My hammering heart skips a beat. “And then what?” I demand.
Pete stares at me, his gaze intense. “They die.”
Time stands still and my vision blurs. I back up, placing my hand on the hilt of my second dagger. “So if girls aren’t immune, what use am I to you?”
Pete looks away. “Because … Bella is dying.”
His words strike me like a stray bullet piercing my heart. I meet his glassy gaze. He swallows. The muscles in his face grow taut. He’s not lying.
“What do you mean? She looks perfectly healthy,” I say.
“Bella is alive only because of Doc.” He winces and shakes his head, as if saying those words is painful. “The virus is like some bizarre, cancerous, flesh-eating disease. Her fingers and toes are black, blistered, and the flesh is peeling away. The only reason she appears well is because her gloves and stockings are lined with medication to dull the pain. Doc also came up with some sort of a booster shot from the antibodies of us Lost Boys, but it only slows the progress; it doesn’t cure it.” Pete pulls up the sleeve of his jacket. A macramé of dark tattoos gives his skin the illusion of machine parts. The intricate details permanently etched in ink are stunning. I reach for his arm, hoping to get a better look, but something catches my eye and my breath hitches. A colorful display of blue, purple, and yellow bruises in varying stages of healing tint the inked gears, springs, and other mechanical gadgets. Before I have a chance to really inspect the tattoos and injuries, Pete pulls his sleeve back down and continues, “But you … you show no signs of infection. You may really be immune, and if you are … well, maybe … just maybe …”
A thousand thoughts flood my mind, but only one renders me speechless. I can’t utter the words that are about to make me crumble like the rubble along the street.
Pete lets out an audible breath. “I believe you are an Immune, a real Immune. That’s why Hook wants you, I’m certain of it. You’re the only girl I’ve seen who actually seems unaffected by the virus. How you lived out there without showing symptoms is a miracle. Judging by the fact you have a sister who has also survived, there has to be something about you two. Something genetic, I suppose. Maybe the cure lies in you and your sister.”
Unable to catch my breath, I rest my hand on my chest, lean against the ladder, and will myself to inhale slow and steady breaths. “Joanna’s not immune.” My words barely tumble out as a whisper.
Pete places a firm hand on my shoulder. “What?”
I meet his gaze, his green eyes searching mine with confusion. “She’s not immune,” I say, shaking my head, accepting the truth I’ve known all along but have denied until now. “Joanna has sores on her hands. They’ve only recently appeared, maybe a few weeks or so ago. I didn’t know what they were. I was trying to treat it with antibiotics, but the blisters weren’t responding to treatment.”
Panic glasses over Pete’s eyes. “Even more reason to get her back soon. The sooner the better. She needs to see Doc.”
“Who is this Doc person?” I ask, sheathing my dagger.
“He’s our physician, a prodigy of sorts,” he says with a wave of his hand. “We have to get to the Lost City as soon as possible. We’re going to need help getting Joanna out of the palace. Let’s find Bella and Mikey. If they dodged Hook’s men, they’ll be at the eastern tunnel entrance just outside of Everland’s border. It isn’t too much farther.” Pete starts to climb the ladder when something large splashes into the murky sewer water just up the tunnel in the inky darkness.
“We’d better hurry. There are things more sinister down here than those twits,” Pete says, nodding toward the manhole above. He scrambles up the ladder and pushes the cover off, climbing back through the hole. A second loud splash sends chills up my spine. I climb the ladder and Pete reaches a hand out to me. I grip it, a lifeline keeping me from shattering into a million little shards.
Rain stings my cheeks as a fresh storm erupts from the dreary sky. My hair clings to my skin, obscuring my vision, and hangs limply on my soaked clothes. The scents of the wet asphalt and damp vegetation mingle in the air. We trudge through an overgrown meadow, which appears to have once been a park. Twisted and rusty monkey bars of a playground structure rise from the tall grass, providing cover when the Marauders’ zeppelins buzz overhead, patrolling the outskirts of Everland.
I am thankful for the bit of warmth the scavenged coat provides. Wishing I had Mikey’s umbrella, I blink away the rain from my vision. Pete appears unfazed by the weather, although it is hard to tell with his goggles concealing his eyes.
