Everland (10 page)

I scan the blackened and worn rooftops of the nearly demolished suburban neighborhood. “And what about Bella and the boy?” I ask, clenching my fists. Each knuckle pops beneath my gloves.

“We lost them.” Smeeth drops his gaze to the ground, unwilling to meet my eyes.

“You lost them?” I growl. “How can a little girl and an even littler boy get away from my army?”

“I don’t know, Captain,” Smeeth says, shifting from one foot to another. “One minute they were there, the next minute they were gone. There was nowhere for them to go. No buildings or alleys. They just vanished.”

I rocket from my seated position, halting in front of Smeeth. “Vanished? What do you mean
vanished
?” I say, spittle raining down on his face. Spinning, I punch the front grille, leaving four scratches in the metal where my brass rings strike.

Smeeth shudders but doesn’t make eye contact.

Leaning against the Steam Crawler, I snatch my revolver from my hip and methodically spin the cylinder, removing each bullet. “I’m beginning to have my doubts about you, Mr. Smeeth. Maybe I should have let you perish with the rest of your English countrymen.” I pocket the ammunition, leaving only one bullet in the chamber. I knew Smeeth’s days were numbered, but I had hoped to keep him around for just a while longer so that he could be of some further use to me. “I thought I saw something unique in you. It’s not often you find a soldier who will betray his queen. Perhaps I was wrong about you.”

The hammer snaps in place and I lift the barrel of the gun, its aim set on the small spot between Mr. Smeeth’s dark eyes. He gasps as I squeeze the trigger. As the hammer slams back in place, the copper cylinder spins.

Click!

“I’m growing weary of your incompetence. We need those girls now!” I shout.

Smeeth trembles beyond the gun’s barrel.

“You
will
find them. I will not return to Germany empty-handed. Trust me, you wouldn’t want to disappoint my mother, or worse, me!”

Sweat drips from Smeeth’s forehead. “It is my fault we lost them. It won’t happen again.”

Click!

Again the cylinder of the revolver spins.

“I’m certain my reptilian pets would relish fresh meat instead of the rotting corpses that inhabit the sewers,” I say, pulling the hammer back again.

Smeeth’s face blanches as he gives a quick nod. “I understand, Captain.”

Again I pull the trigger.

Click!

The gun doesn’t discharge. “Do you realize how valuable those girls are? They may be the last and are our only ticket out of here.”

Smeeth trembles as he wipes the sweat from his head. “I’ll find them today. I swear!”

Click!

“I cannot, will not, go back to Lohr Castle without a cure. And I refuse to stay in this rotten place any longer. Do you understand me, Mr. Smeeth?” I ask.

“I do, Captain,” Smeeth whispers with the little breath he can take in.

Click!

Smeeth winces as I pull the hammer back.

“Only one chamber left,” I say.

“Wait! Captain, there’s something else!” Smeeth says, shrinking to his knees beneath the gun’s barrel with hands lifted in surrender. “We’ve got another girl. It’s not Bella or the young lass traveling with Pete, but still a girl.”

Surprised, I sit back, keeping my aim on Smeeth. “Another girl?”

“Yes, sir. Found on the outskirts of Everland. She’s on her way to the lab right now.”

I drop the barrel from Smeeth’s head. “Interesting. That’s two girls other than Bella in a few hours. There have been so few of them left, but perhaps I was wrong. Maybe there are other girls. The girls are all but extinct. But I wonder …”

“Wonder what, sir?”

“How many more girls are out there? What if Pete is hiding them? What if he’s being more than just chivalrous, but is protecting the girls because he also knows that one of them is the Immune?” I say as more questions than answers tumble through my thoughts.

“It’s possible,” Smeeth says.

“What sort of condition is she in?” I ask.

Smeeth sighs and stands. “Sick, but better than most. I’d say early stages of the virus based on the information I have received. We won’t know until the Professor has a look at her.”

