The boy pushes off the glass and darts across the residential street. Effortlessly, he leaps over the wooden fence, lands on the top of a rubbish bin, springs onto a second-story balcony, and with the expertise of a gymnast, pulls himself onto the rooftop. Standing on the peak of the two-story Victorian home, he looks back at me with a curious expression. Other than his forest-green coat, its tails fluttering in the wind, he is dressed entirely in black.
The glow of the moon shines on his handsome face. Fixing his gaze on me, he bows and slips a pair of goggles dangling from his neck over his eyes. He holds his cupped hands to his mouth. With the call of a rooster, he cries into the broken clouds and star-embezzled night sky before vanishing over the roof peaks of this suburb. Puzzled, I sit back on my heels and stare at the spot where he stood, half expecting him to reappear. The angry shouts grow louder and another group of military men passes the house. I duck below the sill, risking another glance out the window.
Two soldiers, only a few years older than me, stop just outside of the house.
“Which way did they go?” one of the Marauders asks, peering through the window.
I press my body and face to the dusty carpet. Fear chokes me as I listen to the other soldier respond.
“The girl took off up the street and the boy went over the roof,” the other soldier growls menacingly with a thick, deep German accent behind his helmet.
“Check the backyards for Immunes,” the first soldier says.
“Yes, sir.”
The two Marauders race across the street and climb the fence, disappearing behind the house. I sigh, letting go of the breath I did not know I was holding.
Immunes: the vile name they’ve given to children who have not died of the Horologia virus. We are the survivors of the outbreak and valued for our antibodies. The Marauders are our abductors.
Ten restless minutes slip by before I make my way to the alley behind the house. Sprinting, I keep to the rubbish-littered backstreets, haunted by ethereal shadows cast by jagged rooftops. With the Marauders out patrolling, I backtrack through unfamiliar passageways and find alternative routes. For the last few months, they have hunted for survivors, children orphaned and left on their own in the streets. However, I have never seen soldiers search the suburbs this far outside the borders of what once was London proper. Not London anymore, I remind myself; they call it Everland now.
After an hour, I hide behind a row of hedges and watch for movement along the dark street. I have the uneasy feeling that I am being watched, but see no one. Sprinting to the fire-escape ladder, I scramble as fast as I can, the cold metal leaving its bitter bite on my fingers. When I reach the landing of the fifth floor, I climb through the window frame and throw myself to the concrete floor. I sink my teeth down on my lip, trying to quiet my rapid breathing as I listen for anyone following behind. The night echoes my silence.
I let out a breath, relieved to be greeted with the quiet of our refuge, our sanctuary … for now, at least. Standing, I brush off the dust from my coat. A candle sputters on the far side of the room next to three empty mattresses. The sweet smell of rum stings my nose, and I know instantly something is wrong.
Joanna and Mikey are nowhere to be found.
My gaze darts throughout the room, searching for my brother and sister. I tiptoe across the floor, being as silent as possible. Something large rustles near the shelves to my right. An icy chill races up my spine. My fingers graze the copper hilts of the daggers sheathed on my hips. A whimper emanates from inside the metal rubbish bin. With caution, I lift the lid.
Two watery brown eyes glisten at me, the moonlight reflecting in their frightened gleam.
“Mikey!” I reach for him, pulling him from the bin. A colander covers his head like a helmet and he wears makeshift armor over his tattered pajamas. He looks like he’s ready for war.
“They came, the pirates!” he says, sniffling.
“Not the Marauders,” I beg, my voice weak.
“Joanna said they were pirates. She told me to hide. I did just what she said. I hid in the bin and was as quiet as a dormouse. Even quieter.”
My pulse races and my cheeks flush with panic as I settle Mikey to the floor and dart across the room, searching other hiding spots for my sister.
“Where’s Joanna?” I ask frantically, lifting one of the mattresses.
“They took her,” Mikey says in a fresh burst of tears. “They took her away.”
