Arguments raged amongst the prisoners. Some believed that Captain Smith should have immediately returned the Titanic to Miami once the seriousness of the plague both on the ship and on dry land became apparent — they were anxious about their relatives and their homes, their pets and their bank accounts. Others thought that all of the infected on board should have immediately been put on shore in order to safeguard everyone else. Many argued that the San Juan refugees should have been left to fend for themselves on the island. Others believed the ship should pick up as many survivors as it could — it was their duty as good Christians. Or Muslims. Or Hindus. Or just as good human beings. The only thing they all seemed to agree on was that they were better off with a Captain who knew how to sail, than a master chef who could rustle up a tender steak and a perfect cheesecake but didn't know stern from aft. As it was, the Titanic remained at anchor five miles off St Thomas, slowly burning through its remaining fuel.
Jimmy, once he got over the shock of being made a prisoner, immediately secured the pot of Mamma Joss's soup or life-saving medicine — in a small locker by the side of the stage. His main concern after that was how to get to the hospital to check on Claire. Almost as soon as he set about to achieve this, he was surprised to find Dr Hill and his nursing staff occupying a row of seats near the back of the theatre. They all looked quite miserable.
As Jimmy hurried up to ask about Claire, the doctor was just in the act of reaching up to scratch his head. The movement pushed the sleeve of his uniform up far enough to reveal a series of red blotches on his lower arm. The doctor saw that Jimmy had spotted the fatal marks and quickly pushed his sleeve back down. He put a finger to his lips before glancing anxiously about him.
'I'm sorry . . .' Jimmy whispered as he lowered himself into a stall beside him.
Dr Hill shook his head. 'Can't be helped,' he quietly replied. 'But keep it under your hat, Jimmy — not good for morale if people see that even their doctor has it.'
'What . . . what about Claire?'
'I'm afraid she's not too well, son. And that was a few hours ago. They forced my entire staff out, so none of my patients are getting water or pain relief or—'
'I have a cure,' Jimmy said simply.
Dr Hill nodded, but there was a tiredness about the gesture, as if it was a learned reaction. Patients and passengers must have suggested a hundred different remedies to him over the past few days, each one of them as useless as the last. However, he noted the serious look on Jimmy's face, and decided to indulge him. What harm could it do at this late stage, with the end so near? 'What do you mean, son?' he asked, forcing a note of interest into his voice.
Encouraged, Jimmy quickly described what they'd found on the island: the bodies on the beach, Nick's bar, Mamma Joss's medicine and Barney helping himself to a free lunch. Yet in the telling it somehow didn't seem quite so likely to Jimmy that there really was any hope. He had allowed his hopes to build, but now that he was actually voicing them it suddenly felt as if he was vainly clutching at straws. That it was ridiculous to pin the hopes of mankind's survival on a pot of soup and a mangy old mutt.
Despite his doubts, Jimmy was surprised to see Dr Hill was looking quite thoughtful.
'They were all dead on their sunbeds?' the doctor asked.
'Apart from Nick. And Mamma Joss — for a while, anyway. Why?'
Dr Hill stroked at his chin for several moments while he thought it through. Then he looked at Jimmy and nodded. 'Well,' he said, 'for the plague to kill them where they were, on the beach, it must have been a particularly virulent, fast-acting strain. And from what you say, this Nick certainly contracted it. Yet he recovered. So either his immune system is particularly strong — or this old woman's medicine works. If it does it would certainly be unusual, but not unique. Hundreds of years before we had antibiotics old women just like her were curing people by mixing up herbal remedies. They were also killing a lot of people. It was a bit hit and miss. But she may well have stumbled on something . . .'
'So you think there is a chance . . .?'
'I just don't know, Jimmy — but I do know I've tried everything I can. I know that all the scientists in the world have tried their best to come up with a cure and that they're probably all dead now. So what have we got to lose trying this one out?'
'OK — then I'll get some, we'll try it on you, see if it works. If it doesn't we'll squeeze Barney until he pops, and we'll try whatever he has as well.'
The doctor shook his head. 'No, son, I've a couple of days in me yet.' He picked up his medical bag from the floor and opened it. 'I'm going to show you how to make an injection. Then I want you to fill half a dozen of these syringes with the medicine and somehow get them up to the hospital. Just inject everyone you can. They're in a much worse condition than I am. Find your girl. Inject her.'
He wanted to say, She's not my girl.
She's just 'a' girl.
But he couldn't.
The doctor quickly showed him what to do. He took the syringes and turned to hurry back across to where he'd hidden the pot. Then he stopped. 'Doctor?' he asked. 'What if it isn't the medicine? What if I inject them with soup?'
'They're dying, Jimmy. Just do it.'
Jimmy nodded once and dashed away.
A nurse sitting on the other side of the doctor, who'd been listening in, waited until Jimmy had gone before touching the doctor's arm. 'Doctor — what are the chances of it working?'
Dr Hill took a deep breath. 'About one in a million, I'd say.'
Her brow furrowed. 'But then why send him off with such . . . hope?'
'Because, Nurse Hathaway, hope is just about the only thing we have left.'
***
Jimmy knew the Titanic better than virtually anyone on board. Others might know their specific areas well — Pedroza in his kitchens, or Jonas with his engines — but Jimmy now had an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of the entire ship and reckoned he could work out a way to get out of the theatre unnoticed by the guards Pedroza had posted. They had guns, certainly, but they also had beer and wine and spirits and several of them were openly smoking drugs. They were in charge, but not very alert.
He quickly discovered a ladder at the back of the stage which led up to a lighting gantry; he was able to cross this to a narrow walkway which in turn led to a small control room from which the entertainment director normally oversaw his productions. This led directly on to an unguarded corridor one level above the theatre. Jimmy nipped along this as fast as he could while still trying to protect the contents of the syringes. He had to stay hidden for a few minutes in order to get into an elevator undetected, but from there on he was fairly certain he'd be safe. Pedroza had abandoned the hospital patients to their fate. They didn't need guarding.
***
It was like a scene from hell.
The dead were left in their beds. The fevered cries of the dying went unheard. Jimmy pulled his T-shirt collar up over his face in a hopeless attempt to block out the smell as he tramped first through the hospital, then the adjoining cabins used for the overflow, looking for Claire.
When he eventually found her, he was shocked by her appearance. She must have lost half of her body weight. Her blonde hair lay dank on the pillow and her red eyes rolled back in her head. Her lips were dry and cracked and her face was covered in red blotches. She was breathing, but it was very shallow indeed. Her mother and father were in beds on either side of her. A family, dying together.