Everland

by Wendy Spinale

  “Did you find anything, Pete?” asks a high-pitched voice from the gap in the wall. I glance around the boy’s frame and see a young blond girl hop through the opening. It’s the girl from the alley. Now that she’s in front of me, I notice her mirrored goggles perched on top of her head, her dirty white tunic, dusty trousers, and heavy leather boots. The outline of her mechanical wings peeks above her tiny shoulders, their metallic sheen glittering in the moonlight.

  When she sees me, the girl sprints forward, positioning herself between me and the boy. She pulls a slingshot from her belt. Her brows furrow and bright blue eyes narrow as she studies me.

  “You’d better not touch him or else you’re going to have to deal with me,” she says, pulling the elastic back on her slingshot. A steel ball sits in the pocket, aimed at my head. “I assure you, I’m the best shot in all of Everland. Perhaps all of England.”

  The boy laughs, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right, Bella. She isn’t going to hurt us.” She doesn’t drop her aim. He steps around the little girl and holds his hand out, unfazed by my knives. “I’m Pete. This is Bella.”

  I take another step back, nearly tripping over the umbrella lying on the floor. Steadying myself, I kick the umbrella and the rest of my scavenged supplies out of my way. “How did you find me?”

  Pete drops his hand and frowns. “I followed you, of course.” He strides to the shelves and rifles through our supplies. “You really ought to cover your tracks better,” he says, picking up a tin of corn. He shakes the container next to his ear, grimaces, sets it back on the shelf, and starts to grab another.

  I step in front of him, gripping my daggers tightly. “I’d advise you to step away from our supplies, boy,” I say through gritted teeth.

  He brushes my weapons away with a swipe of his hand and reaches over my shoulder for another tin. Again he listens to the contents rattle inside. “My name is Pete, not ‘boy,’ and didn’t we already go over that part? You’re planning to slice and dice me with those butter knives of yours, yada yada.”

  He’s called my bluff. I’ve done a number of things in order to survive, but I’ve never hurt anyone. I had hoped I’d never have to. Unable to bring myself to stab him, I kick him in the shin with the toe of my boot instead.

  “Ow!” he yelps, dropping the tin and clutching his leg. “What was that for?”

  Bella raises her slingshot again. “You really are asking for trouble, Immune.”

  I stand a little straighter and ignore Bella’s threat. “What did you mean when you said I ought to cover my tracks? I’ve managed to outwit the Marauders for the past year,” I say, sheathing one of my daggers but keeping the other pointed at him, just in case.

  “Is that so? It’s a bloody miracle you’ve lasted at all. Explain those to me,” he says, pointing at the concrete floor. Shoe prints dance across the cement in a clumsy display. Now my own muddy boot prints overlap them. Something sour blooms in my stomach as I silently berate myself. I practically led the Marauders to our hideout. It’s my fault Joanna is gone. How could I have been so careless?

  “You left a trail of them behind you, and no offense, but if you don’t want to be found, you might consider showering the next time the rain comes in. I could smell you from three blocks away. When was the last time you washed your …” He takes my hand in his and shock spreads across his face as he examines my fingers. I jerk back and push him away.

  Bella drops her aim and smirks at me. “True story,” she says with a wrinkle of her freckled nose.

  My cheeks flame as I remember my reflection in the mirror earlier, and I hug myself, hoping to hide the scent I must have become so familiar with that I hardly smell it anymore.

  Pete stares at my hands folded into my arms. When his gaze doesn’t shift, I hide my hands behind my back. His eyes flick to mine before he turns his attention back to our meager supplies and steps around me.

  “Another thing: It’s polite to say thank you when someone saves your life,” he says, tossing a tin to Bella. She begins to place it in a pouch attached to her hip.

  “Hey! That belongs to me!” I seize the tin from her and put it in my own bag. She squints in anger. I ignore her and turn my dagger to Pete. “And what do you mean you saved my life?”

