The Book of M Read Online Free PDF

All gone. His knife, his watch, the canteen, his first-aid kit, the flashlight. His pack. His pack . Every precious thing it had taken so long to collect. Everything that kept him alive when he scouted. All gone. Ory clutched at the shoulder straps for comfort as he hugged himself, realized they weren’t there either anymore, and started to cry harder.
    When the strangled sobs finally subsided, he sat up as cautiously as he could. His head was pounding. Everything else was numb. He couldn’t tell if he was injured anywhere below his neck yet. His fingers dabbed at the back of his skull and came away warm and wet. He couldn’t see it in the darkness, but it felt like blood. That’s notgood, he thought vaguely. Then he pitched over and vomited onto the grass.
    MINUTES OR HOURS LATER, ORY WAS SHAKILY ON HIS FEET. There was no way to tell what time it was. It was just dark. So dark he could barely see his hand in front of his face, even with the moon out. Night now was not like night before, navigable in the vague, faint haze of streetlights. Night now was oblivion.
    Was it a shadowless that had knocked him out, ripped his pack off his back, and sprinted away? he wondered. Or a shadowed survivor like himself, who had been stalking him since he entered Broad Street? A chill shuddered through his clammy body. Was it the group he’d just met? They were about to set off on a dangerous journey. They’d seen his hunting knife, his backpack. They had plenty of supplies, but why not have a few more? He tried to picture Ursula circling back, her buzzed hair, her solemn face, creeping calmly up behind him, the butt of her gun raised with grim determination. Would she have done it, knowing he had a shadowless of his own to take care of?
    Max, Ory thought then. He took a few faltering steps. There was no point in wondering who’d gotten the drop on him. It didn’t matter now. His pack was gone, and the bicycle he wanted to give her, but he was alive. And so was Max. And she’d be panicked out of her mind by now. Ory had never been this late before, ever. Not even the first time he went out and almost got killed, and then got lost trying to get home. He wanted to sit down and close his eyes again. Instead, he kept walking.
    HOW HE MADE IT TO THE SHELTER WAS HAZY. HE MUST HAVE retraced his steps from memory, able to navigate the demolished neighborhoods even in darkness. Once or twice he thought he heard something rustling in the bushes nearby, but he was too dizzy to spot it, and in no shape to fight it anyway. It was almost as bad as death to lose that pack, everything he’d had in it, but he might not havemade it back at all in his condition if he’d been carrying all that extra weight.
    Suddenly he was on the ground floor of the shelter. He’d made it. He leaned over and vomited again, and then almost fell into it.
    Just two floors to go, and he’d be home. Please let her still remember how to clean a wound, Ory thought. Please let her still remember everything right now. Tomorrow he could face it, but not now. If he opened the door and it was the moment that Max had forgotten who he was, in his current state Ory doubted he could string together a coherent sentence at all, much less convince her they’d been married for the past five years, and he went out and got himself almost killed like this every week. At least she wouldn’t remember that he’d had a pack to lose.
    Ory climbed the stairs slowly, leaning against the wall as he ascended to stop the world from spinning. The back of his head felt freshly wet. He’d need Max to check it to make sure it didn’t need stitches. He grimaced as he imagined the possibility. Her having to shave a patch in the back with their last dull disposable razor, the piercing pop of one of her sewing needles through the skin, over and over, a sensation he knew far too well by now. The back of his scalp tingled in reluctant anticipation.