Titanic 2020 t2-1 (7 page)

I
t was pitch black. This was a good thing in some ways, because they couldn't see the cold mist of their breath or the ice forming on their hair and eyebrows. They weren't aware of the look of raw fear in each other's eyes. There was just the hum of the freezer and the chattering of their teeth. It had been an hour. They were freezing.

They had agreed not to panic.

Then they had panicked.

They had yelled and hammered. They had jogged on the spot, trying to keep warm. But the cold penetrated everything astonishingly quickly. Of the two, Jimmy was better off. He was still wearing the overalls he had swiped from the crew locker room. Claire was in a T-shirt and jeans.

'How . . . could he . . . do this?' Jimmy whispered through frozen lips.

'If you'd . . . just believed me . . . then I wouldn't . . . have come . . . down here again . . .'

'So . . . it's my . . . fault?'

'Yes . . . everything . . . is your fault . . .'

Despite this, they hugged each other, trying to keep warm.

'I can't . . . feel my feet . . .' said Jimmy.

'My nose . . . is so
sore . . .'

'I hate . . . this boat. . .'

'It's . . . a . . . ship . . .'

'Shut . . .
up . . .'

' You . . .
shut . . . up . . .' Claire squeezed tight against him. 'Why . . . do you . . . hate me . . . Jimmy?'

'I . . . don't know . . . I just . . . do.'

'If we get . . . out . . . we should . . . try and get along . . . better.'

'Why?'

'Oh . .
.Jimmy . . .'

They were quiet then for a long while. Jimmy's mind wandered back home to the endless cacophony of life in the Armstrong house, to his mum who'd shout at him day and night, but defend him to her dying breath, then back further, back to his namesake, the first Lucky Jimmy Armstrong. How ironic — he had died in the icy seas with his beloved
Titanic,
and now here
he
was, freezing to death as well. And all for the sake of a photograph for a dummy newspaper not more than two or three people would ever have seen.

The camera!

Jimmy suddenly shook Claire. She had been drifting off as well.

'What . . . what. . .?'

'Claire . . . where's the camera . . . your camera, where is it?'

'What . . . camera . . . oh . . . I don't . . . I mean, I . . . I dropped it . . . when we were banging on . . . why?'

'We need to find it . . . come on . . . down on your hands and knees . . . move out that way . . .'

Claire got down and began feeling around her blindly. Why . . . Jimmy? What's the point. . . ?'

Jimmy was already working his way across to the door.'It's just . . . an idea . . . but if we can just . . .'

'Got it!'

Jimmy slid across the floor in Claire's direction. Their heads cracked together in the dark.

'Aaaaow!' Claire shouted. 'Watch where you're . . .'

'OK! Sorry! Just . . . can you . . . switch it on . . . in the dark?'

'I think . . .' Her numb fingers felt along the back of the camera.

'Scoop said . . . that with modern cameras . . . news photographers can send their pictures . . . directly to their newspapers . . . They have . . . built in . . . modems . . . the Internet . . .'

There was a sudden glow in the darkness as Claire found the switch.

'The menu . . . find the menu . . .'

They peered at the illuminated symbols.

'There . . .' An Internet icon. 'OK . . . now . . . listen to me . . . what if. . . we write something . . . on the wall, then we take our photo . . . beside it . . . send it. . . to Scoop . . .?'

'Jimmy . . . no . . . there wouldn't be . . . signal . . . not in here . . .'

'Do you . . . have a . . . better . . . idea?'

'No . . . I just. . .'

'Then let's try it!'

Jimmy felt his way across to the wall, which was now covered in a thin film of ice. He felt in his overall pocket and removed the lucky penny. Of some use at last! Jimmy had some difficulty with his own frozen fingers, but he finally got the coin into the right position and began to scrape letters into the wall.

'What . . . are . . . you . . . writing . . .?'

H . . . E . . . L . . . P . . . It was hard work. His fingers were so numb he kept dropping the coin. STUCK IN FREEZER.

