For a second, I hesitate.
The three horsemen wanted my help, and Lord knows it would feel good to make Thanatos pay for abducting me. But Famine was this close to killing me. All so that he could act on some personal vendetta.
Fucker can fight this battle on his own.
I crawl across the room as the house continues to groan and crack, and I’m sure that at any moment Death is going to notice me.
But the fighting doesn’t stop. I creep across the open doorway and ever so silently rise to my feet.
Outside, the wind howls as it whips my hair and rain pounds against my skin. In the short time these two horsemen have been fighting, vines have grown up and around much of the house. The building is splintering apart as even more plants force their way out of the ground and up through the frame of the house.
I hurry down the front yard, skirting around the rusted junk as lightning slices through the sky. A memory of Death’s skeletal features flash behind my eyes.
Got to get away.
I nearly trip over a scattered pile of supplies. Fruit, bread, jugs of water, blankets and more, all of it getting sodden out here in the storm. It wasn’t here when I exited the house an hour earlier.
Death hadn’t left me to kill some town. He’d left to bring me supplies. I mean, he probably did kill the town he got them from, but that’s kind of a given with him.
My heart hammers in my chest as I stare at it all.
Behind me, I hear Famine bellow and the house shriek as beams break in earnest. Death’s velvety voice drifts out, and whatever he’s saying, it isn’t English. The sound of it raises the hair on my arms.
My gaze moves up to the opening in the thicket.
Run girl run.
And that’s exactly what I do. I flee for my life.
Chapter 28
Pleasanton, Texas
January, Year 27 of the Horsemen
I run for miles and miles, my wet clothing sticking to my skin. Every square inch of me is wet, from the top of my head to the bottom of my icy feet. With every pounding footfall, water squishes between my toes.
My breath is ragged, and the cold air is burning my lungs with every breath I take. The rain seems to follow me the entire time.
Get away. Get away. Get away.
That’s the only thought that echoes in my mind. Away from all the horsemen and their violence.
My legs have nearly given out when I stumble into Pleasanton’s city center. It’s a hiccup of a place. Blink and you’d miss it. But the dead lay scattered like freshly fallen snow, and my skin pricks like it can feel Death’s power even now.
I slow to a walk, pressing the back of my hand against my mouth as I pick my way through the streets, ignoring the rain still battering against me.
Now that I’ve burned through my adrenaline, exhaustion is setting in. I don’t know how I made it this far. I’m beyond hungry and thirsty and everything hurts. I glance around me, noticing the houses that line the street.
I need to grab some supplies and find a place to eat and rest in. For whatever reason, the buildings here have been left standing, but I fear that if Death comes looking for me, he’ll start obliterating them one by one. I don’t want to be inside when he does that.
The idea, however, of camping out in some wet field makes me want to weep.
…. aaaah … aaahwahwahwahaaaa …
I freeze at the distant sound. What is that? It’s impossible to make out over the wind and rain—hell, maybe it is the wind and rain.
I begin to walk again, trying to decide which house to break into.
… waaaah … ahahah … waaaaah …
I pause again.
That’s not the weather.
Is it an animal? Perhaps some creature got trapped and is now crying out for help. But there’s something about that sound, something that sets my teeth on edge. A sick feeling pools in my belly.
I find myself moving towards the noise, drawn in despite my own pressing needs.
… wahwahwah … WHAAAAAA!
Oh dear God.
I forget about the horseman and about food and water and the rain battering down on me.
That’s a baby.
Someone else has survived Death.
Chapter 29
Pleasanton, Texas
January, Year 27 of the Horsemen
I run towards the noise. It’s impossible. No one besides me survives Death.
The crying gets louder the closer I get to an olive green house. I run up the driveway, onto the porch, and grab the handle—
Locked.
Shit.
WAHWAHWAAAAAA!
Dear God dear God dear God. I grab one of the wrought iron café chairs sitting on the porch and drag it to a window.
Hefting it up, I slam it into the glass. It takes two tries, but I shatter the window. Kicking the remaining glass shards away, I step into the house.
AAAAAAHWAHWAHWAH!
I sprint across the living room I entered and down the hall, barely noticing the corpse I vault over. I make it to a room—a nursery—and there, sitting in a crib, is a crying baby.
My legs nearly give out at the sight.
I rush over to the crib, lifting the baby out. There’s vomit on the child and they’re trembling badly in my arms.
“Ssh, ssh,” I say, holding the baby close.
The infant is still wailing, its voice hoarse from crying for so long. Its tiny hands fist into my clothes.
My God, this child survived a horseman.
Just like me.
I’m shell-shocked at the thought, and for a moment, all I can do is shush the baby and stare. But the child’s still shaking and how long have they been trapped in that crib? The thought is too horrifying to ponder.
I storm the house, looking for milk. I have to swallow back a sob as I pass the body I leapt over just a minute ago. The woman’s long auburn hair is fanned out around her like a halo; that must be the child’s mother.
I’ve passed countless bodies over the past six months and gotten used to the sight of them. But now my own history overlays this moment, and I have to breathe in through my nose to stop a few careless sobs from slipping out.
When I enter the kitchen, I make a beeline for the icebox. Inside are several pre-filled bottles of milk. Thank God. Grabbing one of them, I bring it to the child’s lips.
The baby drinks greedily, gulping down the milk. And now, I begin to cry. This child will never grow up in this house and will never know the woman lying in it.
But they will live. That I swear.
Thanatos will be coming for me.
If he finds me, the child will die. That’s just how Death is.
Maybe this baby is impervious to death. That thought fills me with such strange, conflicting emotions. I stare at the baby for the hundredth time, trying to untangle the mess of my mind. Unending life is a gift and a curse wrapped up in one.
Despite all signs indicating this baby can survive Death, I shouldn’t assume they’re beyond his reach.
I move through the home, one hand holding the baby while the other gathers all the necessities the two of us might need. The child refuses to let me go.
I feel vaguely sick. Too much adrenaline and exhaustion and too little sustenance and rest.
Please don’t pass out. Please don’t pass out.
I have to force myself to stop and drink the water I find in a nearby pitcher, and I shove some leftover food from the icebox into my mouth as quickly as I can.
I find a backpack and begin adding in diapers and baby clothes, empty bottles and some jars of mashed food. I even manage to tie a teddy bear I found in the crib to the outside of the bag.
Every single second that passes feels like a knife to the chest. At any moment the house could fall or the dead could rise. I am working on borrowed time.
I do one last pass through. I stop in the nursery, my gaze sweeping over the room to make sure I didn’t miss anything. I’ve been so consumed by this child’s survival that it’s only now that I notice the three wooden letters hanging on the wall.
B-E-N.
I bite back another sob.
I look down at the baby, who’s staring at me, his eyes still puffy.