  Pete sifts through the contents on the shelves. “First off, quit pointing that thing at me,” he says, sounding more amused than annoyed. “Second, we aren’t here to hurt you. Third, do you really think I would be crowing on a rooftop in an attempt to draw the Marauders’ attention away from you if I wasn’t trying to help you? If I had slunk away unseen, Hook’s Marauders would have found you in a heartbeat. You’d be in Everland strapped to a cot with tubes snaking out of you. Unless you aspire to become a human pincushion, you should be thanking us, Immune.”

  He picks up the half-full canister of pasta and tosses it to Bella. I catch it in midair, stashing it in my rucksack.

  “Don’t call me that!” I say, pushing Pete aside. “Get out of my way.” I grab a small first aid kit, a tin of beans, and what’s left of the rice, shoving them in my bag.

  “Call you what?” Pete gives me a mocking grin that screams to be slapped, but I refrain.

  “Do. Not. Call. Me. Immune.” I enunciate each word with a jab of my finger into his chest.

  Bella cocks her head to one side. “That is what you are, isn’t it? That’s what Hook would call you,” she says, grabbing the rice from my bag and stuffing it into hers.

  “And who is Hook anyway?” I continue, clutching my rucksack to my chest.

  Bella puts her hands on her hips and stares at me incredulously. “Who’s Hook? For an Immune, you sure don’t know much, do you?”

  I stare at her, speechless.

  Bella gives an exaggerated sigh. “The leader of the Marauders. Hanz Otto Oswald Kretschmer. H-O-O-K,” she says, spelling out each letter. “Get it now? HOOK. Or at least that’s what we call him.”

  “Kretschmer? You’ve nicknamed Captain Kretschmer? Is she serious?” I ask.

  Pete laughs. “Entirely, and I wouldn’t question Bella if I were you, Immune. You don’t want to be on her bad side. She might be small for a twelve-year-old, but she’s a fighter.”

  “I told you to stop calling me that.”

  “I don’t know what else to call you,” Pete says, draping an arm over Bella’s shoulder. “Here Bella and I have been polite, introduced ourselves, saved you, and you still haven’t told us your name.” He clicks his tongue. “What poor manners you have. Didn’t your mother teach you anything? Where are your folks, anyway? Did they run like the others?” He grabs a book of matches from the shelf and hands it to Bella.

  My face grows warm with anger. I clutch my father’s military tags, feeling the bite of the chain in the palm of my hand. The metal brings forth my last memory of my father. Just before the first bombs dropped over London, he kissed my forehead, slipped his military tags around my neck, and told me he must protect the Queen of England. Pride glistened in his eyes as the front door shut, leaving me behind to care for my siblings. Promises of returning never fulfilled.

  I swallow my rage. “Dead,” I say under my breath to keep Mikey from hearing, not wanting to dash his hopes of their survival. For now at least. The truth is much too painful.

  Bella and Pete exchange an odd glance and stare back at me.

  I sigh and go back to packing my bag. “Aren’t all the adults dead? Parents, soldiers … even Her Majesty hasn’t been seen or heard from since the war started.”

  Pete and Bella remain quiet, as if waiting for me to continue.

  “Dad was a staff sergeant in Her Majesty’s Armed Forces. Mum was a doctor, a researcher of some sort. Neither came home the day the war started. End of story. What concern is it of yours, anyway?”

  Pete swallows and dips his chin to his chest, seeming to contemplate what to say next. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says in almost a whisper. It is the first time his voice is devoid of sarcasm, which takes me b
y surprise. He grips Bella by the hand and she gazes up at him with affection. “Mine are gone, too. Have been for several years now. And Bella here, I found her hiding in a hollowed-out tree trunk a few days after the bombs fell. Her parents didn’t make it either.”

  The hurt on his face reflects the same deep ache I feel: a dark, vacant chasm my parents once filled. Bella kicks at a clump of mud on the floor and doesn’t look up. I think of the numerous nights my brother cried in his sleep, calling out for our parents and being comforted by both Joanna and me. I can’t imagine what Bella, just a child herself, must have felt hiding all alone with no one to reassure her everything would be all right. She would’ve been eleven. Not nearly old enough to care for herself alone.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, too,” I say softly. Another uncomfortable silence hangs in the air. Finally, I notice the book of matches in Bella’s hand and snatch it from her. “But that doesn’t mean you can take our supplies.”

