Claire was momentarily stunned.
I sent a shy kid to interview someone who might be a killer, and now he’s disappeared. I should have confronted Cleaver myself, not sent some green kid to do it.
But then she thought, no, that’s jumping to conclusions. There could be a dozen reasons why Brain had disappeared. Maybe he’d dropped the phone by mistake, realised he’d lost the interview, and was too embarrassed to show his face in the office. Andy might well have claimed to have mounted a thorough search, but that was impossible in the short time that had passed – the ship was massive. It would take an organised team weeks to check every nook and cranny. Brian could quite easily just be hiding out. Or, if by some chance he had gone overboard, it didn’t mean he’d been murdered. He might have been in some kind of freak accident – or he might even have killed himself. It wasn’t unheard of for people to throw themselves off the Titanic. Losing loved ones, your home: even losing treasured mementoes had been known to drive people to suicide. There was no way of knowing if Brian was ‘the type’ to kill himself, because there was no type. It could affect anyone. One moment they were there, the next they were gone.
Claire sighed. ‘OK – look, we need to keep looking. Inform Captain Smith, he’ll organise a proper search.’
‘Will do. What’s it like out there?’
‘Interesting,’ said Claire.
She talked for a few more minutes, while Andy wrote her observations down. It looked like they were going to be ashore for several days, and there was still a daily paper to produce, so she would have to take opportunities like this to file her reports. When she was finished she handed the radio back to Jeffers, grabbed a bottle of water for herself, and was just turning to look for Ty when she jumped suddenly.
The Rev. Calvin Cleaver was right beside her. Centimetres away.
‘Sorry,’ he said, his voice a cold rasp. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you.’
‘You – you didn’t . . .’ Claire took a step back. She glanced around to make sure someone was watching.
‘We haven’t been introduced . . . apparently I shot you.’
His eyes were pale and tinged with red, his teeth sharp and crooked. Claire had time and again counselled herself not to judge a book by its cover, but it was impossible. Cleaver might as well have had evil bad guy printed on his head. It just seemed that nobody else was aware of it.
‘Yes . . . yes . . . you . . .’
She found herself involuntarily rubbing at her arm. It ached. Like it knew that the monster responsible was right there.
‘I’m really dreadfully sorry.’
He reached out, and before she could do anything, he had taken hold of her hand. He clasped it between his own. His flesh was cold and clammy.
‘I wish I could make it up to you.’
‘No . . . no . . . it’s quite . . .’
She wanted to run, but he wouldn’t let go.
‘I couldn’t help but overhear . . . has something happened to that little fellow sent to interview me?’
She was trying to read his eyes. Were they cold and gloating, or were they just like that?
‘We’re . . . not sure – he seems to have disappeared.’ She took a step back, and in so doing managed to free her hand from his grasp. It just slipped out. ‘The interview – you did it with him?’
‘Oh, yes. He asked all sorts of interesting questions. He was really awfully smart. Nervous, but intelligent, I thought.’
‘His cell-phone was found on the top deck, smashed.’
‘Really? How odd. He interviewed me in the restaurant on the eleventh. Do you really think something has . . . happened to him?’
‘I . . . don’t know.’
At that moment Cleaver was distracted by First Officer Jeffers calling on them all to get ready to move out again. There were groans from some of the older passengers as they got to their feet. Claire hurried towards the front of the column. She felt odd – unclean. The hand he had held was moist with her cold sweat and his. She wiped it on her jeans. He had acted pious and innocent, but he knew something, she was sure of it. But again, it was just a feeling – intuition, no cold hard facts.
They were just about to move when one of the passengers cried out: ‘Not yet – my wife isn’t here.’
Jeffers shook his head impatiently and hurried down the column. ‘Well where is she? We haven’t time to hang around.’
The passenger, a bald man with a paunchy belly was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, and standing in the doorway of an optician’s store. ‘She was looking for a new pair of sunglasses. She was thirsty, I went to get her another bottle of water . . . I only left her for a minute . . .’