I run to the window, but the streets are quiet and there is no sign of the Marauders. Mikey rushes me, jumping back in my arms and burying his face in my neck. I look out into the distance and a deep ache festers in the pit of my stomach as a new realization settles over me.
To get my sister back, I will have to return to Everland.
The eight-legged Steam Crawler roars as it maneuvers around the rubble of what was formerly the Victoria Memorial. Its steel and chrome gears shriek to a stop in front of Buckingham Palace, one of the few buildings untouched by the bombs and currently my central command station. While it is nothing like Lohr Castle, the only home I’ve ever known, the palace has served me well for nearly a year.
Sliding the passenger door up, I step from the vehicle and am engulfed in a haze of warm steam bursting from the vehicle’s boiler. The brisk wind of a looming storm whips through my hair, obscuring the vision in my only functioning eye.
Threatening clouds blanket the darkened, early morning sky. Although the gloom has left the spirits of my men restless, I feel charged with anticipation, knowing our days left in Everland are numbered. There is very little reason left to stay. Everland is nothing but rubble.
In the distance, my zeppelin, the Jolly Roger, is being loaded with supplies by dozens of Marauders. The wicked grin of the skull carved into the stern of the ship calls to me, beckoning me to take her away from this ruined city. Metallic gears serving as eyes glitter, reflecting the torches lit within the royal gardens. Propellers spin, and the whir of the zeppelin’s engines serenades the desolate remains of London. Its hum is a symphony to my ears, a tune that vibrates throughout my soul, renewing my resolve.
I am grateful to be granted not only the finest of Queen Katherina’s fleet, but given her personal ship as well. It was a token of her appreciation for my service, she told me. A “gift.” It is the only offering my mother has ever given to me, mute evidence that she wasn’t as evil as I had believed when she took my eye. Perhaps her gift is a gesture of her remorse, but a confession would never cross her lips.
My second-in-command, Bartholomew Smeeth, stumbles behind me droning on and on about something insignificant and extraordinarily annoying. I despise it when he mumbles. He is only a temporary pawn in the grand design. For now, I tolerate him, pretending that I was the fortunate one to have found him trembling in his ridiculous Royal Guard costume beneath the ornate dining room table in Buckingham Palace, sparing his life as he pledged his allegiance to me. A man swayed so easily is a liability. His time as a Marauder will soon be coming to an end.
As we climb the steps to the palace, one of the soldiers coughs within his helmet. I stop and stare, but he’s unwilling to meet my gaze. Like all the Marauders, he, too, will eventually succumb to the Horologia virus, his fingers and lungs ravaged by the disease. A virus that took on a life of its own the day the first bombs dropped, destroying Europe’s largest biological weapons lab. The beginning of the countdown to the end. Within a month, two-thirds of my soldiers were dead. Only the youngest survived, leaving the inexperienced to finish this war. Although no one is older than eighteen, they fight on with fierce determination until it is their turn to meet their maker, a fate none of us will escape.
Unless I have something to say about it.
We pass the masked soldiers guarding the entrance and stop at the gilded front doors of Buckingham Palace.
“The ship’s almost full, Captain. She should be ready to travel soon. The sooner we get out of Everland, the better,” Smeeth says.
“Agreed. Pr
epare them for departure,” I say, storming through the entrance, leaving Smeeth in my wake. The lock gives an audible snap, sealing the palace doors behind me. I push the glass door of the inner chamber and step into the main room.
Gazing out the window, I watch the boilers hiss and columns of mist rise above the army of Steam Crawlers and zeppelins as they prepare for our departure. I reach for my copper-adorned eye patch, the socket as empty as my heart became the day I lost it. My fingers skim the three scars, scratching an itch that never seems to be satisfied. The ridges spark the childhood memory of my mother peering into her mirror, her once-unblemished and smooth skin mocking her as new lines of aging marked the corners of her eyes. Even as the years continued, I thought she was more beautiful with every one that passed.
