“Okay.” Rita rose from the mud and walked west across the park. Her twin walked next to her, keeping pace, murmuring her approval in Finney’s voice.
Rita reached a railing. There was sign with a picture of what looked like a whale on it (dark, hard to tell in the dark), and another sign that said something about unstable cliffs.
(Unstable cliffs?)
She hesitated at the railing. There was water on the ground everywhere, and her feet were soaked.
“Go under the railing.”
“Why?” Rita asked.
“To save Spencer.”
“Right. To save Spencer.”
Of course. She needed to go under the railing to save Spencer.
She slid under the railing, splashing through water and mud.
“Take two steps forward, then stop.”
Rita did.
There was blackness ahead, spreading out before her at her feet, devoid of any light.
There was the roaring of angry waves, far below.
There was a strong, cold wind.
It was like standing at the end of the world.
Rita shivered. “Now what do I do?”
There was no answer.
Her twin, the other Rita who had walked with her from the field, was gone.
FINNEY
He’d initially followed her from a distance, then closed the gap, dragging his injured leg behind him, to within a few feet as she approached the railing.
He knew he could convince her to keep right on walking, right off the edge.
But that didn’t feel right.
No. It seemed more fitting that he be the one to push her over.
He ducked under the railing and picked his way among fast-moving rivulets of water, some a few feet wide and just as deep, little canyons carved into the soft clay as tons of runoff from the heavy rains raced toward the Pacific.
She was staring ahead, out over the dark ocean.
He stole up behind her.
His smile was thin and broad as he reached both hands toward her back …
SEBASTIAN
Sebastian was never able to explain what had made him look at the Fruit Punch Drunk app again on his phone.
Or—having looked at it, and perceived the reestablished connection between Finney and the still-active device in Wu’s head, and realized that Finney had managed to lock him out of the command sequences again—what had made him turn around and come back.
He didn’t need to do this. He’d gotten away clean, picking his way south along the cliff’s edge, carrying the waterproof pack of supplies he’d hidden earlier near the Torrey pine in Higdon Park.
(Options always options)
He had all the money he and his sister’s family would ever need.
He knew that Finney—
(who had somehow managed to survive, he had to give the stubborn bastard credit)
—even with all of his resources, would never be able to find him again should Sebastian not wish him to.
But he felt glad that he’d come back because he knew that Alfonso would have approved.
Now they were coming into sight, two dark silhouettes in front of the safety railing, near where he’d been standing earlier today with Finney. Sebastian approached as quickly as the ache from his broken ribs allowed.
What the hell are they doing?
As best he could tell, they were both right up near the cliff’s edge, like they were about to go off it, and in this damn dark he couldn’t tell for sure who was who. The gun and conduction gun were useless here: He might hit Wu.
No time for much of a plan.
In one swift movement—
(Pain, ignore the pain)
—he dropped his backpack and launched himself underneath the railing. He grabbed both of them roughly from behind (realizing only at the last moment that Finney had been standing behind Wu) and yanked them both back toward the railing. The pain from his ribs flared and threw him off-balance, and he tumbled backward, his right side crashing against the railing.
And against his cracked ribs.
His vision exploded into stars of agony.
One of them—
(Wu?)
(Or Finney?)
—fell against him. Instinctively, he grabbed for the pistol in his waistband, but in his pain, he dropped it.
FINNEY
… and then someone (Sebastian, who else but Sebastian could it be?) grabbed him from behind, by the shoulder, and pulled him back, before he could push her over.
Before he could accomplish his task and relish his moment of triumph.
His moment of triumph!
He staggered backward but, despite his injured leg, managed to keep himself upright. He felt something heavy land on his foot.
He looked down and, amazed, perceived it was his gun.
His gun.
Like manna from Heaven, his gun.
Then he had it in his hand, and he was pointing it at the two of them, both clutching the railing, mere paces away. They were panting, Wu draped across Sebastian, as if they were lovers.
This time he wasn’t going to hesitate.
He pulled the trigger …
RITA
It was like the weirdest dream.
She’d been going for help.
Then Finney’s voice, and the mud, and her inexplicable need to go to the cliff.