Page 38 of Fable for the End of the World

The Angel staggers forward, legs trembling under her own weight. Her steps are uneven. If she is pretending, she’s very committed to the performance. I notice the bruising on her temple where Luka hit her. It’s a slow-spreading purple, almost black.

If Luka’s blow had landed with just a little more force, itmight have killed her. All of this would have been over. But if Luka couldn’t bring himself to do it, I don’t know if I’ll ever find the strength.

Helplessness turns my stomach hollow. Because now, with Luka gone, I know this is what it will take. The Gauntlet will only end with a death—hers or mine. And I’ll have to be the one to strike the blow.

“Where are they coming from?” the Angel asks, voice low. “The... Wends?”

I gesture behind me, to the unmoving brush. “They were chasing me. I only lost them because I fell down a ravine.”

She looks at me with her lips pursed. When I say it out loud, I’m embarrassed. But why bother trying to pretend I’m strong or competent? She knows I’m weak, ill-equipped for any of this, helpless and hopeless without Luka. After all, she’s almost killed me. Twice.

Almost.I remember the odd way her expression shifted when she leaned over me, pressing down hard on my throat. There was fear on her face, surfacing like a silver-backed fish from the water. She had let go. I know I didn’t imagine it. The sudden relief of pressure on my throat. The widening of her eye—her real eye—in horror.

Even so, I wouldn’t be alive without Luka. Thinking of him makes a flash of tears well up.

You might never see him again. The Wends might have already ripped him limb from limb.

I try to push the thought out of my mind. If I’m going to make it through the Gauntlet, I have to believe that Luka is okay. He’sstronger than me. He can survive.

“Then let’s get as far away as we can,” the Angel says. “Quickly.”

But she doesn’t move. She just stands there, trembling slightly. I notice again how pale her face is, impossibly pale. A reminder that no matter how fragile she seems, the stories are true: The Angels are more machine than human, designed only to kill.

I start off in the opposite direction I ran from—my best guess at north. The Angel follows, her footsteps dragging in the dirt. Hearing them, I grind to a halt.

“I’m not going to walk in front of you,” I say. “I’m not that stupid.”

Her eyes flash. Well, one of them. The left one, the one that’s black from end to end, just throws my reflection back at me.

“Fine,” she says. “Then tell me where to go.”

I try to imbue my voice with confidence. “This way.”

She walks forward with agonizing sluggishness. I keep my gaze fixed on the rifle slung over her back. Her narrow shoulders are pinched together, and under her skintight black suit, I can see the outline of every bone. Her painful-looking thinness didn’t occur to me when I was pressed to the ground beneath her, her cold hands around my throat.

“What happened to you?” I ask. The question just spills out before I can stop it.

The Angel turns, her eyes narrowed. “You tried to kill me.”

“That wasn’t me,” I protest. “That was Luka. And you tried to kill me first.”

She just stares back balefully. I feel five inches tall.

“Well, you’re still alive,” I say.

“So are you.”

We lapse back into silence, but the air between us crackles. I shouldn’t waste time with conversation. I should be focused on not getting eaten alive.

Just make it through. Get back to Luka. Then you can—

I squeeze my eyes shut briefly, as if to banish the thought. I don’t want to imagine it. Killing her. It makes my stomach turn. I just have to hope that when the time comes, I’ll find the strength to plunge the knife in.

Vaguely nauseated, I follow the Angel out of the clearing. It feels like we’re wading through swamp water. If I had any doubt she was faking her frailty, it’s gone now. She’s practically dragging herself forward, one aching step at a time. I can hear her labored breathing, even the gritting of her teeth.

This has to be something worse than a head injury. Not that I’m an expert, and not that I think she would tell me the truth, if I did ask. So I just follow, with the same brutal slowness.

We’re barely more than a hundred yards from the clearing when she falls. It happens so suddenly that I nearly trip over her as she crumples to her knees in the dirt.

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