While the heavy shower is loud enough to drown out any noise, we travel without speaking. In the distance, a thick, smoky haze hangs heavy over the city, mingling with dark, stormy clouds.
“Why were you so far from the Lost City?” I ask as we trudge through the mud, breaking the lengthy silence. “It seems like it’d be easier to pillage close to Everland.”
“There’s nothing useful left inside the city limits. What supplies haven’t already been scavenged, Hook’s men have taken for themselves. Other than what the Marauders have confiscated, there’s nothing left.”
“How do you and the other Lost Kids survive? There can’t be nearly enough food in your rucksack to supply an entire city of kids.”
“Nonperishables and supplies come from the scavenges,” Pete says. “Scavengers are teamed in pairs and given designated neighborhoods to scour. That’s why we were so far from Everland.”
“But there’s hardly anything left in the outskirts,” I say. “I could barely support myself and my sister and brother, much less hundreds of other children.”
“We also live off of whatever is easily accessible: underground mushrooms, stray animals, rats, insects,” Pete says, snatching a grasshopper from the tall grass. He pops the bug into his mouth. It crunches like the sound of potato crisps, sending a shiver through my body.
“You don’t at least cook them?” I ask as he picks up another. My stomach rolls when he bites it in two.
“And there’s also the underground garden that Spade, our horticulturist, and the Harvesters tend to,” Pete says, ignoring my question.
“Underground garden? How is that possible?”
“Cogs and his team of Tinkers tapped into the Thames and created the hydropowered something-or-other with a monstrous steam turbine. I don’t understand all the fancy science behind it, but it fuels the ecolanterns used to simulate sunlight, irrigates the crops, and funnels into the water-purifying system. It’s quite a sophisticated design for a chap who’s only sixteen.”
“A sixteen-year-old engineer? A teenage doctor? Did the war and virus spare only the geniuses?” I ask.
“Well, you know what they say: Only the strong and the paranoid survive.” Pete eyes me, a peculiar expression crossing his face. “Which makes me wonder, how have you lasted so long?”
“I’m strong and certainly not paranoid,” I reply with defiance.
Pete’s brows raise, as if I’ve spoken nonsense. “We also rely on the fish in the Thames when we can manage to find them. The riverbanks are heavily guarded, though. Most days we can’t fish without risk of being caught, but you are right, it is getting harder to find provisions.”
“What will you do when the supplies run out?” I ask. “The provisions from the scavenges, I mean. Surely a garden isn’t enough to sustain you all.”
Pete grimaces and shakes his head but doesn’t answer. Instead, he trudges on.
We travel for a little while longer, quietly sneaking by a group of soldiers on patrol and ducking past parked Steam Crawlers. The overgrown shrubs and tall grass shield us from their view. We stop only once: to eat fresh berries we find growing on a small bush. The bright tartness bursts on my tongue, and my stomach rumbles for more even after we’ve devoured them all. Eventually, we reach the end of the railway, its tracks buckled and rusty. Broken beams and shattered glass from what appears to have been a station platform litter the ground. A search zeppelin flies overhead; its
boilers hiss and propellers whir, rustling the weeds that have taken over the abandoned lots. We wait for it to pass. I hold my breath, afraid the simple act of breathing might bring an army of Marauders. As the zeppelin’s engine fades, I let out a sigh.
“We’re here,” Pete whispers. Cautiously, he steps out from our hiding place.
Alarmed, I grab his arm, tugging him back into the brush. “What are you doing?”
“Just watch,” he whispers, stepping into the open. Pete makes his way to the train tracks. His rooster call shatters the early afternoon silence. I shrink down into the prickly brush, expecting dozens of Marauders to descend upon us.
“It’s about time you guys got here.” Her voice chastises us from somewhere high in a grove of tall oaks. She floats down from a tree like a butterfly as her wings flutter, steam from her rocket pack haloing her. When her boots touch the ground, she pulls a lever on the straps over her shoulders and the wings close with a snap. “I was beginning to wonder if the Immune was holding you back. I’m surprised she wasn’t caught.”