  “Gwen?” Mikey whispers from around the corner of the shelves.

  “I told you to hide,” I hiss. An injured expression crosses his face, and he shrinks back into the darkened corner, hiding behind the dirty teddy bear. I immediately regret snapping at him. When did I become so quick to hostility?

  “Gwen?” Pete asks, looking at me quizzically. “That’s not much better than Immune, if you ask me.”

  Glaring at him, I grab another item from the shelf, a photograph of my family. “How did you two survive, anyway? Most of the children have been abducted or fled with their families. I haven’t seen anyone in months,” I say.

  Pete peers over my shoulder at the picture without answering.

  “Hmm, you have a sister, too? She’s cute for a Little. Is she hiding in here also?” Pete asks, stealing the photo from my hand. “Come out, come out, wherever you are, Little.”

  Searching the bottom shelf, Bella groans and tosses a thimble, which she seems to deem useless. She stashes a sewing kit into her satchel.

  “A Little?” I ask, reaching for the photograph. Pete holds it out of my reach, inspecting it carefully.

  “That’s what Pete calls all the kids who aren’t teenagers,” Bella says, peering over his shoulder. “Kids like me. At least until next year.”

  “So where is she?” Pete asks, his brows raised.

  “She’s not here,” I say, snatching the photo from Pete’s hand. I glide my finger over the familiar face in the picture. Joanna’s curly hair hangs haphazardly in her face. She smiles brightly as she leans her head on our Newfoundland puppy, Nanny, another casualty of the war. A lump grows in my throat and tears spring to my eyes. I shove the photo into my pack and swallow back the pain. There’s no time for tears.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but Joanna’s been taken.” I brush Pete aside, sheathe my dagger, fling my rucksack over my shoulders, and take Mikey by the hand. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we need to find our sister.”

  I swing a leg over the window ledge, but a hand jerks me back, sending me crashing to the floor. When I look up, Pete has my bag in his hand. He kneels, his eyes drilling into me.

  “You’re coming with us,” he says matter-of-factly.

  “What?” I stare at him, stunned. Anxiety prickles my skin like a swarm of fire ants, and my fingers graze my daggers.

  His face draws close to mine. “You don’t plan to march into the city and rescue your sister with a couple of dull daggers, do you?”

  “I’ll find another weapon on the way.” I grab for my pack, but he brushes my hand aside.

  “Do you really believe you and your kid brother can get her back all by yourself? It’s only a matter of time before you’re caught, too.” Pete hands me my bag. “Most survivors have learned the two rules to staying alive. Number one: Don’t leave behind a footprint. Bella and I stick to the rooftops. Others, those that are skilled with weapons and can run fast …”

  “And have stomachs of steel,” Bella interjects, wrinkling her nose.

  “Those Scavengers utilize the sewage systems,” Pete finishes.

  “There are other people?” Mikey asks, tugging on Pete’s coattail.

  “Of course there are others,” Bella says with exasperation in her voice. “Lots of them. All kids, obviously. You don’t think the four of us are the only ones left in England, do you?”

  “Where are the other kids?” Mikey asks, his expression wild with curiosity.

  Pete beckons us to the window. Mikey follows and, with reluctance, I join them. In the distance, the crumbled buildings of Everland rise toward the sky like steel, concrete, and brick tombstones. The navy-blue hues of night have faded into lavender as the sun on the horizon chases away what is left of the evening stars. Only two twinkling points remain. Pete points to the west.

  “Second to the right,” he says. “Just below it.”

  “You’re telling me there are children hiding in Everland?” I ask in disbelief. “Why would they remain in the city? That’s the first place the Marauders would search. The children are practically right under Kretschmer’s nose.”

  “Not Kretschmer. Hook,” Bella corrects.

  Pete rubs his stubbled chin. “Quite literally under his nose, in fact. They’re not in Everland, they’re beneath it.”

  Staring out into the distance, I try to imagine orphaned children living underneath the decimated city. “How is that remotely possible?”

  Bella shrugs and says, “We live in the Underground and within the Lost City.”

