Ozland

by Wendy Spinale

“Well, then, perhaps we ought to just return to our cells and die,” Maddox says sarcastically. “I certainly hope you’ve got better news for us.”

  “The apothecarists dislike the Bloodred Queen about as much as any of us,” Hook says. “I have no doubt that they’ll assist you with anything you need. Maybe they can come up with a way to weaken her.”

  “Weaken her? From what you’ve said, it doesn’t sound like a steam train could take her down. It seems pretty far-fetched. I’m still opting for the cells,” Maddox says, rubbing the scruff on his chin.

  “Hook’s not that off base,” I say. “The symptoms of the original antidote were caused by the inclusion of the reptilian proteins. Everything from the scales to the changes in the eyes and claws—it was all because we use the lizards’ blood. The only thing that really makes her strong is the armor covering her skin.”

  “How do we get rid of it?” Pete asks.

  “Leave that to me,” I say. “I just need to get to the lab.”

  “What about the Haploraffen?” Alyssa asks. “We won’t get far with them patrolling the castle.”

  “Maybe I can tinker with this one to see if we can gain control of them,” Pickpocket says.

  Nervous, Hook looks at each of us. “The only way to control the Haploraffen is to kill the queen and confiscate the crown that Katt wears. But that’s it; I won’t tell you anything more, not without something in return,” Hook says.

  “Something in return?” Maddox asks. “The murderer of hundreds of thousands, maybe a million or more, wants a favor? This is simply mad. You’re not going to listen to this nonsense, are you?”

  “Name your price,” Pete says suspiciously.

  “I’ll take you wherever you need to go, but when it comes to killing the Bloodred Queen, she’s mine,” Hook says.

  Confused glances are exchanged among us, unsure if what we’ve heard is real.

  “You want to kill your own mother?” Lily asks.

  Her doubt doesn’t surprise me. The girl who lost her own mother and was taken in by Gwen’s can hardly comprehend such a desire. The Professor was a mother to us all at one point. I’d give anything to have her back. Her knowledge was invaluable. Her kindness, abundant. Her nurturing nature … a painful reminder of my own mother, but a welcome blessing considering our predicament.

  “I not only want to end her life …” Hook reaches for his eye patch. Lifting it, he exposes the empty socket. “I want to get even before I take it.”

  Pete holds out his hand. Hook grips it with his metal prosthetic.

  “An eye for eye,” Pete says, with what sounds like approval.

  I wave my hand at the unmoving Haploraffen and ask, “Pickpocket, is there any way you can reconfigure those cannons so they can distribute the antidote?”

  “I’m no Cogs, but I know a thing or two about some things,” he says.

  Pete sighs and drops his gaze. Our chief Tinker and an original Lost Boy was one of the many causalities of the attack on the Labyrinth village.

  “We need weapons,” Pete says.

  “Not a problem. I’ll take you to the weaponry,” Hook replies.

  Pete nods. “Once we arm ourselves, Doc and I will head to the lab to see what we can find to get rid of the queen’s scales,” he says. “We’ll return as soon as we can. And then—we attack.”

  “Sounds flawless,” Alyssa says sarcastically.

  Maddox wraps an arm around her waist. “I can just see the ticker-tape parade that will be thrown for us for our gallantry and superb tactical planning. Of course, we’ll be dead, but what does that matter?”

  Lily frowns, worry creasing her brow. Cautiously, I wrap my arms around her, knowing we share the same stripes of defiance across our skin. “Don’t worry. I’ll come back for you. I promise.”

  Her dark eyes shimmer. “How can you promise something like that?” she says.

  She’s right. I can’t control what will happen to me or her after we leave this prison. We may both be dead by the time the sun sets. But I just can’t believe—won’t believe—that this is the end of our story.

  With one hand on the back of her neck and the other tangled in her hair, I pull her into me. Her lips are as soft as satin, and for this moment, nothing else matters. When I pull away, I know in my heart that today is not our last together; whether it be on this side of mortality or the other, we will be together.

  “I’ll never leave you, Lily. Not in life or death,” I say.

