Chapter 40 Ellis
Ellis
What’s wrong with me? Ellis wondered. There was no emotion. No horror, no fear, no remorse. He was sitting on an upturned tractor, holding a metal wheel that could end the life of one of his classmates—his ex-friend, and yet he felt nothing.
Did that make him a sociopath? No, a sociopath would be enjoying this. Lacking in empathy? Probably.
Ellis released the wheel and flexed his hands, opening and closing them. Something was wrong with his hands. Ever since Caden had crossed the line, his palms had felt tight, uncomfortable, as though ants were crawling under the skin. He shook them out.
Alex was panting for breath. He was lying awkwardly, hands over the line, pulled tight by the rope. His body was stretched out behind him in the red dirt, still safe inside the circle. That’s where Ellis left him hanging.
Ellis watched as Alex struggled to hold himself up, struggled to hold on. Alex seemed very invested, pulling against the ropes, trying to twist himself upright. It reminded Ellis of an animal caught in a trap, trying to gnaw its own leg off to escape, to survive.
Well, it wasn’t going to be Alex’s choice. The hour was almost up. They had sat here baking in the lowering rays of late afternoon sunlight, waiting, just in case Ana was still alive. Just to be sure. If she didn’t show up soon, Ellis was going to call it.
Of course, she was probably dead.
The last he’d seen of Ana was her dark outline through the heavy smoke in the outbuilding.
She was low to the ground, coughing. It should have been so easy—he’d reached out to grab her, but his hand closed on empty air, just as the fire took hold and a section of shelving collapsed over them.
He had barely got out of the way in time.
Ana had almost certainly died in the fire, trapped under those shelves.
But as the flames had forced him out before he could be certain, there was always a slight possibility that she had somehow escaped—either snuck out of the burning building before him, or (and this was where he felt a little nervous) she’d made it through the hatch.
Ellis was all too aware of the risks if Ana had survived.
He wasn’t afraid of a confrontation. One on one, he would easily win.
What he was desperately afraid of was that she would stay hidden until the final hour was up.
They would both die, and all of this, all the things he’d done, would be for nothing.
He wouldn’t put it past her—to sacrifice herself just to make sure he didn’t walk away.
Especially after the next hour ended and Alex took his one-way ride on the red truck.
No, most likely she was toast. If he’d had time to sift through the ashes of the outbuilding, he would have found her under some burned-out shelf, or what was left of her.
But even if every instinct told him that she was dead, he would anticipate the worst, right up until this was over—that there were three of them still alive, still playing the game.
That the game was still very far from won.
“How much time is left?” It was the first thing Alex had said in a while.
“Enough,” Ellis said, his eyes flicking over to where his phone was lying propped up on the tractor. Just over sixteen minutes. Good.
So close. He should wait until the very end—just leave enough time to drag Alex over the line with a small margin for error.
Then maybe that would be it. No more countdowns or trucks.
Maybe this whole thing would be over, once and for all.
Ellis pushed the thought away. He didn’t deal in hope—it made you careless.
Hope was for losers. As far as Ellis was concerned, your destiny was in your hands, make of it what you will.
A pale violet color tinted the distant mountains—the first hint that this hellish day was coming to an end. The wind had a refreshing coolness to it at long last. The desert looked the way it had when the bus had first arrived. Had it only been twenty-four hours? It felt like a miserable lifetime.
Damn it; what was going on with his hands? The fingers kept seizing up as though he was cramping or something. He rubbed them together forcefully, trying to shake it off.
There they went again—his fingers locking into a claw shape.
It was ten times worse after Raya went. She’d really struggled. Even though she was tied up and he could easily lift her, it had been brutal forcing her over the line.
Sharp jolts of pain seared up his forearms. He must have pulled a muscle or something. What if his hands wouldn’t let him turn the wheel? What if they seized up completely? He rested them on the wheel and tested himself, gripping and releasing the metal.
He had to distract himself.
“Damn, look at the time. I guess Ana’s a no-show,” Ellis said flatly. “Must be dead, or maybe hiding. Maybe she decided you weren’t worth risking her life for.”
There was no reaction from Alex.
“It doesn’t matter. When you’re dead, if the clock resets, I’ll go hunting.”
Still nothing.
“You know, I liked you, Alex. You’re a good guy. Genuinely. I’m sorry it had to end this way.”
Nothing. Damn it. Ellis’s fingers seized again. What was wrong with him? He was in the final stretch; the game was his to win. So, why did he feel…off? It was as though his body was betraying him.
He pictured a flash of cloth in his hands, camo stretched through his fingers. Black hair, grabbed firmly in his fist.
Fuck it.
He grabbed the wheel and yanked on it hard.
There was a loud clank, followed by a creaking noise.
The rope was moving, the cord cutting into Alex’s wrists as he pulled against it, then suddenly stopping again.
Alex’s arms were over the line now. Ellis wondered how much of him had to cross over before they would shoot him. Head? Head and chest? Or whole body?
He should wait. There was still time. It was the smart thing to do. It was just so hard. He was spiraling.
“Fucking say something, Alex,” he barked. It was reasonable. If Alex wanted to live for the remainder of the hour, he would have to put the work in. “Amuse me. Talk.” Anything that would stop the thoughts.
But Alex did nothing. He didn’t even look in Ellis’s direction. There was something calm about the way he held himself, as though the deepest part of him had already crossed the line, was already free.
Envy. It came out of nowhere. To face your death with such courage, strength. Alex was going to die, but he was clean, his hands were clean. He had lived well and knew it. There was no fear left. No guilt. No shame.
Not like Ellis.
Both hands seized up. Caden’s T-shirt slipping in his fingers. Raya’s hair falling from his fist. When death came for Ellis, now or in a hundred years, there would be no peace, no absolution. No redemption.
Lucky Alex.
That was it. Enough.
“Fine. Have it your way.” He couldn’t do this any longer, his thoughts eating away at him, his hands failing him. He needed this to be over one way or another. He needed to go home. Now.
“It’s been nice knowing you, Alex. See you on the other side,” he muttered darkly, grabbing the wheel firmly and turning.