They were odd-looking, spindly letters, and he'd no idea if they'd show up in a photo, but then he had no idea if the photo would ever make its way out of the freezer anyway.

'OK . . .' Jimmy said, 'now you . . . stand . . . in front . . . I'll take . . . your picture . . .'

'Me? Why . . . not . . . you . . .?'

'Because . . . they're going . . . to come . . . running an . . . awful lot faster . . . for the . . . owner's daughter . . . than for some . . . stowaway . . .'

'No . . .' said Claire. 'Both . . . of. . . us . . .'

She grabbed the arm of his overall and pulled him beside her. Her own fingers were shaking like crazy, but she still managed to set the timer. Then she held it out in front of them and took the picture. They immediately huddled around the little screen on the back and examined the image. They looked white-faced and slightly bug-eyed — and the letters behind them read: TUCK IN FREE.

Despite their horrible situation, they couldn't help but laugh.

'Come on . . . let's do . . . it . . . again . . .' Claire set the timer again, but this time laid the camera on the ground. Jimmy took the lucky penny and lodged it underneath so that the lens was pointing up.

Then they huddled together.

'Say cheese . . .' said Jimmy.

But neither of them did. The camera flashed. They checked the image again, and this time their written cry for help was perfectly clear. Claire called the menu up and they pressed the Internet icon.

Jimmy spelled out the newspaper's e-mail address, and Claire slowly typed it in. The keyboard was so tiny and her fingers so lacking in feeling it was difficult to get right. It took more than five minutes of pushing, then deleting, pushing, then deleting, before she succeeded.

Then it was ready to go.

'Fingers . . . crossed,' said Claire.

'I can't . . .' said Jimmy. 'They'll . . . snap off . . . if I . . . try . . .'

Claire pushed the 'send' button.

***

Scoop was sitting at his desk in the newspaper office when Captain Smith and Mr Stanford arrived together.

'Ah — gentlemen,' he said. 'Thanks for coming. I wanted to show you something.'

The captain and the owner pulled up a couple of chairs. Captain Smith nodded around the office. 'So what have you done with them?'

'They've disappeared on me.'

Mr Stanford shook his head. 'Never underestimate the ability of kids to make themselves scarce when there's work to be done. I don't know what I'm going to do with that child.'

Captain Smith smiled sympathetically. He had children of his own in London. 'Newspaper shaping up OK?' he asked.

'Finishing touches, Captain — but that's not what I want to show you. Actually, young Jimmy noticed it first, but it's much worse now, spreading like wildfire. Have you heard about this virus, this plague?'

Scoop nodded at his computer screen. There was a map of the United States showing that only three out of fifty states were now free of what they were calling the Red Death. California had the worst figures, with five hundred people already reported dead and tens of thousands infected. Scoop scrolled on down the page to a news report. A curfew had been imposed in Los Angeles. A number of people had been shot while trying to flee the city under the cover of darkness. Scientists were working around the clock to try to come up with an antidote.

Mr Stanford shook his head in disbelief. 'I'd heard there was something, but I'd no idea it was that bad. This could have a catastrophic effect on our profits.' Captain Smith exchanged a brief smile with Scoop. Stanford was a businessman, first and foremost. His first consideration would always be money. The ship owner peered more closely at the map. 'But the figures for Miami — they're not so bad. We might be fine yet.'

Scoop nodded. 'They'll come up with something, they always do. There's always a lot of panic with these things, anyway — everything gets exaggerated.'

'Well, let's hope so,' said Captain Smith. 'Still, let's keep an eye on it.'

At that moment a small box appeared on the screen and a soothing voice said,
'You have mail'.

Scoop immediately clicked on to his in-coming mail box, then tutted.

'What's wrong?' asked the Captain.

'It's a photo, but I don't recognize the address. I don't like opening strange e-mails in case there's a virus. It's happened before — remember the cruise through the Panama canal, Mr Stanford? I opened that file and it crashed all our computers. We were nearly home again before we got it fixed.'

