Everland(46)

Pete refuses to look away from the crimson-tinted water and thrashing reptiles as the Lost Boys encourage him to duck around a corner.

“Hurry, take cover,” Doc says, pushing everyone ahead, into another passageway.

Pickpocket and Jack shove Pete to safety, and he collapses onto the ground. He leans up against the wall, his expression contorted into grief-stricken agony. Pete snatches up a stone and hurls it across the tunnel. As an explosion rocks the tunnel, sending shards of brick and plumes of dust hurtling through the tunnel opening, Pete hardly flinches. When the dust settles, I bolt to the entrance and look back at where Pyro had lit the stick of dynamite. All that’s left is a pile of rubble. Stone, brick, and dirt pile neck-high, blocking the archway.

Pete maneuvers around me. He races toward the rubble and places a hand on the pile of rocks. He drops his chin to his chest, giving a slight shake of his head.

Mole sniffles next to me as Pickpocket joins Pete, throwing an arm around him.

“You okay?” Pickpocket asks.

“He was a good Scavenger. The best of the best of all of us Lost Boys,” Pete says weakly. He picks up Pyro’s derby hat from the debris and brushes off the dirt. He places the hat on top of the pile of rocks. “Godspeed, Lost Boy.”

“Come on,” Pickpocket says, gripping his shoulder. “That won’t hold them back for long. We need to get out of here and into Everland.”

Pickpocket leads Pete back to our group. The sorrow in Pete’s expression is overwhelming. It’s the same expression my brother and sister had when they realized our parents weren’t ever returning home. As Pete passes by me, I reach out a hand to him.

“Pete?” I say, his name catching in the lump within my throat. I want to take his hand, to hold him and absorb even a little bit of the pain etched in his face.

Pete peers up at me with glassy eyes before he drops his gaze back down to the brackish water below him. He takes the lead, not acknowledging me as he continues ahead. My heart snaps in two, but I press my lips together. I won’t let him, any of them, see me cry.

We travel for half an hour in an uncomfortable silence. The only sound is the sloshing of our feet as we travel through the water. A ladder attached to a brick wall appears ahead of us.

“This is it,” Pickpocket says.

One by one, we climb through the manhole. Pete takes my hand as I reach street level. As his fingers touch mine, relief washes over me, but it is only brief.

“Welcome back to Everland,” Pete says, frowning.

The city is nothing like I remember. The street is littered with debris and broken concrete, evidence of the magnificent structures that once stood here. Thick cracks weave through the fragmented street of St. Paul’s churchyard like a web with rubble from nearby buildings caught in its snare. Wagons lie in tangled heaps on their sides.

St. Paul’s Cathedral looms a short distance away, its domed roof now a crown of charcoal-colored, jagged spikes. Hurrying up the street, the Lost Boys, Pete, and I pass by the remains of the church’s majestic columns and parapet. I avert my gaze as we walk past the severed head of the saint’s statue, which had stood on top of the building.

Mole sniffs the air and shakes his head. “Bella was here, but the rain has washed away most of her scent. It’s going to be tough to find her.”

“Bella has a scent?” I ask, curious what she might smell like. Or what I might smell like, for that matter. Having not bathed in weeks, I can only imagine it isn’t anything pleasant.

“Sure,” Pete replies. “We all do. Why do you think I brought Mole along?”

“Mole says I smell like the forest,” Jack says. “Pickpocket smells like grease, Doc smells like ammonia, and Pete smells like …”

“A rooster,” Mole interjects, wrinkling his nose.

“That’s gross, but it explains the cock-a-doodle-doo you do,” I say, elbowing Pete.

Pete gives a lopsided grin. “If the stink fits.”

“Shh,” Mole whispers with a wave, “we’re not alone. What is that sound?”

In the distance, the faint sound of machines, metal scraping against metal, fills the early evening air. The ground vibrates as the noise draws closer, shaking loose debris from the structures around us.

“Watch out!” Pete tackles me as concrete stones break off the face of the building and plummet to the ground. We fall hard onto the pavement. Pete shelters me from the falling rock, his hands wrapped tightly over his own dark hair. His breath is hot and rapid against my cheek. When the spray of pebbles stops, he lifts his head, watching me with worry. Bright sunlight shimmers in my vision. I blink and shield my eyes from the sun. When I look back at him, the only light that remains is the one that sparkles in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his lips close to mine.

I struggle to find words, but they catch in my throat. Instead I nod.

Pete rolls off me and extends a hand, helping me to my feet.

Doc stands from his crouched position, coughing. “Is anyone hurt?”

The rest of the boys mumble as they shake the dust off. The ground trembles again, shaking loose more debris.

“Come on,” Pete says. “We need to find cover.”

“What is that?” Jack asks, steadying himself.

The color in Mole’s face drains. “We need to hide! Now!”