As if tied to a stone and thrown into the ocean, my hope sinks. She can’t possibly be the girl the Professor is looking for. I rally from my disappointment, reminding myself that sick isn’t dead and there’s still a chance she could be useful. I reach in my pocket, pull the rest of the bullets out, and refill the revolver’s cylinder. “Well done, Smeeth. You’re not completely useless. Do you or your men have any inkling of where Pete, Bella, and the others might be hiding?”

Smeeth’s chest heaves as he breathes a relieved sigh. “Not yet.”

“Find them!”

Smeeth spins, ready to bolt.

“One more thing, soldier,” I say.

He stops and hesitantly turns. “Yes, Captain?”

I stand and slide the door of the Steam Crawler open. Its hinges wail in protest. “Release the crocs.”

Smeeth’s face pales before he nods and hurries off, shouting orders at several soldiers.

My single eye takes in the view, searching for something, some clue I know I must be missing, before I climb into the Steam Crawler. When both doors close, the internal air is drawn out by the engine’s fans. When the whooshing sound dies down, alerting the driver that we are safely within the airtight vehicle, I snatch up a bottle of rum from the center console. Taking a long pull from the bottle, I welcome the warmth as it soothes my temper.

Looking through the windows beyond the gleaming chrome legs of the Steam Crawler, I scan the skeletal remains of homes and businesses. “Where are you, Pete? Where are you hiding those girls?”

The dark cityscape responds in silence, like whispers from lost souls forever trapped in the ruins of London.

B
roken shadows dance on the cracked concrete walls as light flickers from the gas lanterns strung along the ceiling. The rumbling sounds of machinery and the ping of tools upon metal echoes through the small cavern. Pete leads me through the damp, dark channel. The tunnel descends into a rock and dirt passageway, leaving the cement walls and warped metal track behind. As we round one last corner, my breath catches.

The narrow corridor opens up into a vast, well-lit chamber the size of a small town and rises nearly four stories high. Copper pipes zigzag along the ceiling, steam billowing from some of the gears rotating at the joints. Other lines feed water into an underground river that flows into a large turbine. Buildings made of wood, stone, and brick line the circumference of the city’s center. Hanging from each crudely built structure is a wooden sign with words scrawled across it designating its purpose:
STOCK ROOM, KITCHEN, APOTHECARY
, and numerous others. Along one side of the cavern, dozens of caves, each large enough to fit a person, are carved into the dirt walls. Pulleys bolted to the ceiling are threaded with thick ropes attached to rickety lifts, which sit below the cave openings. At least seven other tunnels, not unlike the one we have traveled, are visible from where I stand. In the center of the city, a silver statue of a winged man with a bow is mounted on a large fountain. It takes me a moment to recognize the famous statue of Eros, which once stood in the center of Piccadilly Circus.

The entire city grumbles with machinery, steam hissing from boilers and pipes. In the gas lamplight, the copper and bronze tubes, wheels, and gears glitter, giving the impression of a city made of gold.

Most impressive are the young boys running about their business, repairing boilers, filling carts with supplies, and loading some sort of digging machine with coal. A child no older than ten, wearing a tan aviator hat and goggles, pedals past me on a wobbly tricycle. Attached to the bike is a wooden wagon with mismatched wheels. Tins of food and bags of rice threaten to topple the cart. Two boys hang precariously from ropes attached to the copper pipes as they swing from one gas lamp to the next, refueling as they go. In one corner, a bonfire roars beneath an enormous pot. Above it, pipes spill water into the container until a kid standing at the top of a staircase spins a wheel, shutting off the water supply. As the town buzzes with activity, each child appears to have his own job. The number of children gathered in this small underground city awes me. The last time I saw this many children was the final day of school when the first bombs dropped.

I take in the scene before me, drowning in a cacophony of hissing, grinding, and squealing machine parts. Bella sits on a copper pipe that spans the entire city. She reaches inside her satchel and withdraws a bag of chocolate chip cookies. Using her slingshot, she flings them down to a crowd of small kids, each child waving their hands in the air. “Bella, pick me! I want one!” they shout. My stomach clenches jealously.

Mikey rushes from the city center, his eyes bright with wonder. “Can you believe it, Gwen?” he asks, tugging my hand. “There’s so many of them.”

