“Can I keep it?” he asks, his eyes still red and swollen.
I consider telling him to leave it behind, that we can only afford to carry necessary supplies. But looking into his tear-streaked face and the single button eye on the bear, I don’t have the heart to deny him this simple luxury. I nod and continue to fill my rucksack with the supplies from the shelf. As I lift a small sack of rice, a family of cockroaches scurries for cover. I brush away one that clings to the bag. In spite of the bugs, my mouth waters over our meager amount of food, but I push away my overwhelming desire to eat. This food is for Joanna and Mikey. I can live on less, have lived on less.
As if on cue, my stomach gives an audible growl while I’m putting a tin of tuna into my bag, reminding me that it’s been days since my last meal. There is no time to worry about the small discomfort of hunger, though. The Marauders could be back at any time and the coal-black night is beginning to fade as the first hint of dawn paints the horizon. Giant clouds in the distance warn of an impending storm.
Mikey tugs my sleeve with a trembling hand. “Gwen, I don’t want to go out there. What if they catch us? They’ll feed us to the crocodiles!”
I pull him into my arms and hug him tight. “They won’t get us, I promise. I’ll keep you safe. And there are no crocodiles running around Everland. That is just a silly tale.”
Something stirs to my left, sending a renewed dose of hot adrenaline coursing through my veins.
“Hide,” I whisper to Mikey, shoving him aside. He runs and fades into the dark shadows on the other side of the room. Snatching my dagger, I whirl toward the noise. In the window, a person sits with his back against the metal frame. The small amount of moonlight still left in the early morning lights up his silhouette, casting his long shadow on the concrete floor. It stretches toward me and falls on my leather boots. I aim my blade at him.
“Who are you?” I demand.
The boy, not much older than me, seventeen at the most, steps close enough that I can make out his sharp facial features. His lips turn up in a cocky grin, and I immediately recognize him.
“It’s you,” I say with surprise. “You’re the boy the Marauders were chasing.”
He gives a dramatic bow. “In the flesh.”
Noticing that I have let my blade drop, I point it back at him.
“Well, that’s no way to treat a guest in your home,” the boy says, lifting his aviator goggles from his face and perching them atop his head. He surveys our cramped home, wrinkling his nose in disapproval. “If that’s what you call this landfill. Not much of a house at all, is it? And it stinks.”
“What do you want? Supplies? Food? We have barely enough for ourselves. You might as well leave or …” My threat sounds unconvincing even to me. Biting the inside of my cheek, I remind myself that I must protect Mikey. “I’ll kill you!”
He folds his arms, his face still shadowed in the dark room. “Kill me? I hardly think anyone could leave a scratch on me, much less a girl like you.”
“You underestimate me,” I say, jabbing my dagger toward him. He doesn’t flinch.
“Do I?” he asks, pacing in front of the window. “First, you leave me at the mercy of Captain Hook’s dirty dogs. Now you have a blade on me. A dull one, from what I can see. Is that how you normally thank someone who’s saved your hide?”
“Saved my hide? You did nothing of the sort. What do you want?”
He doesn’t have time to answer before footfalls clatter on the fire escape outside the window. I pull a second dagger from the sheath on my hip, aiming it at the window.
“Did you find anything, Pete?” asks a high-pitched voice from the gap in the wall. I glance around the boy’s frame and see a young blond girl hop through the opening. It’s the girl from the alley. Now that she’s in front of me, I notice her mirrored goggles perched on top of her head, her dirty white tunic, dusty trousers, and heavy leather boots. The outline of her mechanical wings peeks above her tiny shoulders, their metallic sheen glittering in the moonlight.
When she sees me, the girl sprints forward, positioning herself between me and the boy. She pulls a slingshot from her belt. Her brows furrow and bright blue eyes narrow as she studies me.
“You’d better not touch him or else you’re going to have to deal with me,” she says, pulling the elastic back on her slingshot. A steel ball sits in the pocket, aimed at my head. “I assure you, I’m the best shot in all of Everland. Perhaps all of England.”
The boy laughs, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right, Bella. She isn’t going to hurt us.” She doesn’t drop her aim. He steps around the little girl and holds his hand out, unfazed by my knives. “I’m Pete. This is Bella.”