Everland Page 10

  My hands shake. I sit on them, hoping to hide my terror. “I have to warn you, I am not fond of needles. My mother was a doctor, and she was always obsessed with vaccinating my siblings and me.”

  “Vaccinating?” Doc runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “That could be why you’re not showing any indication of being infected with the virus.”

  “That doesn’t explain why her sister is showing symptoms. If both of them were vaccinated, why is Joanna sick?” Pete asks.

  “Your sister is showing symptoms? That doesn’t make sense.” Doc taps the glass lenses on his goggles. “Unless …”

  “Unless what?” I ask.

  Doc turns to me. “When was the last time she vaccinated you?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “She was giving us shots all the time. I guess the last one was just before the war started, right before my fifteenth birthday.”

  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.

  “Enough!” I shout. “Can you two knock it off for just a minute so we can figure out what to do?”

  Pete loosens his grip on Doc and gives him a shove. Doc straightens his shirt and waistcoat, not taking his glowering eyes off Pete. I stand in between the boys, hoping they don’t resort to throwing punches.

  “Do you really think everyone could die?” I ask.

  “Yes, everyone but you,” Doc says. “That’s where this virus appears to be heading.”

  “If I am the only Immune, then my antibodies could potentially help not only Bella but all of the Lost Boys.”

  “That is correct,” Doc says with a nod. “At least that’s my theory.”

  “Let’s get on with it, then,” I say with a sigh. Removing a stack of books from a cot, I rest my head on the pillow. “Take as much as you need. How much is that? A pint?” I ask, trying my best to be brave, but the quiver in my voice betrays me. I close my eyes tight.

  “A pint is hardly anything, but that amount won’t be necessary,” Doc says, digging through his medicine bag. “I won’t be taking much of your blood. Right now Bella is the worst of the sick. She will be the one receiving treatment. If the treatment proves successful, we will take care of the others. For now, we need to test you to see if you do carry the antibodies to cure the virus.”

  Doc rummages through his medicine bag again, turning from us, but I see the tightness in his jaw. “Besides, you will need your strength to travel to Everland. No sense in draining all of your blood and weakening you right before your journey, especially when we have no idea if you even carry the cure. Since I will be joining you, we will need only a small sample. Just enough to start Bella’
s treatment. If we need more, we’ll deal with it later.”

  “I’ve already told you that you’re not coming with us,” Pete growls.

  “Is that so?” Doc says. “So tell me this, who will be giving Bella her injections? Certainly not you? While I think it’s fantastic you’ve so generously offered your own antibodies to help Bella up until this point, let me remind you, fearless leader, you faint at the sight of needles.” Doc pulls out a long needle from his bag. My heart quickens and I feel a little dizzy. I have never seen a needle so large.

  “Now, I’m guessing you have some things to do before venturing into Everland?” Doc says with a wide smirk.

  Pete’s face turns pale and he averts his gaze. “I have to check on Blade and Stock to see if they’ve got our stuff together anyway.” He turns to me; his hardened expression fades. “Thank you, Gwen. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  He faces Doc. “Make it quick. We’re leaving before sunset.” Pete marches to the door and slams it behind him, rattling the glass jars lined on the shelves.

  “I thought you said you didn’t need much blood,” I say, eyeing the large needle.

  Doc snickers as he puts the needle back in his bag. “Don’t worry. This needle is not for you. I took it out to spook Pete. Gets him every time. One of the Scavengers brought this needle back from a farm thinking I could use it. It is a horse’s needle, but I like to keep it as a souvenir. Also, it keeps blokes like him out of my hair.”

  Relieved, my shoulders relax and I melt into the cot, suddenly exhausted.

  Doc digs through his bag again. “Just lie back. This will feel no worse than the prick of a sewing needle.”

  Closing my eyes, I turn my wrists, exposing the inside of my forearms. I wait for the sharp stab to sting the flesh in the crease of my arm. Instead, Doc lifts my hand from the cot and takes hold of my index finger. I open my eyes in time to see him puncture the tip with a tiny needle. A crimson-red bead flows onto the pad of my finger. Doc grabs a small tube from his bag. He squeezes, collecting the blood as it starts to drip.

  “That’s it?” I ask, surprised.

  “Did you want me to take more?” he says through a chuckle.

  “Well, no, but I assumed …”

  Doc wipes my finger with an alcohol swab. “You’ve got quite the imagination, don’t you?”

  I sigh. “What I wouldn’t give for that to be my biggest problem.”

  “That makes two of us.” Doc puts a bandage on the puncture. “There we go. Just like new.”

  I feel the corners of my mouth draw up in a smile.

  “Are you sure that will be enough?” I ask, examining the small vial of red liquid. “It doesn’t seem like much.”

  “It’s plenty. I can get at least two doses out of this sample. Judging Bella’s height and weight, one injection should be enough to begin with.”

  “Two doses?” I ask, looking at the vial hardly filled with blood. “How is that possible?”

  “Someday I’ll show you how it all works, but for now, you’ll have to accept it as fact,” Doc says with a grin. “Now, I’ve got work to do, but it’s been a great pleasure meeting you.” Doc extends his hand.

  “It’s been nice meeting you, too,” I say, shaking his hand.

  Doc nods at me before positioning his medispectacles on his face. He takes the small vial of blood, puts it in some sort of contraption, and begins churning at a handle. The circular container holding the sample spins quickly. At the door, I take one last look at Doc.

  “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 ca
ptured 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.”

  I flinch beneath her grasp, feeling as if bugs were crawling over my entire body. I detest being touched. When her scarred hands fall away, I am grateful.

  She bites her bottom lip and for the first time since I’ve walked in she meets my gaze, searching my face for … what? Understanding? Compassion?

  “Please, let me see her.” This time her tone lacks admonishment, but instead sounds as if she’s pleading.

  Something catches my eye. A glint of gold shimmers beneath a cot. I walk toward it, but the Professor shoves her way between me and the cot. She stares at me with intent, dark eyes.

  “That little girl may be sick, but she still might be useful.”

  “I don’t follow you,” I say, scrutinizing her delicate features. She’s quite pretty … for an older woman. She’s practically my own mother’s age, but there’s something about her. Something my mother never had. A beauty that lies deeper than her appearance. There’s a fondness I have for her, but not in the romantic sense. I can’t quite put my finger on it.

  The Professor continues talking, but I’m distracted by the shimmering item on the floor. I kneel to pick up the gold object. It is a link from a chain belt or piece of jewelry, but as I scan the room, there is nothing that matches it. The Professor notices the chain link in between my gloved fingers and her eyes widen, stopping midsentence. “I … I’ve been looking for that,” she says, reaching for the gold metal.