  They’re not the words she wants to hear. I see it in the flash of disappointment in her eyes, but it’s all I have to offer her right now.

  “Wait, guys, what about Jack?” Alyssa says. “He’s clearly aligned with Katt.”

  Pete stiffens. “Don’t worry about Jack. He won’t be a problem.”

  He knows something. I can see it in his expression. Of all those standing here with us, I’ve known him the longest. I’m not sure what secrets he’s hiding, but there’s definitely something there.

  Maddox cackles. “Jack? You out of everyone should know that he’s allied to no one but himself. He’s his biggest priority.”

  “Trust me,” Pete says, his green eyes as sure as I’ve ever seen them.

  There is no road. Not even a dirt trail. Instead, we trek through tall grass and wildflowers. Although the fields are wide and trees are scarce, there is an ominous feeling as we silently head toward the setting sun. While the welcoming golds, pinks, and lavenders paint the sky ahead of us, western winds blow dark clouds our way.

  My stomach feels uneasy. I have no idea what lies before us. Worse yet, my thoughts return to Wicklow, and all those we left behind. I don’t understand how Ginger could leave her home, especially while it’s under attack from such vile beasts. They’re not my community, and still I worry about whether Jo and the others have survived the invasion. But Ginger trudges forward, seemingly unmoved by the possible destruction of her home. What I wouldn’t give to be back in my own village, to have those I love close to me. While tears sting my eyes, I know to let them find their place on my cheeks is futile. My family has been murdered. My friends killed by the Bloodred Queen. Crying won’t bring them back.

  Perhaps Ginger has resigned herself to the destruction of her community, has accepted her duty as a warrior for the rebirth of Germany, and knows that though her home and those she’s called family and friends continue to fight a losing battle—none of it means anything. Maybe, just like me, she longs to be embraced by the arms of a father she will never see again and so this is all she can commit to his memory. Both our fathers wanted to see the Bloodred Queen’s rule end and King Osbourne returned to his throne, and no matter if we live or die, that is our goal.

  I guess we are more similar than different.

  My heart splinters as the loss of everything washes over me.

  There’s no place like home—or family or community or the simple pleasure of laying your head down at night knowing that in the morning, you and those you love will still be alive.

  Ginger reaches inside a satchel and pulls out a hooded gas mask with a respirator and numerous valves. A small, shallow tin is attached at the forehead, and a glass lid reveals a green effervescent fluid inside that shines brightly. It’s not a torch or a gas lantern, but it is impressive nonetheless. I run a finger over the glass.

  “Cold light,” she says, handing it to me. “It’s from the sea. When the water is disturbed it glows. Sort of like a firefly, but in liquid form.”

  The cool green radiance provides sufficient light to see my way through the darkness. However, it’s the mask that concerns me the most.

  “Why do I need this?” I ask.

  “You’ll thank me later. Now just put the thing on.”

  Reluctantly, I slip the hood over my head. The lack of airflow and the overwhelming scent of leather makes it difficult to breathe.

  Ginger flips a lever on her mechnosuit. Slabs of glass rise from the suit and link above her, enclosing her within the armor. She looks like
something from the future.

  We trudge through overgrown grass and rolling hills. Nocturnal animals begin their nightly call and small animals scurry when we step near them. My gut lurches with each moment, half expecting the machined monkeys to rise from the brush and wipe us out. The other half is uneasy with the few words Ginger’s spoken since we’ve left Wicklow.

  After an hour or so, a thick mist rolls in, obscuring our visibility. The headlamp does little to help, but instead casts a green glow in the dense fog. I can’t see my own feet, much less a meter in front of me. The tall grass trails behind us, disappearing altogether as we find ourselves in a thick bed of flowers.

  “Make sure the straps on your mask are tight,” Ginger commands, her words muffled behind the thick glass. “The pollen will knock you straight into dreamland. And don’t fall behind.”

  “Pollen?” I ask. Beneath my silver boots, bright petals peek through the ghostly haze. Tugging the leather strips tight, I follow her cautious lead.

  Again, we trudge forward in silence. Only our boots and the distant hoot of an owl interrupt the quiet.

