I wrap my gloved fingers tightly around the link. Again she’s hiding something from me. After months of working with her, I’ve begun to recognize her slight idiosyncrasies. She’s a terrible liar. With a sigh she prattles on. I am lost in my own thoughts, inspecting the piece of metal and wondering of its origin. I miss everything she says to me except the last words.
“… if she dies, we all die.”
Shouts erupt from an angry crowd gathered at the statue of Eros as I slip into the city square. Pete stands at the base of the fountain, surrounded by dozens of other boys. With a stern expression on his face, Pete sifts through an onslaught of questions.
“Are you bloody mad?” shouts Pyro. The muscles in his neck cord beneath his dark skin. “No one gets rescued from Everland.”
“Pyro’s right. Why would we risk four of our own for one measly little girl?” Pickpocket says, fidgeting with the brass buttons on his waistcoat.
“Measly girl? Is that what Bella is to you, Pickpocket? That girl is worth more than twenty of you boys,” Pete says hotly.
“We’re not talking about Bella, we’re talking about some girl who may or may not even be alive,” Pickpocket says. “For all we know Hook’s already dissected her or whatever that madman does to kids.”
Mikey, his face cleaned of the mud stains from earlier, hides behind a wooden barrel a short distance from the disgruntled group. I crouch down beside him.
“What’s going on? They all seem so angry,” I whisper.
He wraps his arms around my neck. “They don’t want to help get Joanna back.”
“Don’t worry. Pete will convince them,” I say. “And if he doesn’t, I will.”
“This isn’t going to work,” Pyro says. “No one ever comes back from Everland. You know the rules! If you get caught, you’re on your own.”
“No one’s returned because no one has tried,” Pete says.
The gathering of boys say nothing, but pass worried glances among themselves.
“I am going, whether you choose to come or not,” Pete says, resting his hands on the hilts of his daggers. “I’ve given Gwen my word and I intend to keep it. On my own, there’s no guarantee the mission will be successful. But if you come with me, if I can count on you, I know we’ll get Joanna back.”
“Why us?” a stout boy says, his hands twisting the fabric of his oversize brown trench coat. His milky eyes stare past Pete. “What do you need us for?”
“Mole, who is a better tracker than you?” Pete asks.
“Nobody. I can smell a Marauder several blocks away,” Mole says, wrinkling his nose. “Among other foul things.”
“And you, Pickpocket, there isn’t a Lost Boy who can crack locks like you can,” Pete says, pointing at the muscular boy.
“That is true,” Pickpocket says gruffly. The Lost Boys nod in agreement.
“And you, Pyro, you know everything there is to know about explosives,” Pete says.
Pyro removes his derby hat and scratches his closely shaven head. “True enough. I could blow a hole a meter wide into a steel door with just a stick of dynamite.”
“So let me get this straight—we’re putting our necks on the line for her?” Pickpocket says, pointing to me. “Even she knows how crazy this is. Look at her! She’s cowering behind a barrel.”
“Stay here, Mikey,” I whisper as I creep from behind the drum.
“We’re putting our necks on the line for her sister, to be accurate,” Pete says.
“Please!” I say, addressing the boys. “I need your help to get her back. If Pete says you’re the best, then you have to help.”
“I’m not risking my life for your sister. Count me out,” Pickpocket says, storming past me. “You’re on your own, Immune.”
“Lost Girl,” Pete corrects, his expression serious. “She’s one of us now.”
I gaze at the green-eyed boy, my chest swelling at his words. Lost Girl. They settle over me and I realize for the first time that I am a part of their group. Their family.
Pickpocket halts but doesn’t turn around.
“Please, just listen to me for one minute,” I say, placing a hand on Pickpocket’s shoulder.
He turns, folds his arms, and frowns. It is then I notice them, the gloves that cover both of his hands.
“Joanna and Mikey are the only family I have, at least until now,” I say, glancing at Pete. He nods, encouraging me to continue. “Surely you had a sister, a brother, parents, someone you’ve lost. You’d want someone to help you rescue them if you had the chance, wouldn’t you?”
