Just because she shouldn’t have to be so damn strong doesn’t mean she isn’t. Ava stands up. She grabs one of the cage bars of the generator, and she starts dragging it.
She moves without thinking, without checking her progress, mind on nothing but her goal. Not where she’s going right now or what she’ll have to do when she gets there, but the goal beyond that. Mack, and LeGrand, and freedom.
Her pocket with Ian’s book bounces against her leg, while other pockets jingle, flush with cash and Linda’s family jewelry—taken as vengeance for how many times her fucking saint of a mother was accused of stealing jewelry from the houses she cleaned for women like Linda—and her muscles tremble, and her spine aches, and her knee won’t move right, and her ankle isn’t functioning, and Ava keeps going.
She has no idea how close to the gate she is, and, with her back turned, she doesn’t see the owner of that terribly gaudy jewelry standing beyond it, rifle pointed at Ava’s back.
* * *
—
Mack follows Atrius’s arrows, guided by his ghost. Her arm bleeds, cut by Rosiee’s silver. Maybe because the monster is so close, padding turned to pounding as it matches her pace in terrible ravenous pursuit, but she can feel them with her. All these lost people, who had worked so hard to carve out a place where they could be successful, where they could be famous, where they could be stable, where they could be loved, where they could be safe.
They came here, desperate, lured by the promise of finally winning something, set up to be devoured so people who already had everything would continue having exactly what they already had, what they could have had anyway, what they felt was their due. What they were willing to let fourteen hopeful souls pay for.
Mack can’t remember all their names, but it doesn’t matter. They are no longer her rivals. They are her team. She will win this not in spite of them, but because of them. For them. For Isabella and Logan and Rosiee and Sydney and Atrius and Rebecca and Ian and Christian and beautiful Ava and even Jaden.
And Brandon.
And LeGrand.
And Ava. But she doesn’t run for Ava. She runs toward Ava, trusting absolutely that Ava will be ready.
Another shot cracks through the air, this one much closer, and if Mack wasn’t so focused on running, navigating this maze with a monster right behind her, she would wonder why there was another gunshot when LeGrand was done with his part and should be hurrying to meet them.
* * *
—
If it had been anyone other than Ava, they would have fallen to Linda’s bullet.
But Linda hadn’t counted on the time Ava spent in active combat. The fact that, even with her back turned and her body screaming and her whole mind focused on a singular, impossible task, Ava’s instincts would remember the sound of a rifle being cocked and she would drop to the ground at the exact moment the trigger was pressed.
The shot passes precisely where Ava had been. Linda, in addition to being a bad mother, forgotten ex-wife, and the hopes and dreams of her grandparents utterly filled and wildly failed, is an excellent shot.
Ava rolls, crouching behind the generator.
“Oh, stand up, you worthless animal,” Linda shouts. “Did you think everyone would be fooled into abandoning their posts? I will never abandon mine! This is my birthright, my legacy, and no one is going to take it away from me.” Linda’s naked lips curl back in an ugly sneer, her false teeth, white and straight, standing out against her gray gums. “Stand up and take it like the man you wish you were.”
Ava examines her options. She has none. The road to the gate has been cleared well, and the nearest cover isn’t close enough to make it against someone as good a shot as Linda is. Doesn’t mean the plan is over, Ava tells herself. Just means her part in it is. She carefully takes the T-shirt and lighter out, setting them on the ground where LeGrand and Mack will be able to find them. One final offering of love.
Ava stands and turns, holding both hands in the air, middle fingers raised to the sky.
Linda jerks the rifle down toward the generator. “What were you going to do with that? Blow the beast up?” Her laugh is harsh and ugly, neglected and as thin and sour as the breath that carries it. For all Linda has done exactly what was expected of her, for all she has benefited from the horrible sacrifices of those who came before, her life has been absolutely devoid of happiness, of warmth, of joy. She has everything, and she has nothing, and some part of her knows. Some part of her knows, and needs to destroy Ava, needs to destroy whatever hope Ava still has before killing her.