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.