got to lose trying this one out?'
'OK — then I'll get some, we'll try it on you, see if it works. If it doesn't we'll squeeze Barney until he pops, and we'll try whatever he has as well.'
The doctor shook his head. 'No, son, I've a couple of days in me yet.' He picked up his medical bag from the floor and opened it. 'I'm going to show you how to make an injection. Then I want you to fill half a dozen of these syringes with the medicine and somehow get them up to the hospital. Just inject everyone you can. They're in a much worse condition than I am. Find your girl. Inject her.'
He wanted to say, She's not my girl.
She's just 'a' girl.
But he couldn't.
The doctor quickly showed him what to do. He took the syringes and turned to hurry back across to where he'd hidden the pot. Then he stopped. 'Doctor?' he asked. 'What if it isn't the medicine? What if I inject them with soup?'
'They're dying, Jimmy. Just do it.'
Jimmy nodded once and dashed away.
A nurse sitting on the other side of the doctor, who'd been listening in, waited until Jimmy had gone before touching the doctor's arm. 'Doctor — what are the chances of it working?'
Dr Hill took a deep breath. 'About one in a million, I'd say.'
Her brow furrowed. 'But then why send him off with such . . . hope?'
'Because, Nurse Hathaway, hope is just about the only thing we have left.'
***
Jimmy knew the Titanic better than virtually anyone on board. Others might know their specific areas well — Pedroza in his kitchens, or Jonas with his engines — but Jimmy now had an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of the entire ship and reckoned he could work out a way to get out of the theatre unnoticed by the guards Pedroza had posted. They had guns, certainly, but they also had beer and wine and spirits and several of them were openly smoking drugs. They were in charge, but not very alert.
He quickly discovered a ladder at the back of the stage which led up to a lighting gantry; he was able to cross this to a narrow walkway which in turn led to a small control room from which the entertainment director normally oversaw his productions. This led directly on to an unguarded corridor one level above the theatre. Jimmy nipped along this as fast as he could while still trying to protect the contents of the syringes. He had to stay hidden for a few minutes in order to get into an elevator undetected, but from there on he was fairly certain he'd be safe. Pedroza had abandoned the hospital patients to their fate. They didn't need guarding.
***
It was like a scene from hell.
The dead were left in their beds. The fevered cries of the dying went unheard. Jimmy pulled his T-shirt collar up over his face in a hopeless attempt to block out the smell as he tramped first through the hospital, then the adjoining cabins used for the overflow, looking for Claire.
When he eventually found her, he was shocked by her appearance. She must have lost half of her body weight. Her blonde hair lay dank on the pillow and her red eyes rolled back in her head. Her lips were dry and cracked and her face was covered in red blotches. She was breathing, but it was very shallow indeed. Her mother and father were in beds on either side of her. A family, dying together.
Jimmy took Claire's hand in his. He gave it a squeeze. 'Claire . . . can you hear me?' A foamy bubble issued from her mouth. Jimmy tutted. He set the syringes down on the bed and chose one. 'Claire . . . I'm going to inject you now . . . and if it kills you . . . I'm sorry.'
What else could he say?
Well, he could have said how much he'd hated her when they first met, but that now he really liked her and she was his best friend and they had great fun and incredible adventures. That he didn't want her to die because the Times needed her and he needed her to help him fight back against Pedroza. That he didn't really think her ponies had been eaten. Or perhaps only parts of them had been. A leg, maybe. Or he could have said, 'If you can hear me, Claire, I've just had a look, and your arse isn't so big any more.'
But he didn't. Instead he took a deep breath and plunged the syringe into her arm. He had no idea whether it was soup or medicine: or, if it really was medicine, what the correct dosage was.
He wasn't the type to say a prayer. But he said one anyway.
***
He wanted it to be magical. Instantaneous. He wanted Claire to sit up and yawn and say something sarcastic. But there was no reaction at all. She just lay there.
