Everland

by Wendy Spinale

  “You seem smart, and more, how should I say it? Mature, at least more than them,” I say, glancing at the entire group of boys now dog-piling on Pickpocket. Mole sits on the top of the pyramid with a triumphant grin. Pete howls with laughter, begging Mole to get off him.

  Doc laughs. “Trust me, I know Pete. He might appear to be immature and carefree right now, but it’s all a ruse for the sake of the Lost Boys. He’s worried about Bella, but he knows he has to keep it together. The boys look up to him. If he shows a hint of anxiety, then they’ll worry, too.”

  Pete glances at me, an insincere smile spreading across his face.

  “Besides,” Doc continues, “intelligence and maturity cannot build a city. It’s true, I might be smart, but I could never have done the things Pete has done. It takes heart and strength, overcoming tragedy, to have the will to build something as fantastic as the Lost City.”

  “Tragedy?” I ask, watching the boys wrestle. Pete has pinned Jack to the floor. He tilts his head toward me and winks before proclaiming his victory, crowing like a rooster.

  “Didn’t he tell you?” Doc asks. I shake my head. Doc sighs and continues, “Pete has been an orphan since he was seven. His parents were killed in a car accident.”

  “That’s terrible,” I say as a familiar heartache grips me, the same one that so often creeps up when memories of my own parents come to my mind.

  “I met him before the war,” Doc continues. “I finished secondary school by the time I was twelve and went on to study medicine. I was interning at North West London Hospital. Pete came in with a large gash on his cheek, an apparent ‘bicycle accident.’ When his visits became a weekly occurrence, I confronted him, worried he was suffering some sort of abuse. Turned out he was earning money by competing in underground boxing matches.” Doc laughs heartily. “Pete would come in at midnight every Wednesday night with something needing to be stitched up. We became fast friends.”

  “So what happened to you two?” I ask. “That fight I witnessed earlier was hardly evidence of a good friendship.”

  Doc sighs. “Pete wasn’t the only survivor in the accident. He had a sister, Gabrielle. The accident left her in a wheelchair. The other children at the orphanage teased her, but Pete wouldn’t tolerate it. After years of defending his sister, he decided to use his skill to make money so he could get his sister out of the orphanage and into a place of their own.” He drops his gaze, kicks at a stone lying in front of him, and hesitates. “She was beautiful. One of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever met.”

  “What happened to her?” I ask.

  “The same thing that happened to all the girls after the outbreak. Pete brought her to me. She was in bad shape. I did everything I could to save her, but it wasn’t enough.” Tears brim at the corners of his eyes. “I cared for her, and when she took her last breath, a part of me died with her.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, resting a hand on his arm.

  Doc nods, acknowledging my gesture of sympathy, and turns his eyes toward Pete. “He’s never been the same and hasn’t forgiven me.”

  “But it wasn’t your fault she died. You said you did everything you could for her.”

  “I know it and you know it, but him?” Doc says, waving toward Pete. “It’s neither here nor there. Two weeks went by and I hadn’t seen him. By then the Marauders had gained control of the city. Then one day he comes storming into the hospital. He tells me there’s a bunch of orphaned kids holed up in the tunnels, many who are badly hurt, and if I am worth a sack of beans, I will come with him to save the children.” Doc shrugs. “I went with him. We worked around the clock. I treated patients and he rescued kids. Many died, especially the girls, but the survivors are what make up the Lost City now.”

  “Why only the kids?” I ask. “If he had saved the adults, too, you might have extra help.”

  “Two reasons. First, the virus killed the adults so quick they couldn’t be saved. Second, only an orphan knows what it is like to be an orphan. After the bombing of London and the viral outbreak, the city was swarming with orphaned kids. Pete couldn’t save his sister, but he could save the other parentless children.”

  “Along with your help,” I remind him.

  “Yes, along with my help.”

  “But if you’ve helped so many, why is he still angry with you?”

  “My debt isn’t paid, and it’ll never be paid until I figure out how to rescue the one person who means the most to him. Bella,” Doc says, frowning. “It is the only reason he is allowing me to come along on this rescue mission. He knows that without me, Bella will die, and he can’t bear to lose another.”

