'Why?' Jimmy asked weakly.
'Because you are my enemy. And because of you I killed fifteen people.'
'Me?'
'Both of you.'
'I don't under—' Jimmy began, but Claire cut him off sharply.
'The people in the freezer.'
Pedroza nodded. 'I was smuggling them to a new life in America. Their relatives were to pay me once I delivered them safely, but then you two stuck your noses in. If the Captain found them then I'd lose my job and go to prison — but they'd still get to America. That wasn't fair, was it?'
'What did you do to them?' Claire asked.
'I told them I'd managed to get them cabins, but that I had to take them one by one to avoid being discovered. So I threw them overboard, one at a time. Not pleasant, but essential.'
'You are . . . evil . . .' Claire whispered.
'All your fault.'
'No,' said Claire, 'no . . .'
'And now that I've told you, it is time for you to die as well.'
Pedroza raised his gun.
'Would it help if we said sorry?' Jimmy asked.
'No!'
'Is there anything we can do?'
'No!'
Jimmy had a sudden, desperate, last thought. 'Please — just wait a minute . . . It's important . . . listen to me . . . My granda used to tell me this story . . .'
Pedroza s brow furrowed. 'I do not wish to—'
But Jimmy continued right on, '. . . about this gang leader who caught two of his enemies. He was going to shoot them both, but then he realized that if he did that, there'd be no one to spread the word about what he'd done. So he just killed one of them . . . and let the other one go, and he told everyone he knew about how tough and ruthless this gang leader was, and nobody ever dared tell on him or challenge him again.'
Claire was staring at him, wide-eyed and incredulous. 'Is that supposed to help?'
'Well, I just thought, if one of us survives it's better than neither of us sur—'
'Quiet!' They both looked back to Pedroza. 'It's a good story. And wise. Fortunately I am already feared by everyone on the Titanic, and once we have refuelled I will kill everyone who does not support me. You two have been particularly troublesome, so I'm giving you the privilege of being killed first. So . . . which of you would like to die first?'
Claire glared at him. 'You are a cruel and horrible man. I hope you burn in hell.'
Jimmy knew what she was doing — she wanted to be killed first, as if it might somehow give him a better chance.
He wasn't having that. He nodded at Pedroza. 'You're not only cruel and horrible, you've got one leg missing, and the other one looks pretty crap.'
Claire wasn't going to be beaten. 'You're a violent, vicious, ugly little man and your children will be vicious and ugly . . .'
Jimmy cut in with: 'Your scrambled eggs taste like shit and everyone laughs at your cooking behind your—'
'ENOUGH!'
They fell silent.
'You die!' He pointed the gun at Claire and squeezed the trigger.
Without really knowing why, Jimmy hurled himself at Claire, shoving her out of the way just as the gun exploded. The bullet thumped into his chest. There wasn't time to register pain, hear Claire scream or even to have a final thought about McDonald's. Everything just went black.
37
The Afterlife
Darkness.
Complete and absolute.
Jimmy couldn't tell if his eyes were open or not, or even if he had any eyes. He might just be a formless shape, floating in the universe. But no . . . he had hands — he felt his left with his right, and vice versa. He had legs.
Or maybe I just think I have them.
He had read about people who lost their legs in road accidents, but could still feel them. Something to do with nerve endings.
I'm in a bed. I can feel the pillow, sheets.
Or I'm imagining them.
I am dead.
I know I am dead.
I have to be dead.
He remembered very clearly: pushing Claire out of the way of Pedroza's shot, feeling a dreadful pain in his chest and then . . . nothing.
OK — I was shot in the chest. If by some miracle I'm alive, there'll be bandages, tubes . . .
Jimmy moved his hand up his chest and felt — skin. No wound, no bandages, just his normal self.
That's it. I'm dead. I'm not in a bed. I'm not anywhere. I'm just . . . a thought. Or a soul on my way to heaven or hell. Or maybe there's nothing, and I'll just exist in this darkness for ever.
He didn't like that thought at all.
He squeezed his imaginary eyes shut.
***
'Jimmy.'
Claire's voice.
No, she was dead. 'Jimmy.'
How mad would I have to be to start talking to a ghost? 'Jimmy — for goodness' sake, I can see you moving. Will you come out from under your blankets and talk to me?'
No. Once I start talking to imaginary creatures then I'll be lost for ever.
'Can you not give him some sort of an injection?' Claire said.
Then another familiar voice — Dr Hill's. 'No, Claire. He's still in shock, he'll come out of it in his own time.'
Jimmy felt for the corner of the blanket, then cautiously raised his eyes above it. The light was so harsh that he was half blinded and could only see two vague, shimmering outlines.
Lost souls like his own, or real live human beings? 'Ah, the sleeper awakes,' said Dr Hill.
'Only because you mentioned injections,' said Claire. 'He's a scaredy cat.'
Slowly, slowly, they came into focus.
It was them. It was Claire. She was alive! Which meant . . . he was alive!
He was in the hospital wing. The Titanic's hospital wing.
When he tried to speak his voice was ragged. 'I . . . don't . . . I was . . . Pedroza . . . what the . . . hell . . . is going on?'
Claire beamed down at him. Dr Hill took hold of his wrist and checked his pulse. Satisfied, he smiled at Claire and said, 'I'll leave you to fill in the details.'
As he left the wing, Claire sat on the edge of Jimmy's bed. 'What do you remember?' she asked.
'I . . . don't really . . . I . . . was . . . shot. . .'
'You don't remember the aliens coming down and encasing you in a bubble of ectoplasm?'
Jimmy stared at her.' What?'
Claire cackled. 'Only joking. Jimmy, you saved my life. You threw me out of the way. You took the bullet that was meant for me.'
'I must have tripped.' He wasn't sure he liked the way she was beaming down at him. 'But . . . if I was shot I . . .' His hand felt about his chest, but it was still as wound-free as before. 'I don't understand.'
'Well, perhaps this will help.'
Claire delved into her trouser pocket and produced a small piece of twisted metal.
'Is that . . . the bullet?'
'No, Jimmy, it's the coin.'
'Coin?'
'Your lucky penny, Jimmy! Don't you see? Pedroza shot you in the chest, but the bullet struck the lucky penny in your pocket. The force of it knocked you out — but the bullet ricocheted right back at Pedroza and went straight through his forehead and killed him stone dead.'
'It what?'
'He's dead, we're alive, we beat the hurricanes, the ship's back in the Captain's hands, the—'
'Hold on! Too much information! Just . . . slow . . . down . . .' Jimmy took a deep breath. He put his hand out and Claire dropped the battered coin into his palm. 'So it was lucky, after all . . .'