Everland (25 page)

“How has the Professor been able to save the kids without getting caught?” Doc asks. “Hook has been taking children off the street for the last year. What does he think she does with them? Certainly he must suspect her?”

“Hook insisted that once it was decided that the captured children were not immune, they were to be euthanized. Their bodies were to be incinerated so that the virus would not spread,” Lily says. “The Professor led Hook to believe that they had been cremated; meanwhile, she treated them until they could safely travel. My job was to take the children away. I was one of the Professor’s first patients. When Hook brought me to the palace, I was sure I was going to die, but the Professor saved me.” Lily shrugs. “Since then we’ve been a team.”

“How many others have you saved?” Pickpocket asks.

“You mean how many others has the
Professor
saved,” Lily says. “She is the one who treats them. There are many. Granted, none of us are cured of the Horologia virus, but she has kept us alive, treating the symptoms and supplying medicines to other survivors.”

“Where are the other survivors?” Pete asks.

“Northumberland,” Lily says. “The Queen of England escaped through the royal tunnels when the bombs dropped. One of the steam railway tunnels leads to Alnwick Castle. The Duchess of Northumberland has taken Her Majesty in, along with survivors who escaped with her. Together they are treating the survivors of not only England, but all citizens of the United Kingdom, and are preparing to strike back to reclaim Everland as their own.”

“The Queen is alive?” I breathe. “How many survivors are there? Can they help us now?” I ask with urgency.

“As far as those who escaped with the Queen: a few workers, family, the Royal Guard, some military. I’m unsure how many have gathered there from the rest of the United Kingdom,” Lily says.

“Military? Guard?” Pete asks, rage spitting from his lips. “Why haven’t they come to fight the Marauders?”

Lily frowns and slowly shakes her head. “Only a handful of the Queen’s military and guard escaped, a few dozen at the most, not nearly enough to stage a counterattack. Even if they had the numbers to attack, the priority is to treat the sick and dying. They are not prepared to strike yet.”

I reach for the metal tags and my fingers graze across cloth and skin where the necklace once rested. I jerk my hand away, sickened by the empty space that held the only item I had left of my father’s.

I blink, trying to hide the tears burning my eyes.

Lily ties off the bandage on Pete’s arm. “There you go,” she says. She presses two fingers to her pink lips, kisses them, and places them on the bandage. “Healed with a kiss. You should feel much better soon. The bullet merely grazed you.”

“Lucky for me,” Pete replies with a quirky grin.

Annoyed, I drop my gaze to the floor. Something glitters beneath the lamplight, catching my eye. Bending, I run a finger across the hint of gold dust sprinkled on the floor.

A small cough breaks the silence from behind one of the curtains. Pete’s surprised eyes shift from the noise to Lily.

“Who is that?” Pete asks sternly.

“Another rescue,” Lily says, removing her gloves and dropping them in a rubbish bin.

The patient says something so weakly that I barely hear her voice. I dart across the room and rip open the sheet dividing the two cots. With a glassy gaze she peers up, dark circles puffy beneath her eyes. Her face is pale and her breathing is quick and shallow.

“Bella!” I shout, tears threatening to fall.

The young girl’s eyelids flutter before her eyes roll back and she plunges into unconsciousness.

T
he hallway rumbles with the chatter of soldiers discussing the arrival of the newest female as they peer beyond the bulletproof window. Inside the Professor’s lab, I inspect the unconscious girl, awed by the condition she is in. Although her fingers show signs of infection, for the most part she appears to be extraordinarily healthy. Compared with the other children that have been found, she is nearly perfect.

“Has the Professor seen the girl?” I ask Smeeth.

“She’s just finishing up in the crematorium down in the basement. She should be up shortly.”

I nod curtly.

“I’ve seen worse,” Smeeth continues. “She doesn’t appear to be too far along. In fact, I’d say she’s the healthiest specimen I’ve seen. She is in remarkable condition. I’m not sure how she’s managed to survive this long, but I hope she’s a good candidate for further testing.”

Seizing the patient’s chart from the bed, I flip through the pages. “Do we have any identification on who she is?”

Smeeth stares at me with a puzzled expression. “Not that I’m aware of. Why?”

The chart offers nothing out of the ordinary: height, weight, and description. I watch the girl with a newfound appreciation, and I sort through jumbling thoughts as if piecing a puzzle together. “If she’s been able to stave off the virus for this long, she must have had some help, something to assist her in building enough immunity to keep the virus from affecting her like the others. Maybe the Professor is wrong. Perhaps it may be possible to concoct an antidote from her cells. You do know what that would mean, Mr. Smeeth?”

“What, Captain?”

“She could be our ticket out of Everland. We might not need the other girl,” I say, observing this girl with interest. “When can we wake her?”

“If you’re right, I’m sure the Professor will be interested in speaking to her to find out if there’s an environmental factor or something else keeping her alive.”

I place the patient’s chart on the foot of the bed. Footsteps echo in the staircase that leads from the basement cremation chamber to the lab. The Professor steps into the room, pulling on a pair of gloves.

“So let’s see who our …” She stops midsentence. Her eyes stare in shock at the young girl. Suddenly, it clicks.

Upon seeing the Professor’s expression, rage strikes me in the gut like lightning, confirming what I’d just deduced. I ball my fists, holding back the anger, reminding myself that she, like my own mother, will lie through her pretty white teeth as long as it is to her own benefit.

“Professor?” Smeeth says, furrowing his brow. “Is something wrong?”

The woman draws near to the patient and gently touches the girl’s cheek.

“You know her, don’t you?” I snarl, more as a statement than a question.

The Professor regards me, shaking her head, seeming to search for lost words. Finally, she drops her gaze back to the patient.