Despite my relief at seeing Bella, I still scowl. She smirks, obviously glad her jab at me has hit its mark.
“Where’s Mikey?” I ask, ineffectively trying to cover the worry in my voice.
Bella sighs. “Stupid Bartholomew Smeeth found us. He really needs to find a new hobby. Why can’t that bloke just leave me alone? Creepy guy needs some therapy or something. Who chases little kids? That’s the kind of person my parents warned me about in primary school.”
“Bella, where’s Mikey?” Pete asks, sternly.
Bella ruffles her fringe with an exaggerated breath. “Don’t get your britches in a bunch. He’s fine. He’s right there.” She points to an overgrown field of tall grass dotted with white, yellow, and purple wild pansies.
“Can I come out now?” Mikey’s small voice says through the thicket of grass. “It’s itchy and there’s something with a long tail in here with me. I hope it isn’t a crocodile.”
I move toward the voice and brush aside the foliage. “Mikey?”
“Right here!” he says.
It takes a moment before I see his brown eyes staring at me. Mud, grass, and flowers cake his entire body. Had he not blinked, I would never have seen him.
“Mikey, what happened to you?” I ask, stifling a laugh. I help him from the dense brush and attempt to wipe dirt and blades of grass from his face, but my efforts are in vain.
“It was Bella’s idea. I couldn’t climb way up in the tree and didn’t have wings like her, so she camouflaged me. Did I fool you?” Bright white teeth grin at me, contrasting with his fragrant, earthy disguise.
“Yes, you did,” I say, chuckling. “But now you desperately could use a bath.”
Mikey scratches his head. “Aw, but I took a bath last week. Or was it two weeks ago?”
Again, the guilt of not being more diligent about his hygiene—or mine, in fact—rakes over my conscience.
“Good job looking after him, Bella,” Pete says, opening his arms. She leaps to him and wraps her tiny arms around his waist. He kisses her on the top of the head. “I knew he’d be in good hands.”
I’m surprised to see the softer side of them when they usually exude such ferocity. Their affection for each other is a bittersweet reminder of Joanna, her stubbornness, bravery, and warmth. When Pete notices me staring, he pulls away and straightens his coat, as if brushing away that single moment of vulnerability.
Mikey frowns and balls his fists. “Hey, what about me?”
Pete’s face brightens, appearing grateful to turn the attention away from his affection for Bella. “You? Well, you are the real hero. You protected her just like you said you would. I owe you my gratitude for that.” Pete gives a deep bow. “Well done, Lost Boy.”
My brother grins wide, cracking the mud packed on his chubby face into a dozen fissures.
“What happened to you guys?” I ask, plucking a white pansy from his dirty blond hair.
“Turns out stupid old Smeeth was waiting behind the corner of a house when you ran. When he saw us slip from the bushes, he chased us down. Fortunately, the fool could stand to lose some weight and apparently has a wheezing problem. You should have heard him. I wonder if he was a pug in another lifetime.”
“Very funny,” Pete says, patting Bella on the shoulder.
The screech of metal breaks the moment of calm. Pete stiffens and places a hand on Bella’s and Mikey’s backs, urging them forward. “Come on. We need to get out of the open.”
We run along remnants of track with Pete leading the way. Finally, we reach numerous boulders that block the entrance to the Underground. Pete slips his hand inside a large shrub. I can barely make out a copper switch beyond the brambles. As he flicks the lever, a rumble emanates from the pile of boulders. The stones shudder and move toward us. It is then I realize the boulders are only an illusion, camouflaging a steel door. A gap large enough for a person to step through opens.
“Everyone inside!” Pete hisses, his eyes darting behind us.
Hearing voices behind me, I turn my head. Farther up the track, there is movement in the tall brush. The warmth of panic blankets me as I push Mikey and Bella through the gap. I follow behind, taking in the large gears and chains above my head that appear to control the mechanized door. Pete follows behind, turning a rusty wheel attached to the chains along the wall. The steel door closes and Pete flips another lever. The machine clanks loudly and three sliding locks snap into place.
