Everland (21 page)

“Isn’t that the truth,” Mole interjects. “I was always banging my head on stuff when I was little, especially when I was tall enough to whack my head on the kitchen counter. I cannot tell you how many bumps and cuts my mother patched up. She used to say it was a rite of passage, that when I was tall enough to hit my head on the counter instead of running right underneath it, I was officially a big kid.” Mole sighs and frowns. “I miss her.”

I place my hand on his leg. “I miss my mother, too.”

“There you go. It won’t take away the pain, but at least it’s clean.” Doc caps the canteen and returns the container to his rucksack, this time pulling out a package of biscuits. He offers me one, but my stomach churns at the smell of them. I turn away and hold my breath.

“The nausea will pass eventually,” Doc says, offering the biscuits to Mole, who eagerly takes a handful.

I run my fingers through my hair before squeezing the excess water from it. When I look back up, Doc’s stare is fixed on me, and one corner of his mouth is turned up in a lopsided grin.

“What is it?”

He shakes his head and drops his gaze to the fire. “It’s nothing.”

“Tell me what you were thinking.”

In the orange gleam of the fire, I see his cheeks flush. He pokes at the embers. “I was just thinking that I can see what Pete sees in you,” he says. “You’re a brave girl trying to go back for your dad’s tags. Mad in the head, but still brave. You two are a lot like each other, maybe even more than you think.”

“You’re just now figuring that out?” Mole guffaws. “I knew she was brave when I first met her. I’d wager she’s more brave than Pete, but don’t tell him I said so. She’s pretty, too.”

“Pretty? How do you know she’s pretty?” Doc asks, staring at Mole with a puzzled expression. “You can’t even see her.”

Mole shakes his head. “You don’t have to see someone to know they’re pretty. She could be uglier than a croc and still be pretty. She’s nice, she smells of vanilla, and her voice is soothing. I think she’s beautiful.”

My face flushes under their compliments.

“Pete’s a lucky guy,” Mole says with a sigh.

“Pete? Pete and I are not … we’re not …,” I say, stumbling over my words.

Mole snorts. “I might be blind, but I know when someone’s in love.” He draws out the last word in a singsong tone. Pointing to his nose, he continues, “This sniffer can smell lovey-dovey pheromones from a mile away.”

Fiddling with the brass buttons on my jacket, I try to restrain the grin growing on my face. Feeling light-headed, I brush my hair from my face, occupying my hands to keep them from trembling. No one says anything for several moments, until an odd expression grows on Mole’s face as he sniffs.

“Someone’s coming,” Mole says, worry creasing a wrinkle between his brows.

Broken glass crunches beneath boots in the next room. A deep grunt followed by soft whispering comes from the room adjacent to the hallway. Doc snatches up a splintered wooden board. “Stay behind me,” he whispers.

Mole sniffs the air and his face softens. “Thank goodness,” he says.

“Who is it?” Doc asks. “What do you smell?”

“Greasy rooster,” Mole replies, chuckling and shuffling ahead of Doc.

Two boys appear in the doorway, out of breath and completely wet from head to toe. “You guys made it,” Pete says through chattering teeth as he brushes his wet hair out of his face.

I push past Doc. “What happened to you?”

Pete rushes by me toward the fire. Pickpocket follows. “We hid under a bridge in the Thames. That water is cold even during the summer.”

“At least you’re okay,” I say with a relieved sigh. It’s then I notice the dark stain on the arm of his forest-green coat. “You’re hurt!”

Pete huddles near the fire, holding his hands over the flames. “It’s just a scratch,” he says, his tone somber.

I inspect the sleeve further. Blood gushes through a gaping hole.

“You’ve been shot! We have to stop the bleeding,” I say. Doc reaches for his bag, but I snatch it out of his hand, rip it open, and grab scraps of fabric from inside. Slipping my fingers through the tear in Pete’s jacket, I rip his sleeve off. Although my heart is racing already, it skips a beat as my gaze falls on his tattooed arm. The inked wheels, cogs, and chains almost seem lifelike. Resisting the temptation to run my fingers over them, I wrap a bandage around the wound instead.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Pete says gruffly as he watches me tie a knot in the fabric.

“Where’s Jack?” Mole asks, sniffing the air. “He isn’t with you.”

Pickpocket and Pete glance at each other before looking back at us. “He took a shot and fell. The Marauders have him,” Pickpocket says with an exasperated sigh.

“You didn’t go after him?” Doc asks.