She brushes a ringlet of hair from the girl’s face. “This is my daughter.”

“You said you had no children,” I say, my voice trembling behind clenched teeth.

The Professor nods, her worried eyes flicking from me to the young girl. She glances at her watch as she rests her fingertips on the girl’s wrist. “I thought she was dead. I’ve watched hundreds, thousands, of kids come through here, hoping any of them were Joanna. When she never showed up, I assumed the worst.” The Professor strokes Joanna’s hair. “I can’t believe it’s her. She’s grown so much.”

“She obviously is not the one you said was immune,” I declare, tossing Joanna’s file onto the counter. “This virus has annihilated the adult population and almost every female we’ve come across. Yet somehow both you and your daughter managed to survive it, and you claim that there is only one child that is immune. How is that possible?”

The Professor says nothing. Fury boils over within me. I swipe the counter, sending the file and medical tools clattering to the floor. I growl and grab the Professor’s frail arms with viselike hands. She yelps in pain.

“What are you hiding?” I demand.

With a frightened but defiant stare, she glares back at me.

Her insubordination rattles me. I press my lips together, fighting the urge to slap her.

“Perhaps this will convince you,” I say. Pulling my revolver from its holster, I raise it to the Professor’s chest. She shudders but stands tall.

“Captain, wait!” Smeeth says, stepping between the gun and the Professor.

He is like kerosene, fueling my anger.

“Soldier, stand down!” I snarl.

The Professor guffaws and stares at me with unintimidated, unyielding eyes. “You’ll never pull that trigger. You need me.”

I cock the hammer of my gun back.

“Think this through,” Smeeth says, holding his palms up. “She is the only one left who knows how to develop the cure for the Horologia virus. You kill her, you kill any chance we have to find the antidote.”

I study the Professor, searching for any sign of fear. There is nothing. Smeeth is right and she knows it. “You have a valid point. Your daughter, however”—I turn my revolver toward the unconscious girl—“is not vital to my plan. She is not the Immune.”

Just as I expected, the Professor’s resolve dissipates. She throws herself over the girl’s body, shielding her from my aim. “No!” the Professor pleads, the blood draining from her face.

Smiling widely, I lower my weapon. “Ah, just as I thought. I want answers and I want them now. There’s something keeping her alive. Start talking.”

The Professor’s eyes glisten as she sits up and laces her fingers into her daughter’s hand. “Sixteen years ago, I had just begun working for the biological weapons laboratory. Three other researchers and I were assigned to study the Horologia virus. It was sent to us by an anonymous rebel of …” The Professor hesitates, as if struggling to continue. She sighs. “It was sent from Germany.”

Disbelief and rage flood through me. My knees grow weak. I lean against the counter to steady myself. It was one of my own who sent this virus here. But why? And who? As if reading my mind, the Professor continues.

“We don’t know who sent it, only that it came from Germany with a dire warning that it would potentially be used against England. I was commissioned to create an antidote in the event Germany attacked England.” The Professor lets out an audible breath, appearing reluctant to share more.

I swing my pistol, its barrel aimed at the Professor. “What else do you know?”

The Professor gathers herself and stands, straightening her lab coat. “Immediately, it was apparent the virus was meant to destroy whole populations. Not only cities, but entire countries. After months of research, we were able to isolate and create not only an antidote, but also a vaccine. But the base of the virus was developed with an ingredient so rare that we couldn’t re-create enough. It was impossible to generate enough of the vaccine to protect England with the small sample we had. Just enough to vaccinate a few individuals. Once I knew the vaccine was safe, I began to vaccinate her.” The Professor nods toward the unconscious child. “I knew that it was only a matter of time before the treaty was as worthless as the signatures on it. Peace can only last so long.”

I watch the young girl as her chest rises with each inhalation. “But if she’s vaccinated, why is she showing symptoms?”

The Professor frowns. “Immunity required a series of three doses over fifteen years. Joanna has received only two. She wasn’t scheduled for her next for another three years. Considering how rapidly the population succumbed to the disease, it’s no surprise that she’s showing signs. Without the third shot, she wouldn’t have developed the immunity to entirely resist the virus.” The Professor drops her gaze, a crease deepening between her eyebrows.

I regard the Professor, looking at her from head to toe. “If you had access to the vaccine, then you must have vaccinated yourself, too.”

The Professor shakes her head. “The program was shut down. With England at odds with Germany and the funding for the project dwindling, Parliament was more concerned about defending the country, not some obscure virus that no one had seen before. I was reassigned to study more prevalent biological weapons. Only a small portion of vaccine was developed, but with tensions between England and Germany rising, I wasn’t going to take the chance. I stole the vaccine and used it on her. I didn’t make enough to vaccinate myself before the program closed. The only way I survived the initial outbreak was because lab protocol required we dress in hazmat suits while working with the specimens. Luckily for me, I happened to be in the lab when you bombed London.” Sarcasm laces her voice.

“But there’s a third shot out there that you intended to give her. Where’s the vaccine now? Is it with the antidote?” I ask, the hope in my voice betraying me.

“
Everything
was destroyed.” The Professor’s voice hardens. “When you bombed London, you not only released the virus, but you destroyed the vaccine along with the cure.”

I holster my gun and step to Joanna’s bedside, scanning the length of the child. “What about the girl? Can you harvest the antibodies from her to develop an antidote?”

The Professor cringes, but joins me at the girl’s bedside. She lifts her daughter’s hand and inspects her fingers. “Her body is starting to succumb to the virus. The antibodies aren’t working. They may have kept the virus at bay, but her immune system is weakening. I could try, but I can’t promise anything.”

“And what about your other children?” I ask, holding back the grin I feel creeping at the corners of my lips.