But no. He’s going to use the road they drove in on and walk to the gate, hand the book over to Linda, and never think about any of this, ever again. He’s giving up. He doesn’t want to play anymore. But he has to leave now. If he lies down on this cot, he’ll marinate in his own doubts and sweat, talk himself out of his feelings. Better to lose in the open. To be laughed at and understand his own ridiculousness, his own weakness. To be able to look back not with terror but only with shame.
He understands shame. Shame is comfortable.
As he slings his bag over his shoulder, he hears it. At first his brain dismisses the wet, snuffling noise, but there’s something wrong with it. Birds in undergrowth make oversize noises. Whatever is approaching makes almost no noise at all, except that breathing. Nothing small has ever breathed like that.
Ian remembers that terrible black hole, and the image of the horns illuminated in the darkness. He remembers Hobart’s description of sleeping, invisible breaths. He remembers the drawing in the back of the book, and terror freezes him. His whole body is a held breath.
Something crashes through the bushes into the other side of the camp, blood soaked with crazed eyes.
“What the hell?” Ian shouts.
* * *
—
Mack takes too long. She’s distracted. None of the spots seem good enough. Time is slipping away from her, and the approach of dawn fills her with surprised panic.
It’s Ava’s fault. Mack can’t afford distractions, thoughts, feelings. A carousel ahead catches her eye. Surely there’s somewhere unexpected to hide there. She shouldn’t—it was too direct a path from the camp, making it an obvious hiding spot. But she’s out of time. Mack hurries over to it.
She sees immediately what it took Rebecca too long to notice. The silver. The boot. The signs of violent struggle.
The opening in the center of the carousel gapes, patient and cold like a mausoleum. Waiting to swallow her, to put her where she belongs. Where she should have been all these years anyway. It doesn’t matter how quiet she is, how invisible, how small. How little she lets herself want.
Death missed her that night, and now it misses her, and really, doesn’t she miss it, too?
Mack steps gingerly onto the carousel platform, picks up each piece of Rosiee’s artful silver. The cold darkness inside the center pulses, waiting to embrace her.
She remembers the warm darkness beneath the blanket. Ava’s hand grabbing her own, helping her stay silent. Helping her stay hidden. Wanting her to stay hidden. Stay safe.
Dawn is breaking, and she turns away from the terrible ending waiting for her here. One of Atrius’s neon arrows is illuminated on the back of an old food stall. That way, it points. That way to what?
Anywhere is better than here.
Mack follows it.
* * *
—
Christian didn’t mean to hit the edges of the park. It’s impossible to tell which direction he’s actually going. He thought he was heading east, inward, but now that the sun is coming up, he sees that he got turned around somehow, actually went west and found the border. He’s greeted by the massive metal cable fence, the only new—or at least well-maintained—thing he’s seen besides their camp.
There’s a sort of tower by the fence, not technically outside the boundaries since it’s part of the fence. If Christian can climb it, he’ll have a good view of the whole park. He might even be able to see where everyone else is hiding, and then Ian will regret not accepting an alliance. They’ll all regret it. But he’ll be a good winner. He’ll congratulate everyone else, and Ox Sports will be so impressed with him, they’ll offer him Linda’s job on the spot.
The after-party is going to be amazing. No one said anything about an after-party, but Christian can already taste the champagne, can imagine the dress Rosiee will be wearing.
Humming happily to himself, he doesn’t notice the low ambient hum in the air. One hand on the fence is all it takes. He’s thrown backward, one second lasting an eternity as the current cycles through his body in an endless, brilliant white loop.
He passes out, or he doesn’t. Time passes, or it doesn’t. Electric. The fence is electric. Why is the fence electric? He wants to laugh. He always thought selling solar panels would kill him. Maybe electricity really was out to get him.
Tears trace down his face with relief as he stares upward. There’s someone in the tower. They saw what happened. The person leans over, staring down at him, too far for Christian to really see the face.
And then the person retreats into the shade of the tower. Why aren’t they helping him? Maybe they’re calling for help. But after a few minutes when he finally has enough control of his body to move again, no one has come. They haven’t called down to ask if he needs help, if he’s okay.