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It took a minute for the penny to drop. God? She lifted her brows and then squinted, trying to see if he was telling her the truth even though he technically hadn’t said a damn thing.
He nodded. “As much as we hate the rules laid out for us,” he added, “we don’t break them. Not ever.”
She snorted ironically. She just couldn’t help herself. “Upper Management should have known better than to pass this torch to me, then,” she muttered wryly.
“I heard that,” he grumbled.
“I meant you too,” she volleyed back as her smartwatch vibrated against her wrist. She lifted it to her face, reading aloud before she realized just what she was reading.
REMINDER: Your quota is 5,624,201 souls. To manually update your quota, reply UPDATE. To opt out, reply STOP.
Bunny felt as though the rug had just been pulled out from underneath her.
“What the fuck?!” she yelped. “Five-and-a-half million souls?! How did it get to be so many!”
“I thought you said you were ahead of your quota,” Death asked, sitting upright, his face flooded with unmistakable concern.
“When I thought it was six, sure!”
“There are about four hundred thousand people born on this planet in a single day, give or take,” Death chastised, throwing her a withering glance. “Did you really think you only needed to put six in?”
Bunny huffed and threw up her hands. “Well, no one explained anything to me about the quota, and the counter thing on Roberta’s desk said six! As in one digit. Singular!”
“Yeah!” he argued, his tone jumping up. “For six million. It’s abbreviated!”
“Well I know that now!” Bunny groaned, covering her face with her hands.
Death sighed, leaning forward once again as Bunny began to pace in front of the bench.
“Wish I could opt out,” he sighed, lifting a hand to run through his glossy locks. “Every year, I put in for leave. Four weeks, I’m supposed to get. Four weeks a year. And every year they say no. No one to fill in for my position, apparently.”
“I’ll never get time off at this rate. There’s no way I’m going to be able to meet this quota in time.”
“Probably not,” Death agreed unhelpfully. “It’ll double tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” she glared.
Death shrugged. The breeze ruffled the collar of his jacket, reminding Bunny that time was wearing on. She wasn’t going to win this one. There was no saving the day.
Fuck it, time to be all-in, one way or another.
“What happens if I decide I don’t want to shove souls into people for the rest of my life?” she asked, cocking her head to one side as she watched for his reaction to her question.
He didn’t disappoint. For once, the stony air dropped from his countenance, the arrogant smoothness to his edges momentarily frayed.
“I don’t actually know,” he confessed, seeming confused. “No one’s ever passed up the role before.”
“You make it sound like I’m working at the DMV,” she sighed. “I’ve had enough.” She paced to the side of the bench she had formerly occupied and bent to snatch up her purse from the ground.
Death sat up again. “What?”
“I’m done. I can’t meet that quota, so I’m going to focus on something I actually do stand a chance of accomplishing.”
Bunny stalked off across the grass in the opposite direction to the conference center, preferring a walk through the park to a stroll past a disaster zone.
“Which is?” Death shouted.
“Finding out what happened to my mom,” she called back over her shoulder.
