Everland(29)

The pungent smell of alcohol stings my nose. Textbooks lie strewn across the wood floor and fill numerous bookshelves in the room. A half-dozen cots align on one side of the room and they, too, are covered with books. A lopsided desk made from scrap lumber sits in one corner. Threadbare burgundy Victorian curtains droop from a rusted copper pipe crudely made into a curtain rod.

On the far side of the room, crickets sing from two tanks placed near gas lanterns. Dozens of different lizards bask on sticks in the lamps’ heat. Other containers line the shelves filled with insects, rodents, and more reptiles.

I step into the space and glance at the open pages of the manuals. They are filled with diagrams, charts, and terms I do not understand. Notes scrawl along the margins of the pages in nearly illegible handwriting. A doctor’s script, I realize. A thick textbook titled The Anatomy of Infectious Diseases lies on one cot, along with other medical journals, their pages open to information regarding the Horologia virus.

From the back of the building, someone clears his throat. I look up to find a broad-shouldered, blond teenage boy staring at me with eyes as blue as sapphires. At first, an expression of shock crosses his face, but he shakes it off, replacing it with an uneasy smile.

“Um, well, this is quite unexpected,” he says, tugging on his waistcoat and brushing his fingers through his thick hair. “I haven’t had a lady visitor in my office for quite some time. Can I help you … um, miss?” he asks.

“I’m looking for Doc,” I say, fiddling with the bottom button on my jacket.

He squints. “May I ask who might be looking for him?”

“I’m Gwen. Gwen Darling.”

He approaches me and holds a hand out. “Well, if you’re looking for Doc, you’ve found him,” the boy says with a giant grin.





Doc watches me as I avert my gaze to a nearby textbook, picking it up and pretending to thumb through it. I have never considered myself shy, but for the second time in less than a day, my cheeks flush under a boy’s stare.

“Pardon me,” Doc says, moving books off a chair. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen a girl, I have forgotten my manners. Please, have a seat. How can I be of assistance to you today?”

“Thank you,” I say as the rusted metal folding chair gives an audible squeak when I sit. “Actually, I came to introduce myself and …”

Doc sweeps his arm across the seat of another chair, sending books tumbling to the floor like dominoes. He pulls the chair up so close to mine that when he sits our knees almost touch. Leaning forward, elbows propped on his long legs, he watches me with an intense gaze.

Nervous, I shift in my seat and glance at the front door, wondering if I should excuse myself and leave.

“Your complexion is remarkable. Flawless, in fact,” Doc interrupts, tapping his chin with a finger. “The whites of your eyes are so clear. No yellowing in them.” He clutches my right hand and inspects it. “No discoloration, no ulcers on your fingers. It is absolutely incredible.”

I jerk my hand from his and scoot my chair back.

Doc pulls the medispectacles perched on top of his head over his eyes and twists knobs on either side of them. Several lenses of different shapes and sizes shift, clicking into place and magnifying his blue eyes. As with Justice’s spectacles, the lenses give him a bug-eyed appearance. He moves his face close to mine. “Stick out your tongue.”

Wiggling free from the little space between us, I stand and back up toward the door. “I think this might have been a mistake. Perhaps I’ll come back later.” Eager to leave, I hurry to the entrance.

“Wait!” he says as I touch the doorknob. He walks toward me, slowly removing the medispectacles from his face and placing them back on top of his head. The lenses, still protruding from the frames, give the illusion of two horns poking from his skull. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. The only female I’ve seen in months is Bella. Then you show up completely healthy. It’s a miracle. How have you done it? How have you survived?”

I say nothing, gripping the doorknob tightly.

“I’ve spent months scouring every book, magazine, journal, and old newspaper article searching for anything to find a cure, but have had no success. The best I have been able to do is to slow the progression, but I haven’t found an antidote. Bella, the only surviving girl, gets worse every day, which led me to believe there was no hope for your gender.”

His attentive stare gives me butterflies. I pick up one of the textbooks, pretending to read it, hoping to break his stare.

Someone knocks, interrupting the awkwardness. “Doc, I see you’ve met Gwen,” Pete says, striding into the room.

“I have,” Doc says, still staring at me, not meeting Pete’s gaze. “She’s incredible.”

There is an unnerving air between them: Pete’s fixed stare and Doc’s refusal to meet it.

“Do you think she’s immune?” Pete asks, his words pointed like the tip of a dagger. “Can she help Bella?”

“It’s hard to say. I’d need to draw blood, separate out the white blood cells, and combine it with Bella’s medication. But it would be Gwen’s decision to make. I wouldn’t experiment without her permission.”

Experiment—a word almost as vile as immune. I shudder, imagining myself lying on one of Doc’s cots with needles, tubes, and the whirring of equipment around me. Everything would be done by hand, slowly and painfully.