Titanic 2020: Cannibal City

9 The Engine

She woke suddenly, like someone had just switched her back on. She knew immediately where she was because she'd spent so much time there during the plague. The Titanic's hospital wing. In a nice clean bed. Her arm bandaged, but not sore. A pleasant buzz in her head. Drugs to kill the pain. An IV tube attached to her good arm. She had two thoughts:

I'm alive.

And then: Jimmy!

There was a dull throb beneath her. That meant the Titanic was moving. Claire threw her covers back and swung her legs off the bed. She stood up, and immediately a wave of dizzy nausea hit her and she sat right back down again. A nurse appeared in the doorway and hurried across, waving a warning finger.

'No, no, no, young lady. I don't think so.'

The nurse reached down and lifted Claire's legs back up on to the bed.

She lay back on the pillow — then almost immediately sat up again. 'My father, I need to speak to my—'

'All in good time.'

'I WANT TO SPEAK TO HIM NOW!'

Her legs might have been weak, but her voice was strong.The nurse quickly backed away. 'I'll get Dr Hill.'

'MY FATHER! I WANT . . .'

Dr Hill, alerted by the shouting, was already on his way in. 'Ah, Claire, how are you—'

'Where's Jimmy?'

'How's the arm?'

'Where's Jimmy?'

'You almost lost it, you know, it was a bad wound, and infected.'

'Tell me where Jimmy is!'

'We don't know,' Dr Hill said bluntly.

It hit her like a hammer blow.

'What do you mean you don't know?'

'We just don't know. We searched for him, Claire, but no trace.'

The door opened again and Claire's mother came rushing in, quickly followed by her father.

'Oh darling, darling! You're awake . . . my poor, poor sweet girl!'

Mrs Stanford bent down for a hug and kiss. Claire ignored her. Her eyes bore into her father.

'Dad. What about Jimmy?'

'I'm sorry, Claire.'

'That's not good enough!'

'We did our best! Now you have to tell us what happened.'

'Did that wretched boy try to kill you?' her mother asked.

'WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?' Claire exploded. 'The preacher tried to kill both of us! The reverend! The minister! We had to run, we got separated. There was all this shooting . . . I fell, I fell and there was more shooting . . . Jimmy . . .' Claire abruptly burst into tears. Her mother moved in for another hug. Claire shrugged her off. 'No!' She dragged her arm across her face. 'You didn't look hard enough! We have to go back! Why are we even sailing, we need to know what. . . aaaaow!'

Dr Hill had snuck up on her other side and jabbed her good arm with a syringe. As he pushed the plunger in he said, 'I'm sorry Claire, but you need to rest. You've been through a major trauma and the surgery . . .'

But she was already asleep.

They stood around the bed, looking down at her. She was still deathly pale and the skin on her face was pulled tight by a dozen lacerations.

'You didn't think it wise to tell her?' her father asked.

Dr Hill shook his head. 'I don't think it would have helped.'

One of the patrols had found Jimmy's footprints and a spray of blood on a tree trunk with a bullet hole in it.

'She'll sleep until tomorrow,' said Dr Hill. 'I gave her enough sedative to knock out a horse.'

'She's not a horse,' observed Mr Stanford. 'Horses can be trained.'

It was after three a.m. and nearly all of the passengers and crew were asleep. Others passed the dark hours by watching a movie in the ship's cinema or ice skated. On the top deck an elderly man who had lost his wife to the plague was approaching the summit of the climbing wall. He climbed it every night. He had no idea why. Benson snored uneasily in the makeshift farmyard. In the engine room, having been summoned from his own slumbers, Jonas Jones cursed furiously before storming out. He made his way to the captain's quarters and hammered on his door. It was a full minute before a rather dishevelled-looking Captain Smith opened up.

'Jonas? What is it?'

'It's trouble, that's what it is.'

Without waiting to be invited the engineer stepped into the cabin. The captain, in dressing gown and pyjamas, watched his old friend stride across to a small table, pull a chair out and sit down heavily.

Forty minutes later they were still talking urgently when they became aware of a noise outside the cabin — light footsteps perhaps, but with an accompanying grating sound, like a prisoner dragging a ball and chain. They exchanged glances. Neither of them was superstitious, but it sounded like a ghost might sound — in a very bad movie.

Captain Smith moved to the door, hesitated for a moment, then flung it open.

Claire was standing there, her fist already raised to hammer on it. Her IV was still attached to her arm and to its stand. She had dragged it all the way from the hospital. Her hair lay dank upon her head and sweat was rolling down her brow. But her eyes burned with determination.

'You . , . will . . . turn this ship . . . around now . . !

She staggered forward, and the IV tripod would have toppled behind her if the captain hadn't caught it. Jonas Jones jumped up, took hold of Claire and guided her across to his chair. As he lowered her into it he purred softly, 'Easy now, girl.'

'I'm OK . . . I'm all right. . . tired . . .' She took a deep breath. Sweat dripped on to the floor. 'Captain . . . Smith. We have to go back for Jimmy. We have to.'

Captain Smith reached across and patted her hand gently. 'Claire, we can't.'

'Of course you can! You just . . . turn her round and we go back and we search . . . until we find him. He's out there still . . . I know it. Captain Smith?' She slipped her hand free and instead took hold of his hand and squeezed it hard. 'Captain Smith — have you forgotten what Jimmy did for you, for us, for the Titanic? He saved us. You owe him. We all owe him.'

Captain Smith nodded slowly. 'I appreciate how much we owe him, Claire. We searched thoroughly. We did everything we could. But he's gone. These are dangerous times, Claire. He's gone. You're going to have to accept it.'

Tears rolled down her cheeks. 'But he must be alive. He's Lucky Jimmy Armstrong.'

'Nobody's that lucky, Claire.'

'Please.'

Jonas Jones patted her shoulder. 'Claire, the captain's right. We did our best. And we really can't go back. We have engine trouble.'

Claire blinked at him. She was still a Times reporter. 'What . . . are you talking about? What kind of engine trouble?'

'Big engine trouble. We're going to limp to the next port and try to make some temporary repairs. If we're lucky they might just be enough to get us to New York.'

'New York? Why . . . ?'

'Well, I've always wanted to go there.' He smiled. 'But mostly it's the only place this side of the Atlantic we might be able to get the part we need.'

'And what if you can't?'

'Well then, enjoy your time on board, because this is the last voyage of the Titanic.'