“What do you mean?” I ask, bewildered.
“If Bella and your sister die … if you are truly what Hook believes you are, the only Immune girl, you are the only chance for survival that humankind has. Your gender is endangered, and if Bella and Joanna die, you will be the last woman, the last chance for our species’ survival.”
My stomach twists in a million knots. The ache of hunger is replaced with sickening revulsion as the implication sinks in. I place my hand on the wall to steady myself. “You don’t know that. We have no idea if the virus made it beyond England.”
“All communication has been lost. England is silent. It has been a year. Don’t you think our allies would’ve come by now? No one would let England fall like this without retaliation, without sending support. And yet we’ve seen no sea ships, no zeppelins. The steam railways were significantly damaged, but you’d think the rest of the United Kingdom would find a way to connect with England. The only reasonable answer is that the virus has not just killed England, but possibly everyone beyond her borders. The entire world, for all we know.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. That can’t be possible.
“We have to find a cure and get Joanna back immediately,” I say, my words spilling out quickly. “We need to find out how far this virus has spread.”
“One thing at a time,” Pete says, rubbing my shoulder. “The good news is that Hook will give her the best treatment to ensure she survives. However, I’m sure she’s in a high-security facility where she will very likely stay for the rest of her life, until she’s old enough to …”
I cover his mouth with my hand. “No! Don’t say it!” I cannot bear to hear him finish the sentence. She may only be twelve, but if what he says is true, by the time she is able to conceive children of her own, of course they would use her to save humanity. I choke back the growing nausea and wipe an angry tear from my cheek.
Pete sighs. “I wish I had better news. I promise you this: You and your siblings will be safe if I have anything to do with it. I swear I won’t let them do that to her. I will do everything to get your sister back, even if it means sacrificing my own life.”
“You’d do that for us?” I ask, not entirely surprised. After all, he needs my help just as much as I need his.
“Well, yeah,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’d do it for any Lost Kid.”
I drop my gaze to the ground. “I’m not a Lost Kid,” I say. My voice echoes through the cavern. Not a Lost Kid. Not a Lost Kid. Not a Lost Kid.
Pete tilts my chin up. The lantern lights his handsome face and green eyes that remind me of the color of lucky clovers. “You are a Lost Girl.”
Something crumbles inside of me and like Everland’s cityscape, the raw supports that barely hold me up feel exposed. Relieved to have someone other than myself to count on, I wrap my arms around his neck. He hesitates, but eventually returns the hug. It’s the first time since my parents disappeared that someone else comforts me instead of the other way around.
“Thank you,” I whisper, feeling his soft hair beneath my fingers.
“Anytime, Gwen,” he murmurs into the curve of my ear.
I pull back and suddenly feel my cheeks flush. “You called me by my name.”
Pete blushes. “Immune doesn’t suit you.” He takes my hand, a burst of energy gracing his expression. His hand doesn’t let go of mine. A crooked grin grows on his face as our eyes meet. Beneath his stare, I shift uncomfortably and gently pull my hand from his. Having attended a girls’ private school, my interactions with boys were limited. I’m unsure how to react. Pete’s grin fades as he shoves his hands into his pockets.
“We should go. It’s time for you to meet Doc. He’ll know what to do,” Pete says, nudging me forward, and we descend into the dark, stale tunnel.
Two steel cannons protrude over my shoulders as I lean against the front of the insectile military vehicle. The tank hisses as steam rises from the boiler. Carefully, I polish the metal barrel of my modified Gatling arm gun, taking special care to clean the grease from in between the teeth of every cog, wheel, and spring. Smeeth runs toward me, stops, and salutes.
“Captain,” the soldier says.
“At ease, Mr. Smeeth,” I answer, not bothering to look up at him. I tuck the polishing cloth into the front pocket of my coat. Squinting, I scrutinize the weapon, inspecting every bit of the surface for smudges.