Ana fell; her full weight instantly filled his arms, pulling them both down. Alex wished he’d gone first. Gently he laid her on the ground. Her eyes were already closed—too soon. Gone so easily, so quickly. Just like that.
His fingers brushed her cheek and gently pushed her dark hair back. He leaned forward and tenderly kissed her lips one last time.
He was ready. He wanted to go now. He wanted to be with her again—for this all to end. Slowly he straightened up, his hand still holding Ana’s. He sat back; inviting, waiting, ready—and closed his eyes.
43
Ellis
The sharp report of the final gunshot echoed around the cluster of buildings long after Alex had fallen. Ellis stood, immobile, staring at Ana’s and Alex’s bodies.
His hands were clenched tight, locked in place. He carried his weight forward on his toes ready for action, but it wasn’t needed any more. They were dead. All of them. The fight was over. Like that. So quick, so easy.
Their outlines were entwined together, Alex’s arm had fallen over Ana—protective, even in death. Every ripple of breeze lightly picked up wisps of hair or played with the fabric on a shirt. A lizard skittered into their convenient shade. They had fallen with their faces turned away from him, and he felt a flash of disappointment. Something in him wanted to see their expressions, to look into their lifeless eyes. He wanted to see them empty—the sparkle gone. No more fight, no more tears, no more love.
He wanted to see their eyes and know death.
Ellis pulled himself up. He needed to keep it together, now more than ever. He couldn’t let his guard down. Not when he was so close, sodamnclose. He would only allow himself to relax after the truck took their dead bodies away. Then, and only then would he savor it—the sharp, bitter taste of victory.
There was nothing on his phone. No countdown. No messages. That had to be good. He started pacing along the line, his eyes scanning the horizon, searching for the telltale cloud of dust.
It didn’t take long. The red truck appeared in the far distance, barely visible at first, then steadily growing larger.
Ellis watched dispassionately, with just a passing thought that this shitty truck wasn’t fitting. It should have been a hearse, or even a slick, shiny, air-conditioned limo. Something more significant to mark the moment of his victory. His win.
The truck rattled up, pulling alongside the bodies. The two cowboys got out without so much as a glance in Ellis’s direction. They got straight to business, pulling on their work gloves and walking over to the bodies. Ellis thought he saw them pause and whisper something to each other; maybe they were surprised that there were two bodies this time. Maybe they were thinking what a shame for a young couple to wind up like roadkill at their feet. Young dead love. How adorable.
They grabbed Alex first, by the wrists, and dragged his body over to the flatbed. Then one of them, the big cowboy, scooped Ana up in his arms and placed her in the truck next to Alex, slamming the tailgate shut for the last time.
The deal was done.
“Hey.” Ellis found his voice. Time to end this. “Hey, you. What now? What do I do now?”
The men ignored him and climbed into the truck.
“Iwon. Do you hear me? I won the game. How do I get out of here?”
Nothing. They started the engine and swung the truck around, kicking up a wall of dust in their wake.
“Hey, wait. Where the fuck are you going? I saidwait.”
For a split second Ellis wanted to step over the line and run full tilt after the disappearing truck—force them to give him a ride, to get him the hell out of this nightmare once and for all.
But he couldn’t. His toe was in the dust, touching the white paint. He kicked at the line, carefully, like there was an invisible wall in front of him. That stupid, scrappy line had meant death, and every nerve told him to step back, step away. Do not cross.
A dizzying jumble of thoughts slammed him. What if the sniper hadn’t got the memo that this was over? What if Karl’s father was never planning on letting him survive? What if this was all a trick?
Ellis indulged himself briefly, letting fear and doubt race through him, feeling his heart beating hard with terror. He allowed himself five seconds of weakness—he counted them off in his head. Then he turned his cold eyes up, away from the line, and focused on the distant horizon.
He wasn’t a coward, no matter what his father thought. He was done being jerked around like some weak puppet. He was the last one alive, the survivor, the fucking winner—and he was getting the hell out of here.
He lifted his right foot high, with a deliberate motion, his sneaker suspended in the air over the line. All he had to do was put his foot down, test it out. Then he could go home. He could do this.
I forgive you.
He jumped back. Fuck, it was like the words were stuck in his head. He could hear them, in Ana’s voice, as clearly as if she was standing in front of him.
“I don’t care!” he shouted into the wind. “Do you hear me? I don’t fucking care.”
