Titanic 2020: Cannibal City

11 The President Himself

Jimmy was led towards the front of the train. Although every carriage still had its share of armed men, a lot of space was also taken up with boxes of supplies. It reminded him of the Titanic — its corridors were often crammed with goods salvaged from abandoned warehouses or bartered at one of the settlements.

Mohican stopped before entering the next carriage and gave Jimmy a hard look. 'It's the President,' he snapped, 'tidy yourself up. Be respectful.'

Jimmy was on the verge of saying, 'He's not my President, I'm Irish,' but he thought better of it. If it meant getting into the Promised Land, then what harm could it do? He smoothed down his hair, straightened out his T-shirt, and rubbed as much of the grime and blood off his cheek as he could manage. When he'd finished Mohican gave him a quick check, shook his head, then turned and knocked lightly on the door. Unlike the other carriages, there were curtains hung behind the glass for privacy.

'Come,' said a voice from inside.

Mohican opened the door, and indicated for Jimmy to enter. Jimmy brushed through the curtains. Mohican stayed where he was, pulling the door closed after him. It was just Jimmy and . . .

Well, he wasn't quite sure at first. The carriage was gloomy, thanks to the curtains hanging on every window. Directly ahead of him was a desk, with a leather swivel chair facing away from him, so he couldn't see its occupant. A reading lamp threw a weak light on to the top of the desk, and he could see files of paper spread out and a man's hand busily writing.

Jimmy stood where he was, close to the door. He cleared his throat lightly.

If my mum could see this — just me and the President!

He suddenly felt quite emotional. He hadn't thought of his mum in such a long time. He had no idea if she was dead or alive.

'Name?'

The President still hadn't turned to face him.

'Jimmy. James. Jimmy Armstrong.'

He could hear a little quiver in his own voice.

'Jimmy Armstrong,' the President repeated. 'Where are you from, Jimmy?'

'Ahm . . . Ireland, I suppose.'

'You're a long way from home.'

'Yes, sir, Mr President.'

'How come?' The President continued to write.

'I . . . uhm . . . stowed away on a ship.'

'That was very . . . enterprising of you.'

'Not really, Mr . . . uhm, President. I, uh, did it by accident.'

A low chuckle came from the man in the chair, which now began to revolve towards him.

Jimmy gulped. Just me and the . . .

Jimmy had seen the President on TV. He was in his late forties, he was tall and thin. But this President was an old man. In fact, now that he looked at him properly, he was the old man, the old guy Jimmy had listened to on the makeshift stage in the bar back at Tucker's Hole. The old man who'd told a mesmerised audience about the President's train and how wonderful it was. Except, he didn't look so old any more — there was nothing decrepit or stooped about him. In fact, he positively glowed with health. But he was still definitely the old man from Tucker's Hole.

Jimmy just stared at him furiously. 'You are not the President.'

The old man clasped his hands in his lap. 'Yes, I am.'

'No you're not,' Jimmy snapped. 'I've seen him. He's twenty years younger than you. Thirty.'

'I'm not arguing with you, Jimmy.'

'Good. You'd lose.'

The old man laughed. 'You're not afraid of your own voice, are you Jimmy? Have you considered the fact that we are on a train full of soldiers, every one of them more than willing to put a bullet in your brain if I order them to?'

Jimmy bit his lip. He hadn't actually thought about the consequences of opening his mouth. He rarely did.

'I thought not.' The old man nodded to himself. 'Well,' he continued, 'perhaps a little bit of anger is no bad thing. Shows you have spirit. Let me put it another way for you. I am not the President of the United States that you may remember. My name is Daniel Blackthorne, and before this great plague I was a senator representing the great state of Nebraska. I was in Washington when the plague came, and then the President disappeared — dead, as far as anyone knows — so power passed to the next in line, and then he died, and so it went, passing on down the line until it got to me. I am the last elected official in these United States. So yes, James Armstrong, as far as you are concerned, I am the President of the United States, and it's my job to rebuild them. That's what I'm doing.'

Jimmy had no reason to doubt what this Daniel Blackthorne was saying. But it didn't explain why he was riding around in a train with a bunch of kids with guns, or why he had appeared on that stage in the village pretending that he was a feeble old man.

So he asked him.

Blackthorne rose from his chair and came towards him. Jimmy fought the urge to take a step or twelve backwards. The President, now that he was right up close, towered over him. He looked down at Jimmy and clasped his shoulders. His gaze was intense.

'Jimmy, I go from settlement to settlement and I pretend to be a passing traveller bringing news. But what I'm really trying to do is inspire people, get them thinking. America wasn't built by accountants and civil servants and people who run grooming parlours for dogs. It was built by heroes, it was built by adventurers who spat in the eyes of fear, who didn't know when to stop trying, who never considered giving up. And that's the problem, Jimmy, people have given up. They sit in these ramshackle villages moaning and whining and waiting to be rescued, and it's just not going to happen. I'm building something new, Jimmy, but I can't take everyone with me. I want people with imagination and ambition and vision, I want people prepared to take a chance. So I sow the seeds. I tell them about the President, I tell them about the train. And if they're brave enough and bright enough, they'll work out how to find me. People like you, son, kids like you who still have those kinds of guts.' He squeezed Jimmy's shoulders and smiled benevolently. 'So that's my pitch, son. I'm building these United States from the bottom up, and I need good men to help me. It'll be hard. It'll be dangerous. But by God, it'll be an adventure!'

It was an inspiring speech, delivered passionately.

It prompted a hundred jumbled thoughts.

But Jimmy didn't have time to think them all through.

All he was certain of was that he was being held prisoner on a train full of heavily-armed kids who were under the control of the nut who thought he was the President of the United States.

'So, what do you say, Jimmy, are you with me?'

'Yes, sir, Mr President!'