Jimmy took Claire's hand in his. He gave it a squeeze. 'Claire . . . can you hear me?' A foamy bubble issued from her mouth. Jimmy tutted. He set the syringes down on the bed and chose one. 'Claire . . . I'm going to inject you now . . . and if it kills you . . . I'm sorry.'
What else could he say?
Well, he could have said how much he'd hated her when they first met, but that now he really liked her and she was his best friend and they had great fun and incredible adventures. That he didn't want her to die because the Times needed her and he needed her to help him fight back against Pedroza. That he didn't really think her ponies had been eaten. Or perhaps only parts of them had been. A leg, maybe. Or he could have said, 'If you can hear me, Claire, I've just had a look, and your arse isn't so big any more.'
But he didn't. Instead he took a deep breath and plunged the syringe into her arm. He had no idea whether it was soup or medicine: or, if it really was medicine, what the correct dosage was.
He wasn't the type to say a prayer. But he said one anyway.
***
He wanted it to be magical. Instantaneous. He wanted Claire to sit up and yawn and say something sarcastic. But there was no reaction at all. She just lay there.
Jimmy sighed. There was nothing else he could do for her now. Or for any of the others that he injected over the next thirty minutes. They would die, or they would get better.
30
Shoot Someone
Jimmy returned to the theatre in time to find Captain Smith and his officers being threatened with guns and knives. A ragged group of mutineers were demanding that he accompany them to the bridge for a meeting with Pedroza. Captain Smith's position was that he was still Captain of the ship, so Pedroza could 'damn well come to me'.
The leader of the group, a small man with a sunburned scalp and a tattoo of a dolphin on his arm, radioed this information to the bridge. Pedroza's response could be heard very clearly.
'If he doesn't come — shoot someone.'
The leader shrugged, raised his pistol and aimed it at old Miss Calhoon, who had chosen to sit close to the Captain in the mistaken belief that it might be safer. After an initial intake of breath, she stared defiantly back at the mutineer, but thoughtfully brought her hands down over Franklin's eyes so that her four- legged companion wouldn't be frightened.
As the mutineer's finger tightened on the trigger, Captain Smith suddenly snapped, 'Enough! Tell Pedroza I'll meet him, but not because of his pathetic threats! Tell him I'll be bringing my best people with me. Running a ship is a team effort, as I'm sure he's discovering.'
Captain Smith picked three of his senior officers — although his most senior, Jeffers and Jones, were still stranded in Charlotte Amalie — then pointed at Jimmy. 'You too.'
'But. . .'
'I've told you, Jimmy, I want a record kept of everything.'
Jimmy swallowed nervously. It was fantastic that the Captain considered him important enough to include in his team — but also somewhat worrying, as he wasn't exactly friends with Pedroza.
Nevertheless, he checked his notebook and pen, then slung Claire's camera over his shoulder and joined the small group as it was escorted out of the theatre. Captain Smith and his officers marched along the corridors with their shoulders back and chins high, looking very impressive. Jimmy snuck along in their wake, trying to look small and insignificant.
The bridge was not as he remembered it. It had been pristine and quietly efficient, but now it was raucous and overcrowded. Beer bottles sat everywhere; slices of pizza were strewn across the floor. The mutineers had been partying, toasting their success at taking control of the ship, and only now were they realizing that they didn't have the first idea about how to sail her — that there was slightly more to it than switching the engine on and pointing her in the right direction.
Despite the state of his bridge, Captain Smith kept his eyes focussed on Pedroza, who was sitting in his chair facing a bank of computers and smoking a cigar.
'Ah, Captain,' he said. 'So good of you to come.' Captain Smith said nothing. Pedroza's eyes roved across their small party and came to rest on Jimmy. 'Why him?'
'I thought it only right and proper that your mutinous actions should be properly recorded, so that when it comes to your trial we have photographic evidence.' The Captain nodded at him. 'Jimmy — take a picture.'
Jimmy looked at Pedroza, and the gun he had resting on the desk before him. 'The light isn't quite . . .'
'Take it now, please.'
Jimmy somewhat reluctantly raised his camera. 'Ah . . . say cheese?'
'Cheese?' It was supposed to widen Pedroza's mouth into a smile, but it didn't work. He just looked even more menacing. Jimmy took the photo. The flash didn't go off, but it didn't matter, it wasn't really about the picture at all. It was about establishing who was in charge. Pedroza nodded at the man with the dolphin tattoo and he immediately grabbed the camera and hurled it against the wall behind them. It fell to the floor in several pieces. Jimmy looked up at the Captain. 'Do you want me to draw him?'
Captain Smith didn't respond. He kept his eyes fixed on Pedroza.
The chief mutineer clapped his hands, and this time he did smile. 'You see, Captain, everything has changed. We do not work for you. The ship is ours.'
'You, sir, are a mutineer. A pirate.'
Pedroza suddenly slammed his fist down on the table. Jimmy jumped. Captain Smith didn't even blink. 'And what are you? The world is dying and you cruise from island to island as if nothing is wrong! You make little newspapers! Food is running out and you bring more people on board! And this plague — you keep the sick here, so they can infect us all! What we are doing, this may be piracy, but it is not madness!'
Captain Smith was silent for several moments, then said quietly, 'What do you want of me, sir?'
'You will take us to Fort Amalie. We will refuel and lake on more supplies. We will unload the sick and any passengers who do not wish to serve under me. And then we will go exactly where we please and do exactly what we want with whatever time we have left!'
Captain Smith shook his head. 'I cannot agree to this. We must continue to care for the sick. We must look after our passengers until this crisis—'
'Crisis?' Pedroza exploded. 'The world is over, Captain, and this ship is ours! Now you will do as you are told.'
'And if I don't agree to this piracy?'
'Then we will act as pirates!'
Pedroza suddenly leaped out from behind his desk, grabbed Jimmy by the front of his shirt and began to drag him towards the door. One of the officers tried to block his way, but he was struck down hard from behind. Jimmy tried to resist — he sensed that whatever was coming wasn't going to be pleasant — but he was no match for Pedroza. The rest of the mutineers hurried out on to the deck after them. Pedroza snapped out a number of commands. A sunbed was quickly turned on its side and its wheels snapped off. The flat base was then pushed under the gap at the bottom of the security rail so that it jutted out over the water. Pedroza heaved Jimmy up and over the rail and on to the sunbed. Then he let go of him. Jimmy staggered and almost fell. As he regained his balance, he couldn't help but look down.
Fifteen levels above the sea!
Fear and shock and horror instantly turned his legs to jelly.
'I am a pirate!' Pedroza cried. 'So now he walks the plank!'
The mutineers clapped and roared. Captain Smith stood ramrod straight.
Jimmy had absolutely no qualms about begging for his life. He loved the Titanic and he loved the newspaper and Claire, but what was the point of loving anything or anyone if he was dead? He was quite willing to become a pirate if it meant extending his life, even a little. But as he turned to plead his case Pedroza slapped him hard across the face. The force of it almost knocked him over the side, but again he just managed to regain his balance. Blood dripped from his nose.