Jeffers studied the store for a moment, before moving past the passenger and into the interior, removing his pistol as he did so. Two crewmen followed him in. Claire peered through the front window at display cabinets full of designer glasses caked with thin layers of dust, before following the passenger inside. She immediately noticed a slight breeze coming from the rear of the store where a door lay open. Jeffers cautiously approached this and looked out into the alley beyond. It was empty. He bent and lifted something from the ground. He held up a pair of glasses, with one cracked lens. The passenger hurried up and examined them.
‘These are Mary’s! These are her glasses . . .’ He looked about him, his eyes full of panic and desperation. ‘I don’t understand – I was only gone for a minute! Where is she?’
Jeffers moved back into the store, closing the door behind him.
‘What’re you doing?’ the passenger demanded. ‘She must be out there – she’s—’
‘She’s gone.’ Jeffers’ voice was as hard and cold as Claire had ever heard it.
‘What do you mean she’s . . . ? She must have just popped to the next store – she’s . . .’
Jeffers led the way out of the optician’s. ‘We’re leaving, we’re leaving now!’ he cried. He strode straight up to the head of the column, geeing people up along the way. ‘C’mon, let’s go!’
Claire stepped into the column about halfway along, beside Ty and a little way behind Cleaver.
The passenger whose wife had disappeared remained in the store doorway. ‘We can’t just leave her!’ he cried.
But that’s what was happening. As the column moved out, passengers and crew alike avoided eye contact with him.
‘Please!’
They kept going.
‘What do you think happened?’ Ty whispered, glancing back.
‘Don’t know,’ said Claire.
‘Jeffers looks spooked.’
Claire nodded.
‘Those damn monkeys,’ said Ty.
23
The River
Jimmy had no hopes at all for his stunt with the Morse code. He had only tried it because it was something. He wasn’t worried about Ham being suspicious or reporting him for smashing his lighter – he’d left his post while on duty, so he’d only be getting himself into trouble. But he still felt like a prisoner. The Morse code wasn’t enough. He wanted to charge at the wire fence. He wanted to dig a tunnel with his bare hands. He wanted to convince his fellow soldiers to stage a revolution. Yet he couldn’t understand why nobody else seemed to feel the same way. The rest of his troop all seemed so content – yes, the training was hard, and of course Mohican was a monster, but otherwise they seemed quite happy with their lot. In the darkness of the barracks that night he told them about the plans he had seen on the walls of the war room, of the battle that was being planned. He meant it to scare them. He meant for them to realise that this wasn’t a game, that soon some of them might be dead. But they welcomed it. They whooped and hollered and predicted how many bad guys they were going to kill, even though they had no idea who the bad guys were.
Jimmy couldn’t sleep. He felt claustrophobic. Quite often on the Titanic he would sleep on the balcony outside his cabin, wrapped up in a blanket with the sea air whistling around him. He tried it here, dragging his sleeping bag out of the bar
racks and on to the wooden surround outside the hut. He stubbed his toe in the darkness. He cursed to himself. He lay down on the floorboards. He looked up at the stars, but they were obscured by a cloudy sky. The wood smelled of damp and mud. He tossed and turned. One of the search lights crossed above him, and it was only in following its trajectory that he became aware of a single, small red light, just a few metres away. It moved.
He wasn’t alone.
Someone sitting in the corner, smoking.
Jimmy groaned inwardly. Ham. ‘What, are you stalking me now?’ he hissed. Then added, ‘You little creep,’ for good measure.
The light was extinguished. For ten seconds everything was black.
‘Oh, you’re scaring me.’
All the same, he tensed, in case the little chimney took a run at him in the dark.
Then there was a click click, a little roar of flame, and Ham bent into the sudden brightness to light his cigarette.
Except it wasn’t Ham.
It was Mohican.
Time to backtrack . . . quickly.
‘Of course, when I said little creep, I meant most wonderful leader.’
