Page 57 of Fable for the End of the World

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

I just nod. I swallow and try to ignore the fact that my lips are burning, like I’ve kissed an open flame.

We decide that I’ll take first watch. Since I’m the one who can see in the dark, it seems only fair. Plus, Inesa has completely exhausted herself from digging. She climbs into the bed and pulls the tattered blanket up to her chin.

I go around the cabin and extinguish the lamps. I don’t need them to see, and they’ll only draw more attention to us. We might as well conserve the oil, too. I make a clumsy effort to bar the door by jamming one of the chairs against the handle, which won’t hold against much, but will at least give us some warning. Luckily the trip wire and the tin cans are still in place.

Inesa faces outward, her hair spilling across the pillow. I sit on the floor, my back against the wall, a few paces from the bed. The coldness of the wood seeps through my suit. I consider trying to light the cast-iron stove, but I’m not convinced I won’t burn down the cabin in the process. I’m sure Inesa knows how. Maybe in the morning.

My night vision clicks on. Inesa is the only warm, bright thing I can see. I’m aware of every aching moment that passes, the twin hums of her tracker and my heart, her eyes remaining open all the while.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks softly.

I nod. Then I remember she can’t see my face, so I reply, “Yes.”

“When we first found this cabin, I thought it might be my dad’s. The trip wire and all the survival stuff... it seemed exactly like him. It’s what he always wanted to do, living off the grid.” She pauses. In the eerie green light, I see her run her fingers along the edge of the blanket. “And when we saw the body inside... I was almost sure it was him.”

I open my mouth to reply, but there’s a lump in my throat.

“It wasn’t,” she says. “I mean, it’s not him. The thing is... I’m not sure if I wanted it to be. If it were him, at least I would know for sure. I wouldn’t have to wonder anymore. Because I do wonder, every time I see one of the Wends. I wonder if it’s him. Maybe he’s one that I killed.”

“I killed them,” I say. “Not you.”

“But you killed them for me.” Her voice is almost inaudible now. “I brought you the gun.”

“They would have killed us both, otherwise.”

“Yeah.” She unfolds her hands, straining to see the bandages in the dark. “But that’s the same reason pretty much anyone kills anything. So they can survive. If it’s all survival, who am I to judge what someone does? We’re all the same, deep down.”

I stare ahead, eyes unfocused.

She lets out a huff of air. “I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse. I suppose it’s easier, like you said, to not feel anything at all.”

“Yes” is all I can manage to reply.

Another moment passes in silence. There’s only my breathing,and Inesa’s, shifting through the cold and empty air.

“And now,” she says, her voice barely louder than a whisper, “I have to wonder if Luka is out there, too. If he’s become one of them. If I’ll have to kill him someday. If I’ve killed him already.”

“That seems unlikely.”

Inesa doesn’t answer. She just shifts under the covers, closing her fingers over her bandaged palms. In the dark, dense quiet, her tracker pulses in my ear like blood behind a bruise.

“How do you do it?” she whispers finally.

I don’t need to ask her to elaborate. I glance over at my rifle, propped up beside me. It’s a killing tool that feels utterly mundane to me, as uncomplicated to use as a fork or a knife. I try to think back to a time when it terrified me, to hold the power of death so casually in my hands. I’m sure I was scared, once. But all those memories have been stolen from me, scattered like leaves in the wind.

“I was eight when I was brought to Azrael,” I say. “That’s when he starts training you. Not just physically. They inject us with serums, hormones and chemicals to blunt our emotions. We don’t feel things with the intensity that other people do. And things like guilt, regret... we’re not supposed to feel them at all. Then, after a certain amount of time, living this way is all you know.”

Inesa nods slightly. Her fists are clenched under her chin.

“And,” I go on, the words rising from me almost unbidden, “it helps that I never have to worry that I’ll encounter someone I recognized on my hunts. Someone I... love.”

“I suppose that is an advantage,” Inesa says. Her voice is hollow with black humor.

“But it is like the Wends, in a way.” Some unaccountable force has pried my lips open and made me keep speaking, even though I know I shouldn’t. “The way they’re not quite human... it’s how we’re trained to see you. Outliers, I mean. And not just the Angels. Everyone in the City. So it’s not—it’s not like killing people. It’s more like...”

I trail off. I was supposed to be defending myself, but hearing my own words, a hard knot forms in my stomach. It’s something akin to nausea. Revulsion. And it’s powerful enough that a thin bile rises up my throat.

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