Everland(18)

I meet his gaze, his green eyes searching mine with confusion. “She’s not immune,” I say, shaking my head, accepting the truth I’ve known all along but have denied until now. “Joanna has sores on her hands. They’ve only recently appeared, maybe a few weeks or so ago. I didn’t know what they were. I was trying to treat it with antibiotics, but the blisters weren’t responding to treatment.”

Panic glasses over Pete’s eyes. “Even more reason to get her back soon. The sooner the better. She needs to see Doc.”

“Who is this Doc person?” I ask, sheathing my dagger.

“He’s our physician, a prodigy of sorts,” he says with a wave of his hand. “We have to get to the Lost City as soon as possible. We’re going to need help getting Joanna out of the palace. Let’s find Bella and Mikey. If they dodged Hook’s men, they’ll be at the eastern tunnel entrance just outside of Everland’s border. It isn’t too much farther.” Pete starts to climb the ladder when something large splashes into the murky sewer water just up the tunnel in the inky darkness.

“We’d better hurry. There are things more sinister down here than those twits,” Pete says, nodding toward the manhole above. He scrambles up the ladder and pushes the cover off, climbing back through the hole. A second loud splash sends chills up my spine. I climb the ladder and Pete reaches a hand out to me. I grip it, a lifeline keeping me from shattering into a million little shards.





Rain stings my cheeks as a fresh storm erupts from the dreary sky. My hair clings to my skin, obscuring my vision, and hangs limply on my soaked clothes. The scents of the wet asphalt and damp vegetation mingle in the air. We trudge through an overgrown meadow, which appears to have once been a park. Twisted and rusty monkey bars of a playground structure rise from the tall grass, providing cover when the Marauders’ zeppelins buzz overhead, patrolling the outskirts of Everland.

I am thankful for the bit of warmth the scavenged coat provides. Wishing I had Mikey’s umbrella, I blink away the rain from my vision. Pete appears unfazed by the weather, although it is hard to tell with his goggles concealing his eyes.

While the heavy shower is loud enough to drown out any noise, we travel without speaking. In the distance, a thick, smoky haze hangs heavy over the city, mingling with dark, stormy clouds.

“Why were you so far from the Lost City?” I ask as we trudge through the mud, breaking the lengthy silence. “It seems like it’d be easier to pillage close to Everland.”

“There’s nothing useful left inside the city limits. What supplies haven’t already been scavenged, Hook’s men have taken for themselves. Other than what the Marauders have confiscated, there’s nothing left.”

“How do you and the other Lost Kids survive? There can’t be nearly enough food in your rucksack to supply an entire city of kids.”

“Nonperishables and supplies come from the scavenges,” Pete says. “Scavengers are teamed in pairs and given designated neighborhoods to scour. That’s why we were so far from Everland.”

“But there’s hardly anything left in the outskirts,” I say. “I could barely support myself and my sister and brother, much less hundreds of other children.”

“We also live off of whatever is easily accessible: underground mushrooms, stray animals, rats, insects,” Pete says, snatching a grasshopper from the tall grass. He pops the bug into his mouth. It crunches like the sound of potato crisps, sending a shiver through my body.

“You don’t at least cook them?” I ask as he picks up another. My stomach rolls when he bites it in two.

“And there’s also the underground garden that Spade, our horticulturist, and the Harvesters tend to,” Pete says, ignoring my question.

“Underground garden? How is that possible?”

“Cogs and his team of Tinkers tapped into the Thames and created the hydropowered something-or-other with a monstrous steam turbine. I don’t understand all the fancy science behind it, but it fuels the ecolanterns used to simulate sunlight, irrigates the crops, and funnels into the water-purifying system. It’s quite a sophisticated design for a chap who’s only sixteen.”

“A sixteen-year-old engineer? A teenage doctor? Did the war and virus spare only the geniuses?” I ask.

“Well, you know what they say: Only the strong and the paranoid survive.” Pete eyes me, a peculiar expression crossing his face. “Which makes me wonder, how have you lasted so long?”

“I’m strong and certainly not paranoid,” I reply with defiance.

Pete’s brows raise, as if I’ve spoken nonsense. “We also rely on the fish in the Thames when we can manage to find them. The riverbanks are heavily guarded, though. Most days we can’t fish without risk of being caught, but you are right, it is getting harder to find provisions.”

“What will you do when the supplies run out?” I ask. “The provisions from the scavenges, I mean. Surely a garden isn’t enough to sustain you all.”

Pete grimaces and shakes his head but doesn’t answer. Instead, he trudges on.

We travel for a little while longer, quietly sneaking by a group of soldiers on patrol and ducking past parked Steam Crawlers. The overgrown shrubs and tall grass shield us from their view. We stop only once: to eat fresh berries we find growing on a small bush. The bright tartness bursts on my tongue, and my stomach rumbles for more even after we’ve devoured them all. Eventually, we reach the end of the railway, its tracks buckled and rusty. Broken beams and shattered glass from what appears to have been a station platform litter the ground. A search zeppelin flies overhead; its boilers hiss and propellers whir, rustling the weeds that have taken over the abandoned lots. We wait for it to pass. I hold my breath, afraid the simple act of breathing might bring an army of Marauders. As the zeppelin’s engine fades, I let out a sigh.