'If it's not one sort of virus, it's another,' huffed the ship owner. 'Play safe and delete it, Scoop. I suspect we're going to have enough problems when we arrive in Miami without our computers going down as well.'

Scoop nodded. 'I suppose you're right.'

***

After they'd left Scoop put the finishing touches to his newspaper — he found a passport-sized photograph of Pedroza in the ship's personnel files which slotted nicely into the story Jimmy had written. Jimmy wasn't a bad kid, he thought. A bit rough round the edges, but he had worked hard — at least, earlier in the day he had — and the articles he'd written were really quite good. Claire was another matter. A total waste of time.

As he worked, Scoop found his eyes occasionally flitting back to the e-mail message. He still hadn't deleted it, despite knowing it was the right thing to do. The very last thing he needed was an infected computer.

And yet.

He was a journalist, and the teaching words of
who, what, where, when
and
how
could also be combined into one single word —
curiosity.
Part of him was absolutely
dying
to know what was contained in the e-mail.

He stared at it.

He stared at it some more.

No. He didn't need the hassle.

Delete it.
 

T
hey had been trapped in the freezer for four hours. They no longer expected to be rescued. They were going to die.

***

Jimmy asked Claire if she wanted to leave a farewell message. He would scrape it into the freezer wall with his lucky coin, but she would have to be quick because the meagre light they had from her camera was fading fast. 'To your parents . . . you could tell them you . . . love them . . . or hate them . . .'

Claire shook her head. 'Just write —
Pedroza . . . did it!

Jimmy wrote it. Then he slumped back down beside her.

'I just . . . want to sleep now,' she said. Claire nodded against him. He gave her a gentle shake. 'Don't . . . try and stay awake.'

To try and keep her focussed Jimmy told her as best he could — his words slow and deliberate and taking long pauses for difficult, icy breaths — about the penny and the story of Lucky Jimmy Armstrong and the first
Titanic,
and then how he himself had come to be a stowaway in the first place, with the driver falling into the water and the e-mail he'd sent to his former headmaster.

Claire giggled.

But then she grew quiet.

Jimmy said, 'Are you . . . all right?'

'I was . . . just thinking . . . you said . . . I had . . . a big arse.'

'You said . . . I was brain dead.'

'Do . . . I have . . . a big . . . bum?'

'To tell you . . . the truth . . . I've never really . . . studied it. Am I . . . brain . . . dead?'

'Yes . . . you must be . . . to follow me . . . in here . . .

'I was . . . following . . . your big . . . arse.'

Jimmy laughed. And she laughed against him.

'I don't want . . . to die,' said Claire.

***

The camera had given its last light. Jimmy closed his eyes. He just wanted it to end now. He tried as best he could to think nice thoughts about home and causing mayhem. Of coming home with a certain look on his face and his mum having a certain look on
her
face which said, 'What have you done
now?
He had heard, or read, or been told that when you die you move towards a brilliant white light, and he was aware of one now, glimmering at the edges of his vision. He knew he should fight it, he should hold on to life for as long as he possibly could, but he felt so weak, so desperately cold, he just wanted to give in, just needed to embrace the light — it would be warm and comforting. Jimmy felt his whole body relax. Dying wasn't that hard, he thought, just like going to si . . .

***

Jimmy blinked. A pristine room. Blink. Six beds. Blink. Warm.

His throat was sore and his head ached. But this was nice. The crossover hadn't been too bad. Heaven smelled of antiseptic.

It was a relief. He hadn't held out any great hope of getting into heaven. Hell — much more likely. But this certainly wasn't hell, unless it was some kind of waiting room the Devil used to lull you into a false sense of security.

No, it
had
to be heaven.

At least until a familiar voice said: 'The sleeper awakes.'

Jimmy twisted his head to his immediate left and saw Scoop sitting in his wheelchair. 'Who . . . what . . .?' he stammered.

