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 . . .'
'Or you were. Or Pedroza was unlucky. Anyway, something worked. It knocked you out, and it killed Pedroza. It was horrible . . . but kind of fantastic at the same time. I got his gun and took it downstairs and slipped it to Jeffers when Dolphin wasn't looking, and then he put it against Dolphin's head and advised him to give up. And he did.'
'But . . . but . . . there were still all the other mutineers?'
'Yeah, but there was only about half a dozen of them who really, really wanted to follow Pedroza: most of them just wanted to get back to Miami as quickly as possible. They all have families, relatives, you know? So they didn't put up much of a fight, and now everything's back to normal. We've outrun the hurricanes, and we'll be back in Miami this afternoon.'
'That's . . . incredible . . . it's fantastic! Isn't it?'
'Yes it is. You saved my life.'
'Pedroza dead like that. . .'
'You saved my life.'
'And overpowering the mutineers . . .'
'You saved my life.'
'And even beating the hurricanes . . .'
'You saved my life.'
'Yes,' said Jimmy, 'I realize that.'
'I'll never forget it,' said Claire.
'All right.'
'Why did you do it?'
'Like I said, I tripped. Or fainted.'
'You jumped. You were going to sacrifice yourself for me.'
'I had every confidence in the lucky penny.'
'Jimmy Armstrong — you love me, don't you?'
Jimmy blinked at her. 'Are you sure you didn't get shot in the head?'
'You love me.'
'Claire — I don't even like you.'
That was harsher than he intended, but sometimes when you're cornered you say things you don't especially mean.
It had taken a lot for Claire to say what she said, and his instant rejection hurt. She flared up immediately.
'Why don't you get out of bed anyway? There's nothing wrong with you! For all I know you probably did trip! And I'm glad you don't even like me, because I'm getting off the ship this afternoon, and you'll probably never see me again. Do you hear me? You'll never see me again!'
She stormed out.