We enter the ER and stand outside Orion’s curtained space.
“Knock, knock,” Dalma says.
“Come in,” Orion says.
I pull back the curtain, and Orion looks far worse than I expected. Curls are plastered to his sweaty forehead, and his eyes are red as if he’s been infected with some virus. He’s shivering even though he’s wrapped up in a blanket. One of those black Velcro armbands—I absolutely don’t know the medical term—is connecting him to the monitor that looks older than the computer in my mom’s office.
He weakly nods. “Hey.”
“Stupid question, but how are you feeling?” I ask.
“Just another day in the life,” Orion says. Then his eyes go wide, like he’s taken another jolt to the heart. “Shit, I’m sorry. I hate all this, but I’m so used to it at this point and—”
“You’re fine,” I interrupt. He doesn’t need to get worked up over that comment. “I’m relieved you’re alive. I also can’t believe you live like this.”
“Unfortunately,” Orion says.
“Mom and Floyd are talking about driving back,” Dalma says.
“Tell them to stay. I’ll be fine.”
“You know they won’t,” she says.
“Are you going to be admitted?” I ask.
“Probably,” Orion says. “I doubt I’m in the clear yet.”
I check the time. “Aren’t the Death-Cast calls ending soon on the East Coast?”
“By two o’clock,” Dalma says.
A lot can change in half an hour.
Everything can change in one minute.
“You’re going to be fine,” I say.
Orion shivers. “I’m hoping you’ll be good too. I mean, we literally dodged a bullet after Death-Cast called. Maybe we changed your fate.”
The thought gives me hope, like I’m not doomed to walk through my last day like some zombie.
“Maybe.”
“I should check if any Deckers have even died,” Dalma says, taking her phone back. “The whole system can be screwed up.”
This is literally day one of Death-Cast. Assuming their predictions are even real, there still has to be room for error. There’s no way they’re going to get everything right. I could be a mistake.
Now I’m a zombie coming back to life.
My eyeball gets sucked back into its socket.
My unhinged jaw screws back into place.
My bones mend and my skin regenerates.
I should call Death-Cast’s customer service number to confirm that my name is no longer on their to-die list or server or however they’re keeping track of the Deckers.
Dalma looks up from her phone, doom in her eyes. “I’m sorry. Joaquin Rosa shared a report a few minutes ago. Death-Cast obviously can’t track who has or hasn’t died, since it’s not like we’re microchipped, but there have been three confirmed Decker deaths.”
Just like that, my eyeball pops back out, my jaw swings loose, and my bones snap and pierce through my skin.
I’m a dead man walking.
“Thanks for investigating,” I say.
“All hope isn’t lost yet,” Orion says.
I shake my head. “It’s probably in my best interest to treat today like it’s my last.”