  I’m about to ask why Bella is so special when Dozer emerges from the dark tunnel and stops at the heap of boys, all tangled up with arms and legs in wrestling maneuvers.

  “You’re kidding me,” he says. “I leave you nitwits for five minutes and I come back to find you acting like savages. You city boys are a curious bunch.”

  “City boys?” I ask.

  “Dozer is a Digger. He and about five other boys are in charge of creating new tunnels in and out of Everland,” Doc says. “They don’t hang out in the Lost City much. I really only see the Diggers when one of them is injured in the tunnels and I have to go patch them up.”

  Dozer gives an unattractive grunt. “And you, Mole, I thought I taught you better than that. You boys,” he says before casting his gaze on me, “and girl, follow me.” He yawns, stretching his arms, and turns to proceed down the dark passage.

  Mole struggles to his feet, brushes the dirt from his clothes, and reaches his hands out in search of his weapon. Pete hops up from the ground with ease and grabs the metal staff.

  “Here you go, kid,” he says, handing it to Mole.

  “Thanks,” Mole says. His shoulders slump and he frowns.

  “Chin up. Don’t let him get to you,” Pete says, patting the boy’s shoulder. “Remember, I chose you to come on this adventure.”

  Mole’s lips stretch into a wide grin. I watch the entire interaction, uncertain of what just happened but touched by his compassion toward the blind boy.

  “Dozer is Mole’s older brother,” Doc says. “He’s bitter about having to be Mole’s eyes his whole life, but since their folks have perished, he’s taken on the role of Mole’s guardian.”

  As the boys gather their packs and weapons, I watch Pete take special care to make sure Mole is set to travel the tunnels. I can’t help but smile at his kindness, a stark difference from his reprimand of Bella earlier.

  “Well, well, why didn’t I see it sooner?” Doc says, grinning wide.

  “What?” I ask, confused.

  Doc picks up his own pack and medicine bag as he shakes his head. “I should’ve known.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, pulling my rucksack onto my shoulders.

  He turns and faces me. “You fancy him, don’t you?”

  “Who? Pete?” I whisper, not wanting the other boys to hear the conversation.

  Doc rolls his eyes. “No. I meant the twelve-year-old blind boy. Of course Pete,” he says, too loudly.

  We walk through the dirt tunnel as the other boys lead the way, peering over their shoulders at us. I return their puzzled expressions with a weak smile.

  “Pete?” I scoff. “He’s rude and conceited and … and …” I try to come up with other flaws, but they are lost beyond my flustered thoughts and the heat prickling at my cheeks.

  “Yes, but you still fancy him,” Doc says, teasing.

  “Do not,” I say with insistence. “Why would I fancy anyone like him?”

  Doc shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine, but I saw that glint in your eye.”

  I’m starting to protest when Pete joins us. “May I have a word with Gwen in private?” he asks.

  “Don’t let me stop you.” Doc grasps the brim of his aviator cap and tips his head toward me. “Nice chatting with you.”

  Doc jogs ahead and joins the other Lost Boys.

 
“Um, you were … well, you were right about Bella,” Pete says with some reluctance.

  I raise an eyebrow. “Am I hearing you correctly? The leader of the Lost Boys is admitting he’s wrong?”

  Pete stares at the ground. “I just wanted you to feel welcome. Everyone had been staring at you since you got here and Bella was being a brat. I, uh, I lost my temper. Now she’s gone and … and it’s my fault.”

  “Yes, it is,” I say matter-of-factly.

  Pete looks at me with surprised, wide eyes as my words settle over him. He drops his gaze back to the ground and frowns. “We have to get her back. I’ve already failed my sister. When Gabrielle died … she … Gabrielle was all that was left of my family, and then she was gone. I’ve lost everyone I ever cared for—that is, until I found Bella.” Pete’s glassy eyes meet mine. “I can’t fail her, too.”

  The grief in his expression mirrors the ache in my own heart. While I grapple with the sting of my failed attempt to protect my sister, I can only imagine the anguish he must feel, being the dauntless leader of so many but having lost the most precious of them all.