Pickpocket leans close to me, his hot breath whispering against my cheeks. “My family is dead. I am my own family now.” He shoves me aside, his leather-gloved hand brushing against my arm.
Impulsively, I grab his hand, curl my fingers under the leather edge, and rip it off. The Lost Boys gasp.
“What are you doing?” he yells, protectively pulling his fist into his chest.
I throw his glove to the ground. “Show me your fingers.”
“What are you talking about?” he says. His eyes dart from me to the other boys. He tucks his naked fist into the crook of his arm, hiding it from view.
“Show me your hand,” I demand, reaching for him.
Pickpocket doesn’t budge.
“Do it!” Pete says in an authoritative tone.
Pickpocket glares at Pete but reluctantly holds his hand out. His fingers are covered in boils. The skin on his palms is flaky and the backs have spots of raw flesh. He winces as my fingers barely graze his hand.
“You’re not immune,” I say.
More boys join us, erupting in a flurry of whispers. Pickpocket reaches for his glove. He shifts uncomfortably, noticing the shocked expressions on Mole’s and Pyro’s faces. “It’s only a few sores. What’s it to you?” he says, growling.
“I can help you.” I show him my hands. “I am immune. The only Immune. My body contains the cure—the antidote or whatever. I am resistant to the virus. Or at least that’s what Doc seems to think.”
Immune. I inhale deeply as the term spills from my lips. As if uttering those two syllables breathes life, truth, and hope into a word that once tasted bitter on my tongue. Immune: a word that once was degrading, but now encompasses the fate of this boy, the fate of all of the Lost Boys, and possibly the rest of humankind.
Pickpocket gazes at my unblemished hands, turning them over and inspecting them as if they were a priceless work of art, a Degas in the midst of nursery-school finger paintings.
“I can help you,” I say, with a confidence bubbling in my voice that surprises me. “But I need your help, too. Together we can find a cure, for you, for Bella, and for any other sick Lost Kid.”
“You’re really an Immune?” he asks. His voice is flat, devoid of emotion.
“That’s what Doc says,” Pete interjects as he leans against the fountain.
I place a hand on Pickpocket’s arm. “Look, I know what it’s like to lose family. I’ve lost my father and mother to the war, and now I’ve lost Joanna not only to Hook but, if I don’t get her back soon, to the virus. We don’t have to lose anyone else.” I point to a group of kids playing a game with Bella. Her wings flutter and the boys mimic her, waving their arms in the air. “You don’t have to lose any more family.”
Pickpocket watches Bella float above the Lost Kids, a pained expression crossing his face. He glances down at his blistered hands.
Taking his hand gently, I peer into his dark eyes. “You have my word. I will help you.”
Pickpocket pauses, peering at his fingers and then at Bella. “I’ll help you find your sister, but not for me. For Bella.”
“Me too,” says Mole. “I’d do just about anything for Bella.”
“I suppose I’m in as well,” Pyro says. “I don’t want to be the only prat who says no.”
The smaller boys cheer and break into imaginary sword fights. “Take that, Hook!” Gabs shouts, jabbing another boy with an invisible knife. The other boy
dramatically feigns death, grunting as he collapses on the ground.
“Then it’s decided,” Pete says, raising his voice above the chatter. “You guys head over to Blade’s place. Arm yourselves with the best weapons Blade has.”
“You comin’, too?” Pickpocket asks, jerking his glove onto his hand, seemingly still annoyed with me.
“We’ll be along shortly,” Pete says, his face emotionless.
“Suit yourself. Let’s go, Lost Boys,” Pickpocket says, leading Mole and Pyro toward the weapons armory.
Enthusiastic, I turn to Pete. His grin is wide as he walks toward me. “They’re going to help!” I say with excitement.
“Nice job, Immune,” he says, giving me a fist bump. “I couldn’t have done it better myself. Well, I probably could have, but batting my eyelashes like you did wouldn’t have worked as well for me as it did for you.”
“I didn’t bat my eyelashes!” I protest.
“Hey, Pete, is Jack going to be the leader while you’re gone?” Gabs asks, fidgeting with the ends of the dirty scarf wrapped around his neck. He leans in and whispers, “He can be awfully bossy when you’re not here.”
