They Both Die at the End

by Adam Silvera

  I make sure no cars are coming from up the block.

  Rufus returns with a discarded newspaper and hands it to me. “Best I can find.”

  “Thanks.” I use the newspaper to scoop up the bird’s body and its severed head. I walk toward the community garden opposite the subway station, set right in between the basketball court and the playground.

  Rufus appears beside me on his bike, pedaling slowly. “What are you doing with that?”

  “Burying it.” I enter the garden and find a corner behind a tree, away from the spot where community gardeners have been planting fruit trees and flowers and making the world glow a little more. I kneel and place the newspaper down, nervous the head is going to roll away. Rufus hasn’t commented on it, but I feel the need to add, “I can’t just leave the bird out there to be tossed into a trash can or flattened by cars over and over and over.”

  I like the idea of a bird that died so tragically ahead of its time resting amid life here in the garden. I even imagine that this tree was once a person, some Decker who was cremated and had asked to have their ashes packed into a biodegradable urn with a tree seed to give it life.

  “It’s a couple minutes after four,” Rufus informs me.

  “I’ll be fast.”

  I take it he’s not the bury-a-bird type. I know many people won’t agree or understand this sentiment. After all, to most people, a bird is nothing compared to an actual human being, because actual human beings put on ties and go to work, they fall in love and get married, and they have kids and raise them. But birds do all of this too. They work—no ties, you got me there—and mate and nurture baby birds until they can fly. Some of them become pets who entertain children, children who learn to love and be kind to animals. Other birds are living until their time is up.

  But this sentiment is a Mateo thing, meaning it’s always made others think I’m weird. I don’t share thoughts like these with just anyone, rarely even with Dad or Lidia.

  Two fists can fit in this plot, and I’m shuffling the bird’s body and head off the newspaper and into the hole right when a flash goes off behind me. No, the first thing I thought wasn’t that an alien was beaming down warriors to take me out—okay, fine, it was. I turn to find Rufus aiming his phone’s camera at me.

  “Sorry,” Rufus says. “Not every day you see someone burying a bird.”

  I scoop the soil over the bird, smoothing it flat before standing. “I hope someone is this kind to us when it’s over.”

  RUFUS

  4:09 a.m.

  Yo, Mateo is too good. Definitely not suspicious of him anymore, it’s not like he’s got it in him to jump me. But I’m mad shocked to meet someone so . . . pure? I wouldn’t say I’ve only ever surrounded myself with assholes, but Malcolm and Tagoe are never gonna bury a bird in their lives, let’s be real fucking clear about that. Beating down that bastard Peck tonight proves we’re not innocent. I’ll bet you anything Mateo has no idea how to make a fist and couldn’t imagine himself getting violent, not even when he was a kid and dumb shit was forgiven and written off because he was young.

  There’s no way I’m telling him about Peck. I’ll take it to my grave today.

  “We out to see who first?”

  “My dad. We can take this subway.” Mateo points. “It’s only two stops downtown, but it’s safer than walking.”

  Two stops downtown would be a quick five-minute bike ride for me, and I’m tempted to just meet him there, but my gut is telling me this Mateo kid will screw up and leave me hanging outside the train station. I carry my bike down the stairs by its handlebars and seat. I roll my bike around the corner while Mateo cautiously hangs back a bit, and I catch him peeking before following me, like when I went to that haunted house thing in Brooklyn with Olivia a few years ago—except I was a kid. I don’t know what he’s expecting to find, and I’m not asking either.

  “You’re good,” I say. “Coast is clear.”

  Mateo creeps behind me, still suspicious of the empty corridor leading to the turnstiles. “I wonder how many other Deckers are hanging out with strangers right now. A lot are probably dead by now. Car accident or fire or shot or fallen down a manhole or . . .” He stops himself. Dude really knows how to paint a picture of tragedy. “What if they were on their way to say bye to someone close to them and then—” Mateo claps. “Gone. It’s not fair. . . . I hope they weren’t alone.”