The reflection next to hers was that of a young boy. It was my thirteenth birthday. After celebrating with the help, my instructors and only friends, I had brought her a gift since she was unable to join the festivities. Cupped in my small hands, I offered her a shiny green apple from the Forbidden Garden. Unbeknownst to me, a lethal substance lay within its peel. It was the last time I recognized the boy who reflected back at me. It was the last time my right eye ever saw her gold, bladelike fingernails that I once admired as they glittered in the sunlight. I never stepped foot into the orchard again.
Happy birthday to me.
I continue farther into the palace, until I reach a steel door. The tumblers click as I turn the key in the lock. When I enter the lab, a fine mist bathes me, washing away any outside contamination. The white walls, floor tiles, and countertops appear orange under the lantern light in the sterile room. Cabinets line the walls, their glass doors revealing bottles of medicine and other medical supplies. A single hospital bed sits against the wall. The stainless steel sink reflects the twinkle of lamp fire.
The Professor doesn’t flinch as I step inside the room. She doesn’t startle like she did during the early days of her imprisonment. Instead, she simply refuses to acknowledge my presence and studies her notes in a spiral binder, her auburn hair pulled back from her face. I often wonder if she’s become comfortable with my company, or if she’s so engrossed in her studies that she doesn’t hear me enter. Either way, I can’t help but find myself staring at her, infuriated by her lack of interest in my presence.
She is the same age as my mother, but other than that the Professor is nothing like her. As dark as my mother’s hair, eyes, and heart are, the Professor is equally the opposite. She possesses wild hair, bright eyes, and a nurturing demeanor with the kids my men bring to her. Her kindness to the children both maddens and intrigues me.
“Pack the lab up. We’re leaving Everland for good,” I say.
The Professor’s gaze flicks toward me and she does a double take, suddenly noticing me. Her eyes become wide and glassy.
“Leaving?” she asks.
“I’ve done what I came here to do. We will return to the Bloodred Queen tonight!”
She shakes her head and presses her lips together. “I am not going anywhere with you.”
“Trust me, I’d leave you here in a heartbeat. You’ve accomplished nothing close to finding a cure. Consider it an act of mercy that I don’t abandon you in Everland,” I say, tamping down a burst of fury. I head to the door, afraid to turn back. Afraid she’ll call my bluff. Even after all her failures, she’s still the best chance at finding a cure.
She follows behind, grips my arm, and spins me toward her. “We can’t leave yet. Your soldiers are dying, along with the remaining children of Everland. This virus is bound to kill all of us unless I find a cure. I have to stay!”
Her defiance stirs a burning ember within me, threatening to erupt into an infernal rage. No one challenges me and lives to tell about it. I slam my hand onto the counter. She takes several steps back.
“You’ve had months to figure it out. The best you’ve come up with is a means to treat the symptoms. All this time you’ve searched for immunity in the kids and you’ve come up with nothing! I’m tired of this forsaken city. We go home now!”
She glances down at her scarred and scabbed hands, evidence of her own infection, which she’s managed to keep at bay. For how much longer, I am not sure. I start again for the door.
“Wait!” she says, her voice hitching. “If we leave today, there will be no hope for any of us, not without a cure. I know how to develop it, but what I need is here … in Everland.”
“Why?” I ask, meeting her gaze. “What’s here that you so desperately need?”
The Professor bites her bottom lip.
Fury explodes within me and before I know it, I have stormed toward the Professor, peering down at her. My hands grip her shoulders and she whimpers. “Tell me!”
She hesitates. I dig my fingers into her flesh. “Now!” I shout.
“If we leave, we will all die. But there is one person, one child, who can save us all.”
Rage due to her months of lying boils over, and I shout, “Who? Who is it?”
Her eyes search mine and reluctance gives way. “Immunity lies in a single girl, the only one who was vaccinated for the virus.”
“A girl? And you can’t create a cure without her?” I ask, releasing the Professor.
She straightens her lab coat. Her eyes meet mine and the fear is gone. She takes a breath before she speaks.
“I’ve tried. Without her, we’re all as good as dead.”
