Page 55 of Fable for the End of the World

After a few moments of fumbling, I find a half-melted candle and a box of matches. I light the candle and hold it out, washing the cabin in a pale, waxy yellow glow.

From the doorway, Inesa lets out a squeak and claps a hand over her mouth. “Is that—”

“He’s dead,” I say.

She steps cautiously into the cabin. The wooden floor groans under her feet. By the time she joins me at the table, her face is white, almost sickly.

“Are you sure?” she asks in a whisper.

I wave the candle over his body, illuminating the grayish cast to his skin. His empty, glassy eyes. I nod.

A swallow ticks in her throat. She leans over—close enough to feel the man’s breath on her cheek, if he were breathing. Then she recoils, looking equal parts repulsed and relieved.

“Who was he, do you think?”

“Some Outlier.”

It sounds too callous. Inesa’s face falls.

I try to soften my voice. “Someone who lived and died off the grid, I suppose.”

Inesa examines the man again, this time from a distance. Her eyes are damp and gleaming. Then she looks up at me and says, “We have to bury him.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a human being,” she replies. “Someone’s father or brother or son.”

I open my mouth to argue. Why should I spend hours digging a grave for some nameless Outlier just because we happened to stumble across his cabin? But Inesa’s jaw is set. I can tell that no matter what I say, she’ll do it herself.

“Fine,” I say, letting out a breath. “He’ll be less likely to attract the Wends that way.”

We find several small oil lamps around the cabin and light them. We also find a treasure trove of supplies: canned food, carving knives, a small rusted axe, a bristly coil of rope, wire saws and carabiners and half a dozen flashlights with dead batteries. There’s gauze and tweezers, alcohol pads and tourniquets. There’s a half-crumpled paper map, yellowed with age. I set it all aside to look through later. There’s an ancient bolt-action rifle, like the one Luka uses. I’m dying to reach for it, but Inesa’s warning gaze stops me.

Among the supplies, we also find a shovel.

“With all of this stuff,” she murmurs, “I wonder how he died.”

“Heart attack. Brain aneurysm. Maybe starvation, if he couldn’t find any edible meat or potable water.” So far we haven’t turned up any decon-tabs.

Inesa presses her lips together. “I guess it doesn’t matter, in the end.”

We drag his body outside. He’s not a large man, but corpses are heavy. We’re both panting. Rather unceremoniously, we drop his body a few yards from the back of the house. I want to suggestthat we bury him farther away, but it’s already growing dark, which makes us easy prey for whatever else is lurking in the woods.

With only one shovel, it’s slow going. Inesa does all the digging and doesn’t complain, doesn’t ask for help; even when I offer, she just shakes her head. Determination has furrowed her brow. When she’s dug up to her shoulders, she tries to climb out. I kneel down and offer a hand to haul her up, and when she takes it, I feel the raw, angry blisters forming on her palm.

“Stop,” I say. “Let me do the rest. Go inside.”

She frowns. “No. I’m fine.”

“It’s going to be full dark soon. You won’t be able to see. I’ll finish.”

Inesa’s gaze drops. I can tell by the way she clenches her fingers around her palms that the blisters hurt, badly. After a moment’s hesitation, she nods, then heads back into the cabin.

There’s not much digging left to do. I shovel out a few more inches of dirt and then start to push the Outlier’s body into the open grave. I don’t have the strength or the proper equipment to lower him down delicately and somberly, so he just flops over the edge of the hole and lands face down. I wonder if this counts as desecration of a corpse. That’s against the rules of the Gauntlet. We’re supposed to let the Lambs’ families recover their bodies in as intact a state as possible.

But this man wasn’t a Lamb. I don’t know who he was, and I never will. If he does have family, they won’t find him now. If they’re even looking.

I cover the body as best I can. The sun sets behind the trees,and the night vision in my prosthetic clicks on, casting the world in that ghoulish green. When I’m finished, I tamp the soil flat, disguising any trace of the body buried beneath it.

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