Everland(31)

Doc searches through a stack of books before picking up a navy-blue one with silver lettering. He shuffles through the pages and stops about a quarter into the book. He mumbles as his finger skims across the page. “Here, read this.” He hands the book to me.

I take the book and he taps on a passage. I read it aloud for Pete to hear.

“ ‘It’s not entirely understood why the length of acquired immunity varies with vaccines. While many offer lifelong immunity with a single dose, others require boosters in order to maintain immunity.’ ”

“A booster? But it still doesn’t make sense. My mother vaccinated all of us, not just me,” I say, rereading the passage. “She would’ve given us all boosters. Why would Joanna show symptoms and not me?”

“And that doesn’t explain why males are immune and females are not,” Pete says.

Doc sighs and sinks back into a chair with resolve. “That’s where you’re wrong. Males are not immune either.”

“What?” Pete and I both say at the same time, loudly.

“Males are not immune,” Doc repeats, sounding deflated. “There is something specific, unique, within the Y chromosome which makes boys more tolerant of the virus. In fact, it seems that the Horologia virus is activated depending on the biochemistry of the person. Things like growth hormones, genetics, and other biological aspects determine who lives and who dies. It’s almost as if it was developed to decimate everyone except those who could be taken in and trained to be soldiers. Survival of the fittest. While the stronger live, the weaker, which in this case means the oldest and youngest, die, along with girls.” Doc shoots me a glance. “No offense to you.”

“None taken,” I say.

“However, it turns out that while those of us who have the Y chromosome seem to be more resilient, we’re not immune,” Doc continues.

“How can that be right?” I ask. “Look at all those boys out there who have managed to survive. Boys must have some, if not complete, immunity.”

“You’re right, but if it was entirely based on genetics, if the Y chromosome alone determined immunity, the adult males would have survived. The only reason those boys survived was simply because they are children, not adults. They not only have their gender going for them but are brimming with growth hormone.” Doc shuts the book and sets it back on the stack. “Adults have less growth hormone and babies are, well … incapable of caring for themselves. Without someone to provide them with fluids and nutrition, most of them died off within the first week. We have a few younger boys who were rescued, but not many.”

“So if what you’re saying is true, what is the prognosis for the Lost Boys?” Pete asks. Worry lines wrinkle his forehead.

Doc drops his head, runs his hand across the back of his neck, and grimaces. “To be truthful, I don’t know. Since Hook’s Marauders continue patrolling with masks, they must suspect that the virus is still airborne. While the boys will produce some of their own antibodies, being exposed to the virus, there is no telling how effective they will be, or for how long. If this virus is strong enough to take down a grown man, who knows what it is capable of after years of exposure. Some of the boys are already showing symptoms.”

“What? Who?” Pete says in almost a shout.

“That information is confidential. The boys who have come in with symptoms are afraid of becoming outcasts once the others discover they are carriers. Not only that, if the others learn that some of the kids are infected, it may produce panic. I have promised to keep their identities private. However … it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out,” Doc says. He points to the window.

I walk to the paneless opening. The Lost City shines under the gas lanterns’ luminescence. Clusters of boys gather, laughing and chasing one another in a friendly game of tag. Another group kicks a football around. It is then that I see it, the one thing that identifies the sick from the healthy.

“The gloves,” I say. At least a third of the boys wear one glove; some wear two.

Doc smiles. “The Immune is quite perceptive.”

For the first time, the nickname strikes me as almost a compliment. I may have failed as a sister, breaking promises to never grow up, and I may have failed as a guardian, but this new identity—this is something I can only fail by refusing to help.

Pete scans the crowd of boys. “There’s so many. How come I never noticed?”

“Perhaps intelligence is also a trait of being an Immune,” Doc says, smugly.

Pete whirls and grabs Doc’s shirt, pulling him close to his face. “I am the leader of the Lost City. Why didn’t you tell me that the boys were suffering, too? First my sister. Now this family? You continue to let the people I care about die!”

“You know that wasn’t my fault. Gabrielle was beyond my help,” Doc says. “I loved her and did everything I could to save her. Everything!”

“Stop it!” I yell. I try to pull Pete off Doc, but he refuses to release his grip.

“You should have told me about the Lost Boys!” Pete says with a sneer.

“I tried. You wouldn’t listen to me. You’re so blinded with bitterness about what happened to your sister, you wouldn’t have seen their decaying bodies even if I’d pointed them out to you,” Doc spits.

“I ought to dismember you, wrap your body parts in a rubbish bag, and personally deliver you on Hook’s doorstep to feed to his pet crocodiles,” Pete says, his voice seething with fury.