Jimmy sighed. There was nothing else he could do for her now. Or for any of the others that he injected over the next thirty minutes. They would die, or they would get better.
30
Shoot Someone
Jimmy returned to the theatre in time to find Captain Smith and his officers being threatened with guns and knives. A ragged group of mutineers were demanding that he accompany them to the bridge for a meeting with Pedroza. Captain Smith's position was that he was still Captain of the ship, so Pedroza could 'damn well come to me'.
The leader of the group, a small man with a sunburned scalp and a tattoo of a dolphin on his arm, radioed this information to the bridge. Pedroza's response could be heard very clearly.
'If he doesn't come — shoot someone.'
The leader shrugged, raised his pistol and aimed it at old Miss Calhoon, who had chosen to sit close to the Captain in the mistaken belief that it might be safer. After an initial intake of breath, she stared defiantly back at the mutineer, but thoughtfully brought her hands down over Franklin's eyes so that her four- legged companion wouldn't be frightened.
As the mutineer's finger tightened on the trigger, Captain Smith suddenly snapped, 'Enough! Tell Pedroza I'll meet him, but not because of his pathetic threats! Tell him I'll be bringing my best people with me. Running a ship is a team effort, as I'm sure he's discovering.'
Captain Smith picked three of his senior officers — although his most senior, Jeffers and Jones, were still stranded in Charlotte Amalie — then pointed at Jimmy. 'You too.'
'But. . .'
'I've told you, Jimmy, I want a record kept of everything.'
Jimmy swallowed nervously. It was fantastic that the Captain considered him important enough to include in his team — but also somewhat worrying, as he wasn't exactly friends with Pedroza.
Nevertheless, he checked his notebook and pen, then slung Claire's camera over his shoulder and joined the small group as it was escorted out of the theatre. Captain Smith and his officers marched along the corridors with their shoulders back and chins high, looking very impressive. Jimmy snuck along in their wake, trying to look small and insignificant.
The bridge was not as he remembered it. It had been pristine and quietly efficient, but now it was raucous and overcrowded. Beer bottles sat everywhere; slices of pizza were strewn across the floor. The mutineers had been partying, toasting their success at taking control of the ship, and only now were they realizing that they didn't have the first idea about how to sail her — that there was slightly more to it than switching the engine on and pointing her in the right direction.
Despite the state of his bridge, Captain Smith kept his eyes focussed on Pedroza, who was sitting in his chair facing a bank of computers and smoking a cigar.
'Ah, Captain,' he said. 'So good of you to come.' Captain Smith said nothing. Pedroza's eyes roved across their small party and came to rest on Jimmy. 'Why him?'
'I thought it only right and proper that your mutinous actions should be properly recorded, so that when it comes to your trial we have photographic evidence.' The Captain nodded at him. 'Jimmy — take a picture.'
Jimmy looked at Pedroza, and the gun he had resting on the desk before him. 'The light isn't quite . . .'
'Take it now, please.'
Jimmy somewhat reluctantly r
aised his camera. 'Ah . . . say cheese?'
'Cheese?' It was supposed to widen Pedroza's mouth into a smile, but it didn't work. He just looked even more menacing. Jimmy took the photo. The flash didn't go off, but it didn't matter, it wasn't really about the picture at all. It was about establishing who was in charge. Pedroza nodded at the man with the dolphin tattoo and he immediately grabbed the camera and hurled it against the wall behind them. It fell to the floor in several pieces. Jimmy looked up at the Captain. 'Do you want me to draw him?'
Captain Smith didn't respond. He kept his eyes fixed on Pedroza.
The chief mutineer clapped his hands, and this time he did smile. 'You see, Captain, everything has changed. We do not work for you. The ship is ours.'
'You, sir, are a mutineer. A pirate.'
Pedroza suddenly slammed his fist down on the table. Jimmy jumped. Captain Smith didn't even blink. 'And what are you? The world is dying and you cruise from island to island as if nothing is wrong! You make little newspapers! Food is running out and you bring more people on board! And this plague — you keep the sick here, so they can infect us all! What we are doing, this may be piracy, but it is not madness!'
