Page 25 of Fable for the End of the World

And then she’s gone.

I can’t tell if she leapt away or just fell, inertia dragging her to the ground. I can’t hear anything over my panicked, sputtering pulse.

“Inesa,” Luka snarls, “drive!”

Without noticing, I’ve let up on the gas. I slam the pedal backto the floor. Luka spins frantically in all directions, rifle cocked, as if he’s expecting her to drop onto the car again. My vision warps and blurs with what I think are tears. I can’t connect them to any emotion. My heart is just beating so fast, I think it’s going to crack through my chest.

Eight

Melinoë

The bullet only grazed me, skimming off the curve of my shoulder. It’s happened before. The car’s taillights disappear down the road, leaving me in near total darkness. The moon shines weakly through a cobweb of cloud. Blood is sluicing from the wound in my shoulder all the way down my arm, dripping past my fingertips.

It would be easy to panic. Not because of the blood, or the solid, pitiless darkness, but because I failed. It was never supposed to be this way. Her death should have been quick, merciless, a testament to my skill and cruelty, redeeming my grievous mistake. And it would have been. If not for the brother. I underestimated him.

The night vision in my prosthetic eye flickers on. At least for now, I’m alone. I venture just slightly into the woods that line the road and slump down against the trunk of a tree. The movement makes pain shoot through my arm. I bite my lip before I can cry out. I don’t want the things that lurk in the forest to hear me, and I especially don’t want my weakness live streamed to millions. I’malready humiliated enough.

I dig through the hidden pockets of my hunting suit until I find the roll of bandages. I tear off a strip and then slowly begin to unzip the suit. I’m careful not to reveal any more skin than necessary, since I know the cameras are zeroing in on me right now, greedily trying to capture as much as possible. There are entire archives of photos online showing me in suggestive poses, grainy screenshots taken from the live streams. I already know pictures of this moment will end up there, too.

The wound isn’t deep and there’s no bullet to dislodge, so I just grit my teeth and apply the bandage. It stings for a few moments and then it dissolves into my skin, forming new flesh where mine was torn open and absorbing the spilled blood. There are powerful painkillers inside the liquid bandage, and after a few moments, when they’ve soaked into my skin, the throbbing in my shoulder fades to a dull and distant ache.

This comes with the downside of making me groggy, a little removed from my immediate reality. Sloppy. So I just huddle there against the tree, waiting until the tiredness fades.

My comms chip beeps. I tap my temple twice to activate it.

Slightly corrupted by static, Azrael’s voice is in my ear.

“Melinoë,” he says, “what are you doing?”

I flinch.

Tucking my head into my knees so the cameras won’t pick up on my words, I whisper, “I’m sorry. It was a mistake. I wasn’t expecting the brother—”

“I briefed you on him. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise.”

“I know.” I try to close my eyes, but my prosthetic stays stubbornly open. My vision is grainy black and green. “I won’t fail again. I promise.”

A beat of silence. Azrael exhales, and when he speaks again, his voice is gentle. “It’s not the worst thing that could’ve happened. The viewers are definitely engrossed now. We’re gaining thousands by the minute. But they’ll be expecting a dramatic finale. And their attention won’t hold for long.”

“I know,” I repeat.

“Then get it done.”

With another fizzle of static, my comms chip goes dead. I draw in another tremulous breath, my head still cradled in my knees, and tap my temple again. A three-dimensional map unfolds across my vision, a second, false world overlaid upon the first. Roads spread out around me like a complex network of tree roots. And there in the distance is the Lamb’s tracker, a pulsing red light. It moves in halting, sluggish increments, pressing farther north.

Her face suddenly invades my mind. Fear-stricken, eyes wide, just like all the rest. But even when I blink, it doesn’t vanish. I keep seeing her stare, fixed so unflinchingly on mine. In the watery, inconstant light, her eyes wavered between brown and green. A dynamic color, something as alive as the earth, both essential and changeable. Her brother’s stare was cold and sharp enough to cut. But her gaze had no scorn in it.

No matter how I try to banish the memory, I keep seeing her eyes.

Nine

Inesa

I drive for an incalculable amount of time until my heartbeatreturns to something approaching normal. Luka slumps in his seat, but keeps his rifle across his lap for easy access. Outside, the dark is seething and silent again, the air as thick as water.

I’ve taken a series of random turns down obscure roads, too panicked to pay attention to the map at all, so now I have no idea where we are. Also, the cracks in the windshield—rippling outward from the point of impact—make it nearly impossible to see what’s ahead. I keep having to stick my head out the window to my left.

Eventually, my body just seizes up on me. I no longer have the strength to press down on the gas pedal, and my fingers go slack around the steering wheel.

---