  My mind wanders, contemplating the incidents over the last few days and the toll they’ve taken on me. One by one they play out in my head: the Bandersnatches, the village on fire, witnessing the death of my father with my mother nowhere in sight, my abrupt meeting with both the Manx Sea and the Wickloreons, escaping my prison, the carnivorous vines, and my not-so-certain allegiance with General Ginger. It’s all been overwhelming, and with as little sleep as I’ve had, the weight of each tragedy, each fear-inducing event, suddenly feels like it’s too much to take on.

  I’m about to suggest a rest when Ginger stumbles and collapses. Her fall is far from silent as her mechnosuit hits the ground hard. I race to her side.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, knocking on the shield of her suit.

  Beyond the thick glass, Ginger is motionless. I bang once more, but she doesn’t stir. Feeling around the windows of her mechnosuit, I search for a way to get to her. I’m not sure what Ginger meant by dreamland when she spoke of the pollen, but I can only guess that’s what’s affecting her.

  My fingers slip over a rough crevice in her glass shield. Investigating it, I find a single spot in which the glass is chipped, enough to leave a breach in her closed space. I reach for a nearby rock and work on the slivered shards until it leaves a hole large enough for me to reach her.

  I loosen the leather straps of my gas mask, ready to throw it over her head the first chance I get. Yes, I risk falling into the same dream state as Ginger, but I’ll never get her out of here on my own. If I’m able to wake her, she can get us both out of this place before I succumb to the pollen.

  Taking several breaths, I release my mask. As I pull it over her face, something buzzes by my head. After years of living near a mosquito-infested river during our hot summers, by instinct I lift a hand to swat at the insect. The back of my hand slaps against the hot metal of its wings, forcing me to draw my hand in. Gasping, I peer down. Under the green light, the raised burn marks leave loops and swirls scorched into my skin. The dull hum around me grows, sounding like a convoy of hovercycles.

  My eyes grow heavy as I reach for Ginger and shake her. She stirs, but I can hardly keep my eyes focused on her. The sleepy pollen draws me in. Ginger squints as she tries to shake the lethargy away. She sits up, seeming confused. Relieved that she’s conscious, I rest my head on the soft red petals of the blanket of poppies.

  I blink, struggling to keep from giving in to sleep’s alluring call.

  “Stay with me, Gail. We have to leave, and quickly,” she says. With her mechnosuit arm, she reaches inside a panel and retrieves another mask.

  Between the exhaustion of my travels and the pollen, I fight to keep my eyes open.

  “You’ll be fine,” she says, placing the second mask on my face. “Just breathe.”

  After several minutes, the lull of sleep passes. Only sheer fatigue remains, but I’m able to get to my feet.

  “You all right, kid?” she asks.

  “Let’s just get out of here,” I say, sounding mechanical through the respirator.

  We cautiously tread forward with Ginger leading the way. After a while, the hum of unseen creatures fills the silence of the evening air.

  “Stay away from anything that comes close,” she shouts over the growing roar of gears grinding on one another. We swat away anything that buzzes near us, but the swarm grows thicker, making it hard to decipher what is flitting around us.

  Soon, I lose track of Ginger. The swarm has become so dense, I can’t see my own hand in front of my face. I call out to her, and she responds just ahead of me. I rush forward, and she comes into view. On the shoulder of her mechnosuit, an exquisite gold butterfly flutters its ornate wings. The decorative design matches the burn marks on my hand.

  “On your shoulder,” I say, in awe of the insect’s beauty. “It’s stunning.”

  Another settles on the broken shield of her suit. Even beyond the glass I see her face pale. “That thing is hardly stunning. It’s deadly,” she says. Frantically, she flicks a lever on her console. Barbed spears erupt from the left arm of her suit and spin blindingly fast, sending sparks into the air as they strike the metal butterflies. Made up of some foreign metal, the flying creatures barely budge when struck.

  With a push of a button on her console, fire erupts from the clawed hand of her armor. In mere seconds, both insects are set ablaze, the metal wings melting like butter.