  I lift his chin with my hand. “We will find her. We’ll bring both of them back, Bella and Joanna. We’ll rescue them and be back to the Lost City in no time.”

  Pete glances at me. “We? Does that mean you’ll stay with us?”

  An awkward energy fills the space between us. “I mean you and Bella will be back at home in the Lost City.” I spin and quicken my pace, trying to catch up to the other Lost Boys.

  Pete takes my arm in a gentle grasp. “You know, Gwen, you’re welcome to live in the Lost City as long as you like—you and your siblings. You’re as much an orphan as any of us.”

  I flick my eyes to him and back to the ground, unwilling to meet his gaze. Orphan. The word stings. I never considered myself an orphan, even though I know my parents are gone. My head jumbles with words, looking for a response, but none come to me. Fortunately, Dozer’s deep voice bellows from the tunnel ahead. We join him where the other boys have gathered.

  “This is as far as I go,” Dozer says. “About ten meters ahead, the tunnel ends at a hatch that leads into the city’s sewage system. Follow the right wall about a kilometer until you come to a ladder. From there, you’ll be about a half block from St. Paul’s Cathedral. Once you’re out on the streets, head south to the Thames. Follow the water’s edge until Big Ben, at least what is left of it, comes into view. Once you see it, the palace is about one and a half kilometers northwest of the river’s edge.”

  “Great job,” Pete says, slapping Dozer on the shoulder.

  “Sorry I couldn’t get you closer. We’ve been working on expanding the tunnel into the palace courtyard in hopes of tapping into some of their resources, but these things take time, and we’ve been short on supplies to stabilize the passageways.”

  “You did well, Dozer,” Pete says. He takes the lead, with Doc, Pickpocket, Pyro, and Jack following behind. Mole steps behind Jack, but Dozer stops him.

  “Take care of yourself, kid,” he says. “Stay close to Pete.”

  Mole frowns. Dozer pulls his brother into him, wrapping his arms around him. “See you soon,” Mole says. He releases his brother and joins the other Lost Boys.

  As I walk past him, Dozer asks, “Is she worth it?” I stop in my tracks. “I mean is one girl worth the lives of seven other people—eight, if you count Bella?”

  “Let me ask you: If it was Mole who was taken, how many other lives would you risk getting him back?”

  Dozer considers this for a moment before responding. “I’d risk the lives of every Lost Boy to get him back.”

  “Me too,” I reply.

  “Just make sure he comes back safe,” he says before walking away.

  I move to join the other boys.

  “Hey, Immune,” he says. I turn to him. His back faces me. “His real name is Michael.”

  “Michael? That’s my brother’s name, too,” I say.

  “I know. You look after my brother, and I’ll keep my eye on yours,” Dozer replies. I nod, but Dozer doesn’t see the gesture. He quickly disappears into the darkness.

  Farther up the tunnel, I see Pete spin the wheel to the hatch leading to the sewer. The hinges squeal sharply and the boys duck as they step through the opening.

  Pete pokes his head out from the opening. “Gwen, you coming?”

  As I start to walk down the passageway, a loud crack to my left draws my attention. Dirt sprinkles down on me from the ceiling. My pulse quickens as another snap erupts to my right. I spin toward the noise. This time I see a fissure grow through one of the support beams.

  Dozer reappears, sprinting back into the tunnel. He scans the support beams over my head and he blanches. “Run!” Dozer screams. He turns and runs in the opposite direction. “Get out of there, now!”

  “Come on, Gwen,” Pete says, waving me toward him. “Hurry!”

  A plank of wood falls from the ceiling, narrowly missing me as I dash toward him. The sound of lumber, mud, and metal crashing to the ground follows me. Dirt showers down on me, stinging my eyes. I know I have only seconds before the entire tunnel caves in. I leap in the air, grasping for Pete’s waiting hands.

  The Steam Crawler rumbles down the crumbled remains of St. Margaret Street, followed by two dozen duplicate vehicles and fifty soldiers on foot. The long steel legs of the machines punch gaping holes into the street as they advance east, leaving behind a cloud of dust and tar pebbles in their wake. The few unbroken shop windows shatter and crumble to the concrete in a puddle of shards.