Captain Smith was silent for several moments, then said quietly, 'What do you want of me, sir?'
'You will take us to Fort Amalie. We will refuel and lake on more supplies. We will unload the sick and any passengers who do not wish to serve under me. And then we will go exactly where we please and do exactly what we want with whatever time we have left!'
Captain Smith shook his head. 'I cannot agree to this. We must continue to care for the sick. We must look after our passengers until this crisis—'
'Crisis?' Pedroza exploded. 'The world is over, Captain, and this ship is ours! Now you will do as you are told.'
'And if I don't agree to this piracy?'
'Then we will act as pirates!'
Pedroza suddenly leaped out from behind his desk, grabbed Jimmy by the front of his shirt and began to drag him towards the door. One of the officers tried to block his way, but he was struck down hard from behind. Jimmy tried to resist — he sensed that whatever was coming wasn't going to be pleasant — but he was no match for Pedroza. The rest of the mutineers hurried out on to the deck after them. Pedroza snapped out a number of commands. A sunbed was quickly turned on its side and its wheels snapped off. The flat base was then pushed under the gap at the bottom of the security rail so that it jutted out over the water. Pedroza heaved Jimmy up and over the rail and on to the sunbed. Then he let go of him. Jimmy staggered and almost fell. As he regained his balance, he couldn't help but look down.
Fifteen levels above the sea!
Fear and shock and horror instantly turned his legs to jelly.
'I am a pirate!' Pedroza cried. 'So now he walks the plank!'
The mutineers clapped and roared. Captain Smith stood ramrod straight.
Jimmy had absolutely no qualms about begging for his life. He loved the Titanic and he loved the newspaper and Claire, but what was the point of loving anything or anyone if he was dead? He was quite willing to become a pirate if it meant extending his life, even a little. But as he turned to plead his case Pedroza slapped him hard across the face. The force of it almost knocked him over the side, but again he just managed to regain his balance. Blood dripped from his nose.
'If by any miracle you survive the fall,' laughed Pedroza, 'then the sharks will smell the blood and tear you to pieces.' He turned to Captain Smith. 'So Captain, do you follow my commands, or does the boy jump?'
Jimmy swallowed hard. 'Captain . . .'
'I do not negotiate with terrorists or pirates.'
'Captain Smith . . . please. . .'
Captain Smith shook his head. 'I'm sorry, Jimmy, but we cain't give in to him. He may kill you, he may kill five, ten or a hundred more. But he can't kill us all.'
'I don't care about the others!' Jimmy wailed.
'Terrorism must not prevail!'
Pedroza nodded at his drunken comrades. 'Does he walk?'
'Walk!' yelled one.
'Walk!' yelled another.
'Walk! Walk! Walk!' they chanted.
'Captain, this is your last chance! Will you sail the Titanic?'
Jimmy Armstrong looked from the Captain to Pedroza to the sea below. In an attempt to look as pathetic as possible and thus possibly earn some very, very late sympathy, he delved into his trouser pocket for a tissue in order to dab forlornly at his bleeding nose, but as he pulled it out something else came with it, falling down on to the sunbed and rolling across it before coming to rest precariously on its very edge. His lucky penny.
Jimmy let go of the tissue and it instantly vanished on the breeze. He crouched down and reached for the coin and was just able to claw it back into his grasp. He then held it tight in his fist as he straightened, and found himself wishing and praying that just this once it might bring him some luck.
'Walk! Walk! Walk! Walk!' the mutineers sang.
Jimmy gave Captain Smith one final look of profound desperation.
Please work!
But the Captain shook his head. 'I can't,' he said simply.
'Walk! Walk! Walk! Walk!'
Pedroza turned to Jimmy. 'I can push you, or you can jump.'
