The Reaper stops in front of us and stares down at the flower in his hand. After a moment, he holds it out to Ben.
Ben eyes Famine skeptically, then looks at the rose as though this is some sort of trick. Reluctantly, my son reaches for the flower.
Before he can grab it, Famine pulls it back just a little. “This is not actually yours,” the horseman clarifies, because he’s a natural-born dick, “but the woman it does belong to would want you to have it.”
He extends the flower out once more, and this time, there’s no hesitation on Ben’s part. He reaches out and grabs the thing, which, I notice, has been carefully de-thorned.
Once the flower is in Ben’s grasp, he makes quick work of ripping the petals apart.
Famine grimaces. “Humans are such heathens—even the miniature ones.”
“You’re just bitter Ana doesn’t want to be saddled with yours,” War says, thumping him on the back as he turns to his horse.
The Reaper glares after him but says nothing. After a moment, his attention returns to Ben, who has plucked most of the petals off the rose.
Famine handily takes Ben from my arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Say bye to Lazarus,” the horseman says, but Ben couldn’t care less at the moment. His attention is still fixed on the sad remains of the rose.
My arms feel empty, and everything in me is screaming at the thought of separation.
“I love you, Ben,” I say, again, my voice breaking.
This is the biggest trust-fall into the universe.
As Famine walks off with Ben, I hear him say, “I can make you more flowers, but if you shit on me, deal’s off.”
“Famine,” Pestilence snaps after him.
“Relax, Grandpa,” Famine calls out over his shoulder, “Ben’s going to wait until he’s on your horse before he does anything funny.”
Pestilence rubs his temples. “He’ll be alright,” the horseman insists to me, dropping his hand.
I nod, biting the insides of my cheeks to keep my composure.
“Before you go,” Pestilence says. “I have something for you.” He reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out a piece of paper and holds it out to me. “This is the address our families are staying at. Our plan is to take Ben there, where my wife Sara and the others will take care of him.”
I take the paper from him and I stare down at the address. My heart hammers at how hopelessly far away it is. That’s a good thing, I remind myself, even though right now, all I notice is that it feels half a world away from me.
Then the rest of what he said catches up to me. “They will take care of him?” I ask. “What about you and the other horsemen?”
Pestilence’s face is grim. “We’re going to come back for you and Death.” His face darkens. “Hopefully by then, Thanatos will have changed his mind about his task, but if not …”
If not, then Pestilence and his brothers will have to stop him themselves. I don’t think that option will end well for any of them.
Pestilence looks off at the horizon behind me. “You need to go. We have to start riding to put as much distance between us and Death as possible.”
I nod, backing up. My eyes keep moving to Famine. He’s pulled himself onto his saddle, Ben in front of him. My tiny son is going to be riding on a horse.
Icy panic claws its way up my throat, and it takes an obscene amount of effort to force it back down.
Ben is still distracted from the fact that he’s no longer in my arms, and that’s thanks to the Reaper, who has grown a vine up his very patient horse’s leg.
A white flower unfurls right in front of Ben, and though the sight of it is unbelievable to my eyes, my son is unfazed, plucking the bloom immediately, then inspecting it with a serious expression before beginning to pick off its petals one by one.
Panic stirs inside me, and without thinking, I cross over to my son. Reaching up, I smooth a hand down his face. “I’ll see you again soon, Ben,” I promise. “Stay safe, my heart.”
My son looks at me and smiles; he holds out his mutilated flower and shows it off.
I press my lips together to keep from losing it, then back up several steps.
Famine turns to me, his eyes stony.
“Lazarus,” he says softly. “Don’t forget your end of the deal.” His words are laced with menace. “Suck him, fuck him, do whatever shit gets that brother of mine off, but remember that everything is resting on you now. Everything.”
Chapter 37
Orange, Texas
July, Year 27 of the Horsemen
My apartment feels like a tomb. It hurts to look at the leftover diapers and clothing sitting in a pile on the floor—one of them the very diaper Ben was so recently playing with.
Perhaps what’s worse than seeing that pile is recognizing how pitifully small it is. Traveling often means traveling lightly, and most of my son’s things left with him.
Bending down to that pile, I grab a pair of socks that Ben has already outgrown. I tuck those into one of my pockets, pressing my lips together to stop myself from getting too emotional.
He’s alive, I remind myself. That’s more than Death or the doctors could give me.
I move into my bedroom and grab my blades, strapping them to my thighs. Do I intend to use them on the horseman? No. Would I regret sinking one into his belly if the opportunity arose? Also no.
All those months of trying to raise a baby while looking over my shoulder, of having to drop everything and flee, they’ve more than stoked my anger. Add to that the fact that Death intends to collect my son’s soul tonight, and yes, I’d relish an opportunity to fight this horseman.
Of course, anger is not the only emotion I feel towards Thanatos. I wish it were. That would make everything so much easier. Instead, I have to deal with this insidious desire that smolders within me. And then there’s the fact that Thanatos didn’t wipe out this town last night.
I head to my front door and step outside of my apartment.
“Thanatos!” I call, my gaze moving over the neighborhood.
I wait for some response—a prickling against my skin, a feeling of being watched, that damnable silence—but there’s nothing. If the horseman has been watching me, it seems he’s taken a break.
I reenter my apartment determined to not just sit here and wait for him. I’d much rather draw him out like venom from a wound. And if I orchestrate this right, I’ll even be able to give his three brothers a head start on their travels.
Striding back over to the kitchen I grab the pencil and notebook and scribble a message onto the piece of paper, my agitation making my writing severe.
If you want me, you’re going to have to catch me first.
—Lazarus
P.S. I’d suggest you start looking on the I-10 East.
Grabbing a kitchen knife, I head outside and impale that note against my front door.
Death and I are going to have one final game of cat and mouse.
I ride through the streets of Orange like a ghost, the sun setting in the west. My eyes move over the few people I see, all of them going about their day as though nothing is amiss. They have no idea that all four horsemen of the apocalypse have been in their city within the last twenty-four hours. Or that the very fate of humanity has been bartered for like fruit at a market.
As soon as I reach the edge of the city, I start to pedal faster and faster and faster, until my thighs burn and the wind is whistling in my ears.
I let out a sob. It’s an ugly, wild sound, but releasing my pain like that is cathartic, so I do it again—and again and again until I’m screaming my agony into the sky. It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore.
At some point, I get it all out. All that’s left is this silence inside me.
I ride until my eyelids droop—which, if I’m being honest, is depressingly early in the evening. But I can feel the exhaustion seeping into every inch of me; I haven’t had proper rest—or a proper meal for that matter—in far too long.