'Where and when,' Scoop laughed. 'Welcome back to the land of the living, young man.'

'I don't under . . .'

'Got your e-mail. Took me a while to open it. Just in time, it seems. Another half an hour and you would have been gonners.'

'Claire?'

'Better powers of recovery. But then anger can often spur you on to great physical feats.'

'I don't under . . .'

'This thing about Pedroza.'

'What about. . .?'

'Her father doesn't believe her, so she's been up screaming and crying at him for the past hour. Pedroza denies it all of course . . .'

Jimmy pulled himself up into a sitting position. 'He locked us in!'

'He doesn't deny
that.
He says he saw the freezer door open when it shouldn't have been, so he locked it.'

'He switched it on!'

'He was
supposed
to. It has to be ready for food when we dock.'

'He looked directly at us, he
smiled!'

'He denies it. And I must admit, I've never known him to smile.'

'You
don't believe us either?'

Scoop took a deep breath. 'Well, son, it's not a question of my believing you. I'm a journalist, I just look at the facts. And I'll be perfectly honest here — you're a stowaway with a history of trouble-making and Claire's a rich kid with a habit of making things up: and Pedroza's been with the White Star Line for fifteen years and despite having a bit of a temper has never been in trouble once. Plus, there's certainly no evidence of this phantom family Claire claims to have seen.'

'She saw it.'

'How do you know?'

'She . . . told me . . . and there was a child's handprint on . . .'

'Yes, she claimed that as well. I checked myself. No sign of it.'

'That doesn't mean . . .' Jimmy sighed. 'That's just . . . so typical!' He folded his arms and glared at the floor. It was good to be alive. But it would have been so much better to have been alive
and
believed. 'We nearly
died
in there!'

'Yes, you did.' But it wasn't Scoop, it was another officer, standing in the doorway, smiling in. 'Jimmy, isn't it?'

The officer crossed to him and extended his hand. Jimmy took it somewhat warily. 'I'm Doctor Hill. Frank. Frank Hill. I saved your life. No need to thank me, but if you ever strike it rich a nice cheque would be appreciated.'

He was warm and sunny. Jimmy was feeling exactly the opposite of warm and sunny.

'Pedroza tried to kill us,' he said.

'He's been trying to kill us for years,' laughed Dr Hill. 'Have you tried his scrambled eggs?'

'This isn't funny!' Jimmy exploded.

Dr Hill nodded thoughtfully. 'No — you're right. It's not funny. Scrambled eggs are a serious business.' He laughed again, put a hand on Jimmy's brow, checked his pulse, then made a brief note on a chart at the foot of his bed. 'Not too much damage done, Jimmy — no missing fingers or toes due to frostbite, but I'd still like you to stay in bed for the rest of the day. 'Then he gave Jimmy a wink, replaced the chart and left the room, humming.

'I
hate
this!' Jimmy roared. 'Why does nobody believe us?'

He thumped the bed in frustration.

Scoop reached down beside his chair and picked up a sheaf of papers. 'Well — maybe you won't hate
this!
He held up a copy of the first dummy edition of the ship's newspaper, the
Titanic Times.
Jimmy saw the main headline,
Mysterious Virus Affects California,
in big bold letters, but his attention was focussed on the line beneath:
by James Armstrong.

'James?' he asked.

'It sounded more professional than Jimmy. Your interview with Pedroza is inside.'

Scoop rolled across and set several copies of the
Times
on Jimmy's bed. 'I'll leave you to have a read through, Jimmy.' He paused as he was about to turn away again. 'Son — you've done a good job, and you show a real talent for writing. You should give some thought to maybe doing this for a living. But don't be led astray. Claire's a bit of a wild one and she nearly got you both killed today. Never forget, though — her family is super rich. If she gets into trouble they will always look after her and sort her out and smooth over any hiccups. But they won't do the same for you. Will you remember that for me?'

Jimmy looked at him.

Then he shrugged.