Over and over again I try to drag myself up and off the pole, but blinding pain aside, it’s an impossible angle for me to overcome, one that no amount of survival instincts can change.
I don’t want to be in my own body right now.
The scavengers have found me.
It’s …
Unspeakable.
An eternity I’ve laid here, pinned in.
I’ve been in and out of consciousness so many times that I don’t know whether hours or days have passed since the carrion eaters found me—I think it’s been at least a day, though pain twists my memories. Perhaps I simply dreamed of the dark sky.
The scavengers do eventually move away. Once they do, I sob, my ruin of a chest heaving and my numerous injuries flaring up with the action.
The creatures will be back. It’s only a matter of time.
I search around for an adequate weapon, but the rubble that was small enough to grasp I’ve already picked up and chucked in my failed attempt to scare the animals away.
The best I can hope for at this point is that the next time the scavengers come, they’ll somehow manage to free me. The thought leaves me dry heaving.
I sob a few more times, but my head pounds and my body can’t summon up enough moisture for tears.
Fucking Death.
I curse him over and over.
So when I hear him calling my name, I think I must’ve conjured him with my anger alone.
Lazarus … Lazarus …
Lazarus …
It’s not really him, I tell myself. Dehydration, hunger, and pain have all made me delirious.
“Lazarus!” A man bellows.
My breath catches. Thanatos? Could it be?
The hope that fills my chest is painful, and I’m almost scared to give into it. But then, as I stare, bleary-eyed, up at the hole in the roof, I catch a glimpse of black wings and gleaming armor overhead.
It’s definitely him. No bird could look like that.
He’s looking for me, I realize.
Help. I try to form the word, but my voice is hoarse and weak. I clear my throat.
“Death,” I call out. It’s hardly more than a whisper.
I gather together all my energy and suck in a deep breath.
“Death!” I yell. My voice is still painfully weak and he’s already passed by, the walls of this partially caved-in building hiding him from sight.
Desperation and hope has me gathering together my strength.
I suck in a breath. “Death! Death! Help! Please! Thanatos!” I’m shouting as loud as I can, my pleas interrupted only by my cries as the effort jostles my wound.
I can’t see him, but I hear the thump of those thunderous wings, and I think … I think he’s coming closer.
“Lazarus!” he calls from somewhere overhead.
“Death!” I shout again.
And then I see him once more above me. His wings are stretched wide behind him as he perches on an exposed beam. He peers down into the collapsed building, his dark hair waving like flag in the wind.
“Lazarus?” he says, his eyes scanning the darkness.
“Thanatos.” It comes out somewhere between a sob and a sigh.
I know the instant he catches sight of me. His body goes rigid.
All at once, his wings snap closed behind him. He steps off his perch and drops down from the roof, falling like a stone. Just before he lands, his wings spread wide, slowing his fall, so that he seems to float the last several feet of his descent.
Pebbles skitter as he lands on a pile of rubble, and once more his wings fold closed behind him.
He strides forward over the debris, his silver breastplate shimmering in the shadowy light. His footsteps pause, and I see his eyes fall to me. He takes in my face, then my shredded clothing and the few places where my flesh is still healing. Eventually, his eyes land on the pole jutting through my abdomen.
“Lazarus.” Death rushes the rest of the way to me. He kneels at my side, taking in my injuries again. “Fuck.”
“I didn’t know angels cursed,” I say, my lips splitting as I speak.
His eyes are still roving over me, like he’s trying to process what happened. “How long have you been here?” he asks.
But he knows. He must know. The pole jutting up through me is evidence enough.
“Since you dropped me.” Now that I no longer have to shout, my voice comes out as a whisper.
“Since I … ?” His eyes search mine, and I see the horror creep into his expression. He curses again. “You’ve been here the whole time?” he asks.
I close my eyes and nod.
He makes an agonized sound.
I open my eyes.
His hand cups the side of my face, his thumb sliding over my cheekbone.
“I assumed you’d be more pleased by that,” I whisper.
Thanatos’s gaze is tortured as it meets mine. “I don’t pride myself on being cruel.” His eyes wander to where the rusted pole sticks out of me. “I have been searching for you. I …” He pauses, his gaze moving back to my own. “I was consumed with worry. The sight of you slipping from my arms has not left me all these days.”
“Stop it,” I say.
I don’t want to hear this. I thought I did—I thought nothing hurt more than the possibility of Death leaving me here to rot for all eternity—but I was wrong. We have an unspoken agreement between us—one where we despise each other. I’m not ready for that to change.
His gaze returns to the thick steel bar protruding up from me. There’s a good three feet of it jutting into the sky.
Death gets up and prowls around me, studying the pole. Eventually he kneels back at my side and grabs the thing with both hands.
“Brace yourself, Lazarus,” he says.
And then he twists. The metal groans as it bends beneath his might, and the movement causes the metal to jostle my injury.
I grit my teeth, biting back a pained cry.
With a final screech, the metal bar snaps off. Death tosses the length of it aside. The pole clangs as it lands in the distance, the sound echoing around us.
For an instant, I marvel at the horseman’s unnatural strength. To think I’ve been fighting that over and over again.
Death frowns down at me.
“What is it?” I say hoarsely.
“I’m going to have to lift you, Laz,” he says, shortening my name like we’re friends.
My insides seem to liquefy with fear. I thought I was brave when it came to pain, but after the last several days, I’m not.
But I need to get free.
Pressing my eyelids tightly together, I nod.
“Do it,” I say, opening my eyes.
Death moves in close, his arms sliding under my back. Even that slight movement causes a cry to slip out.
God this is going to hurt.
Thanatos pauses. “Are you alright?” he says, checking in.
I breathe heavily through my nose. “Just give me a moment.”
The horseman does. His arms are still under me, but he doesn’t move.
I turn my gaze towards the images hammered into his breastplate, trying to calm my nerves. There are snakes and headstones, eggs and fanged creatures, spirals and funerary processions—each image spilling into the next. I stare hard at the span of metal covering Thanatos’s heart. On it, a woman is wrapped intimately in a skeleton’s embrace. Just as I’m about to reach out and touch it, Death lifts me.
I scream, the sound driven entirely by the agonizing rip of my wound.
And then the pole is gone and I am free.
Death sits down heavily on the ground, clutching me tightly against him.
I twist my head to the side as I dry heave over and over again, the agony nauseating. And then I cry—I sob—the action doing nothing to alleviate the unbearable pain. I might be free, but my body feels ruined.
Everything hurts so goddamned bad.
“I’ve got you, Lazarus, my Lazarus,” Thanatos murmurs.
In this moment, his words are oddly comforting. I turn my head towards his chest and cry against his armor.
He holds me through the tears.
“It hurts,” I sob. It’s almost ridiculous to admit this to my foe, the one who has hurt me over and over again. Even more ridiculous that he’s the one holding me at the moment.
But he doesn’t seem to mind, and maybe that’s the strangest thing of all.
Death’s hand comes up to my cheek, his palm warm against me. That seems to drive away this pitiful mood of mine.
I try to pull away.
“Be still,” he commands, and for whatever reason, I listen.