‘Relax, Armstrong,’ said Mohican. He closed the lighter and they were plunged back into darkness again. ‘What’s wrong, can’t sleep?’
‘No. I mean yes. I mean, I can’t sleep.’ Silence. ‘Can you not . . . either?’
The cigarette brightened for a moment as Mohican inhaled. He ignored the question. ‘I heard you earlier. Talking about the coming battle.’
‘Oh.’
‘You’re different than they are, Armstrong. I’m sure you’ve seen some bad things, but you seem to have come through them pretty unscathed. Those guys in there, I know their stories. Terrible stories. Torres – you know what he had to do? He had to shoot his parents. They were in agony from the plague and they begged him. Ramon – with the black glasses? He had little brothers, twins. His parents were gone. He only had enough medicine to give to one of his brothers – he had to choose which one lived. Imagine doing that? And then they both died anyway. Marissa, girl with the long blond hair? Fifteen days without food, turned into a slave by bandits, do I have to say what they did to her? They all got stories like that. So when they find something like this, what we have here, they embrace it. Sure it’s tough, but it’s not tough compared to what they’ve been through. They have friends here. They have food and heat and hope. And if they have to go into battle to keep this, then they’ll do that, they won’t question orders, they’ll do exactly what they’re told.’
Jimmy could see exactly how attractive Fort Hope, the President and the camaraderie of army life would seem to someone who’d endured and survived the plague.
But at the back of his mind he also knew that that was how dictators got started. Jimmy had been one of the worst students in East Belfast High, but he wasn’t stupid. If he’d appeared lazy, if he seemed to lack application and seldom paid attention – well, that was all pretty true; but he took things on board, he thought about them when he wasn’t forced to think about them. He knew about Hitler’s Germany – that when people were down, if you promised them great things and then delivered at least some of them, they would follow you even if, ultimately, what you were doing was wrong. Germans hadn’t been bad, but they had been led to badness by bad men. And by the time they realised their mistake, it was too late.
Jimmy might have pointed this out, but part of surviving a dictatorship is knowing when to keep quiet. He was only learning this slowly. As Mohican smoked in the darkness, Jimmy merely asked:
‘Who are we fighting?’
‘The enemy.’
‘In New York?’
‘Wherever we tell you.’
Mohican stubbed the remains of his cigarette out on the wooden floor and stood. ‘You should get some sleep, Armstrong. You’re important to this troop, you show some good leadership qualities, they respect you. Don’t let them down.’
He stepped off the surround and walked away.
Jimmy felt pretty good about what Mohican had said. For about ten seconds.
Then he shook himself and muttered: ‘What a lot of crap.’
It was raining heavily by morning. Jimmy had slept only fitfully on the surround, and felt stiff and sore. He showered and dressed before the rest of the troop was awake. He decided to make himself useful by taking a plastic bag full of trash out to the garbage disposal unit on the far side of the Fort. On the way back he splashed past the First Aid hut. The girl was sitting outside. Her tray was on the table in front of her as usual – but this time the food had been devoured. She continued to stare ahead. She did not acknowledge him. But there was something definitely softer about her face.
‘Starting to get your appetite back, eh?’
He leaned on the wooden fence and smiled at her.
‘I’m going for breakfast myself in a minute, anything else I can get you? I can smuggle out most things, although I’m not sure what I’d do with scrambled eggs. No?’
No reaction.
The whistle sounded for breakfast; immediately barracks’ doors all around the camp began to open and their hungry occupants spilled out.
Jimmy winked at her. ‘See ya later,’ he said.
The rain had not let up when Mohican marched them out of the fort an hour later. And they did march. They really were starting to look like a cohesive army unit now. He led them south across the plain until they came to the banks of a river. The grass on both sides had been trampled down, and a series of ropes and pulleys set up. He lined them up in two rows and called them to attention.