  We get to the MetroCard vending machine. “Nope. Not fair. I don’t think it matters who you’re with when you die—someone’s company isn’t gonna keep you alive once Death-Cast hits you up.” This has gotta be taboo for a Last Friend to say, but I’m not wrong. Still feel a little bad when it shuts Mateo up.

  Deckers get some perks, like free unlimited passes for the subway, you just gotta bother the teller with some form. But the “unlimited” part is bullshit because they expire at the end of your End Day. A few weeks ago the Plutos claimed we were dying so we could score free passes for our adventure to Coney Island, thinking the dude would give us a break and let us through. But nah, he had us waiting for confirmation from Death-Cast servers, which can take longer than waiting for an express train, so we just bounced. I buy an unlimited MetroCard, the non-Decker, I-still-got-tomorrows edition, and Mateo copies.

  We swipe our way in to the platform. This could be our last ride for all we know.

  Mateo points back at the booth. “Is it crazy to think the MTA won’t need any station staffers in a few years because machines—maybe even robots—will take over their jobs? It’s sort of happening already if you think about . . .”

  The roar of the approaching train drowns Mateo out a little at the end there, but it’s fine, I get what he’s saying. The real victory here is catching a train instantly. Now we can safely rule out falling onto the exposed tracks, getting stuck while rats run by us, and straight chopped up and flattened by the train—damn, Mateo’s grimness is already rubbing off on me.

  Before the doors even open, I see one of those train takeovers going down, the ones where college kids host parties on trains to celebrate not getting the alert Mateo and I got. I guess dorm parties got old, so they’re wilding out on the subway instead—and we’re joining them, dammit. “Let’s go,” I tell Mateo when the doors open. “Hurry.” I rush and wheel my bike in, asking someone to make room for us, and when I turn to make sure my back tire isn’t keeping Mateo from getting in, I see he’s not behind me at all.

  Mateo is standing outside the car, shaking his head, and at the last second before the doors close he darts into the empty car ahead of mine, one that has sleeping passengers and isn’t blasting a remixed version of “Celebration.” (It’s a classic anthem, but let’s retire it already.)

  Look, I don’t know why Mateo bitched out, but it’s not gonna ruin my vibe. It’s a party car—I wasn’t asking him to go bungee jumping or skydiving. It’s far from daredevil territory.

  “We Built This City” comes on, and a girl with two handheld stereos hops onto the bench seat to dance. Some dude is hitting on her, but her eyes are closed and she’s just straight-up lost in her moment. In the corner some dude with a hood over his face is knocked out; either he’s had a really good time or there’s a dead Decker on this train.

  Not funny.

  I lean my bike against an empty bench seat—yeah, I’m that guy whose bike gets in everyone’s way, but I’m also dying, so cut me some slack—and step over the sleeping guy’s feet to peek into the next car. Mateo is staring into my car like some kid who’s been grounded and forced to watch his friends play from his bedroom window. I gesture for him to come over, but he shakes his head and stares down at the floor, never looking up at me again.

  Someone taps my shoulder. I turn and it’s this gorgeous hazel-eyed black girl with an extra can of beer in her hand. “Want one?”

  “Nah, I’m good.” I shouldn’t be getting buzzed.

  “More for me. I’m Callie.”

  I miss that a little. “Kelly?”

  She lea
ns in to me, her breasts against my chest and her lips against my ear. “Callie!”

  “Hey, Callie, I’m Rufus,” I say back into her ear since she’s already here. “What are you—”

  “My stop is next,” Callie interrupts. “Want to get off with me? You’re cute and seem like a nice guy.”

  She’s definitely my type, which means she’s also Tagoe’s type. (Malcolm’s type is any girl who likes him back.) But since there isn’t much I can offer her, besides what she’s obviously suggesting, I gotta pass. Having sex with a college girl has gotta be on mad people’s bucket lists—young people, married-dude people, boys, girls, you get it.

  “I can’t,” I say. I gotta have Mateo’s back, and I also have Aimee on the brain. I’m not trying to cheat that with something fake like this.

  “Sure you can!”