Inside, the air is stale and musty, humid against my skin. I can hardly see anything. The sounds of small, scampering feet surround me, but the echo within the narrow cavern makes it difficult to tell if the feet belong to one or multiple rodents.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask, turning back to Pete, unable to see him in the darkness. “You have been in here before, haven’t you?”
“Oh brother,” Bella says. I can almost hear her rolling her eyes. “Please tell me you’re not afraid of the dark.”
“No, I’m not afraid of the dark,” I say, annoyed by the insinuation.
“Knock it off, Bella,” Pete scolds. He strikes a match along the rocks. In the dim light, he reaches for a lantern on a ledge chipped into the wall. Pete lights the lamp, casting the tunnel in a golden radiance. “I don’t think they saw us.”
“Of course they didn’t,” Bella says. “Come on, kid. Let me show you around.” She reaches inside her satchel and pulls out a handful of gold dust, handing it to my brother. “Here. Leave a trail for your sister so she doesn’t get lost. She doesn’t seem too bright,” Bella whispers within earshot of me. She pulls Mikey by the hand and together they skip ahead, uninhibited by the inky blackness as Mikey scatters a trail of gold in front of him.
I take in the tunnels around me. Unlit lanterns hang from the ceiling from tarnished pipes that fizzle, steam escaping from the joints.
“Don’t worry.” Pete takes my hand and guides me along the descending tracks, leading with a lantern tightly gripped in his hand. The light casts eerie shadows on the broken walls. Bugs scurry ahead of the lamp, a few crunching beneath my feet like the sound of broken glass. Eventually, we catch up with Mikey and Bella, who are chattering endlessly about the boys of the Lost City.
“I can’t wait to not be a Little anymore,” she says, skipping pebbles along the tracks. “The Biggers get privileges the Littles don’t get.”
“Like what?” Mikey asks.
“Dessert, a whole minute longer in the shower, and Pete lets the Biggers stay up an hour after the Littles go to bed for an evening nightcap,” Bella says.
“Dessert! I want to be a Bigger,” Mikey replies in wonder. I can’t blame him. It’s been so long since we’ve had anything sweet, even a single bite of dessert would be heavenly.
As we continue descending, hand-drawn caricatures adorn the cracked concrete surfaces, reminding me of hieroglyphics. Stick figures with dark masks and military gear crowd together as smaller characters throw stones at the
m.
“What is this?” I ask, running my hand along the drawings.
Pete stops suddenly. “Shh,” he says, holding a hand up.
I listen but hear nothing. A bullet rockets from the pitch-black tunnel in front of us, ricochets off the wall to our right, and barely misses Bella as she hops out of the way. A small rock whizzes past my head and I duck.
“Hey!” Bella shouts. “Watch where you’re aiming those things!”
“Who’s there?” a boy’s deep voice says from the darkness. “Identify yourselves!”
“Whoa! Who gave you clearance to guard this tunnel?” Pete hollers. “Bobbies are to guard the northern and western tunnels. The eastern and southern tunnels are for the Scavengers only!”
“Pete!” someone says, enthusiasm lacing the tone of his small voice. “It’s Pete!”
“Pete’s back!” yells another young boy’s voice farther down the tunnel.
Murmurings erupt from the passageway as lights rip through the darkness. I shield my face, wincing against the blinding light. A redheaded boy no older than Bella approaches Pete. His freckled face crinkles with uncertainty.
“Hey, Pete,” he says. “Sorry ’bout that. I didn’t know it was you.”
Pete slaps the boy on the back. “No problem, kid. But we gotta work on your aim. You’re lucky we weren’t the Marauders.”
“We’re lucky he has bad aim,” Bella retorts.
Another boy, a teenager with dark eyes, hair, and skin emerges from the shadows wearing a brown jacket adorned with brass buttons. His brow creases in a scowl and he slips his revolver into the holster on his hip. He inhales the butt of a hand-rolled cigarette, tosses it to the ground, and puts the embers out with the toe of his boot. He tilts his head, blowing the smoke toward the ceiling of the cavern.
“Scout, who gave you permission to patrol these tunnels? You could’ve killed someone,” Pete says.
Everland Page 6
