Everland (18 page)

T
he 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 briefest 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.”

Bella pulls another steel shot from her pouch and places it in the pocket of the slingshot. “The only agreeable outcome is a hole in your skull,” she shouts. “It’s just you and me, Hook. I’m done running from you. You wanted me, now you have me.” She pulls back on her slingshot, aiming right at me.

“It’s not you I’m after!” I holler, hoping she believes my pretense.

Bella lowers her slingshot warily.

I steal a glance over the roof of the tank, my hands raised. “All I want is the girl with Pete! Nothing else. Just tell me where I can find her.”

“Gwen? What do you want with her?” Bella yells. Her hair flutters in the wind as a gust nearly sends her off balance.

“What does it matter? Tell me where she is and I’ll leave you alone, forever,” I say a little too flippantly. I’ve got to pull it together. Convince her that
she
needs
me
, not the other way around. “I’ll leave Everland to you
and
Pete.”

Another gust whips through the night air. Bella crouches, trying to maintain her balance. When she regains her footing, she raises her slingshot, but even from this far I can see her tremble. She’s angry with me, and I don’t know why. I’m failing. If I ever want to get near her, to take her to the Professor, I need to tap into what’s important to her.

“By the way, where is your sidekick? You and Pete are inseparable. Yet here you are alone,” I call up to her.

She furiously wipes at her face with her arm—tears, I have to assume—and she readjusts her slingshot.

“She’s come between you two, hasn’t she?” I ask, trying for sympathy while shouting.

As if to answer me, Bella buries her face in her hands.

Stepping out from behind the tank, I fold my hands behind my back. “Poor, poor Bella. So unappreciated. So unloved. I can see the pain she’s brought.”

She peers at me and wipes her nose on her sleeve.

“Tell me where she is, Bella, and I’ll leave Everland for good. No more hiding, no more running from me. Everland will be yours. And as an added bonus, I’ll take the little vixen with me. She’ll never come between you and Pete again.”

Bella brushes another tear from her cheek. She stands at the edge of the tower and takes aim. “I’ll never, ever side with you, Hook!” She pulls the elastic of the slingshot back as a gust of wind ruffles her shirt. She staggers and drops her slingshot, sending it hurling ninety meters to the ground. Screaming, she sways forward once more, her knees collapsing underneath her. She reaches for a lever on her rocket pack, but misses. Another gust rolls over her tiny body, sending her over the edge. Her copper wings clip the ledge hard, shooting springs and cogs in every direction and shattering the iridescent film. Bella grips the edge of the bell tower just in time, her small feet kicking beneath her.

My chest clenches, my breath catches, and adrenaline courses through me. She’s going to die right here in front of me.
If she dies, we all die
. The Professor’s words echo in my mind. What if Bella is the Immune?

I take several steps toward the tower, determined to save her, to catch her before her body splinters into pieces on the ground below. I know I’ll never make it in time, but I must try. I bolt for the fence, throwing myself over it. I land hard on the concrete and look up.

As Bella’s about to plummet, two hands reach for her from the dim shadows of the bell tower, grabbing her by her wrists. A moment later she is pulled inside the belfry. I breathe a sigh of relief, but the respite doesn’t last.

“Someone else is in there!” I shout. “Surround the building, secure every exit, and someone get up to the tower. If Pete’s in there with her, bring him back alive.”

The soldiers race toward the tower, climbing the wrought-iron fence like a tidal wave cresting a levee wall. The masked men surge forward over debris and shattered glass. There’s nowhere for her to go. She’s as good as mine.

“Two girls down, one to go,” I say.

A
curl of dirt and dust rises through the opening. My lungs seize, leaving me in a fit of coughs. Multiple hands grab my arms and hurl me through the entrance of the sewer. The crash of wooden beams, rock, and metal scaffolding erupts behind me. I crouch, gasping for air and brushing the dirt from my clothes.

“That was close. Are you all right?” Mole asks, placing a gentle hand on my arm.

“I’m okay,” I say, running my fingers through my kinky curls, pulling out pebbles.

“Well, I guess we’re not going back that way,” Pickpocket says, peering at the wreckage beyond the sewer opening.

Mole bites his lip. “How are we going to get back to the Lost City?”

“There’s another entrance about three kilometers from here,” Jack says. “It’s a little narrow, but we can get through it.”

Pete slams the metal hatch and spins the wheel, locking the entrance shut. I’m about to ask him why the hatch is even there when a hiss slithers through the tunnels of the dark sewer system and answers my question. The wide-eyed expressions on all of the boys’ faces lets me know that I’m not the only one who heard the noise.

“What was that?” Mole says, biting at the frayed cuff of his coat.

“This isn’t good,” Pete says. “We need to get out of here.”

He leads the way, splashing through foul, murky water. I take Mole by the hand to ensure he doesn’t fall behind. The knee-high muck seeps into my boots as I follow. From a nearby tunnel, something growls and then splashes into the water. My pulse quickens.

“What is that?” I ask.

Pickpocket places a hand on my back and urges me on. “Trust me, you don’t want to find out. Keep moving.”

I trudge forward in the sludge, taking two thick steps, but halt when a reptilian hiss travels up the brick tunnel.

“They’re getting closer!” Doc says, looking over his shoulder, his face white with panic.

“They? There’s more than one?” I shift uncomfortably. “And who exactly are they?”

“We’ve got to pick up the pace,” Jack says, passing Pete.

Taking Jack’s lead, the group starts to jog, grunting as they struggle to lift their water-soaked boots. I glance behind me, making sure that Mole and Pyro are still close. While Mole is right on my heels, Pyro stops at a brick archway and rips a stick of dynamite from his belt.

“We’re not going to make it. We’ve got to blockade them,” Pyro says. He runs his fingers across the stones until he finds a crevice in the archway.

“Pyro! Get back here!” Pete shouts.

Pyro ignores him and pulls out a box of matches. “Give me thirty seconds!”

Doc holds a hand up. “Do you hear that?”

The sewer is eerily quiet. Even the rats seem to have gone into hiding, sensing danger.

“I don’t think they’re gone,” Mole whispers.

Pete takes Jack’s lantern and sidles through our group, taking a few steps toward Pyro. “Pyro, I command you to rejoin the group. That’s an order!”

Pyro nods. “Ten more seconds. That’s all I need!” As Pyro lights the fuse of the dynamite, something slithers in the dark, cloudy water behind him.

“Pyro, run!” Pete shouts.

It’s too late. Sharp, serrated teeth clamp down on Pyro’s leg. His bloodcurdling scream shatters the silence as the crocodile drags him under the water. A second reptile, larger than the other, snaps down on Pyro’s arm as he reaches out toward us, pleading for help.

“No!” Pete screams. He starts to run through the water as the crocodiles drag Pyro farther down the tunnel. Pickpocket holds him back.

“It’s too late! We have to go!” Pickpocket says, staring at the dwindling fuse. “Go! Go! Go!”

We rush forward, our waterlogged boots splashing through the murky sludge. Pete struggles in Pickpocket’s grip, fighting to break free. Jack takes Pete’s other arm, and the two Lost Boys drag Pete away as he screams for Pyro.

“No! We can’t leave him!” Pete yells. “Pyro! Come back!”

“He’s gone, Pete. We have to get out of here,” Jack says.

Pete refuses to look away from the crimson-tinted water and thrashing reptiles as the Lost Boys encourage him to duck around a corner.

“Hurry, take cover,” Doc says, pushing everyone ahead, into another passageway.