Which way to go?
Back to Tucker's Hole? They can radio the ship! But what if the ship is out of range already? Or the minister is there?
And I've no idea which direction the village is in. I must have lost a lot of blood — how long can I walk for? If I get lost in the woods . . .
She pulled and pulled at the arm of her shirt until finally the material ripped. She wrapped it around her wound and used her teeth to pull it as tight as the pain would allow.
East. I have to go east.
I have no idea where the rendezvous point is from here, but I know the coast is east. If I can strike the coast then there's some small chance someone might spot me.
And if they don't. . .
Claire forced herself up. She leaned against the tree, steadied herself, then cautiously let go. She was dizzy, her legs felt like lead and her arm — well . . . she'd been shot.
She had no choice but to start walking.
She had to . . . go . . . now. . .
The emergency rendezvous point was at a short stretch of beach a mile from the rivermouth where Tucker's Hole had been built. First Officer Jeffers stood on the sand, scanning a tree line that stretched as far as the settlement on his right, and then as far as the eye could see to his left. He glanced at his watch. It was now three and a half hours past pick-up time and it was almost completely dark. He was certain that something pretty terrible had happened to Claire and Jimmy.
His radio crackled.
'Mr Jeffers? Stanford here. Anything to report?'
Jeffers took a deep breath. Claire's father had been on the radio every ten minutes since she'd been reported missing. His desperate concern was understandable, and Jeffers was frustrated that he'd no positive news for him.
'Mr Stanford, sir, just waiting on the patrols returning. But it's almost pitch black in the forest now, sir.'
'I understand that. What about this settlement — Tucker's. . . ?'
'Tucker's Hole, sir. Sent two patrols in. Nothing there either.'
'Did you search thoroughly, Mr Jeffers?'
'We searched every building. As I told you earlier, sir, some kids thought they saw them going off into the forest and then . . .'
'Gunshots.'
'Yes, sir. It doesn't mean—'
'I know what it means, Mr Jeffers.' There were several long moments of radio static. 'I know you'll do your best, Mr Jeffers. She's a headstrong girl, but we do love . . .' His voice faltered, and what he had intended to say remained unspoken.
'We're doing everything we can, sir.'
There was another burst of static and then Captain Smith spoke, his voice calm and authoritative. 'Mr Jeffers, you may give it another ten minutes, then call off the search for the night. We will resume at first light.'
'Yes, Captain.'
Thirty minutes later, with the patrols returned and no sign of Claire or Jimmy, First Officer Jeffers reluctantly gave the order to reboard the inflatables and return to the ship. He knew that the more time passed the less likely it was that they'd be found alive. This new world was dangerous, and particularly dangerous for knuckle-headed, rebellious kids like Claire and Jimmy.
'All aboard, sir.'
Jeffers splashed through a metre or so of water and climbed into the hi-tech, high-speed boat. 'Very well — let's take her back to Titan—'
But he was suddenly interrupted by one of the crewmen crying out: 'Look, sir! There!'
All eyes turned to where the sailor was pointing — about half a mile away along the beach a small figure had emerged from the tree line and was hurrying towards them — albeit in an odd zigzag pattern. With an overcast sky and no moonlight it was impossible in the darkness to make out whether it was Claire or Jimmy or just one of the locals, running along the beach.
'Well spotted, Martin! Cut engines! Dalzell, bring the flashlight!'
Jeffers threw his legs over the side of the inflatable and waded back to shore, quickly followed by half a dozen others. He began to jog along the sand. Ahead of him the dark figure weaved off to one side before abruptly falling to the ground. Jeffers picked up his speed and seconds later slid to a halt beside . . .
'Flashlight!'
Dalzell appeared behind him, gasping for breath, and flicked on the torch.
It was a girl, for sure, but it was several moments before Jeffers realised it was Claire. Her face was a mass of cuts and scratches, as if she'd been dragged through bushes. Her hair was hanging dank across her face and her clothes were badly torn.
'Claire?'
Jeffers gently pushed the damp hair away from her eyes. He softly shook her arm — she winced in pain and let out a moan. He took the flashlight from Dalzell and shone it on her arm — then gasped as he saw the wound and the dirt surrounding it. He cursed himself for not insisting that Dr Hill remain ashore until the search was over. He began to check her pulse.
'Stretcher!' he snapped.
'Got it, sir!' Martin was already snapping open a foldable stretcher.
'Let's get her back to the ship! Dalzell! Call Dr Hill, have him standing by!'
'Sir!'
The stretcher was laid on the sand, and they were just preparing to lift Claire on to it when she opened her eyes. With her good arm she reached vaguely out in Jeffers' direction. 'Please . . . Jimmy . . . you have to find . . . Jimmy . . .' Her voice was barely audible. Her eyes rolled back in her head. 'Please . . . Jimmy . . . Babe . . . I'm not . . . talking . . . to . . . him . . .'
Jeffers took her hand. 'It's OK Claire, we're taking you home.'
He stood back then and gave his crew the signal to lift the stretcher. The Titanic was less than a mile off shore. He had absolutely no idea if she'd still be alive when they got there.
8
The Tree
It was a risk. A huge risk. But he couldn't run any further.
Jimmy considered himself to be relatively fit — but so was the minister. He just kept on coming. Not faster — but relentless. Every time Jimmy chanced a look back he was right there, running like a machine at exactly the same pace, his rifle carried in one hand at his side, his wide-brimmed hat shadowing his eyes. There were no more shots.
He's saving them.
Jimmy ducked in and out of the trees, crisscrossed animal paths, ran up hills and down; plunged through undergrowth and leaped across streams; but still the minister was right there. In the end he knew he had to try something radical or his legs would become so weak that he would stumble and twist an ankle and then the minister would be on him.
He had to go up.
Jimmy hurtled through the next thick bank of trees, laboured up a short incline and disappeared briefly over the brow.
Now!
He had perhaps fifteen seconds before the minister would appear. Jimmy threw himself at the closest trees — he was a veteran tree climber from his days in Belfast. These trees had slender trunks with few lower branches, but he was still able to wrap his aching legs around the rough bark. He was drenched in sweat and could hardly catch his breath, but he had no choice but to try and wring the last ounce of strength from his body to shimmy up the tree. He didn't even dare look back to see if the minister had come over the brow yet. He just pulled and pulled until at last his feet started to find proper, weight-bearing branches.
He was about halfway up the pine when he heard the dull thud of the minister's feet on the soft forest floor. Jimmy froze. The minister was coming straight towards the tree he was hiding in. Jimmy knew he wasn't far enough up it yet to be properly hidden. If the minister looked up now, he was a dead man.