'I wish you weren't going,' he said.
'I wish I wasn't going.'
'It's those ponies, isn't it?'
'No . . . Jimmy, why don't you come with us?'
'What? Where to?'
'Our farm. Daddy's going to fly us there.'
He looked at the ground. 'I can't.'
'But why not? We'll be safe there, I'm sure of it.'
'I can't, Claire. I need to stay on the ship. Captain Smith thinks one day he'll take her back to Ireland. It's the only way I'll get to see my family again.'
'But they're probably . . .' She stopped herself. 'I'm sorry.'
'I know they probably are. But still.'
'Claire. Will you hurry up?'
It was her mother, standing in the doorway.
'Mum, it's not like we're going to be late for anything!'
'Don't be cheeky! Now hurry up!' Claire looked at Jimmy. Jimmy looked at Claire. 'So,' said Jimmy. 'So,' said Claire.
'I'm going to keep doing the paper.'
'That's good. No — that's great. I wish . . .' She sighed.
'Well. See you around.'
'Suppose.'
Jimmy nodded, then began to turn away.
'Jimmy?'
As he turned, she just jumped on him. She wrapped her arms around him and planted a kiss on his lips.
He didn't quite know what to do. So he kissed her back.
39
The Flesh Dogs
Jimmy was miserable. He went to the Times office and tried to start work on the next edition of the newspaper. All of the equipment had now been retrieved from the various hiding places they had used during Pedroza's brief reign, and Claire had even persuaded her dad to order that some extra equipment be sent across from the Olympic before the ropes were cut and it floated off to its doom.
But he couldn't concentrate.
Ty, who had also chosen to remain on board, told Jimmy to relax, that Claire could easily be replaced. 'There are plenty more fish in the sea,' he said.
Jimmy threw a printer at him.
He imagined Claire at that very moment, flying through the air, on the way to a new life on her farm.
He could not have been further from the truth.
Mr Stanford had commandeered a Miami Port Authority transit bus. He had also, somewhat reluctantly, agreed to drop Miss Calhoon, Franklin and half a dozen other passengers in downtown Miami.
They had been driving for over an hour, but had only managed to travel about a mile from the port because the roads were almost impassable. Wrecked and abandoned cars, bodies, burned out and collapsed buildings — everything combined to make their progress agonizingly slow.
Claire stood behind her dad. 'This is impossible,' she said. 'It will take for ever.'
'Nothing's impossible,' her dad snapped.
From behind her her mother said: 'Your father didn't become a billionaire by saying things were impossible. He went out and did them.'
'Isn't that nice,' said Miss Calhoon. Franklin barked.
The closer they got to the city centre, the worse it got. There was nothing but devastation and destruction. Fires had burned out of control, laying waste to entire blocks. There did not appear to be any survivors.
'Oh damn it!'
Smoke began to pour from under the hood. A few metres further on the bus shuddered, then ground to a halt. Mr Stanford quickly ushered them all off. Just as he prepared to take a closer look at the engine, it burst into flames.
'Great,' said Claire.
***
They began to hunt for an alternative means of transport capable of carrying them all. Mr Stanford himself was desperately keen to go directly to the airport, but he had accepted the responsibility of giving the other passengers a ride into the city and didn't feel that he could abandon them — especially with a dog like that eyeing them up.
It was a huge beast, like a cross between a German shepherd and a Rottweiler, standing less than a dozen metres away, its teeth bared and dripping.
'Easy, boy,' said Mr Stanford.
At about the same time, another passenger, a Mr Greening — an elderly man with a hearing aid and walking stick — stumbled across what he thought was a survivor. A man was lying face down on the sidewalk — but still appeared to be moving.
Mr Greening struck the ground with his stick to attract the others' attention. 'There appears to be someone . . .' But then he stopped. A small dog had wriggled out from beneath the body, and was now snarling at him. Its teeth were bright red. Strips of rotting flesh hung from them. The old man began to back away.
Mr Stanford, sensing danger, was just beginning to usher them all back towards the safety of the bus — even though it was still smoking — when two more snarling, snapping animals wriggled out from beneath it, cutting off their approach to the open doors.
Then there was another dog, and another, and soon they were surrounding the little group, pressing them closer and closer together.
'My God!' Mr Greening cried. 'They've been eating the dead! They have a taste for human flesh!'
The dogs were now a mass of spitting, snapping beasts, intent only on tearing them apart and devouring them.
They drew closer and closer.
Claire clung to her father. He tried to kick at one, but instead of ducking away it lunged at him and sank its bloody teeth into his shoe. Mrs Stanford screamed. The dog was now attempting to drag her husband away. Claire kicked at it. Momentarily surprised, it lessened its grip for just a fraction of a second — enough to allow him to twist his foot out of his shoe and scramble backwards.
The dogs moved closer again.
'Oh, they just need to know who's in charge!' It was Miss Calhoon. She patted Franklin's fluffy head and stepped forward.
'No!' Claire shouted.
But the old lady wasn't frightened at all. Miss Calhoon raised a warning finger to the flesh dogs and shouted, 'Sit!'
The flesh dogs growled and roared. 'SIT!'
One dog actually did. 'SIT!'
Then another sat, and another, until one by one all of the dogs surrounding them were sitting obediently.
'Now,' said Miss Calhoon, turning and beaming triumphantly at her companions, 'why don't we all get back on the bus. I'm sure it will be perfectly safe.'
They hesitated. It was Claire who made the first move. 'Come on, Mum, let's go.'
She took her hand and moved towards the encircling dogs. Mr Stanford ushered the others forward. One by one, and hardly daring to breathe, they passed through them and began to climb back on to the bus. Only Miss Calhoon stayed where she was, her finger raised and repeating over and over: 'Stay . . . stay . . . good boys . . . stay . . .' until they were all on board.
'You see?' said the old woman, 'they're all just scared and hungry, aren't they, Franklin?' She raised the little poodle up to kiss the top of his head, but as she did Franklin suddenly snapped at her. He was a spoiled little creature, and had snapped a thousand times, but this was the first time in his entire life that he had actually bitten her. Probably, he didn't mean to. Possibly he was just nervous, with all those other dogs there. But his little sharp teeth jagged into her nose, drawing blood, and causing a shocked Miss Calhoon to drop him.
The watching dogs, smelling fresh blood, immediately stood and began to snarl.
Miss Calhoon only had eyes for Franklin, who was scampering away. 'Franklin!' she cried, and began to shuffle after him. 'Franklin!'
The dogs growled and edged closer.
'Miss Calhoon!' Claire shouted from the bus doorway. 'Don't . . .!'
The Rottweiler snapped at her. Miss Calhoon immediately ordered it to sit again — but her moment was gone.
The flesh dogs attacked.
40