Everland(8)

“You left a trail of them behind you, and no offense, but if you don’t want to be found, you might consider showering the next time the rain comes in. I could smell you from three blocks away. When was the last time you washed your …” He takes my hand in his and shock spreads across his face as he examines my fingers. I jerk back and push him away.

Bella drops her aim and smirks at me. “True story,” she says with a wrinkle of her freckled nose.

My cheeks flame as I remember my reflection in the mirror earlier, and I hug myself, hoping to hide the scent I must have become so familiar with that I hardly smell it anymore.

Pete stares at my hands folded into my arms. When his gaze doesn’t shift, I hide my hands behind my back. His eyes flick to mine before he turns his attention back to our meager supplies and steps around me.

“Another thing: It’s polite to say thank you when someone saves your life,” he says, tossing a tin to Bella. She begins to place it in a pouch attached to her hip.

“Hey! That belongs to me!” I seize the tin from her and put it in my own bag. She squints in anger. I ignore her and turn my dagger to Pete. “And what do you mean you saved my life?”

Pete sifts through the contents on the shelves. “First off, quit pointing that thing at me,” he says, sounding more amused than annoyed. “Second, we aren’t here to hurt you. Third, do you really think I would be crowing on a rooftop in an attempt to draw the Marauders’ attention away from you if I wasn’t trying to help you? If I had slunk away unseen, Hook’s Marauders would have found you in a heartbeat. You’d be in Everland strapped to a cot with tubes snaking out of you. Unless you aspire to become a human pincushion, you should be thanking us, Immune.”

He picks up the half-full canister of pasta and tosses it to Bella. I catch it in midair, stashing it in my rucksack.

“Don’t call me that!” I say, pushing Pete aside. “Get out of my way.” I grab a small first aid kit, a tin of beans, and what’s left of the rice, shoving them in my bag.

“Call you what?” Pete gives me a mocking grin that screams to be slapped, but I refrain.

“Do. Not. Call. Me. Immune.” I enunciate each word with a jab of my finger into his chest.

Bella cocks her head to one side. “That is what you are, isn’t it? That’s what Hook would call you,” she says, grabbing the rice from my bag and stuffing it into hers.

“And who is Hook anyway?” I continue, clutching my rucksack to my chest.

Bella puts her hands on her hips and stares at me incredulously. “Who’s Hook? For an Immune, you sure don’t know much, do you?”

I stare at her, speechless.

Bella gives an exaggerated sigh. “The leader of the Marauders. Hanz Otto Oswald Kretschmer. H-O-O-K,” she says, spelling out each letter. “Get it now? HOOK. Or at least that’s what we call him.”

“Kretschmer? You’ve nicknamed Captain Kretschmer? Is she serious?” I ask.

Pete laughs. “Entirely, and I wouldn’t question Bella if I were you, Immune. You don’t want to be on her bad side. She might be small for a twelve-year-old, but she’s a fighter.”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“I don’t know what else to call you,” Pete says, draping an arm over Bella’s shoulder. “Here Bella and I have been polite, introduced ourselves, saved you, and you still haven’t told us your name.” He clicks his tongue. “What poor manners you have. Didn’t your mother teach you anything? Where are your folks, anyway? Did they run like the others?” He grabs a book of matches from the shelf and hands it to Bella.

My face grows warm with anger. I clutch my father’s military tags, feeling the bite of the chain in the palm of my hand. The metal brings forth my last memory of my father. Just before the first bombs dropped over London, he kissed my forehead, slipped his military tags around my neck, and told me he must protect the Queen of England. Pride glistened in his eyes as the front door shut, leaving me behind to care for my siblings. Promises of returning never fulfilled.

I swallow my rage. “Dead,” I say under my breath to keep Mikey from hearing, not wanting to dash his hopes of their survival. For now at least. The truth is much too painful.

Bella and Pete exchange an odd glance and stare back at me.

I sigh and go back to packing my bag. “Aren’t all the adults dead? Parents, soldiers … even Her Majesty hasn’t been seen or heard from since the war started.”

Pete and Bella remain quiet, as if waiting for me to continue.

“Dad was a staff sergeant in Her Majesty’s Armed Forces. Mum was a doctor, a researcher of some sort. Neither came home the day the war started. End of story. What concern is it of yours, anyway?”

Pete swallows and dips his chin to his chest, seeming to contemplate what to say next. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says in almost a whisper. It is the first time his voice is devoid of sarcasm, which takes me by surprise. He grips Bella by the hand and she gazes up at him with affection. “Mine are gone, too. Have been for several years now. And Bella here, I found her hiding in a hollowed-out tree trunk a few days after the bombs fell. Her parents didn’t make it either.”

The hurt on his face reflects the same deep ache I feel: a dark, vacant chasm my parents once filled. Bella kicks at a clump of mud on the floor and doesn’t look up. I think of the numerous nights my brother cried in his sleep, calling out for our parents and being comforted by both Joanna and me. I can’t imagine what Bella, just a child herself, must have felt hiding all alone with no one to reassure her everything would be all right. She would’ve been eleven. Not nearly old enough to care for herself alone.