“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.
The 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.