The First to Die at the End (Death-Cast #0)(19)

He can’t ever say it out loud, but he knows that one person’s ending is simply a contribution to this company’s beginning, and not a result of Death-Cast’s existence. No matter what anyone says.

As Joaquin looks between the heralds and the photographers, there’s one thing at the forefront of his mind: There’s an undeniable frontrunner for the cover of his memoir. After all, there’s nothing like the bang of a gunshot to get a man’s life flashing before his eyes; he just hopes the camera caught Joaquin’s reaction.

If not, it would be a waste of a tragic moment.





Valentino


12:12 a.m.

Everyone is running for their lives, but not me.

I no longer have one to run for.

I’ve always done my best to move forward when life is challenging me—morning jogs, jumping up to the next weights during sets, all those casting rejections that made me feel horrible about myself—but what am I supposed to do when life is ending? Just accept it?

When I heard that gunshot, I froze up.

I never expected to see bullets flying around tonight. Is that how I’m going to die?

It’s such a terrifying thought that I can’t get my body to do anything except lie here on the ground, shivering like an animal that’s been abandoned in the cold. The stampede continues around me. There’s footsteps running past me, others skipping over my whole body. I even get kicked in the back. One moment, Orion is lying down with his eyes on the sky, and the next, Dalma appears out of nowhere. She’s helping him sit up as she yells for help—as she yells my name for help.

“He’s having a heart attack, Valentino, please help!” Dalma cradles Orion to her chest, slipping some pill into his mouth and telling him to swallow. “Hold on, O-Bro, I’m going to get you help.”

It’s so strange how we tell someone who’s dying to hold on, as if they have a choice.

Do I have a choice? Can I just tell the world, No, I won’t be dying today. Try again later.

“We need a doctor!” Dalma shouts.

Not a single person stops running. How many of them assume Orion must be dead already? Well, they’re stupid. I am too. Orion could’ve run away, but he didn’t. He stayed by my side. More than that, he saved my life even though he knows I’m dying.

I was wrong to think I no longer have a life to run for. I do. It’s just not my own.

If there’s anything I can do to make sure Death-Cast doesn’t call Orion too, now’s the time.

I don’t think about my personal situation, I put all my focus into my body—tapping into my core to sit up, hands flat on the ground to push off, firm stance on my feet. “Let me get him,” I say.

Dalma gives me space, picking up Orion’s hat that’s fallen off his head and revealing a brown forest of curls. I hoist Orion into my arms, carrying him like I’m Superman after catching a civilian out of the sky. If I do everything right, I just might be a hero.

“Where do we go?”

“This way,” Dalma says, leading us away from the stampede and down Forty-Seventh Street.

“Should we call an ambulance?”

“I can’t risk them not treating Orion over someone who’s been shot.”

How long is it going to take for medics to not even bother treating someone if they know they’re a Decker? A week, a month, a year?

“So what do we do?”

“I’m looking up nearest hospitals,” Dalma says while scrolling through Google Maps. “NYU has a hospital on Thirty-First, but Orion had a bad doctor there one time so we should go uptown to Lenox Hill on Seventy-Seventh instead.”

“I live on Seventy-Seventh,” I say.

Dalma looks over her shoulder, as if she’s expecting me to elaborate on why that coincidence is important. It isn’t. “Keep him upright,” she says.

I don’t understand why keeping Orion upright is necessary, but I do as I’m told. I shift his head so that his face is resting on my shoulder. His eyes are closed, and he keeps pressing his hand into his heart like he’s giving himself CPR. I suppose that’s what he’s doing. I don’t know how much it’s helping, since he’s also trying so hard to get a full breath in, but he’s stopped short every time. This is what it looks like to fight for your life.

Dalma spots a taxi, and it becomes a race between her and someone else. She wins and guards the door to the passenger seat with her life. I do my best to get there as quickly as possible without falling, and when I reach the car, I prop up Orion in the middle and stretch the seat belt over his waist.

“Is he okay?” the driver asks.

“No,” Dalma says. “Please get us to Lenox Hill Hospital.”

“You should call an ambulance,” he says.

“My brother will die in your car if you don’t get a move on now!”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

The driver begins our journey, and he keeps watching Orion from the rearview mirror. It’s not even during red lights either, it’s while he’s actively driving. It’s drivers like this why my sister was almost killed.

“Can you please keep your eyes on the road?”

The please doesn’t mask the attitude in my voice, but it does the trick.

As we’re driving, I can’t help but wonder if I’m endangering Orion and Dalma by being in the car. If I’m marked to die, does that make me a magnet for death? I don’t know, but it’s a really lonely thought to have. Isn’t the whole point of Deckers getting these End Day calls to give them a chance to get their affairs in order and hug their family and friends one last time? I suppose that doesn’t matter, since my family is on the other side of the country.