Everland(14)

“I need you to look after her,” he says, tilting his head toward Bella. “She needs a brave soldier, a Lost Boy, to protect her. I know you can do it. Can I count on you?”

His kindness surprises me, and I feel the ire brewing in me shift.

“I don’t need looking after,” Bella argues. Her voice teeters on revealing our hiding spot.

Pete takes her petite hand into his. “We all could use an extra pair of eyes watching our backs. Where would I be without you? How many times have you gotten me out of a jam? Once? Twice?”

“More like a thousand,” she mutters. Bella kicks at a pile of stones from the crumbled structure behind us and curses under her breath. “Okay, fine. I am a damsel in distress and need your help. Without you, I’m bound to become Hook’s next victim, and I’ll never ever get away,” she says in a quiet singsong tone, waving a gloved hand in the air. “So, what’ll it be? You with me or not?” She playfully punches Mikey’s shoulder.

Mikey tilts his head and looks at me, seeking my approval. Even though I know he’s frightened, he rolls his shoulders back and stands up a little straighter. There’s a change in his expression, and suddenly he’s not a little boy but something stronger, braver.

I nod my consent, even though my stomach aches at the thought of leaving him behind.

Squeezing his bear to his chest with one arm, Mikey pulls the umbrella from the pack on his back with his other hand. He holds it in front of him as if it were a sword. “I will guard her with my life,” he says, his small voice unwavering.

I wrap my arms around him, hugging him tight as the nagging feeling that this might be the last time I will ever see him whispers in my head. “Mum and Dad would be so proud of you,” I say quietly. “If they could only see how grown up …” My words catch in my throat. I swallow them back. He’s too little to be a grown-up. I am supposed to be the brave one. Mikey’s sad face reflects the ache within me. Dropping my arms, I step back to take one last look at him, but I don’t get the opportunity.

“We need to go now!” Pete says, shoving me out of the bushes. I stumble from our hiding place before regaining my balance. The sting of sheer terror adds to the dull pang of hunger. A half-dozen soldiers stare at us through their goggled helmets, a few of them stopping midstride, as if unsure what to do next.

I step back, panic imploring me to run. “What have you done? They’ve spotted us!”

“That’s the whole point.” Pete crosses his arms and gives a bellowing laugh that echoes through the narrow street. “It’s about time you yobs arrived. What took you so long? Hide-and-seek gets awfully boring waiting for you to show up.” Pete taps the leather cuff watch on his wrist, his fingernail audibly clicking against the intricate gears. “Tick tick.”

The soldiers lift their weapons, their chrome barrels taking aim at us. I struggle to catch a breath as two other soldiers emerge from the crowd: a tall, muscular boy a bit older than me and a short, maskless boy. Both have bronze-and-chrome Gatling guns wrapping around a single arm. While the shorter one is dressed in a similar dark and metallic uniform as the other Marauders, the other wears a long, leather military coat adorned with brass buckles and buttons. Although the soldiers’ armor is intimidating, the sight of the leather-clad boy makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I know immediately who he is.

Up until today he has been the faceless boogeyman from my nightmares, a distorted illusion formed by rumors on the streets the days after the bombs fell. Seeing him up close for the first time, he is more terrifying than I imagined. I can make out every detail, including his tan skin, square jaw, and black hair. Three long scars rake across the right side of his face, disappearing beneath an eye patch. Despite his ominous demeanor, it is his dark, single eye that frightens me most.

I have no doubt that the boy who stands before me is the leader of the Marauders. Hook. My heart sinks and my limbs feel heavy, unable to move. The Marauder’s good eye grows wide before he bursts into a fit of laughter. The shorter soldier steps next to him.

“Blimey, it’s him, Captain!” the soldier says. His English dialect betrays him. He is one of our own. My stomach lurches at his treachery. “It’s Pete!”

“Indeed, it is, Mr. Smeeth, and a girl,” the Captain says in a mocking tone, his dark eye narrowing on me.

“A girl?” Pete says, staring at me with a quizzical expression. “Who? Her? Or are you referring to that pathetic sidekick of yours?”

Smeeth lunges toward us but is stopped by Hook’s outstretched arm. The Captain rubs his chin. “You keep foul company for a girl.” He tilts his face toward the sky, as if sniffing the air. “I thought I smelled chicken.”

The other soldiers snicker in unison. A few howl a rooster call, mockingly.

Pete cackles, unintimidated by the Marauders. “Let me introduce you to Captain Hook himself and his little trollop. Nice to run into you again, Bartholomew.”

I try to distance myself from the soldiers, walking backward slowly, but Pete grips my elbow tightly. A tremble rips through my body as terror floods my veins. I had hoped I’d never have to meet the Captain beyond my nightmares.

Smeeth flinches. “That would be Mr. Smeeth to you,” he says, lifting his arm and aiming the menacing Gatling gun at us.

“Aww, I thought we were over the formalities and on a first-name basis,” Pete mocks.