  “Any word on the girl the soldiers found this morning?” I ask my driver.

  “She’s on her way to the palace as we speak,” he says in clipped words that echo within his helmet.

  “Good. Turn here,” I instruct. “Toward the bridge.”

  “You mean what’s left of the bridge?” the driver says with a snicker. I glare at him, seeing only my own reflection in his dented helmet. I wish he didn’t have to wear the mask so that I could strike him. His laugh grates on every nerve, sending tingling sensations up my spine and down to the tips of my fingers and toes. This isn’t funny. There’s nothing amusing about the destruction and loss of life we are responsible for. Not we … me! I am responsible for the carnage before my eyes. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Drop a few bombs on key sites in London. That was all that I was directed to do. So what if a few buildings would be damaged; the point was to come in demanding the Queen of England hand over her crown. I had no idea what the targets were, just that my mother insisted on taking out specific ones. My fingers graze my eye patch, reminding me that I had no choice. I never have.

  The Crawler turns south on Bridge Street, toward the ruins of the Palace of Westminster. Ahead, Westminster Bridge juts into the murky Thames water before severing off in broken fragments. As the military vehicles advance, a faint ping ricochets from the roof of my tank. I tilt my ear toward the steel ceiling. Again another ping rings off the top.

  “Stop!” I shout, tipping my view toward the bulletproof window. The Steam Crawler comes to a halt, blocking the way of the other tanks. Another quiet ping pierces the night air.

  “What is that?” I ask, sliding my door open. I stand on the frame of the Crawler, scanning the rubble scattered throughout the street.

  Big Ben looms over the ruins, illuminated by a nearly full moon peeking through fragmented clouds. Remarkably, the tower remains relatively unscathed. Both hands point toward midnight, frozen in time, a reminder of when the first bombs fell on the sleeping residents of London, plummeting them into a nightmare and facing demons that I brought to the once-bustling town. My stomach lurches, but I clench my teeth, refusing to give in to the guilt festering within me. I did what I was commanded to do. I followed orders. Had I known the biological weapons lab was the Bloodred Queen’s intended target, perhaps I wouldn’t have dropped the bombs.

  My targets. The ones my mother designated to be destroyed. I have only the brie
fest moment to wonder if my mother knew what would happen if she destroyed the weapons lab, and if so, why she would send me. Something whirs past my head, startling me from my thoughts.

  The face of the clock is pocked with holes, but otherwise is intact. I squint, focusing on the subtle movement from the bell’s keep. A blond girl lifts a slingshot and aims. She leans against the frame of the belfry, teetering on the edge.

  “Bella!” I grumble beneath my breath. I inhale, taking in the night air, and remind myself of the Professor’s words. How very few girls have survived. That the human race depends on their existence.

  What a grim outcome.

  The Professor is right, though. Other than the girl my men found earlier, Bella, and the girl with the heart-shaped face with Pete, there are no girls left, at least none that I know of. I breathe in the sour smell wafting from the Thames and shudder. After all this girl and Pete have put me through, it grinds every nerve fiber in my being to be nice, but I dig deep, recalling the kindness the help at Lohr Castle once showed me when I was just a boy not much older than Bella is now.

  “Bella,” I shout again, this time echoing the tone of those who truly loved me. “Let’s be reasonable. Come down from there so we can talk.”

  Bella releases the elastic with a snap, and I duck as a steel ball skips across the top of the Crawler, barely missing my head. Gritting my teeth, I remind myself to keep my temper intact. I need her to trust me.

  The soldiers direct their weapons to the bell tower.

  “Fire at—” an officer yells.

  “No! Hold your fire!” I shout, still ducking from Bella’s aim. “Hold your fire!”

  Taking cover behind the vehicle, I wait for another shot from the belfry, but none comes. “Let’s be sensible, Bella. You’re completely surrounded. You can’t possibly think you’re going to get away,” I reason, struggling with words. Reaching back in my memories to rediscover some soothing word said to me, something to convince this little girl she needs me as much as I need her. “How about you put your weapon down so no one gets hurt? Perhaps we can negotiate an agreeable outcome.”