Page 76 of Fable for the End of the World

“And what if I don’t?”

Saying it aloud sends a thrill of fear through my chest. Defying him is terrifying. Even more so, now that I remember what he’s done.

“Then you’ll have failed,” he says. “I’ll have no choice but to decommission you. Do a final Wipe. And then I’ll hand you over to Visser.”

The memory of his hand on the small of my back is enough to make me want to retch again. Visions of the party swim through my mind. The glasses of sapphire-blue liquor, the shine of Keres’s silk dress. Her empty, empty eye. All the damage the fire must have done, erased, her scars cloaked in new synthetic skin so she won’t remember that once, at least, she had tried to be free. I can’t choke out a reply.

“I don’t want to see you fail,” Azrael goes on. His tone is soft now, and I realize that I remember the softness, too. Just as much as I remember every blow. “I’ll even make you a deal. Kill the Lamb,and I won’t Wipe you when I decommission you. I won’t give you to Visser.”

He’s actually negotiating with me. My mind is in overdrive, trying to make sense of it. He must be truly desperate. The connection between Azrael and the CEO has always been shadowy and somewhat mysterious to me, probably by his design. But just like everyone else in New Amsterdam, Azrael is obligated to please him. If Azrael’s Angels fail, Azrael himself will be a failure in the CEO’s eyes, too.

Especially now, with this being the most publicized Gauntlet ever. It would be shameful. It would make Caerus look weak.

“You understand, of course,” Azrael goes on, “that she cannot be allowed to live. Think of the precedent it would set. That a Lamb could seduce an Angel into sparing their life. You have already done untold damage to your reputation—to the reputation of every Angel in the program. It will take a lot to undo this. But you must kill her. There is no other option.”

Light slants through the branches and onto the snow. It all seemed so immaculate just moments ago. Now the white is mottled with shadow. Where the snow is melting, damp brown patches of dirt emerge. The air starts to feel dense with humidity again, impossibly heavy.

When I still don’t reply, Azrael says, “There’s a new countdown timer fixed to the hunting suit. I would recommend looking at it. And look for the last box. You have everything you need now.”

And then, with a crackle of static, he’s gone.

I just stare ahead, unseeing. There’s only carnage behind myeyes. Sanne’s arms flailing as I pinned her down. Visser’s hand sliding up the small of my back. Keres’s blank, unknowing gaze. It all pours down on me like water. I feel drowned. Only a Wipe could save me from this, could pull me back onto dry land. That merciful oblivion. The worst part of it all is knowing that Azrael is right.

The memories are so blinding and the blood in my ears is pulsing so loudly that everything else fades into the background. I don’t hear the crunch of snow behind me. And I don’t see Inesa until she lays a gentle hand on my shoulder. I turn around.

“Mel?” Inesa’s eyes are wide, her chin quivering. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

At last, the truth. It comes flooding out of me, all at once, before I can even think to stop it. Maybe it would be smart to hide some things; maybe it would protect her. But I can’t reason with myself through the woozy glaze of fear.

I take the earpiece out and show it to her, flat on my open palm. I gesture to the new hunting suit spread out on the snow. I show her the box, crammed full of syringes and bullets and other supplies. My whole body is shaking, but not from the cold. In fact, I can’t feel anything but nausea, pooling slick in the bottom of my belly.

The whole time, Inesa doesn’t speak. I only see her throat tick as she swallows.

“I was stupid,” I whisper. “So stupid. I should have known they’d still be watching. I should have...”

Inesa just shakes her head. She reaches out to me, then stops, hand hovering in the air. Who knows how close the cameras arenow? If they’re zooming in on her face, or mine? And who knows what all the people behind the screens are thinking? Nothing we do is private anymore; none of our words and actions are our own. We’re being laid out and dissected by millions of viewers. We’re being chewed and swallowed.

I know there are going to be hundreds of clips of us, maybe thousands. Of our kiss and more. They’ll be embedded in news articles, replayed on other people’s streams, uploaded to unsavory websites. If I linger too long on this thought, I can’t breathe. Even if we both survive, we’ll never escape this. One way or another, we’ll always be on this Gauntlet.

At last, Inesa speaks. Her voice is hoarse. “Did you check how much time we have left?”

“No.” The word falls between us into the snow. “Not yet.”

Inesa stares down at her open palms. The blisters are only partly healed, with pale, slightly raised streaks of pink with yellow bubbles of new skin beneath. Her lips quiver.

“Maybe,” she says, “we should look in the other box.”

Twenty-Nine

Inesa

I’m numb as Melinoë digs through the rubble. I’m numb as thesnow soaks through to my skin. I’m numb as the whole clearing seems to ripple and shudder, as if, at any moment, I’m going to lurch awake from a hazy and obscure dream.

Melinoë unearths another shiny black box and sets it down before me. I feel my way around the edge until I find the tiny clasp.

Inside there are even more supplies: syringes of pain medication, bandages and gauze, decon-tabs, meal replacement packets, even matches and a tightly rolled Mylar blanket. It’s all fitted in so neatly that if the circumstances were different, I might believe it was a care package, put together with consideration and sympathy. I remove each item methodically, even though my fingers are shaking.

Underneath the last package of gauze is a tablet. The screen is black, reflecting my face, my eyes gleaming with a hot flash of unshed tears. Melinoë’s face hovers over my shoulder. Her skin is pale and mottled gray, like ashes on the snow.

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