‘Today, ladies and gentlemen, we will be learning how to cross a river at speed. You will see that the ropes have already been set up. I want you to examine them, work out how it has been done, and then the ropes and apparatus will be removed. It will then be up to you to get the ropes, and then yourselves, across the river. The first time you do this will be in uniform alone. The second time will be carrying a full pack. The third time will be carrying a full pack, under enemy fire. This will show whether you can operate as a team, it will show whether you can remain calm under attack, it will show whether you have what it takes to become a United States Marine. If any of you fall into the water – that is allowed – once. If you fall twice, then you are on a warning. If you fall three times, then you are not a team player and you will be removed from the unit and reassigned. Do you understand?’
‘YES, SIR!’
‘Very well. But before we start, Private Armstrong – step forward!’
Jimmy gulped. His eyes darted from left to right and all places above and below.
He stepped forward. ‘Sir?’
Mohican, marched up to him. His eyes bore into Jimmy’s.
‘Armstrong, you’ve been trouble since you arrived.’
‘Sir.’
‘You have constantly questioned authority and disobeyed commands.’
‘Sir.’
Mohican stepped behind him.
‘But you have spirit, and you’re brave, and you have provided vital information to our President.’
Jimmy said nothing. His eyes remained fixed front.
‘Therefore I have decided to promote you to the rank of Corporal.’ For the first time Jimmy’s eyes flitted to the side. ‘This is your troop, it is your responsibility to get them through training, to make sure they work hard.’
Mohican stepped back in front of him. He produced two pointed yellow cloth bars, like two mountain peaks, one behind the other, and pinned them loosely to his arm. He stepped back, and saluted.
Jimmy returned the salute and backed into the ranks.
‘Well done,’ someone whispered.
‘Arse-kisser,’ whispered someone else.
There was no let-up in the rain. They were wet and miserable before they started falling into the river.
Jimmy had always thought of himself as being fairly hopeless at logical thinking, but the troop was looking to him for leadership and he surprised himse
lf by remaining calm and organised and coming up with some sensible ideas. In truth, it wasn’t rocket science, and soldiers had been fording rivers for thousands of years. It was more the conditions than the task that were providing the biggest challenge; the ground was slippery, the mud seeped into everything, getting a firm grip of the ropes on the riverbank was one thing; maintaining it as you tried to cross the river was something else.
The rope was fitted to a grappling hook and hurled across. It took four attempts to secure it with enough certainty to allow two soldiers to pull themselves across through the water trailing secondary ropes. Once on the other side they established the connection between the two banks and raised the ropes out of the water. Jimmy, trying to instil confidence into some of his doubtful-looking troop, was the first to clip himself on and haul himself across. He waved back across the river to the next trooper to begin her attempt. She nodded, gave him the thumbs-up and, suitably inspired, slipped straight down the bank and into the water.
But she climbed out and tried again.
They all kept at it. Mohican watched without commenting as their confidence grew. Finally they managed to fire the rope across the water and get everyone across without incident. Then they broke for lunch, tired but feeling good. They returned to the fort, ate well, laughed and joked, then emerged to find that the rain had become torrential. When they reached the river the water had risen and was now flowing past exceptionally quickly.
This time they had to cross wearing packs. They had not actually been issued with enough equipment yet to make them particularly heavy, so Mohican thoughtfully weighed them down with rocks. Their grip on the bank and the ropes became even more precarious. Jimmy moved back and forth, shouting encouragement, making sure the team (and the ropes) were secure, leading from the front; crossing the river half a dozen times. Confidence grew again. The only one who didn’t seem to respond was Rain Man. When Jimmy offered advice or a helping hand he snapped back or slapped it away. Jimmy could see the pulse in the side of Rain Man’s head racing. It was either intense concentration – or fear.
When they came to make their final effort to get everyone across with full packs, Jimmy personally checked that every one of them was clipped securely on to the line across the bulging river. If someone fell, they might hit the water, but they would remain securely fastened to the bridging rope. It would be up to the others to haul him or her back in.
Titanic 2020: Cannibal City Page 14
