Page 52 of Fable for the End of the World

“Okay, then.” I draw a breath. “We should probably go.”

Another silent nod. The compass case has gone back into my pocket, and I decide to bring the bowl with me as well. It will save me the trouble of having to whittle another one later. Her knife is made of more expensive materials than our entire house on Little Schoharie Lane, but it’s very much a killing tool, not a crafting one. Made for carving flesh, not wood.

I put that in my pocket, too. Melinoë’s gaze follows my hand as I do.

You’re not getting it back, I almost tell her.I may not be much of a fighter, but I’m no fool.

Her eyes flicker to my face again. “Which way?”

“Following the stream.” I indicate it with my chin. “Eventually it will take us to a lake or a river. And where there’s water, there’s civilization.”

I’d stick close to the stream anyway. Just in case I’m wrong, I don’t want to be too far away from our only source of water. The animals will stay by the stream, too, which will make hunting easier when we exhaust our meager supply of nutrition paste.

Plus, Luka is also smart enough to seek out a source of water. If he’s nearby, he’ll find the same stream. Melinoë doesn’t have to know what I’m thinking.

I try to let the idea of seeing him again lift my spirits, but my stomach is hollow with hopelessness. Over and over again I see his face in my mind, stricken with horror, screaming my name.

He’s alive, I tell myself firmly.He has to be.If I’m still here, asweak and inept as I am, Luka has survived, too. He’s always been better, stronger than me.

Melinoë and I end up walking side by side, neither of us willing to turn our back to the other. The silence that stretches between us isn’t quite companionable, but it isn’t hostile, either. Melinoë keeps her head down, though occasionally her eyes dart over to me, both the real one and the fake one. I realize that I’ve started to not even notice her prosthetic. It just seems like such a natural part of her.

“Did Azrael put that in?” I blurt out, and almost clap my hand over my mouth. What a presumptuous question to ask someone who knows three dozen different ways to kill me.

But Melinoë doesn’t look offended. She lifts a finger to her cheekbone, right below the false eye. “We have them implanted when we’re children.”

Her voice, as usual, betrays nothing, but the way she touches her face seems self-conscious.

“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay,” she says, and then lapses back into silence.

I’m left with the image of a child strapped down on an operating table, sharp medical tools hovering over their face. I’m sure the process was brisk, anesthetized, and clean. But I can’t dispel the barbarity of it. The idea of going to sleep and waking up with such an essential piece of you ripped away and replaced.

“Did it hurt?” I ask softly.

Another too-probing question. Melinoë stops walking. The wind lifts the long strands of her ponytail and makes her white hair shiver around her face. I stop, too, and just watch her. Beautiful andpale, she’s too bright in this world of muted browns and greens.

She’s silent for so long that I give up on her answering, and start to turn around again, but then—her voice.

Quietly, without looking over at me, she says, “Yes.”

The forest changes around us. It’s subtle, but not below my attention. The trees are thinning. White birches begin to emerge among the thick deciduous brush, like slashes of light. More of the sky shows through the canopy, larger swaths of gray-tinged blue. I hope this means we’re getting close to the edge of the woods. Close to civilization.

At the same time, I hope we’re not. Because the minute the cameras click on again, Melinoë will have her rifle drawn and I’ll be staring down the barrel with nothing but a flimsy knife in my hand. Maybe I can convince her to at least give me a head start.

Or maybe we’ll find Luka first.

Just as I feel a flicker of hope kindle in my chest, a branch cracks nearby. I stop instantly, boots skidding in the dirt.

Melinoë heard it, too. She pauses, fists clenched at her sides, so still she looks almost lifeless.

I inhale, searching for the scent of rotting meat, but I don’t find it. Not a Wend, then. I’m not quite optimistic enough to imagine that it’s another person, appearing to lead us triumphantly to civilization.

Another twig snap. For some reason, I have to restrain myself from reaching out to Melinoë. I don’t even know what it would achieve, to touch her. I just want to.

The leaves rustle, and then a flash of brown and white darts out from the brush. Before I can react, before I can even register that it’s a deer, Melinoë’s rifle is lifted. The bullet cracks the air. The deer gives a plaintive honk and then collapses in the dirt, limbs spasming for a moment before going still.

I let out a breath, half shock and half relief. Warily, Melinoë lowers her gun.

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