Ellis checked his Rolex.
It was close to five in the morning. After an interminable night walking in soul-sucking darkness, his spirits were picking up at last. He was thirsty as all hell, and his hands were numb from the chilly night air. But the motel was far behind him, and now, after all this time, he was about to be rewarded. There were signs of life ahead. The lights meant buildings, people, rescue. This was almost over.
He picked up the pace.
Dead teenagers from LA would be a big deal. When he told people what had happened to him, there would be drama. Sirens and flashing lights, ambulances, news vans, helicopters. He knew what to expect.He’d had the best of it after the school fire. He made a good victim. Good-looking, clean-cut; he spoke well and had mastered the art of casting his eyes down, even tearing up a little.
Poor Ellis. Brave kid.
As he daydreamed, he walked faster.
The lights were closer now. He could probably cover the distance in ten, fifteen minutes. A small thrill of relief pulsed through him.
The small red and green dots were forming into a shape—maybe a sign? Vague structures could be made out below, faintly illuminated by the row of yellow lights. He couldn’t tell what kind of buildings they were yet. But they were lit up, that had to be a good sign.
His thoughts spun off wildly. Maybe it was the gas station. Food! Cold drinks! He would start with an ice-cold Red Bull, or a slushie, or even go classic with a Coke. Maybe they’d have some hot dogs. Jesus—hot food. His stomach growled with pleasure.
It was fun thinking about his rescue, but Ellis knew he had to pull himself back into the moment. There was one last thing he needed to do before he could relax. He needed to get his story straight.
Hunt could still post the silent footage from the cameras, so Ellis would have to play it very carefully. He should keep his lies as close to the truth as possible, just alter one or two key facts. That way it would be easier not to get caught out.
Luckily, he’d removed the cameras by the death machine, which made things a lot easier to explain away. He could just tell the truth, with a small twist—he would take himself out of the narrative. Caden, Jax, Raya, Jade…all of them died playing the game. Poor Ellis hadn’t wanted it to happen, he’d even tried to stop them. But the others played by the rules and died by the rules. Tragic, really.
There was just one loose end.
Ana and Alex. This was where he had to be careful. After all, he’d survived, and they’d died. The suspicion would be on him.
Had they accidentally wandered over the line? Had they held hands and skipped to their death in a burst of glory?
He ran through permutations, but nothing fit. Unless…
Of course—Ana. She’d be the perfect fall guy. No one even knew who she was back in the real world. Her only friends were her dead brother, Raya, and Alex. And guess what—they were dead too. Maybe she was a little crazy after losing her twin, and now this. Yes, she would make the perfect scapegoat.
It was all Ana. She’d tricked Alex and lured him close to the line, then she’d attempted to push him over, and in the struggle, they both fell.
I forgive you,he thought darkly. Well, screw her. She might not be so forgiving if she knew that he was going to destroy her reputation. Throw her under the bus once and for all. Her short life over, her memory shredded, destroyed. A monster better forgotten, erased from history. Like Karl Hunt. The firestarter.
A monster.
Ellis faltered, stumbling a little on the dark road. The cold must be getting to him, messing with his head—his hands were seizing up again.
The sign was readable now. GAS STOP, it declared unimaginatively. He could just make out the buildings. There was another smaller sign on one of them. What did it say? He strained his eyes, squinting to make out the words.
D…something…something…DI…he could almost make it out…DIN…
His heart leaped. DINER. Holy sweet Jesus. There would be food. Real, cooked food: milkshakes, burgers, fries. Life had just got so fucking sweet.
He broke into a run, heading for the lights. No more wasting time. No more thinking. He was ready to be rescued and ready for all of this to be over. He was going to open that door and walk into a new life. He was going to put the Motel Loba far behind him. He would forget. He would move on. He would.
And, like it or not, his father would have to accept the undeniable truth—that his misunderstood son was not a cowardly disappointment, a taint on the family name. His son was a survivor, once and for all. Nothing was going to change that now.
***
The brightly lit diner was decorated joyfully in pastel colors and vintage signs invitingly promising: “Homestyle Food,” “Free Pies with Fries,” and “Early Bird Specials!” The place was open—there was even movement inside, shadowy outlines of figures obscured by cafe-style net curtains. It seemed surprisingly full, considering there were no cars parked outside.
As Ellis approached the door, he could hear noises—conversation, TV, music; the place was lively. An army cot was set up on the porch near the door, a large plastic jug of water on the ground next to it. Probably for anyone too drunk to make the drive home. Must be a bunch of country rednecks with nothing better to do than hang at the nowhere-diner all night.
He paused at the door, mentally checking himself one last time. He had one shot to get this right. No fuckups. He was innocent, a victim in need of rescue…and food. Lots of food. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
