The First to Die at the End (Death-Cast #0)(36)

“Ready for what?” I ask.

“To live.”

“I’m confused.”

“You want to go home and get the place ready for Scarlett, right? Then let’s go do that.”

“You’re coming with me?”

“Just to back you up, but if you really want to go at it alone, I’ll let you do your thing.”

I definitely don’t want to be by myself. This is all scary enough. But I don’t know how this is going to be helpful for Orion. “You sure this isn’t going to be weird? Like you’re hanging out with the pig before you kill it for dinner?”

“I don’t eat meat anymore, and I’m not a murderer.”

“You better not be,” I say, finally rising from the chair.

“I don’t think anyone would throw down money on me overpowering you in a fight.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t have friends in bad places. You are trying to harvest my heart after all.”

Orion looks stunned. “Oh, you got jokes.”

I’m surprised too. I really credit Orion for dragging a little humor out of me. The way he’s keeping up the energy reminds me of the times I’ve been the most relaxed on a photo shoot. I’ve worked with photographers who are trying to get in and get out, which builds pressure on set and tightens my body. My best shoots have been with photographers who are smiling and laughing like they’re the ones in front of the camera. When they’re having fun, I am too.

Orion is a good person to be around until Scarlett arrives.

I’m nervous about returning to the outside world, but I’m grateful that I get the chance to do so. That’s a big leap from where I was a few minutes ago when I was accepting defeat.

“Thanks for buying me some time,” I say.

“All good. You’re the one who has to cash in,” Orion says, putting on his hat.

When I signed up for Death-Cast, there was that paragraph on the website about how Deckers got their name. Joaquin Rosa apparently wants them—wants me—to remember that we’re all the captains on the decks of our own ships, setting sail for one last journey.

It’s nice to have a co-captain.





Joaquin Rosa


2:57 a.m.

Joaquin is watching footage of the Times Square shooting when someone bangs at his door. His heart races. He relives what it was like to hear those gunshots over the phone as he delivered the first End Day call. The disturbance startles Naya and wakes up Alano and the puppy. Bucky skitters off the couch and barks at the closed door, scaring no one with his adorable yapping. As Joaquin rises from his chair, there’s more banging.

This better be urgent.

He opens the door to find his customer success engineer.

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” Aster Gomez says, her hand frozen in her long dark hair like she’s considering whether she should rip it all out. She’s great with people but had no interest in telling them they’re about to die, so she applied for customer service instead. She was so savvy that Joaquin hired her to lead that department, even though she’s only twenty-five. “We’re having major issues with the server.”

“What’s happening?”

“Um . . .” Aster looks down the hall. “It’s best if you follow me.”

Joaquin follows along with the rest of his family.

“It all started when I received a complaint a few minutes ago,” Aster says, speed-walking. “This woman’s boyfriend was killed in Times Square tonight.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Joaquin says with all the earnestness in the world. He can’t imagine his life without Naya. Especially losing her so violently. “I’m curious. Was it Valentino Prince who died? He was tonight’s first call.”

“No. His name was William Wilde.”

Ah, shame. Joaquin would’ve liked to include that anecdote in his memoir. But back to the matter at hand. “Does the client understand we’ve done all we can?”

“Except we didn’t.”

“Pardon me?”

“We failed to do our one job. The Decker never received his End Day call.”

“Well, the Times Square shootings began after midnight—after launch. We’ve never made any promises that Deckers will immediately be alerted.”

“Which I explained, but the woman said her boyfriend’s phone never rang. Not even after our calls were completed on the East Coast. I checked our records, and we have no outgoing calls to the Decker’s number or the emergency contact.”

As they all reenter the call center, Joaquin observes his heralds hard at work. He zeroes in on Rolando, suspecting he’s to blame for this Decker not being notified of his death; probably absorbing another old man’s life story. That egregious failing will result in his immediate termination.

“Is it Rolando’s fault? Did he not reach out to the Decker in time?”

“I checked in with all the heralds, and while Andrea totally assisted Rolando with his contact list after completing her own, every registered user on the East Coast received their End Day call.”

“Except that poor man,” Naya says, grieving this stranger with her big heart.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Rosa,” Aster says. “But since the Decker never appeared in our system for today, could that mean—”