Jimmy had managed to get half of them across and they were shouting encouragement back for the others, when there was a ripping sound, and Marissa's backpack strap snapped. Marissa let out a yelp, and held tight to the rope. Her backpack fell into the river and was flushed hundreds of metres away in a matter of seconds.
It was a grim warning as to what could happen — especially during the next task, getting everyone safely across under gunfire.
While Mohican supervised the setting up of the machine guns that would provide a steady stream of fire to the left and right of the ropes and over their heads, the troops stood anxiously on the far bank. This was different. This was more like the real thing. Jimmy saw Rain Man whispering to Torres; Torres gave him a reassuring punch on the arm. When Jimmy went over and asked if he was OK, Rain Man told him to get lost. Jimmy shrugged.
The rain had eased up a little, but the water, if anything, was flowing faster and stronger as Mohican, standing behind the gunners, blew a whistle to begin their crossing. As the gunfire began Jimmy crouched down with the others.
'Come on, we can do this!' he cried.
Two soldiers darted forward, heads low, and fired the rope and grappling hook across. It caught first time! Jimmy himself made sure it was secure then clipped the same two soldiers on to the line and urged them forward as bullets ripped into the mud on either side of them. They plunged into the water, struggled against the current but finally made it across to properly secure the ropes and raise the line. The remaining soldiers scuttled forward, hauled themselves up on to the rope, secured themselves and began to race across. If they were frightened they showed no sign of it; their concentration was intense — even Rain Man, ducking down on the bank, waiting his turn, looked like he meant business. They were so keen that Jimmy even had to slow them down so that no more than four were on the rope at any one time — with their full packs and the extra weight caused by them being absolutely saturated by the rain, the rope bridge was beginning to sag in the middle.
Jimmy gave Rain Man a hand up, then Torres. Jimmy clipped himself on last and moved out. The gunfire was loud, even above the roar of the river, but not as loud as the yells of encouragement coming from the far bank. They were the last three. If they made it across the troop would have successfully completed its mission.
Jimmy was filled with an immense pride as he reached the halfway point. Between them, Mohican and he had turned a gang of lost souls into a troop of soldiers, a finely-tuned unit that could fight together, serve the Pres—
Wait a minute — what the hell am I thinking?
There, hanging precariously to a rope, gunfire all around him, soaked to the skin, he suddenly caught sight of what he'd become. It wasn't quite an out-of-body experience, more like out of his mind. He was turning into exactly the opposite of what he had intended. A yes-sir, no-sir soldier preparing for a war he had no interest in. He'd been planning his escape, but instead had been sucked into soldiering by Mohican's simple device of promoting him to Corporal.
Jimmy stared at the water.
That's it!
My escape route!
All he had to do was unclip from the rope and fall in. He'd be swept miles downriver. Of course there was a strong possibility that he would drown. The current was vicious and if he wasn't sucked under, the speed and strength of the river would probably smash him on the sharp rocks jutting out of the water. But it might be his only chance to get away. He absolutely did not want to be part of the President's bloody army, and he had to get to New York before it did to warn the Titanic.
Jimmy stared at the water. He was a good swimmer, but wherever the water took him, whatever it did with him, it would be beyond his control.
The others were nearing the far bank. He had to decide now.
Bullets continued to yip above his head.
Jimmy's damp finger curled around the clip and released it.
Jump on three.
One—
There was a metallic crack to his right — but not a bullet. Rain Man let out a panicked yell as his clip snapped and he was hurled backwards into the water.
'Rain Man!' Torres yelled.
He had already been whisked fifty metres away.
'He can't swim!' Torres screamed.
If anything, the gunfire intensified, drowning out the concerned shouts from the far bank. Rain Man's head disappeared under the water.
His one chance of escape and Rain Man couldn't swim.
Jimmy dropped his pack and let go of the rope.
In a second the river swallowed him.
24
Grand Central
They heard the elephant before they saw it — not just its trumpet roar, but also a metallic dragging sound. Then they saw it, and thanked God that the street to their right was completely blocked with abandoned vehicles so that the creature, huge and mad, with the remnants of a heavy anchoring chain still attached to its leg, could not barge its way through. It tried — with the brute strength of its massive shoulders, with the pointy end of its razor tusks.
'Cool!' said Ty. 'Do you think if I offered him a peanut he'd take it?'
'Of course he would,' said Claire, 'along with your arm, your neck and your head.'
First Officer Jeffers urged them on — although he practically had to drag Claire, who was busy taking photos, and Ty, who just liked elephants.
He kept them moving all morning, every one of them aware, despite the distraction of the elephant, that they were being watched and followed. It wasn't that they caught many actual glimpses of their pursuers — though they did occasionally see shadowy figures ducking down behind abandoned vehicles, or moving back from overlooking windows — it was a feeling, an intense awareness that they weren't alone, that someone, somewhere, meant them harm: had already struck once and would strike again.
Jeffers led them up Broadway as far as 42nd Street and the entrance to the Grand Central Terminal. It was, as far as Claire knew, the largest railway station in the world. Over half a million passengers and tourists had once passed through it every day, but now it was empty of everything but skeletons and birds. Their footsteps echoed around like gunshots on the marbled floors. The main concourse, huge and cavernous, was dominated by a massive American flag, which drooped down, tattered. As they walked along, Ty nudged Claire's elbow and pointed up at the ceiling: it was completely covered in an elaborately decorated depiction of the night sky, an astronomical guide to the stars. 'Though it's completely wrong,' said Ty. 'It's based on some medieval map, and they didn't know anything back then.'
'You've been here before?'
'All the time, with my pa. Loved it. You couldn't move, it was so alive! Man, we'd buy hot dogs and just sit over there and watch . . .'
He stopped. There were tears in his eyes. Claire didn't know what to say. They'd all run out of the right words months ago.
Jeffers waved them forward, down a ramp on to the lower concourse and gathered them in a food court. Some of the tables were still occupied by people who would never finish their meals. A small amount of food had been brought from the ship, and they were able to supplement this with sealed items recovered from some of the many fast food outlets dotted around and about. They drank warm Coke and snacked on potato chips. But they didn't have much of an appetite. The whole area stank of rotting food. Guards were posted at the top of the ramp while Jeffers, Jonas and Dr Hill spread out a free tourist map of the station, one of hundreds lying scattered about, and debated their next move. When they'd come to a decision Jeffers took two crewmen with him and returned to the upper concourse, and from there back outside, trying to get the best radio signal he could in order to inform Captain Smith of his next move.