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Authors: Colin Bateman

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39
The Flesh Dogs

J
immy was miserable. He went to the
Times
office and tried to start work on the next edition of the newspaper. All of the equipment had now been retrieved from the various hiding places they had used during Pedroza's brief reign, and Claire had even persuaded her dad to order that some extra equipment be sent across from the
Olympic
before the ropes were cut and it floated off to its doom.

But he couldn't concentrate.

Ty, who had also chosen to remain on board, told Jimmy to relax, that Claire could easily be replaced. 'There are plenty more fish in the sea,' he said.

Jimmy threw a printer at him.

He imagined Claire at that very moment, flying through the air, on the way to a new life on her farm.

He could not have been further from the truth.

Mr Stanford had commandeered a Miami Port Authority transit bus. He had also, somewhat reluctantly, agreed to drop Miss Calhoon, Franklin and half a dozen other passengers in downtown Miami.

They had been driving for over an hour, but had only managed to travel about a mile from the port because the roads were almost impassable. Wrecked and abandoned cars, bodies, burned out and collapsed buildings — everything combined to make their progress agonizingly slow.

Claire stood behind her dad. 'This is impossible,' she said. 'It will take for ever.'

'Nothing's impossible,' her dad snapped.

From behind her her mother said: 'Your father didn't become a billionaire by saying things were impossible. He went out and did them.'

'Isn't that nice,' said Miss Calhoon. Franklin barked.

The closer they got to the city centre, the worse it got. There was nothing but devastation and destruction. Fires had burned out of control, laying waste to entire blocks. There did not appear to be any survivors.

'Oh
damn
it!'

Smoke began to pour from under the hood. A few metres further on the bus shuddered, then ground to a halt. Mr Stanford quickly ushered them all off. Just as he prepared to take a closer look at the engine, it burst into flames.

'Great,'
said Claire.

***

They began to hunt for an alternative means of transport capable of carrying them all. Mr Stanford himself was desperately keen to go directly to the airport, but he had accepted the responsibility of giving the other passengers a ride into the city and didn't feel that he could abandon them — especially with a dog like
that
eyeing them up.

It was a huge beast, like a cross between a German shepherd and a Rottweiler, standing less than a dozen metres away, its teeth bared and dripping.

'Easy, boy,' said Mr Stanford.

At about the same time, another passenger, a Mr Greening — an elderly man with a hearing aid and walking stick — stumbled across what he thought was a survivor. A man was lying face down on the sidewalk — but still appeared to be moving.

Mr Greening struck the ground with his stick to attract the others' attention. 'There appears to be someone . . .' But then he stopped. A small dog had wriggled out from beneath the body, and was now snarling at him. Its teeth were bright red. Strips of rotting flesh hung from them. The old man began to back away.

Mr Stanford, sensing danger, was just beginning to usher them all back towards the safety of the bus — even though it was still smoking — when two more snarling, snapping animals wriggled out from beneath it, cutting off their approach to the open doors.

Then there was another dog, and another, and soon they were surrounding the little group, pressing them closer and closer together.

'My God!' Mr Greening cried. 'They've been eating the dead! They have a taste for human flesh!'

The dogs were now a mass of spitting, snapping beasts, intent only on tearing them apart and devouring them.

They drew closer and closer.

Claire clung to her father. He tried to kick at one, but instead of ducking away it lunged at him and sank its bloody teeth into his shoe. Mrs Stanford screamed. The dog was now attempting to drag her husband away. Claire kicked at it. Momentarily surprised, it lessened its grip for just a fraction of a second — enough to allow him to twist his foot out of his shoe and scramble backwards.

The dogs moved closer again.

'Oh, they just need to know who's in charge!' It was Miss Calhoon. She patted Franklin's fluffy head and stepped forward.

'No!' Claire shouted.

But the old lady wasn't frightened at all. Miss Calhoon raised a warning finger to the flesh dogs and shouted, 'Sit!'

The flesh dogs growled and roared. 'SIT!'

One dog actually did.
'SIT!'

Then another sat, and another, until one by one all of the dogs surrounding them were sitting obediently.

'Now,' said Miss Calhoon, turning and beaming triumphantly at her companions, 'why don't we all get back on the bus. I'm sure it will be perfectly safe.'

They hesitated. It was Claire who made the first move. 'Come on, Mum, let's go.'

She took her hand and moved towards the encircling dogs. Mr Stanford ushered the others forward. One by one, and hardly daring to breathe, they passed through them and began to climb back on to the bus. Only Miss Calhoon stayed where she was, her finger raised and repeating over and over: 'Stay . . . stay . . . good boys . . .
stay .
. .' until they were all on board.

'You see?' said the old woman, 'they're all just scared and hungry, aren't they, Franklin?' She raised the little poodle up to kiss the top of his head, but as she did Franklin suddenly snapped at her. He was a spoiled little creature, and had snapped a thousand times, but this was the first time in his entire life that he had actually bitten her. Probably, he didn't mean to. Possibly he was just nervous, with all those other dogs there. But his little sharp teeth jagged into her nose, drawing blood, and causing a shocked Miss Calhoon to drop him.

The watching dogs, smelling fresh blood, immediately stood and began to snarl.