Pete’s face twists into a grimace and quickly fades into a reassuring smile. “Jack is complicated. He’s a good guy. Troubled, but good nonetheless. Don’t you worry, Gabs. I’ve got it covered.”
Pete ruffles Gabs’s hair and the anxiety slips from Gabs’s expression.
“Lost Boys, line up!” Pete shouts.
Chattering with excitement, the boys queue up in two straight lines, jockeying for position according to their height. Mikey sneaks from his hiding spot and sidles in between two kids. I join him, taking him by his small hand. Pete strides between the two rows, scrutinizing each boy.
Jack, suddenly noticing the crowd of boys, joins Pete in the center. “What’s this about?”
“You’re getting your wish,” Pete mutters.
Jack squints, confusion marking the sharp angles of his cheeks and jaw.
Pete holds his hands up, grabbing the attention of the hundred or so boys.
“Lost Boys, today has been an eventful day, with the recruitment of Gwen and Mikey to the Lost City.” Pete clutches his hands behind his back, pacing as he speaks. “And it’s no secret that girls are scarce and an important part of our society. Integral to our survival. They are more rare, more valuable than any other item we can scavenge.”
I wince, listening to him speak about girls as if we were objects, priceless treasures.
The older boys elbow one another, raising their eyebrows. I roll my eyes, imagining what shallow comments the older boys are making to one another.
“Today I will be taking a team of our best Scavengers with me on an important task in order to recover something stolen from our newest citizen, Gwen.” Pete gestures toward me. “My team is with Blade as we speak, arming themselves for the battle that lies ahead. This will be the most dangerous scavenge we’ve done yet.”
“Pete, what are you doing?” Jack grumbles.
Pete ignores the question. “While I’m away, Jack will be the primary leader and Justice the second-in-command.”
A groan rumbles through the crowd. Justice beams. Scout rolls his eyes, turns, and walks away, adjusting his weapon at his hip as he travels down a darkened tunnel.
Jack faces Pete, eyeing him sternly. “What’s this about, Pete? You can’t just take off with our best Scavengers. Do you know how long that will set us back? We’re already running low on supplies.”
Pete steps toward Jack so that they’re nearly nose to nose. “We’re going to Everland.”
A collective gasp echoes through the cavern.
“You’re kidding me,” Jack says, folding his arms. “This is a joke, right?”
Pete stares him down. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
Jack shifts uncomfortably. “You’re scavenging in Everland? That’s against the bylaws. Do you know how dangerous that is? No one ever makes it back from Everland.”
Pete doesn’t break his stare. “We will make it back.”
“You’re a fool!” Jack says, stabbing a finger toward Pete.
“Some things are worth risking everything for,” Pete replies, unflinching.
Jack throws his hands in the air and takes two steps back. “Whatever. You’re the leader. Completely mad, but still the leader.” Jack spins on his heels and starts back to the stock room, cursing under his breath.
“I’m going after Hook,” Pete announces.
A hush falls over the boys.
Jack abruptly stops. Slowly he turns. “Hook?”
Pete’s grin grows wide. “Hook has Gwen’s sister. We’re breaking into Buckingham Palace to get her back.”
The corner of Jack’s mouth twitches into a lopsided smirk. He pushes either side of his coat back, revealing a belt with an array of tools, buttons, and switches on it. “You’re right, Pete. Some things are worth risking everything for. I’m coming with you. I’ve got my own bone to pick with Hook.”
Pete nods, gesturing at Jack’s tool belt. “And that is why we call you the Jack of All Trades. Every great adventure could use a Lost Boy like you. Glad to have you along.”
Jack clasps Pete’s hand and gives it a firm shake. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ll go check and see how the boys are getting on with Blade.”
“Thanks!” Pete says, and pats him on the shoulder as Jack heads toward the weaponeer building.
Pete faces the rest of the Lost Boys. “Justice will be your interim leader while we’re away. I know you boys will show him the respect you show me.”
The boys cheer and slap Justice on the back.
“I won’t let you down, Pete,” Justice says, adjusting his goggles.
