Titanic 2020

'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.'