I take another step back, nearly tripping over the umbrella lying on the floor. Steadying myself, I kick the umbrella and the rest of my scavenged supplies out of my way. “How did you find me?”
Pete drops his hand and frowns. “I followed you, of course.” He strides to the shelves and rifles through our supplies. “You really ought to cover your tracks better,” he says, picking up a tin of corn. He shakes the container next to his ear, grimaces, sets it back on the shelf, and starts to grab another.
I step in front of him, gripping my daggers tightly. “I’d advise you to step away from our supplies, boy,” I say through gritted teeth.
He brushes my weapons away with a swipe of his hand and reaches over my shoulder for another tin. Again he listens to the contents rattle inside. “My name is Pete, not ‘boy,’ and didn’t we already go over that part? You’re planning to slice and dice me with those butter knives of yours, yada yada.”
He’s called my bluff. I’ve done a number of things in order to survive, but I’ve never hurt anyone. I had hoped I’d never have to. Unable to bring myself to stab him, I kick him in the shin with the toe of my boot instead.
“Ow!” he yelps, dropping the tin and clutching his leg. “What was that for?”
Bella raises her slingshot again. “You really are asking for trouble, Immune.”
I stand a little straighter and ignore Bella’s threat. “What did you mean when you said I ought to cover my tracks? I’ve managed to outwit the Marauders for the past year,” I say, sheathing one of my daggers but keeping the other pointed at him, just in case.
“Is that so? It’s a bloody miracle you’ve lasted at all. Explain those to me,” he says, pointing at the concrete floor. Shoe prints dance across the cement in a clumsy display. Now my own muddy boot prints overlap them. Something sour blooms in my stomach as I silently berate myself. I practically led the Marauders to our hideout. It’s my fault Joanna is gone. How could I have been so careless?
“You left a trail of them behind you, and no offense, but if you don’t want to be found, you might consider showering the next time the rain comes in. I could smell you from three blocks away. When was the last time you washed your …” He takes my hand in his and shock spreads across his face as he examines my fingers. I jerk back and push him away.
Bella drops her aim and smirks at me. “True story,” she says with a wrinkle of her freckled nose.
My cheeks flame as I remember my reflection in the mirror earlier, and I hug myself, hoping to hide the scent I must have become so familiar with that I hardly smell it anymore.
Pete stares at my hands folded into my arms. When his gaze doesn’t shift, I hide my hands behind my back. His eyes flick to mine before he turns his attention back to our meager supplies and steps around me.
“Another thing: It’s polite to say thank you when someone saves your life,” he says, tossing a tin to Bella. She begins to place it in a pouch attached to her hip.
“Hey! That belongs to me!” I seize the tin from her and put it in my own bag. She squints in anger. I ignore her and turn my dagger to Pete. “And what do you mean you saved my life?”
Pete sifts through the contents on the shelves. “First off, quit pointing that thing at me,” he says, sounding more amused than annoyed. “Second, we aren’t here to hurt you. Third, do you really think I would be crowing on a rooftop in an attempt to draw the Marauders’ attention away from you if I wasn’t trying to help you? If I had slunk away unseen, Hook’s Marauders would have found you in a heartbeat. You’d be in Everland strapped to a cot with tubes snaking out of you. Unless you aspire to become a human pincushion, you should be thanking us, Immune.”
He picks up the half-full canister of pasta and tosses it to Bella. I catch it in midair, stashing it in my rucksack.
“Don’t call me that!” I say, pushing Pete aside. “Get out of my way.” I grab a small first aid kit, a tin of beans, and what’s left of the rice, shoving them in my bag.
“Call you what?” Pete gives me a mocking grin that screams to be slapped, but I refrain.
“Do. Not. Call. Me. Immune.” I enunciate each word with a jab of my finger into his chest.
Bella cocks her head to one side. “That is what you are, isn’t it? That’s what Hook would call you,” she says, grabbing the rice from my bag and stuffing it into hers.
“And who is Hook anyway?” I continue, clutching my rucksack to my chest.
Bella puts her hands on her hips and stares at me incredulously. “Who’s Hook? For an Immune, you sure don’t know much, do you?”
I stare at her, speechless.
Bella gives an exaggerated sigh. “The leader of the Marauders. Hanz Otto Oswald Kretschmer. H-O-O-K,” she says, spelling out each letter. “Get it now? HOOK. Or at least that’s what we call him.”
“Kretschmer? You’ve nicknamed Captain Kretschmer? Is she serious?” I ask.