The Boy at the End of the World Read Online Free Page B

whose lives ended in a grasp of talons.
    Hollow, his stomach rumbled. Last night’s crayfish was little more than a tasty memory. Fire. He needed to build another fire. And find something to eat. He’d need to fashion a fishhook and line, or weave a net.
    He sat up with dawning horror. It wasn’t enough to find food once. It wasn’t enough to build one fire. It wasn’t enough to survive one predator attack. If he was going to survive, he would have do these things again and again and again. Every day. Every moment of every day. Until … what?
    â€œHow does it end?” he asked, a little breathless.
    Standing nearby, Click didn’t respond. The robot stared into the trees, motionless.
    â€œClick?”
    Fisher got up and circled around to face him. A piece of bright feather fluff stuck to Click’s shoulder. Fisher blew it off. “Click, I’m talking to you.”
    With a small jerk, Click came to life. “Ah. Very good, Fisher, you have survived the night.”
    â€œDidn’t you expect me to?”
    â€œIt is difficult to predict. The mathematics involved is very complicated.”
    The robot had a way of saying things that Fisher didn’t quite understand but still managed to get under his skin.
    â€œI survived fine,” he said. “Why weren’t you answering me?”
    â€œI was in power-saving mode. It is akin to your sleep. My batteries have not been charged since before the Ark’s destruction, so I need to preserve as much power as I can. But I am in full awareness mode now. What did you wish to ask me?”
    Fully awake himself now, the crushing sense of panic over the struggle ahead of him—the lifelong struggle just to live—seemed harder to put into words. It seemed even less likely that Click would have a useful answer for him.
    â€œNever mind. I want to keep moving downstream.”
    Click clicked. “It is safer to remain here. Every time you move you expose yourself to more dangers.”
    Fisher opened his mouth to explain that he hoped to find more fish downstream, hopefully bigger, fatter, slower ones. Also, he wanted to make it to the ruins, which stood like ghostly smudges in the morning mist. He’d found his spear among ruins; maybe he could scavenge better weapons and better tools in the wrecked towers.
    But why explain all this to the robot? Click wasn’t in charge of him.
    â€œYeah, I’m going,” Fisher said. He brushed damp soil and plant bits off his clothes—clothes Click had given him, he couldn’t help but remind himself—and set out.
    Click made a sound like a puff of air leaking from a hose and followed.
    The woods were a rich store of food. Hundreds of birds chattered in the boughs. Lizards darted across Fisher’s path. Small mammals scurried in the undergrowth. And Fisher had no way to take any of them. His spear was heavy and not suited to throwing, and the only thing he managed to strike when he tried were bushes. So he chewed plants to keep his hunger at bay. He kept himself only to things he saw little brown rabbitlike things chewing, and even though he was too slow with his spear to get a rabbit-thing, he could at least eat what they fed on and hope to avoid getting sick on poison plants. The little yellow flower stalks were nicely sour, and the jagged leaves had a good peppery taste. But this modest fare did little to calm his appetite. If anything, he was just getting more hungry. His legs felt heavy, his head ached, and his vision swam.
    When a wave of dizzy weakness made him stumble over a rock, Click asked if he was okay.
    â€œI’m fine,” Fisher said. “Why are you asking?” It was important not to appear to be a weak animal, even in front of Click.
    â€œYou do not seem steady on your feet,” the robot said.
    â€œWell, actually, neither do you.”
    Click whirred. “I had not noticed. Perhaps my directional gyroscope was damaged in