  “The Underground? As in the railway? I thought the tunnels were destroyed during the war,” I say.

  “That’s only partially true,” Pete says, sitting on the frame, his legs dangling outside the window. “Many were destroyed, but some of the tunnels survived the bombing. A few of the secret bunkers are still intact, too.”

  He leans forward, his eyes gleaming. “The bunkers and tunnels are much more than concrete holes in the earth now. We have a team of Tinkers, engineers who have built an entire city beneath Everland. A city in which a hundred kids thrive. Clean water, food, shelter.” He glances down at Mikey. “Safety.”

  When he looks back at me, his gaze locks with mine. “You are going to be our guests.”

  “Guests?” Mikey asks, excitement brightening his expression.

  Pete smiles, the first rays of morning lighting the left side of his face in a golden radiance. “We’re taking you to the Lost City.” He stands in the window frame and extends his hand out to me.

  Bella, blowing a puff of air, ruffles the fringe hanging in her face. “We? More like you. I didn’t invite them,” she says, climbing into the window frame.

  “The Lost City?” I ask in wonder. The thought of a city run by children seems unimaginable, like a fairy tale.

  “It’s where all of the orphans go,” Pete says. “It’s where Bella and I call home. The Lost City is all that’s left for us, or at least what the Marauders haven’t claimed as their own. Luckily, they have no idea that it exists. It’s a place for the survivors of the war and the Horologia virus, the children who have no parents. They can, they will, help get your sister back.”

  Doubtful, I eye him warily. “You’re kidding. How can a bunch of children help get Joanna back?”

  He beams. “I guess you’re just going to have to trust me.”

  “Trust you? You must be mad. How do I know you’re being truthful about the Lost City? For all I know this is a trick and you’re aligned with the Marauders. You could take us straight to Hook. And even if you’re not one of those horrid pirates, two less people in the city to fight over supplies would only benefit you, isn’t that right?” I say, brushing Mikey behind me.

  Pete crosses his arms. “If I were in with Hook or wanted less competition, I would’ve made sure Hook’s men found you in that abandoned home, and Mikey would be fending for himself.”

  Mikey peeks around me, frowns, and grips my hand tighter.

  Bella sighs. “While I would like to see you left behind, I don’t want to wa
it around here any longer.” She reaches into her leather satchel and holds out a clenched fist. Her tiny gloved fingers open slowly. Gold powder shimmers in morning rays of sunlight like fairy dust. Speechless, I look at Bella and back at Pete.

  “It looks like gold,” Mikey says, running a finger through the sparkling powder. “Did you find a pirate’s treasure chest?”

  “Sort of. You’ve heard of the Bank of England, right?” Bella asks.

  Mikey nods.

  “Well, this is only a bit of the thousands of gold bars beneath the building. Cogs says the gold is too soft to make anything practical. He ground the gold bars into powder for me so when I scavenge, I dust the path ahead of me to decide how far I have to jump. All I need is a bit of moon or lamplight to reflect off it.” Bella pulls the lever on the straps of the rocket pack and her wings eject, sputtering to life. From far away, I didn’t realize how truly remarkable they were, but up close I’m awestruck by their beauty. Her wings are made of copper piping intricately designed with sweeping loops, brightly polished cogs, and a stunning mechanical clock. A thin film covers the mechanisms in each wing, and as the early morning light hits it, the coating shimmers in a show of bright colors.

  “Who’s Cogs?” Mikey asks.

  “He’s a Tinker, a boffin of sorts. Our chief engineer, to be exact,” Pete says. “Cogs is a smart chap who fiddled in robotics and electronics before the war. He’s in charge of operations in the Lost City.”

  Shouts erupt in the distance. The familiar squeal of gears grinding against one another from the Marauder’s Steam Crawlers echoes through the labyrinth of buildings. Pete stands taller in the window, searching the streets. His forehead wrinkles. “It’s time to go,” he says, adjusting the straps of his pack over his shoulders.

  “I don’t know,” I reply, hesitant as I turn toward Mikey. He stares at me with an anxious expression and pulls his teddy into his chest, fiddling with the single button eye. “How can I trust you?” I ask Pete.