“We ran after the gunfire started,” Pickpocket says. “When he went down, we tried to carry him, but he insisted that we run and he’d cover for us. I would have argued with him, but we were taking fire and there was no time. It took a while to get here with the Marauders out on the streets as it is. They’re everywhere!”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Doc asks.

“I don’t know,” Pickpocket says, shrugging. “Maybe an hour ago.”

“We have to go back and find Jack,” I insist.

No one speaks. They exchange worried glances with one another and then fix their gazes on Pete, waiting for him to make the final call.

“He’s a brave Lost Boy. One of the finest we have. But he’s made a sacrifice for all of us,” Pete says, throwing his rucksack to the ground.

Pickpocket and Doc stare uneasily at Pete. Mole shuffles. I feel his small hand on my arm as he hides behind me. Their silence is palpable, leaving only the sound of the crackling fire.

Pete kicks at the pile of wood, sending boards scattering across the room. “Hook, that bloody codfish! I’m going to kill him. First Pyro. Now Jack.”

Pickpocket cautiously steps toward Pete and rests a hand on his shoulder. “You doing okay, Pete?”

“Blimey, it’s freezing in here,” Pete grumbles, sounding irritated as he brushes Pickpocket’s hand away. He steps into an adjoining room and rustles around in it. When he returns, he is carrying a large framed painting. Before I can object, he throws it onto the flames.

“What are you doing?” I ask with outrage. “Those paintings are irreplaceable.”

He runs into the other room again, ignoring me, and returns with another piece of art.

“Stop it!” I say, trying to take the artwork from his hands. He tugs it from my grip and tosses it into the flames.

“That was van Gogh’s
Sunflowers
painting,” Doc says, incredulous.

“Who’s van Gogh?” Pete asks, warming his hands in the fire, ignoring our indignation.

“Who’s van Gogh?” Mole asks, a renewed boldness in the tone of his voice. “I can’t see, but even
I
know who he is.”

“He’s only one of the most inspirational nineteenth-century painters in the whole world. The picture you burned is a priceless work of art!” Doc exclaims.

Pete chuckles under his breath. “Yeah, it sure is priceless. Not sure if you’ve noticed, but there is no one around to buy it!”

“So that’s it?” Doc says, his voice rising. “We lose a couple of Lost Boys and you’re going to destroy valuable art in a temper tantrum? What are you, two years old?”

Pete’s face creases into a snarl. “Don’t you dare talk about them as if they were nothing! Pyro was one of the best Scavengers we had. And Jack … Jack’s not just any Lost Boy. He knew every entrance into the palace. He understood the ins and outs of those Marauders better than any of us. You’ve seen what those Marauders do with kids. Once they go into the palace, they never come out. Hook won’t have an ounce of mercy on him,
especially
because he’s a Lost Boy. And without him, we’re not getting into Hook’s headquarters, we’re not saving Joanna, and more than likely, if Bella made it to the palace, we’ll never see her again either. They’re all as good as dead,” he says, pulling another painting from the wall and throwing it across the room.

Pete grabs another picture, but before he can hurl it into the fire, Doc snatches it from his hands and sets it against the wall.

Pete’s anger fades as suddenly as it arrived. “I should have gone back for him,” he says quietly.

I take a step toward him, but he sees me and takes a step back, keeping the distance. His lips press into a thin line before he speaks. “It’s freezing in here. Pickpocket and I are soaked to the bone. If you don’t mind, I’d like to sit by this fire and warm up before we return to the Lost City.”

My heart skips a beat and I can’t breathe. Return to the Lost City? Pete stares down his nose at Doc. Doc returns his gaze, expressionless and unflinching.

“That’s it? You’re giving up?” Doc accuses. “Coward!” He shoves Pete hard, sending him crashing to the ground. Shock blooms in Pete’s eyes before he rockets from the floor and launches himself at Doc.

Pickpocket bolts toward the boys as profanity bursts from their lips. Mole cowers close and I pull him into a tight hug, shielding him from the violent brawl. Pete throws a punch, connecting with Doc’s chin just as Pickpocket steps between the boys.

“Enough already!” Pickpocket says, blocking Pete as he flails, trying to land another punch. Pickpocket corrals Pete in the opposite corner of the room.

“I am not giving up,” Pete shouts, shaking his clenched fist. “I’m sending the rest of you back to the Lost City and I’m going after all of them myself, Jack included.”

Doc’s fiery eyes bore into Pete. He licks a bead of blood from his bottom lip and spits on the floor. “You’re a fool.”