  My breath catches when she turns her gaze toward me and breaks into a sprint, her torch aimed at my head.

  “Run!” she hollers.

  “Ginger?” I say, terror rendering me motionless.

  Still somewhat foggy from the poppies’ pollen, her advance toward me is halting and jerky.

  “I said run!” she says, shaking me with one hand and batting the robotic butterflies with the other.

  Blindly, I run through the swarm and the dizzying blur of scarlet poppy petals.

  Ginger races nearby. She darts in and out of my vision. Heat stings my face as I dodge the flames of her mechnosuit while she holds the insects back. My foot catches on a rock, and I find myself flat on the ground. Several butterflies flit about, their wings on fire and melting.

  “Watch yourself,” Gingers says as red-hot metal drips just centimeters from me.

  Ginger offers the hand of her mechnosuit to me, helping me to my feet.

  “Let’s go. It isn’t much farther,” she says, breaking into a trot again.

  I follow, but we don’t get very far before several more of the nasty insects fly near her, their spiral tongues straightening into sharp blades. Before either of us can react, they tap on her mechnosuit, creating weblike fissures throughout the thick metal.

  Others surround me, their gossamer wings deceptive of their capabilities. One lands on my left arm, and before I can dodge it, its tongue stabs through my clothes, biting into my skin. Fiery pain explodes in my bones and muscles. Every nerve within my body shrieks in agonizing protest. The scream that bursts from me is deafening. My knees go weak and I drop to the ground. With the little strength I have, I pull an arrow from my quiver and nock it. My vision blurs, smearing the green reflection of my cold-light lantern from the metallic wings of the butterflies. Fighting the pain, my hand shakes, making my aim impossible. The arrow ricochets off the nearly indestructible body of the butterfly.

  “Ginger!” I howl. Nocking another arrow, I take aim at the insect buzzing above me. Suddenly, the image before me splits into dozens of replicates and I don’t know which to kill first.

  Just as the swarm of butterflies blind me in a cloud of gold, I am scooped up from the ground. Within seconds, I feel as if I’m flying, the world whirling by me in a kaleidoscope of colors.

  “Hang on, Gail. We’re almost out of here,” Ginger says.

  The poppies blur beneath me into a sea of red, their petals no longer discernible. I half wonder if I’m awake or in an awful
dream. I close my eyes and breathe through the dulling pain, shutting the world out. At least for now.

  Morning sunlight casts a haunting glow on the grim village below as I pity them from the balcony of my bedroom. Peddlers sell their meager wares in the town center. Coal, grains, and other goods hardly fill their small, rickety wagons. With coins no longer holding value other than for the metal they’re made of, bartering has become the new way of life for this small village.

  They, too, suffer from the effects of the virus. The only difference between here and Umberland is that some adults still live. With the detonation of the biological weapons lab in London, over seven hundred kilometers from Lohr and separated by the North Sea, the impact of the virus has been gradual on the townsfolk. Still, the adults show evidence of infection, including lesions and respiratory difficulties, but they don’t know why. All they know is that they suffer and there is not a thing their queen can do about it.

  Had I just held out a few more days, been a little slower with my trigger finger, I would have known that the cure was mere meters from my hideout in Evergreen. Not only would I be well on my way to health, but I’d have enough to have wagered the favor of everyone. With time, I would’ve had the respect of the entire world. And now I’m back to making bargains and threats to get what I want.

  The thought of how close I was boils my blood.

  If I hope to live long enough to reign, I’ll need that cure from Doc. Sovereignty only arises when there are those who depend on a ruler. What is a queen who has no one to rule over? And until I have something to offer them, they’ll never accept me as their monarch.

  A young woman with an infant in her arms points to the sky. “The Haploraffen have returned!” she yells.

  Appearing on the western horizon, the leader of the Bloodred Queen’s army returns, escorted by a court of his own. There aren’t nearly enough of them to terrorize the community, but their fear is not unwarranted.

  It’s only been a few days, and I’m surprised to see them so soon. The only reason they’d return early is that there is news to be told. I straighten the Haploraffen Halo on my head as they descend on the village.