Everland(33)

“I hope I really am what you think I am,” I say, but the doctor does not hear me.





With my army swarming Everland and its outskirts in search of orphaned girls, I return to Buckingham Palace, intrigued by the prospect of our newest prisoner. The Professor has known all along that any hope for a cure could be found in a girl. I can’t help but wonder what else she has failed to tell me. While I know providing her with the knowledge of our latest prisoner is exactly what she wants, even needs, to progress, I decide to hold my cards close. After all, that’s what she’s done this whole time, isn’t it?

When I enter the lab, the Professor is peering into a microscope. I clear my throat. She holds one finger up and scribbles something in a notebook. When she’s done, she turns to me, giving me the blank expression I’ve become so accustomed to. It wasn’t always this way, at least not at first. Initially, her eyes shone with nothing but hatred for me. But as the weeks dragged into months, the fire left, leaving a shell of the defiant woman I first rescued from the rubble. If it weren’t for the hazmat suit she wore and my help, she’d have died right there. She ought to be grateful, if not downright indebted, to me. Instead, she addresses me with scorn, nothing like the fondness she shows the children. I loathe it.

“Have you made any progress?” I ask.

“Of course not! I need the girl,” she says as if reprimanding me.

I ball my fists but bite my words. I need her on my side … for now.

“Is there anything more I can do?” I ask through clenched teeth.

Leaning against the counter, she drops her chin to her chest and shakes her head. “No, there’s nothing more I can do without the girl. We are all lost.” She slams her hands on the countertop and lets out an exaggerated sigh.

I shift from one foot to the other, searching for words. It’s my fault that it has come to this, the lives of everyone, of all of humankind, hanging on a single girl. But I don’t have time for regrets. I chase the gut-wrenching guilt away with a question that has nagged me since we arrived in Everland. “Do you know why the virus is so lethal?”

“The virus’s virulence is due to a plant. A tree that isn’t indigenous anywhere in Europe.”

“A tree? What kind of tree?” I ask.

The Professor returns to her microscope and removes a slide, replacing it with another. “The plant is known as pwazon pòm. It’s native to the tropics. It is thought to have been eradicated years ago due to its effects on humans, but apparently that isn’t the case. Take a look.” She gestures toward the microscope.

I peer into the scope. A group of what appear to be cells lies on the slide. “What am I looking at?” I ask.

“Those are epithelial cells, basic skin cells. Now watch this,” she says. She picks up a vial from the counter and places a drop of the red liquid on the slide.

Immediately, tiny dark red spots surround the cells and devour them. Within a few seconds there is nothing left of the cluster. I look back up at the Professor, my breath hitching. “What was that?”

“That sample was simple dead skin cells. Epithelial tissue lines the cavities and surfaces of structures throughout the body. We’re talking your skin, lungs, heart, blood vessels … just about everything. That liquid is a blood sample infected with the Horologia virus. Now imagine if the virus had access to an entire human body. Once in contact, especially in airborne samples, it wouldn’t take long to ravage a person’s organs. That is why, when the virus became airborne, so many died quickly. I believe the base was made from the sap of the plant.”

Thoughtfully, I rub my chin, staring at her. “How is it that the virus annihilated the adults, but the children survived?”

“I’m not entirely sure I have an answer to that. The children you’ve brought in all show signs of infection, but not nearly as bad as the adults in the early days after the war started,” she says, her eyes flicking up to mine and back to her paper.

“But even they succumb to the virus,” I say.

The Professor drops her gaze before turning back toward the microscope. “Yes, and once I’ve determined they’re infected and unable to contribute to finding a cure, I dispose of them as you have requested.”

“Cremation?” I ask, watching every one of her moves. She doesn’t meet my eyes.

“Of course,” she says, peering into the microscope again.

I clutch my hands behind me and pace. She’s hiding something. I’m sure of it. “I’ve been told the Marauders have captured another child,” I say finally, watching for her reaction.

The Professor continues to stare into the microscope while writing down notes. “Oh, really? I’ll prepare a bed for him as soon as I’m done with this.”

“It’s a her,” I say, stopping just behind her and folding my arms.

The Professor spins. Her eyes grow wide. “That’s great. I should see her right away,” she says with enthusiasm.

“You will. But unfortunately, she is not the one you’re looking for. She shows signs of being infected. I’ll have my men put her in confinement until you’re ready,” I say, marching toward the lab door.

The Professor rushes toward me and grips my arms. “Captain Kretschmer, you will let me examine her immediately.”