I gently set Mikey down and slip my rucksack off my shoulders. Despite the chill of the early morning air, beads of sweat trickle down my face. I wipe them away with the back of my hand, trying to hide the mounting alarm racing through me.
“What are we going to do?” Mikey says. He rubs his nose on the sleeve of his threadbare blue pajamas.
“Don’t worry. We’re going to go find her,” I say, hearing the apprehension in my voice.
“How?” Mikey asks. “There must be a bazillion pirates out there.”
“I don’t know. We’ll figure it out,” I say, attempting to reassure him. Frantically, I untie the top of my rucksack and empty its contents onto the floor to make room for only the essential supplies. Mikey pushes the umbrella aside and picks up the dusty old teddy bear, snuggling it to his chest.
“Can I keep it?” he asks, his eyes still red and swollen.
I consider telling him to leave it behind, that we can only afford to carry necessary supplies. But looking into his tear-streaked face and the single button eye on the bear, I don’t have the heart to deny him this simple luxury. I nod and continue to fill my rucksack with the supplies from the shelf. As I lift a small sack of rice, a family of cockroaches scurries for cover. I brush away one that clings to the bag. In spite of the bugs, my mouth waters over our meager amount of food, but I push away my overwhelming desire to eat. This food is for Joanna and Mikey. I can live on less, have lived on less.
As if on cue, my stomach gives an audible growl while I’m putting a tin of tuna into my bag, reminding me that it’s been days since my last meal. There is no time to worry about the small discomfort of hunger, though. The Marauders could be back at any time and the coal-black night is beginning to fade as the first hint of dawn paints the horizon. Giant clouds in the distance warn of an impending storm.
Mikey tugs my sleeve with a trembling hand. “Gwen, I don’t want to go out there. What if they catch us? They’ll feed us to the crocodiles!”
I pull him into my arms and hug him tight. “They won’t get us, I promise. I’ll keep you safe. And there are no crocodiles running around Everland. That is just a silly tale.”
Something stirs to my left, sending a renewed dose of hot adrenaline coursing through my veins.
“Hide,” I whisper to Mikey, shoving him aside. He runs and fades into the dark shadows on the other side of the room. Snatching my dagger, I whirl toward the noise. In the window, a person sits with his back against the metal frame. The small amount of moonlight still left in the early morning lights up his silhouette, casting his l
ong shadow on the concrete floor. It stretches toward me and falls on my leather boots. I aim my blade at him.
“Who are you?” I demand.
The boy, not much older than me, seventeen at the most, steps close enough that I can make out his sharp facial features. His lips turn up in a cocky grin, and I immediately recognize him.
“It’s you,” I say with surprise. “You’re the boy the Marauders were chasing.”
He gives a dramatic bow. “In the flesh.”
Noticing that I have let my blade drop, I point it back at him.
“Well, that’s no way to treat a guest in your home,” the boy says, lifting his aviator goggles from his face and perching them atop his head. He surveys our cramped home, wrinkling his nose in disapproval. “If that’s what you call this landfill. Not much of a house at all, is it? And it stinks.”
“What do you want? Supplies? Food? We have barely enough for ourselves. You might as well leave or …” My threat sounds unconvincing even to me. Biting the inside of my cheek, I remind myself that I must protect Mikey. “I’ll kill you!”
He folds his arms, his face still shadowed in the dark room. “Kill me? I hardly think anyone could leave a scratch on me, much less a girl like you.”
“You underestimate me,” I say, jabbing my dagger toward him. He doesn’t flinch.
“Do I?” he asks, pacing in front of the window. “First, you leave me at the mercy of Captain Hook’s dirty dogs. Now you have a blade on me. A dull one, from what I can see. Is that how you normally thank someone who’s saved your hide?”
“Saved my hide? You did nothing of the sort. What do you want?”
He doesn’t have time to answer before footfalls clatter on the fire escape outside the window. I pull a second dagger from the sheath on my hip, aiming it at the window.
Everland Page 2