Miss Calhoon only had eyes for Franklin, who was scampering away. 'Franklin!' she cried, and began to shuffle after him. 'Franklin!'

The dogs growled and edged closer.

'Miss Calhoon!' Claire shouted from the bus doorway. 'Don't . . .!'

The Rottweiler snapped at her. Miss Calhoon immediately ordered it to sit again — but her moment was gone.

The flesh dogs attacked.

40
The new Voyage

C
hief Engineer Jonas Jones reported that refuelling was completed. First Officer Jeffers presented the figures for the returnees — of the two hundred passengers who'd gone ashore, eighty-five had returned. Out of fifty crew who'd left, twenty-six were back on board. The cruise line's dockside food storage facility was found to be intact and an emergency generator used to keep it frozen had apparently only failed within the past few days, leaving nearly all of it in edible condition. This had been brought on board, together with several tonnes of tinned foods which Jeffers had 'liberated' from various supermarkets.

'Very well, gentlemen,' said Captain Smith, 'let's get her underway.'

***

Jimmy was back in the
Times
office, typing up a story. He'd interviewed a number of the returning passengers about their experiences in Miami, and he was depressed even writing about it. The city was a mess.

He had paused as the engines started up, then forced himself to continue writing. They were off now, on the next voyage of the
Titanic.
There were new adventures to come, he was sure of it. Yet he felt empty.

Alone.

He
was
alone, as Ty Warner was too frightened of being attacked again to return yet. But —
alone
alone.

Jimmy typed for another five minutes. He reread what he'd written.

It was rubbish.

He deleted it and started again.

There was a knock on the door.

'Get lost, Ty, I'm busy.'

It was knocked again.

'I'm serious. Just leave me alone.'

When it was knocked for a third time, Jimmy leaped from his chair and yanked it open. 'Will you just. . .!'

He stopped.

'Hello,' said Claire.

'Oh.'

'What's got you all fired up?'

'Uhm. Nothing. What are you doing here? I thought . . .'

'Job to do, haven't I?' She slipped past him into the office and crossed to her desk. She pulled out her chair and sat down.

Jimmy remained in the doorway.
'Claire?'

'It's no big deal. We couldn't get anywhere near the airport — every road is blocked. Miss Calhoon got eaten by wild dogs. We decided to come back to the ship.' 'Miss Calhoon . . .?'

'Torn to pieces, actually.'

Jimmy cleared his throat. 'I don't suppose you . . .'

Claire gave him a look. '
No,
I didn't get any photos of it. And you are one sick individual.'

Jimmy closed the door. He returned to his own desk. He typed something. Without looking up he said: 'I passed by the gangplank two or three times, you know, interviewing people. I didn't see you come back.'

'No, we were late. Daddy borrowed a little speedboat and we caught you up.'

'Ah. Right.'

Claire studied her own computer. Without looking up she said: 'All that stuff, you know when you woke up, and then on the dock, when we said goodbye . . . I was just upset about Pedroza getting shot dead like that, and then me having to leave the ship. I didn't really mean any of it.'

'I know that.'

'I just want to do the paper.'

'That's OK. Me too.'

'It's important, and it's fun, and there's no point in spoiling that.'

'Absolutely not.'

They both nodded.

'Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Captain speaking.'

Captain Smith's voice crackled out of the public address system. Jimmy and Claire looked up at the speaker on the wall. All over the ship, people stopped what they were doing. In the engine room the engineers paused; in the kitchens the catering staff wiped their hands and stood listening; by the swimming pool mothers stopped applying sun cream and children quietly trod water.

'We are now setting sail on the second voyage of the
Titanic.
Our journey will take us along the east coast of the United States of America. We at White Star Line and the
Titanic
take very seriously our responsibility to our passengers and crew. We have already been through difficult times, and you may be sure there will be many more ahead, but it remains our primary duty to ensure your safety. Only the good Lord above knows how long our journey will be, but it's important that we all work together to ensure our continued survival. If you're a doctor at home, volunteer here. If you're a carpenter or an electrician, a baker or an accountant, we need your help. Even if you have no profession, you can be trained. The
Titanic
is the greatest ship ever built, but it needs your support. Thank you for your cooperation, and enjoy the trip.' There was a short pause. 'And now for an important message from First Officer Jeffers.'

'Thank you, Captain.' Jeffers cleared his throat, then gravely announced: 'The public toilets on Level Four are blocked, please avoid using them until further notice. And Dr Hill has reported an infestation of fleas which is believed to be due to a small dog that boarded at St Thomas. If you spot this dog, please notify a member of the crew immediately. Approach it with extreme caution. Thank you.'

THE END

Примечания

Actually, I've just remembered 6, which is why Lucky Jimmy Armstrong is called 'Lucky' Jimmy Armstrong. It's a sarcastic joke. Ever since Jimmy's great-grandfather went down on the
Titanic
the family had been plagued with ill luck. The Armstrongs attract accidents and controversy the way summer flowers attract bees.
This
'Lucky' Jimmy Armstrong, thirteen years old, was simply following in the family tradition.

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Document ID: 8ce8b0c5-9fa3-4e3d-83ca-9c50fa25e138

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Document creation date: 27 October 2011

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