Page 46 of Fable for the End of the World

“What do you mean? You said he fixes things when they go wrong.”

“When things go wrong that are out of my control.” Her voice is cold. “This kind of failure is my fault.I’msupposed to fix it.”

I stiffen, drawing my shoulders around my ears. Rising up farther onto my knees, knife still gripped in my fist, I consider whether I should make a lunge for the rifle lying between us. Then I decide it’s better just to run.

But before I can move, Melinoë says, “Besides, the connection is dead.”

This throws me off. “What connection?”

“Between me and the Caerus grid. Ever since your brother hit me here.” She delicately touches a finger to her bruised temple. “My comms chip shattered. Even if Azrael wanted to find me—”

She cuts herself off abruptly, glancing over to the dark half of the cave again. With only her black prosthetic eye turned toward me, I can’t read the expression on her face.

Is she lying? Trying to lull me into a false sense of security? It would be a pretty elaborate game. And this explains a lot: why she was wandering aimlessly in the woods when I found her. Why she accepted my help instead of killing me. Out here, severed from the Caerus grid, she’s as alone as I am.

My voice trembles as I ask, “Do you know how much time is left?”

I wish Dad had left us a watch instead of a broken compass. If, somehow, I manage to survive for the rest of the thirteen days—however long is left—this will all be over, Mom’s debt erased. Everything since the beginning of the Gauntlet has felt hazy and unreal; I can’t account for the hours. I think at least two cycles of day and night have passed, but really, there’s no way to be sure. I should have taken my tablet from the car before running away.

I should have done a lot of things differently.

Melinoë looks down at her arm. She tugs back the sleeve of her hunting suit to reveal a small black-and-white screen affixed to her wrist. It shows four sets of numbers: hours, minutes, seconds, andmilliseconds. A countdown. Ticking away the time of my Gauntlet.

She angles her wrist toward me, so I can see: 264 hours.

Too many. My heart plummets with despair.

“What about my tracker?” I ask. I can still hear the hum of it when I stay quiet and listen, but I’ve grown so accustomed to the sound that it fades into the background if I’m not paying attention. There’s something blood-chilling about that realization. That the tracker has become such an innate part of me, as quietly essential as my own heart. “That must still be connected to the grid, right?”

Melinoë shakes her head. “Something must have gone wrong with that, too. You haven’t heard the cameras in hours, have you?”

I fall silent, straining my ears. But I still can’t pick up their low, whirring hum anywhere. Ever since Luka and I ran from the car, it’s been oddly and eerily quiet.

“No,” I say. “I haven’t heard them in hours, either.”

We fall silent again, just for good measure. But there’s nothing except the gentle rustling of damp leaves.

“The only thing I can hear now is your tracker.” Melinoë’s voice is low, as if her words are a confession. For some reason, heat rises to my face.

“I can hear it, too,” I say. “When I listen for it.”

Her gaze darts away briefly, then lifts to meet mine. “So at least I’ll always be able to find you.”

The longer this quiet, awkward stalemate lasts, the better it is for me. Melinoë has tugged her sleeve back down to conceal the timer,but as we stare at each other from opposite sides of the cave, I know the seconds of my Gauntlet are ticking away. At any moment she could breach the space between us and close her hands around my throat.

Now I understand what’s really stopping her, other than the shaky vestiges of withdrawal. Is a Gauntlet even a Gauntlet if it’s not live streamed? Killing me off camera probably violates the terms and conditions.

If no one watched me die, the audience would feel outraged, and Caerus would be humiliated. They’re probably scrambling behind the scenes right now, because here’s proof that their system isn’t perfect. There are gaps in their control, large enough for someone like me to slip through.

“They have to be able to fix the connection soon,” I murmur.

“I don’t know.” Melinoë rubs her temple, as if she’s feeling for the pieces of her shattered comms chip. “Nothing like this has ever happened before.”

“Is there a protocol? Did Azrael ever tell you what to do?”

She shakes her head, just once. She’s not much for words, this Angel. It’s probably for the best, though. Unaccountably, Mom’s voice echoes through my mind:Inesa, you talk enough for two. You’d go on for hours if no one stopped you.

Mom must be at least a little right, because I feel a strong compulsion to fill the silence now. “You said you only had three meal packets left. He must expect you to be finished soon.”

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