  “I really can’t, and it sucks,” I say. “I’m taking my friend to the hospital to see his dad.”

  “Forget you then.” Callie turns her back on me, and she’s talking to another guy within a minute, which is good on her since he actually follows her out of the train when we come to her stop. Maybe Callie and that guy will grow old together and tell their kids how they met at a subway party. But I bet you anything they’ll just have sex tonight and he’ll call her “Kelly” in the morning.

  I take photos of the energy in the car: the guy who’s managed to get the attention of the beautiful girl. Twins dancing together. The crushed beer cans and water bottles. And the freaking life of it all. I put my phone in my pocket, grab my bike, and wheel it through the doors between the cars—the ones the overhead announcements are constantly reminding us are for emergencies only. End Day or not, that announcement can suck it. The tunnel’s air is chill, and the train’s wheels screeching and screaming on the rails is a sound I won’t miss. I enter the next car, but Mateo keeps staring at the floor.

  I sit beside him and am about to go off on him, to tell him how I didn’t take some older girl’s invite to have sex on my last day to live ever because I’m a good Last Friend, but it’s pretty damn obvious he doesn’t need that guilt trip. “Yo, tell me more about these robots. The ones who are gonna take everyone’s jobs.”

  Mateo stops looking at the floor for a sec, turning to see if I’m toying with him, and I’m clearly not, I’m mad chill on all this. He grins and rambles so hard: “It’s going to take a while because evolution is never fast, but the robots are already here. You know that, right? There are robots that can cook dinner for you and unload the dishwasher. You can teach them secret handshakes, which is pretty mind-blowing, and they can solve a Rubik’s Cube. I even saw a clip of a break-dancing robot a couple months ago. But don’t you think these robots are one giant distraction while other robots receive job training at some underground robot headquarters? I mean, why pay someone twenty dollars an hour to give directions when our phones already do that, or even better, when a robot can do it for you? We’re screwed.” Mateo shuts up and is no longer grinning.

  “Buzzkill, right?”

  “Yeah,” Mateo says.

  “At least you won’t have to ever worry about your boss firing you for a robot,” I say.

  “That’s a pretty dark bright side,” Mateo says.

  “Dude, today is one huge dark bright side. Why’d you bail on the party car?”

  “We have no business on that car,” Mateo says. “What are we celebrating, dying? I’m not trying to dance with strangers while on my way to say goodbye to my dad and best friend, knowing damn well there’s a chance I may not even reach them. That’s just not my scene, and those aren’t my people.”

  “It’s just a party.” The train stops. He doesn’t respond. It’s possible Mateo not being a daredevil will keep us alive longer, but I’m not banking on it being a memorable End Day.

  AIMEE DUBOIS

  4:17 a.m.

  Death-Cast did not call Aimee DuBois because she isn’t dying today. But she’s losing Rufus—lost him already because of her boyfriend.

  Aimee is speed-walking home, followed by Peck. “You’re a monster. What kind of person tries to get someone arrested at their own funeral?”

  “I got jumped by three guys!”

  “Malcolm and Tagoe didn’t touch you! And now they’re going to jail.”

  Peck spits. “They ran their mouths, that’s not on me.”

  “You have to leave me alone. I know you never liked Rufus, and he didn’t give you any reason to, but he’s still really important to me. I always wanted him in the picture and now he won’t be. I had even less time with him because of you. If I can’t see him, I don’t want to see you either.”

  “You ending it with me?”

  Aimee stops. She doesn’t want to turn Peck’s way because she hasn’t considered this question yet. People make mistakes. Rufus made a mistake attacking Peck. Peck shouldn’t have had his friends send the police after Rufus, but he wasn’t wrong to have done so. Well, legally, no. Morally, hell yes.

  “You keep putting him before me,” Peck says. “I’m the one you’ve been coming to for all your problems. Not the guy who almost killed me. I’ll let you think on that.”

  Aimee stares at Peck. He’s a white teen with low-hanging jeans, baggy sweater, Caesar cut, and dried blood on his face because he’s dating her.

  Peck walks away and Aimee lets him.

