“I’ve never been on a boat,” I say.
“It sucks, but please don’t fight to make that one of your firsts.”
“You going to ride up on a horse and stop me like one of those cowboys you made up?”
“Yeehaw,” Orion dryly says. “But for real, it’s your life. I selfishly don’t want to risk watching you drown. I don’t give a shit about what Death-Cast thinks, there’s no way I’d survive that.”
In the same way I’d like to take a trip in a spaceship, it’d be nice to get on a boat and sail across the river and experience something I haven’t before. But Orion is right. Drowning sounds like a horrible way to die, and I don’t want to test that theory. I wouldn’t want anyone witnessing that either. That would be too haunting.
It’s hard to live when it feels like death is lurking around every corner.
“I’m going to spend my remaining hours living life from a distance, aren’t I?”
“Nope. You’re going to live it up close,” Orion says.
“How?”
“By making the most of what we can do. If you don’t die happily, then I failed you.”
“Tough task.”
“Game on.”
I half expect us to shake on it. Instead, we watch that boat until it slips behind a building; I hope it has a safe journey. Orion steps away to aim the camera at me.
“You should also be in the picture,” I say. “This is a first for you too.”
“Nope, your End Day is about you. I’ve made it enough about me already with the whole heart attack and donor situation.”
“This End Day would’ve long been over without you. You’re part of my journey.”
Orion sighs, defeated. He comes under my open arm and we squeeze together, our heads leaning against each other. Figuring out the right angle is tricky without a phone’s mirror.
“How the hell did people take selfies before phones?” Orion asks.
“Luck. I also hate the word ‘selfie’ so much. Do you think that’ll die out soon?”
“I hope so. That word outliving you is upsetting as fuck.”
“Agreed.”
The longer we take to figure out how to take a selfie on the camera, the longer we’re pressed together. I’m not upset at this by any means.
“I’m going to go for it,” Orion says. “If I fuck it up, I fuck it up.”
He counts us down from three and instead of looking up at the camera, I’m smiling at Orion and thinking about the quality moments we can be sharing from the warmth of my studio. But when anyone looks through this album of pictures, all they’re going to be able to see is a Decker whose End Day would’ve been worse without this new friend who forced him to take his life into his own hands.
Captain Harry E. Pearson
8:05 a.m. （Mountain Standard Time） There’s something very wrong.
Captain Pearson’s plane has been emptied of all the passengers, so why does he still feel threatened? There’s this knot in his chest that’s been squeezing tighter and tighter ever since Death-Cast called. Is this a major case of anxiety? He’s been sweating profusely, but who wouldn’t? It’s stressful knowing that there were almost three hundred people on board who could’ve been plotting to hijack his plane. Maybe he’ll feel better after some fresh air.
But when he unlocks the cockpit door and steps into the main cabin, where police officers are waiting to safely escort him to a private room in the airport, Captain Pearson collapses to the floor.