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.

This is his first heart attack.

And last.

Orion

11:06 a.m.

This End Day isn’t about me, but I feel lucky to be along for the journey.

When I first met Valentino, I knew I wanted to be part of his life. Yeah, my dick was doing some of the talking because he’s gorgeous, but it was more than that, it was always more than that. He had stars in his eyes and wanted to grow up in this city. He’ll never be able to do it all, but I’m happy he’s hitting a lot of firsts.

Our next first: riding the bus, since a boat is too dangerous. Or at least it will be our next first if it ever arrives. I check the time on my phone to see how long we’ve been waiting when I realize something historic in the world of me and Valentino.

“Yo, it’s been twelve-ish hours since we met,” I say.

I wish I knew the exact minute.

“Really?” Valentino asks. “It feels . . .”

“Feels like what?”

“I was going to say it feels like yesterday.”

“Probably because it was.”

“Which is why I stopped talking.”

“No, don’t ever stop talking. You have a nice voice, and I like the stuff you say.”

I tried burying that compliment about his voice that I want to listen to all day and that I’ll miss, but I did a pretty shitty job covering it up. I’m feeling all these feelings, and I know I shouldn’t because this doesn’t make sense, but they’re fighting their way up anyway. I should write a story about a lovesick zombie crawling out of a grave, wanting a heart to hold, not eat. Oh, wait, zombies are gunning more for brains, not hearts, though I guess they’ll eat anything from the body that’s fresh. Fuck do I know, I’m no more a zombie dietician than I am a historian.

“You like the stuff I say?” Valentino asks. “What else would you like to hear me say in my nice voice?”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“Don’t be a dick,” he parrots with a smile.