If anyone was watching, they’d think he was crazy. But the others were already dead. He pushed past the words, burying them inside. How dare she forgive him. She had no right to do that. No right.
Pulling himself up tall, he turned to face the line again.
He would forget her words. He would forget Ana. He would put this whole nightmare behind him. He had to believe that. Because if he didn’t, then he’d lost the game—and Ellis didn’t lose.
The white line stood out starkly against the red earth. He shook out his stiff hands, his arms, and stepped up to the edge again. This was the only way out. He could do this. Raising his foot one more time, he held it over the line. Fear caught at him, doubt—but this time he didn’t move back.
Breathing deeply, trying to calm himself the way he’d been trained to, standing on the free throw line before thousands of cheering people. He had complete control…
He stepped over the line.
Nothing.
No crack of a bullet splitting the air. No explosion of dust at his feet. Nothing. He moved forward, one step, then another. His heart beating violently. Still nothing.
It was over.
Slowly Ellis unclenched his fists and dropped his shoulders. The tightness in his chest released, he breathed in deeply. A smile crept over his face.
It was over.
Exhilaration smacked him out of his stupor. He punched the air, spinning around like he’d just won MVP.
“Woohoo! Yaaaas!” He started running hard and fast. Anything in his path got kicked or slammed aside. He grabbed a rock as he passed the Motel Loba sign.
“Fuck you!” he shouted, flinging the rock hard at the glowing letters. There was a loud crunch and theAflickered out.
He was free.
Closing his eyes, he sank to his knees, spread-eagling across the stony ground. There was steady heat radiating from the earth. It felt comforting, as though the ground was protecting him, warming him.
He lay there for a long time—he didn’t know how long. No matter. He wasn’t on the clock anymore. He owned his time now. He owned his future.
When he finally opened his eyes, evening colors had caught the edges of the sky; the vast desolate landscape was fading into dusk. He was the last survivor of the Balloon Game.
Pushing himself to his feet, he faced the motel. He should go back, even though the thought made him nauseous. Who knew how far he’d have to walk before he got rescued. He’d need water, snacks, a hat if he could find one. No point in dying of heatstroke after everything he’d been through.
But as he looked back at the motel, its pink walls glowing innocently in the softening light, he thought he could see them; shadows moving about, echoes in the cold evening. They were all still there, in the motel: Jade and Jax by the fire, Caden under the tree, Alex with his guitar set on his knee, Ana and Raya whispering together at the far end of the pool. He could hear soft music on the night air, see the firelight catching their faces.
Memories. The air was filled with them. Joking. Laughing. Alive.
They were all there, and they would never be leaving. This was their tomb now, their graveyard.
Ghosts.
Ellis recoiled. His hands knotted up.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t go back across that line—back to the Motel Loba. Not now. Not ever. Even if he died of thirst in the godforsaken desert, he would never go back. It was time to leave this cursed place—once and for all.
Backing away, almost falling over his feet, he ran for the road—the same road that had brought them here just twenty-four hours ago. He was going to walk along that road until he put the Motel Loba far behind him, until he found some gas station or truck stop, where he would buy an ice-cold drink and call his father to come and get him.
He would walk and he would keep walking for as long as it took, and he would never, ever look back.
He was going home.
***
Distant lights. A row of yellow dots, a flicker of red and green above, twinkling through the darkness.