  She doesn’t know where she stands with Peck in this world of gray.

  She’s not quite sure where she stands with herself either.

  MATEO

  4:26 a.m.

  I’m failing to break out.

  I couldn’t surround myself with more strangers. They were harmless for the most part, the only red flag being how I don’t want to be around people who get so drunk they pass out and eventually black out the nights they’re lucky to be living. But I wasn’t honest with Rufus, because, on a deep level, I do believe partying on the train is my kind of scene. It’s just that the fear of disappointing others or making a fool of myself always wins.

  I’m actually surprised Rufus is chaining his bike to a gate and following me into the hospital. We walk up to the front desk, and a red-eyed clerk smiles at me but doesn’t actually ask how he can help me.

  “Hi. I’d like to see my father. Mateo Torrez in Intensive Care.” I pull out my ID and slide it across the glass counter to Jared, as the name tag pinned to his sky-blue scrubs reads.

  “Visiting hours ended at nine, I’m afraid.”

  “I won’t be long, I promise.” I can’t leave without saying goodbye.

  “It’s not happening tonight, kid,” Jared says, the smile still there, except a little more unnerving. “Visiting hours resume at nine. Nine to nine. Catchy, right?”

  “Okay,” I say.

  “He’s dying,” Rufus says.

  “Your father is dying?” Jared asks me, the bizarre smile of someone working a four-in-the-morning shift finally gone.

  “No.” Rufus grabs my shoulder and squeezes. “He is dying. Do him a solid and let him upstairs to say goodbye to his father.”

  Jared doesn’t look as if he particularly appreciates being spoken to this way, and I’m not a fan of it myself, but who knows where I would be without Rufus to speak up for me. I actually know where I’d be: outside this hospital, probably crying and holed up somewhere hoping I make it to nine. Hell, I’d probably still be at home playing video games or trying to talk myself into getting out of the apartment.

  “Your father is in a coma,” Jared says, looking up from his computer.

  Rufus’s eyes widen, like his mind has been blown. “Whoa. Did you know that?”

  “I know that.” Seriously, if it’s not his first week on the job, Jared’s got to be on some forty-hour shift. “I still want to say goodbye.”

  Jared gets his act together and stops questioning me. I get his initial resistance, rules are rules, but I’m happy when he doesn’t drag this out any longer by asking me for proof. He takes photos of us, prints out visitor passes, and hands the pass
es to me. “Sorry about all this. And, you know . . .” His condolences, while hardly there, are way more appreciated than the ones I received from Andrea at Death-Cast.

  We walk toward the elevator.

  “Did you also wanna punch the smile off his face?” Rufus asks.

  “Nope.” It’s the first time Rufus and I have spoken to each other since getting out of the train station. I press the visitor pass across my shirt, making sure it sticks with a couple pats. “But thanks for getting us in here. I would’ve never played the Decker card myself.”

  “No problem. We have zero time for could’ve-would’ve-should’ve,” Rufus says.

  I push the elevator button. “I’m sorry I didn’t join in on the party car.”

  “I don’t need an apology. If you’re fine with your decision, that’s on you.” He walks away from the elevator and toward the staircase. “I’m not cool with us riding the elevator, though, so let’s do this.”

  Right. Forgot. It’s probably better to leave the elevators available to the nurses and doctors and patients at this time of night anyway.

  I follow Rufus up the stairs, and it’s only the second floor but I’m already out of breath. Really, maybe there’s something physically wrong with me and maybe I’ll die here on these steps before I can reach Dad or Lidia or Future Mateo. Rufus gets impatient and sprints up, sometimes even skipping two steps at a time.

  On the fifth floor, Rufus calls down to me. “I hope you’re serious about opening yourself up to new experiences, though. Doesn’t have to be something like the party car.”

  “I’ll feel ballsier once I’ve said my goodbyes,” I say.

  “Respect,” Rufus says.

  I trip up the steps, landing flat on the sixth floor. I take a deep breath as Rufus comes back down to help me up. “That was such a kid fall,” I say.

  Rufus shrugs. “Better forward than backward.”