The Last Murder at the end of the World

TWELVE

Adil is sitting on the banks of a stream, sharpening his knife with a stone, while watching horses playing in the dirt on the other side. He’s completely naked, his feet submerged in the cool water, his thoughts drifting. He’s so emaciated he looks like a bundle of firewood stacked under a sheet.

In the five years since he was banished from the village, he’s explored the island from top to bottom, losing entire days to the memory gems he scavenged from ruins, emerging from their bright modern world into the misery of his own life.

He’d have ended things long ago if it weren’t for his hatred of the elders, and Niema in particular. The idea that he might one day free his friends from what she’s doing to them is the only reason he’s still alive. This dream poisons and sustain him.

He presses his thumb to the edge of the blade, drawing blood. Satisfied, he tosses the stone into the stream.

‘Niema’s going to the lighthouse tonight,’ I say, in his thoughts. ‘I’ve arranged a boat for you. It’s floating in a bay not far from here. I want you to take it, and get there before she arrives.’

He blinks, surprised to hear from me.

Niema meant his exile to be total, and has forbidden me from speaking to him unless absolutely necessary. He’s now heard from me twice in two days, double the number of interactions we’ve had in the last five years.

He tries to speak out loud, only to find his unused voice lodged in his throat, covered in dust. Kneeling down, he sips from the cool stream, then tries again.

‘You know what I’ll do if I get that close to her,’ he says, coughing up every word.

‘I can hear your thoughts, Adil,’ I say. ‘I know what you dream about it. I know it isn’t bravado.’

‘Then why do you want me there?’ he demands suspiciously.

‘Later tonight, Niema’s going to conduct an experiment, which she believes will lead to a better, more peaceful future. The odds of success are low, and if it doesn’t work it will set off a cataclysmic chain of events which will result in everybody on this island being dead in sixty-one hours.’

He picks up his knife, staring at his distorted reflection in the metal. A hacking cough shakes his body, droplets of blood splattering the blade.

‘You want me to kill her before she conducts the experiment, don’t you?’ he realises, wiping the blood away with his thumb.

‘I’m incapable of want,’ I say. ‘I was created to follow Niema’s instructions without deviation, and her instructions demand that I protect humanity against any threat.’

‘Even if that threat’s Niema?’

‘Even if that threat’s Niema,’ I confirm.