They Both Die at the End (Death-Cast #1)(57)

“Two Deckers on one bus? Do you have a death wish? Mateo, those odds are insane. That thing could topple over.”

My face burns a little. “I don’t have a death wish,” I quietly say.

“I’m sorry. I’m shutting up. Please be careful. I have to see you one la— I have to see you, okay?”

“You’ll see me and I’ll see you. I promise.”

“I don’t want to hang up,” she says.

“Me either.”

We don’t hang up. We could, and should, probably use this time to talk about memories or find things to apologize for in case I can’t keep my promise, but nope, we talk about how Penny just hit herself on the head with a big toy and isn’t crying, like the little soldier she is. A new memory to laugh over is just as good as reflecting on an old one, I think. It may even be better. I don’t want to kill Rufus’s phone battery in case the Plutos reach out, so Lidia and I agree to hang up at the same time. Pressing End kills my mood and the world feels heavier again.





PECK


3:21 p.m.

Peck is getting the gang back together.

The gang with no name.

Peck got his nickname because there’s no power behind his punches. More annoying than harmful, like a bird pecking on you. If you want someone laid out, sic the Knockout King on them. Peck is good with stomping someone out if the occasion calls for it, but Damien and Kendrick don’t keep him around because he’s an extra body. Peck’s access to an end-all weapon makes him valuable.

He walks toward his closet, feeling Damien’s and Kendrick’s eyes on his back. From here on it’s like a Russian nesting doll, designed that way by Peck. He opens the closet, wondering if he has it in him. He opens the hamper, wondering if he’s okay never seeing Aimee again, knowing she’ll never forgive him if she ever finds out he’s responsible. He opens the last box, a shoebox, knowing he’s got to respect himself for once.

Peck will gain respect by unloading this gun into the one who disrespected him.

“What we do now?” Damien asks.

Peck opens up Instagram, goes on Rufus’s profile, and is pissed to find more comments from Aimee saying how much she misses him. He keeps refreshing the account, over and over.

“We wait.”





MATEO


3:26 p.m.

The rain turns to drizzle when the bus stops outside the World Travel Arena at Thirtieth and Twelfth. I step off the bus first and behind me there’s a squeak and “FUCK!” I turn in time to grab onto the steps’ railing so Rufus doesn’t fall face-first out of the bus and take me with him. He’s a little muscular, so the weight hurts my shoulders, but Rufus helps situate us both.

“Wet floor,” Rufus says. “My bad.”

We’re here.

We’re safe.

We have each other’s back. We’ll stretch this day out as long as possible, like we’re the summer solstice.

The Travel Arena has always reminded me of the Museum of Natural History, except half as big and with international flags fixed along the edges of the dome. The Hudson River is a couple blocks away, which I don’t point out to Rufus. The maximum capacity of the arena is three thousand people, which is more than perfect for Deckers, their guests, those with incurable diseases, and anyone else looking to enjoy the experience.

We decide to get our tickets while waiting for Lidia.

A staff member assists us. The three lines are organized by urgency, as in, those with sicknesses versus those of us dying today by some unknown force versus bored visitors. It’s easy figuring out our line with one look at the others. The line to our right is full of laughter, selfies, texting. The line to our left has none of that. There’s a young woman with a scarf wrapped around her head leaning against her oxygen tank; others are wheezing terribly; some are disfigured or badly burned. The sadness chokes me, not only for them, and not even for myself, but for the others ahead of us in our line who were woken up from their safe lives and will hurtle into danger in the next few hours, maybe even minutes. And then there are those who never got this far in the day.

“Why can’t we have a chance?” I ask Rufus.

“A chance at what?” He’s looking around, taking pictures of the arena and the lines.

“A chance at another chance,” I say. “Why can’t we knock on Death’s door and beg or barter or arm-wrestle or have a staring contest for the chance to keep living? I’d even want to fight for the chance to decide how I die. I’d go in my sleep.” And I would only go to sleep after I lived bravely, as the kind of person someone would want to wrap their arm around, who would maybe even nuzzle against my chin or shoulder, and go on and on about how happy we were to be alive with each other without question.

Rufus lowers his phone and looks me in the eyes. “You really think you can beat Death in an arm-wrestling match?”

I laugh and look away from him because the eye contact is warming my face. An Uber pulls up and Lidia storms out of the backseat. She’s frantically looking around for me, and even though today isn’t her End Day, I’m still nervous when a bike rider almost clips her, like he’ll knock her unconscious and she’ll find herself in the hospital with Dad.

“Lidia!”

I run out of line as her eyes find me. I almost trip in my excitement, like I haven’t seen her in years. She throws her arms around me and squeezes, almost as if she herself has pulled me out of a sinking car, or caught me after I’ve fallen out of a crashing plane. She says everything in this hug—every thank-you, every I-love-you, every apology. I squeeze her back to thank her, to make her feel my love, to apologize, and everything else that falls deep inside and skirts outside these realms. It’s the sweetest moment in our friendship since she handed me Penny as a newborn—Lidia steps back and slaps me hard across the face.