He’s right. There must be a hundred or more boys. The older boys tote peculiar gadgets on tool belts while the littler children do simpler tasks.

Two boys burst from an adjacent tunnel, not unlike the one we’ve just traveled. Sweat laces their brows while they gasp for breath, as if they’ve just outrun a monster or, worse yet, a Marauder. They drop their rucksacks to the ground and grip their hands awkwardly in what appears to be a secret handshake.

“Scavengers,” Pete whispers, leaning in close to me. “That’s Pickpocket in the waistcoat and Pyro in the jacket. Judging by their rucksacks, they’ve been out for a few days, scavenging beyond Everland’s borders.”

Smaller boys notice their arrival and surround them, mimicking the hand gestures and giddy with excitement. Pyro hefts the bulging rucksacks over his muscular shoulders and heads toward a building with
STOCK ROOM
scribbled in red paint on the piece of wood. The smaller boys squeal with delight as Pickpocket reaches into his pockets and hands out brightly colored marbles.

“Pickpocket!” His name echoes off the stone and concrete walls, drawing the attention of every boy. Another boy, with shoulder-length hair as black as ebony, storms from the stock room. He tosses a lit cigarette into the water at the base of the fountain as he picks up his pace, shoving past Pyro and sprinting toward Pickpocket.

“Uh-oh,” Pete says. “This can’t be good.”

“What’s happening?” I ask.

“I don’t know, but Jack’s the last person you want to piss off around here,” Pete says, starting toward the boys.

Bella watches with wide eyes from her perch, unmoving. Scout leans against the fountain, arms folded and head shaking.

Pickpocket’s smile fades as the little boys scatter.

“Thief!” Jack says before punching Pickpocket square in the jaw.

Pickpocket stumbles back, gripping his chin in his hand. Blood drips from a cut on his chin, leaving a crimson trail on his dark bronze skin. Shock fades to anger on his face. It only takes a second before Pickpocket tackles Jack and they are rolling on the floor, grunting and throwing punches. Pyro drops the rucksacks and attempts to pull Pickpocket off of Jack.

“Cool it, you two!” Pete yells as he bolts toward the boys.

Jack swings a fist and Pickpocket ducks. Pyro doesn’t see the punch coming until Jack’s fist connects with his nose, sending a gush of blood down his mouth and chin.

“Bloody idiot!” Pyro growls, holding his nose.

The altercation takes all of five seconds, but in that short time all three of the boys are bleeding.

Mikey grips my hand tightly as I follow behind at a distance.

“Enough!” Pete yells, trying to wrench Jack from Pickpocket.

Older kids join in the brawl, trying to pry the seething Lost Kids off one another. It eventually takes four boys to separate Pickpocket and Jack.

Pete breathes heavily as he stands between them. “The next person who throws a punch is banished from the Lost City!”

Jack wrests free from the two boys holding him back. His lip is split. He wipes at it with the back of his hand, inspects the bloodred streak, and spits on the ground. He points a finger at Pickpocket. “You stole an extra ration, Pickpocket,” he growls. “The punishment for theft is three days in the stockade.”

Pickpocket rubs his jaw, the open gash marking where Jack’s fist made contact. “I took what I was allotted. Two sets of rations for each day I was gone.”

“You left midday the day before last. You should’ve only had three rations!” Jack juts a finger in Pickpocket’s chest.

Pickpocket swipes Jack’s hand from him. “You’re kidding me? And what were we supposed to eat today? It’s nearly suppertime as it is.”

“And with all of the running we do, it isn’t enough,” Pyro interjects, wiping blood off his face with a handkerchief.

“Oh, give me a break. We all know you Scavengers eat more than your share of the plunder while you’re out. If I were in charge, none of you would receive rations!”

“And that’s exactly why you are only second-in-command. If you were leader, we’d all starve,” Pickpocket says through gritted teeth. He backs up and throws his hands out flippantly. “Checks and balances, Jack. You”—he points at the dark-haired boy—“need to be kept in check.”