“I can’t think of a better suited Lost Boy than you,” Pete says. He leans in close to Justice’s ear. “Try to go with your gut, kid. Not by the rules.” Pete snatches the spiral notebook from Justice’s shirt pocket and stuffs it inside his own coat. Justice’s mouth gapes open, but he says nothing.
“Gabs, take Justice to the map room and give him a rundown on his duties. Everyone else, clear out! The party is over. Get back to work,” shouts Pete. The boys scatter, taking up their work posts.
“Sure thing, Pete,” Gabs says, tugging on Justice’s arm. “Come on, Justice. You’re gonna like the map room. It’s got this ginormous map that sort of looks like a treasure map only not really. Instead of where a treasure might be, X marks the spot where the Scavengers have been. He’s got a fan that spins when you pedal the footplates, but you have to pedal really fast or otherwise it doesn’t cool you off. And there’s an inkwell, which holds three different color inks, if you had ink to put in it. I like to squeeze my beets in there since I don’t like beets all that much. There’s also a …” Gabs stops and twists back toward my brother. “Well, aren’t you coming, Mikey?”
Mikey tugs at my shirtsleeve. “Can I go with Gabs and Justice? I want to see the map room, too.”
“Go ahead,” I tell Mikey, giving him a reassuring nudge.
Pete pulls something out of his coat pocket and hands it to my brother. “Here, take this.”
Mikey takes the object: a red hard candy. “Wow, thanks a lot. I can’t remember when I had candy last.”
“The Lost City is your home now. We are your new family,” Pete says, kneeling to Mikey’s eye level. He juts a hand out and shakes Mikey’s tiny one.
Mikey drops Pete’s hand and throws both of his arms around his neck. “Thanks, Pete!”
My chest swells at the exchange, and for the first time in a year, I really believe my brother will be safe. Perhaps safer than when he was in my care.
Pete hands a candy to the other two boys. Justice unwraps his with enthusiasm and pops the green ball in his mouth. Gabs sniffs his own yellow candy and holds it out to Mikey.
“Trade?” Gabs asks.
“Sure!” Mikey says, swapping treats with him.
“Pete says too much sugar makes
me hyper. I don’t know what he’s talking about, but lemon isn’t my favorite flavor anyhow. It’s sour and makes me pucker like this.” Gabs’s eyes cross as he puckers his lips. “My big sister used to tell me if I made this face and someone hit me in the back of the head it’d be permanent. I just can’t take that risk.”
The boys’ voices fade in the pinging of tools and whirring of machines.
I smile at the boys’ exchange. It is heartwarming to see Mikey with a friend. I spin toward Pete. His goggles reflect my grin, a mirror of his own smile. I slip the spectacles off his head. “You, dear sir, can be awfully sweet when you want to be,” I say.
He grabs for the goggles but misses as I hold them out of reach. “I’d give those back if I were you, Immune,” he says teasingly.
“Not until you stop calling me Immune,” I say, twirling the goggles on a finger.
“What should I call you?” he asks. “You still haven’t picked a Lost Girl name.”
“What’s wrong with just calling me Gwen?”
“It doesn’t suit you,” he says. “Gwen seems like the name of a proper English woman, one who wears hoopskirts, carries a parasol, and is on the arm of a gentleman.”
“And I don’t seem ‘proper’ to you?” I say, poking a finger into his chest.
“Hardly,” Pete says with a snort.
I pretend to be offended. “Oh, really?”
“Of course not. Have you looked in the mirror?” he asks.
Taken aback by the insult, I suck in my bottom lip and pretend to be interested in his goggles. What was I thinking? Of course I don’t appear proper to him. I can only guess how disheveled I appear. By instinct, I reach to comb my fingers through my hair, hoping that it isn’t sticking out in every direction.
“Aww, Gwen, I didn’t mean it like it sounded,” he says, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I just meant that you’re not all weak and damsel-in-distress-like.”
The ache of the insult slips away, but it still takes me a moment to lift my eyes to his. I’m terrified that he’s covering up, making something up to placate me, and I know it’s his stunning eyes that will give it away. He reaches for me and tilts my chin up so that I have nowhere to look but into those eyes.
Everland Page 11