Mole lifts his head, his arms still clinging to my waist.

“You’re right, Doc. For once you’re actually right,” Pete says, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “I am a fool. I was foolish to bring a team into Everland with me. It was stupid to risk your lives, to risk Pyro’s and Jack’s lives. I should’ve just gone after Joanna myself.”

Doc wipes his mouth with the back of his arm, leaving a scarlet smudge on his disheveled white shirt. “No. You’re foolish to think you can save them alone.”

Pete’s eyes flash with fury.

I give Mole a reassuring pat on his shoulder and step over to Pete, placing a hand on his arm. “Come on, let’s get you warm,” I say, trying to defuse the situation.

Pete lets me guide him to the fire, where he squats and balances himself on the backs of his heels. His eyes fix on the dancing flames and glowing embers. “What are we doing? There’s nobody left but us kids and the Marauders.”

I crouch beside him, warming my chilled hands. “You don’t really think this is all that is left, do you? Hook, his army, and the Lost Kids?”

“Umm, guys,” Mole says. I glance toward him, noticing that he has moved to the doorway and is standing next to Pickpocket. Doc leans against a wall, rubbing his jaw.

“And you don’t?” Pete asks, wringing out his shirt. A pool of river water spills at his feet.

“No, I don’t. And frankly, even if I thought we were the last ones, I wouldn’t just give up on humanity,” I say.

“That makes two of us,” Doc mutters.

“Pete?” Mole interrupts.

Pete pays no attention to him. “Who else do you think is out there, Gwen? Our allies are gone. No one is left. If they were going to come to help us, they would have come by now. Everland
is
all that’s left.” The tone of his voice rises with each word, harsh and angry. “The only hope left for humankind is you, your sister, and Bella. That’s it. You are the last girls in the entire world.”

The last girls in the entire world
. The reminder makes the back of my throat burn.

“Guys, we’re not alone,” Mole says, tilting his nose up in the air. “Someone else is near. Actually, there’s a lot of someone elses near.”

“Who’s coming?” Pickpocket says with worry in his expression.

“Death!” Mole squeals before covering his face with his hands. He squeezes his eyes shut as if closing them will make the terrifying images in his head disappear.

Doc pulls out two containers of water from his pack. “Hurry, put the fire out!”

The other boys reach for their packs and pour their water over the fire, sending it hissing in the humid, cramped room. They knock the rubbish bin over and stamp the leftover flames out.

The hallway grows darker as the last few flames dim before extinguishing, leaving a few red-hot coals behind. We are plunged into blackness. Pete lights a small emergency candle, shedding minimal light into the room. The entry door of the building bursts open with a loud explosion, sending Mole into a fit of tremors. Distant voices echo in another room; their familiar robotic dialect through their heavy masks sends chills through me.

“It’s Hook’s men,” Pickpocket says. “But how? How do they know we’re here?”

“I have no idea. They must have followed us or something,” Pete says. In the dark, I hear him fidget with his daggers.

Mole moves closer to me and twists the hem of his sleeve on his trench coat. “Anyone have a plan?”

“Unless there is an emergency exit in the back of the building, we’re going to have to fight our way out,” Pickpocket says. He pulls his revolver from the holster on his back.

Bouncing on his feet, Mole bites his lip. “Okay, I’m not liking this plan so much. Anybody else?”

“There’s no way the five of us are going to take out Hook’s army,” I say. “Someone better offer some ideas or we’ll all be his latest trophies.”

Pete runs a jerky hand through his hair. “Doc, you take Gwen and see if you can find another exit. Shout if you find anything. Pickpocket and Mole, you stay with me and we’ll hold them off.”

Taking a deep breath, Mole draws his spiked staff. “If I’m going to die, I will die with dignity. That’s what Dozer would want.”

Pickpocket glances at Mole and back to Pete. “You sure about this, Pete?”

Pete rolls his shoulders back and lifts his chin. “It’s been a pleasure leading you boys.” He snatches both daggers from their sheaths.

“No, wait!” I say, stealing a glance at the entry to the hall as the voices draw closer. “They don’t need you boys. They need me.” I bite back the dread threatening to scream from my throat. “They have to know by now that I am the cure. All these months with sick or dead girls, they must have figured out there is something different about me. They may be thugs, but I hope they aren’t blithering idiots.” I take in a breath, swallowing my fear. “You boys go and get out. I’ll turn myself over to them.”