Jimmy could hardly breathe. He opened his fist and stared at the coin. 'You're bloody useless!' he hissed. He slipped it into his shirt pocket. It was finally going back where it belonged — the bottom of the ocean. 'You and me both,' Jimmy whispered. Then he turned and walked to the end of the sunbed.
31
The Cure
Jimmy stared at the water far below. He closed his eyes. He thought of his mum and dad and granda, and his baldy headmaster and the bus driver falling off the dock and fighting with Claire and the thrill of producing his first newspaper. But after this he wanted to think some kind of big important thought before dying.
The meaning of life. God.
But the best he could come up with was:
I wonder if there's a McDonald's in heaven?
Or hell?
He wasn't even that big a fan of McDonald's, but he couldn't seem to get the thought out of his head.
All he could hear was the wind and the steady hum of the Titanic's engines. Even the chanting mutineers had fallen silent. They were, despite their drunkenness and their deadly weapons, just cleaners and cooks and tourists, and murder was new to them. Forcing a boy to walk the plank was a unique introduction to it. They had not really expected it to actually happen. They were certain the Captain would give in. Or that Pedroza would show mercy. But neither was prepared to give an inch. And it was just exactly an inch that now separated Jimmy from death.
He wasn't, however, going to give Pedroza the satisfaction of pushing him. If he was going to go, he was going to jump.
And now, he couldn't put it off any longer.
Jimmy took a deep breath, then stepped . . .
'Stop!'
Jimmy hovered on the very edge. Even the motion involved in looking round might have caused him to overbalance and fall.
All he knew was that it wasn't the Captain's voice — or Pedroza's.
'Step back, Jimmy!'
He recognized it now.
Jimmy turned very, very, very slowly, and saw that Dr Hill had pushed through the crowd of mutineers and had managed to get as far as the security rail. The mutineers would certainly have restrained him, if it hadn't been for the large red blotches that were clearly visible on his face and hands.
Pedroza scowled at him. 'Who do you think— ?'
'Listen to me! Both of you!' Dr Hill pointed at Pedroza, then Captain Smith. 'You can't allow this to happen!'
'You, sir, are out of order!' Captain Smith growled back.
'He will jump or I will throw him!' Pedroza declared.
'No — wait. Please . . . you don't understand. Jimmy — he has a cure for the plague!'
This set the watching crowd to murmuring.
Pedroza's eyes narrowe
d. 'What are you talking about? What cure?'
'I swear! He brought it back from the island! We injected some of the infected with it . . . and I've just been up to see them and they're . . . damn it, man, they're starting to recover! There is a cure for this plague!'
But Pedroza wasn't easily swayed. 'You lie!' he cried. 'Nothing can—'
'Look!' shouted Dr Hill. He pointed through the crowd. They turned, and Jimmy saw what they saw, standing a little way across the deck.
'Claire,' Jimmy whispered.
She looked desperately thin and pale and unsteady, but she was standing unsupported, and the enflamed red blotches which had covered her were now grey and fading.
'She was dying half an hour ago, and now look at her! There's a dozen more like her! Don't you see what this means? We can all live through this!'
The mutineers began to jabber excitedly amongst themselves — only Captain Smith and Pedroza seemed untouched by this revelation.
Pedroza called for quiet, and his men immediately fell silent. 'This . . . this is good . . . if it's true. Maybe it's just an attempt to save this rat's life. Well, it won't work. Captain Smith still refuses to pilot the ship, so the boy must die.'
He turned back towards Jimmy, who had allowed himself a brief moment of hope. 'Now you must . . .' Pedroza indicated the end of the sunbed, and made a little fluttering sign with his hands.
'No!' cried Dr Hill. Pedroza turned impatiently. 'You don't understand! There isn't enough medicine for everyone! But if we return to the island we can make more, and only Jimmy knows where to find it!'
Pedroza shook his head. 'There was another sailor with him.'
'He collapsed soon after coming back on board — he has it as well. Only Jimmy knows.'
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