Page 74 of Fable for the End of the World

There’s no putting my suit back on. Instead, I take the oversize flannel shirt from where it’s draped over the chair and button it to my throat. The pants are hopelessly large, so I just leave them. The shirt falls all the way to my knees, and I figure my legs and feet may benefit from exposure to the numbingly chill air.

I open the cabin door and step into the snow. Outside sunlight is glancing off the fast-melting layer of frost. Even though it’s barely been an hour since I blew up the Dogs, it feels like an eternity has passed. The new world that hangs before my eyes is beautiful and strange. Maybe I did fall asleep and this is a dream. Maybe it will always be this bright and I’ll never see the setting sun.

But I can’t quite convince myself it’s true. I take slow, halting steps through the snow, my whole body feeling clumsy with both the returning pain and the residual numbing effects of the pill. Eventually, I reach the smoldering pile of metal.

The Dogs are in pieces, legs snapped off their bodies, hulls crushed inward. I have to admit that I’m surprised how easy it was to destroy them. From all the stories I’ve heard, from all the demonstrations I’ve seen, I thought they’d be a lot more durable. It surprises me, too, that they never shot back at us, even though examining them now, I can see the charred remains of their mounted machine guns. If they had wanted us dead, they could’ve killed us instantly, in a spray of bullets.

I kneel down beside the nearest one and begin picking through the rubble. The metal is still hot enough to burn my hands, so I pull down the shirtsleeves to cover my palms. The pieces of the Dogs are all warped. I can’t shake the feeling that this is wrong. Admittedly, my knowledge is limited, but how can kerosene burn hot enough to melt such tough, durable metal?

Something gleams from the mass of rubble, smooth and black as a piece of polished obsidian. I brush off the ash with my sleeve.

It’s a large square object, unmarred by the explosion—not even scuffed. When I tap it with my index finger, there’s a faint reverberation, suggesting it’s hollow inside.

A literal black box. I run my hands around it until I find a small latch, just barely big enough to flip open with my thumbnail.

Inside there’s a rolled-up length of fabric, also black. I recognize the insulated, heat-reflecting, Kevlar-lined material at once. I unfurl it onto the snow. A hunting suit.

My heart starts pounding. Underneath the suit, the box is full of other supplies: bullets, syringes, bandages, decon-tabs, meal replacement packets. My fingers tremble as I remove each item andset it down beside me. Total numbness overtakes me. I can’t even feel the cold on my bare legs.

The last item is an even smaller box, made of the same sleek, polished metal. It looks like the sort of box that would hold a wedding ring, but when I flip it open, I find a tiny black object, curled like a mollusk. I struggle to even pinch it between my finger and thumb. I raise it up to the light.

It’s an earpiece. My heart lurches.

Still trembling, I place it in my ear. There’s the crackle of static, the high-pitched hum of a searching signal. And then a low, familiar voice.

“Hello, Melinoë.”

Azrael.

“I’m sure you have plenty of questions. Don’t worry. I’ll answer them all in good time.”

His voice is so smooth, so controlled, that at first I wonder if it’s a recording. I stay silent, my heart hammering painfully against my sternum.

“Okay?”

Dry-mouthed, I reply, “Okay.”

“I’m glad to see you survived your encounter with the Dogs.”

Something twinges in my stomach. “You didn’t mean for them to kill me. If you did, I would be dead.”

“No,” he agrees. “You’re smart enough to figure that out. You’re also smart enough to know that we’ve been watching you.”

My vision tips. The ground seems to switch places with the sky. I stare and stare into the middle distance until my eyes burn,until I hear Azrael inhale, impatience evident in just that single sharp breath.

“How long?” I ask hoarsely. “How long have the cameras been on?”

“We did lose connection briefly. And after your encounter with Luka, your comms chip was indeed disabled. But the Lamb’s tracker eventually came back online, and so did the cameras. Just in time to see you fall asleep next to her in that cave.”

“But I didn’t hear the cameras. Not once, since...” I trail off. My voice is smaller than a whisper.

Azrael laughs, a raspy, pitying sound that makes me feel like I’m eight years old again, my hand slipping out of my real father’s grasp. I can almost remember that now, too. My real parents: Their faces are blurry, like reflections on the water, but if I focus, they sharpen and clarify. I’m starting to remember it all.

“You think we can’t keep them below your detection?” Azrael clucks his tongue. “Making them audible was always a favor to you and the other Angels, so you would perform well. But as it turns out, your best performance has been when you believed the cameras were off.”

“I’m notperforming,” I bite out. “I’ve been trying to stay alive. Because youabandonedme.”

Azrael is silent, leaving only the faint hum of static in my ear, as anger surges like fire through my veins.

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