The First to Die at the End (Death-Cast #0)(62)

“That’s a lot of fucking cursing, then,” Orion jokes, tapping his Yankees hat.

It feels like we’re entering a crime scene. The glass counter has been shattered, and all the jewelry boxes have been emptied. Workout weights are still in the corner because I guess the looters weren’t lifters. Two bikes on the wall, one yellow and the other steel gray. A microwave is upside down, probably tossed about during all the action. Shelves of sneakers with minimal scuffs, which I’m sure is great for anyone wanting to act like their sneakers are fresh out of the box but life happened while wearing them out, like my white sneakers are already experiencing. Then the floor is littered with so much more, like action figures, baseball caps, tools, video games, DVDs, a couple electric guitars with broken strings, cracked vinyl records, and a bunch of other things that have their own stories. Reasons they were brought here to set someone up for success out there. As if theft wasn’t a big enough crime standing on its own two feet, I think about all the stolen treasures that people cannot buy back. That’s the biggest crime here.

“How long you been in business?” Orion asks.

“Few years, but thinking about getting out of it soon,” Férnan says.

“How come? Because of all this?”

Férnan shakes his head. “This didn’t help. I just don’t have the heart for this business. I hate putting price tags on people’s priceless belongings. I’ve lost count of how many times people put their wedding rings on layaway for cash.”

At least those people got to have weddings. That means they got to fall in love.

That’s not in the cards on an End Day.

I continue searching for a camera, remembering that it’s something I can control. There are dozens of books fanned out on the floor; I guess the looters aren’t readers either. There was no camera hiding underneath the books, though I pile them into a neat stack so it’s less work for Férnan later. I look under Frisbees and behind a broken printer but nothing.

The back door swings open, and a young boy comes out. He looks like a young Férnan but without the grays and beard and tattoos. He’s wearing a blue sweatsuit. He finishes the last bite of a McDonald’s hash brown and wipes the grease off his mouth.

“I thought we were closed, Pops,” the boy says.

Férnan is crouched behind the shattered counter. “We are. But these young men were gentlemen, and I decided to let them in. See how manners work?”

“Yeahhh.”

“Why don’t you see if you can help them find a camera?”

“Can I finally get that bike if I do?” he asks, pointing at the steel-gray bike on the wall.

“It’s still not for sale.”

“Just say it was stolen, Pops.”

“Rufus . . .”

The boy sucks his teeth. “What?!”

Férnan comes around the corner and the boy—Rufus—crosses his arms. “Go to the back and wait for me.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You keep talking back like I’m one of your friends.”

“We’re not friends, Pops?!”

“Stop being a smart-ass.”

“If I can’t be smart, then stop yelling at me when my report cards suck.”

“Rufus, go wait for me in the back. Now.”

There’s a tense stare-down before Rufus sucks his teeth again. To make matters worse, he kicks a crate and sends it flying into a wall. Everything goes quiet. Orion and I don’t move, like we’ve just discovered we’re on a minefield and one wrong step can blow us up. The only explosive in the room is Rufus’s temper. Then before any discipline can happen, Rufus seems to diffuse himself as his eyes light up in wonder.

“Found one!” Rufus shouts. He picks up a camera. Férnan extends his hand, but Rufus skips past him and comes straight to me. “Here you go.”

It’s a digital camera, a Canon PowerShot. I don’t know much about this particular model, but it should do the trick.

“Thanks so much, Rufus.”

“You’re welcome.”

Rufus then peacefully retreats to the back.

Férnan sighs as he returns behind the counter. “Don’t ever have kids.”

“Not a problem,” I say, handing him the camera.

Férnan is inspecting the camera against his records when he looks up, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry, Valentino. I forgot.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I didn’t mean it anyway. I love Rufus, and he’s a great kid. His temper sometimes gets the best of him. I was the same way when I was his age. He’ll grow out of it.” Férnan wipes sweat off his forehead. “Am I making it worse? I’m sorry. This is a first for me, and I don’t know how . . . especially with someone so young and . . .”

Orion rests his arm on my shoulder, bringing a casual energy to this moment. “We’re all figuring it out, but mad thanks to Rufus for finding us this camera. We’re going to make some memories on Valentino’s End Day.”

Férnan’s eyes water as he steals glances at me. He sees someone young. Rufus will be my age in a few years, and maybe Férnan is dreading what it would be like to watch his son live his End Day. I don’t wish that on them.