Page 36 of Fable for the End of the World

My heart hammers in my throat.There must be a delay in the transmission, that’s all, some wires getting crossed.I wait and wait. The chill seeps further, into my bones, and the wind blows my damp hair around my face. My teeth chatter.

Silence is the most terrifying sound. The utter absence of life. I remember pressing two fingers to the girl’s throat and feeling no pulse under her cold skin. I remember leaning over with my ear to her chest, waiting to hear the hum of her heart. The silence yawned below me, like a dark, bottomless pit. I tumbled into it. The next thing I remember is waking up in the helicopter, trembling beneath a Mylar blanket.

I can’t fail again. I tap my temple one more time, hard enough to hurt, to shock my body into action and start the synapses firing in my brain. Nothing.

My comms system is totally down, crumpled like a house on a fault line. I can’t even access my own vitals. The only thing that works is the night vision in my prosthetic, which I test by burying my head in my arms and blocking out the watery sunlight.

The throbbing pain moves from my temple to the center of my forehead. There’s a staticky itch under my skin, and I want to claw into my flesh to dig it out. I curl my fingernails into my palm again.

The brother hit me right where my comms chip is implanted. He must have damaged it. Crushed it into pieces, maybe, and sent them scattering through my brain. The realization floods my veins with ice again. I try to swallow the bile in my throat, but then I think—why?If I’m disconnected from the Caerus mainframe, then the cameras have lost track of me, too.

I vomit again.

All that comes out is sticky, clear saliva. The acid churning in my empty stomach. With nausea still shuddering through me, I look up at the sky, half obscured through the dense canopy, just jagged strips of blue-gray between gnarled branches.

“Please,” I whisper, as if anyone can hear. “Save me, please, get me out of here.”

There’s no answer, of course. I might as well be in another universe, and Azrael some other, far-flung planet’s god.

I switch my brain into survival mode. No thinking, just acting. I unzip the small compartment in my suit that holds meal-replacement packets. I tear one open and squeeze the nutrient paste into my mouth. It tastes like cereal milk left to sit in the bowl. But it’s better than nothing. I have decon-tabs in my suit, too, which I can use as soon as I find water.

The rote, simple procedure of nourishing my body makes me calmer. Warmer. There’s still that splintering ache in my head and I want nothing more than to swallow a painkiller and crawl into a nearby bush to sleep until the pain passes through me. But I can’t afford to rest now.

My best chance is to get out of the woods. Find somewhere with a signal and contact Azrael. He’ll be looking for me, too. Maybe he’s as panicked as I am. I try to imagine it—fear passing across his cold, stoic face. Strangely enough, this makes me feel better, picturing his terror at the thought of losing me. Maybe enough fear can add up to love.

I have no idea how close I am to even a speck of civilization. Until now, my hunts have been brutally efficient and short. I’ve never spent any more time than necessary in this ugly, half-drowned world. Who would, if they had any other choice?

My gait is more limping than walking, really. My legs still feel so heavy. With enough time I know my muscles will strengthen again, but for now, every step seems more tremulous than the last. It has to be the withdrawal. I’m shaking and drenched in cold sweat.

I go in the direction I think is south, hoping that I’ll stumble upon some semblance of civilization, somewhere Caerus can find me again. But after what feels like hours, I’ve found nothing. And the woods are growing denser, deeper. The bark on the trees is black with rainwater and the leaves are a rich, water-fed green. Scummy white moss is growing on every rock, and bizarre mushrooms unfold from the ground like frilly fish gills. I don’t recognize anything in this alien place. I might as well be walking on the bottom of the ocean.

The thickly interwoven tree branches blot out most of the sun. What does leak through is thin, bleary light, more gray than gold. The air is so heavy with humidity that every breath is likedrowning—in slow, painful increments. I wonder again how anyone manages to live out here. I suppose they just adapt to it, just like they adapt to everything else.

Or maybe they don’t. In the several hours I’ve been walking, I haven’t seen a trace of another human being. Not that I would necessarily know what to look for. Azrael never prepared me for this situation, for the possibility that I’d be disconnected from the Caerus mainframe entirely. Because nothing is supposed to exist outside Caerus.

I have to stop for a minute to catch my breath. There’s a stitch in my side and the headache is returning, a dull throb behind my temples. I limp over to the nearest tree and steady myself against the trunk, panting. I want to collapse, to slide down into the dirt and leaf pulp of the forest floor. But if I do, I’m not sure I’ll be able to get up again.

There’s a rustling sound, like a shiver of wind, only nothing shifts in the air. My head snaps up.

She steps out of the trees, nimbly parting the branches. I didn’t think I was at the stage of withdrawal where I’d still be having hallucinations, but my brain refuses to accept that this is real. That the Lamb is walking toward me in slow, deliberate paces, my own rifle held aloft on her shoulder.

Our eyes meet, and neither of us speaks. Her finger hovers over the trigger. The bruises of my failed strangulation are blooming on her throat, garish red marks in the shape of my hands. Drawn up to her full height, with me still doubled over, she seems suddenly tall,strong, though I felt how weak she was beneath me. How weak she wassupposedto be.

But strange metamorphoses are happening all the time. Who says prey can’t become predator?

Her gaze is unflinching. I look up into the barrel of my own rifle, and my stomach lurches. My skin is prickling with heat. I wonder if this is how my Lambs die—in a knot of terror and righteous fury, fearing me and hating me in equal measure.

Except. The Lamb hasn’t blinked in so long that her eyes turn glazed and wet. And her finger is still dancing over the trigger, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

All of a sudden, my vision flashes white.I’m dead, I think—but then the light dissipates just as quickly as it came. My connection to the Caerus grid, maybe, flaring up and then fading again. Her tracker is a pulse in my ear, a second heartbeat. Her life, just as fragile as mine.

My voice is hoarse when I finally manage to speak.

“If you’re going to kill me,” I say, “you should probably cock the rifle first.”

Immediately her face flushes. Her left hand fumbles around the barrel, trying to pull it back like it’s a manual, like her brother’s gun. I knew she wouldn’t understand the difference. I just need a second of hesitation, the briefest slipping, and I can have her on the ground again, my rifle jammed against her throat.

Only when I try to launch myself forward, my tired body won’t move. Not even the fear shooting up my spine can give me enoughadrenaline to tackle her the way I want to. Exhaustion lies over me like a sodden blanket.

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