I have this panicky urge inside me to stand in the middle of the road and scream the truth from the top of my lungs.
Death is coming for you all!
Instead, I head for the police station—though it takes me a few tries and some asking to find my way.
I lean my well-traveled bike against the side of the police station and I worry my lower lip as I eye the building.
Should I have gone to a fire station instead? City Hall? I don’t actually know where the best place would be to share news of Death’s movements.
Taking a deep breath, I reluctantly remove my weapons, leaving them with my bike. I sincerely hope no one is ballsy enough to steal these right outside a police station. Then, I stride inside.
There are a few people waiting in nearby seats, and the officer manning the front desk gives me a bored look, like he’d rather be doing other things in other places.
I head up to him, cracking my knuckles finger by finger as though that might dispel my nerves.
“What can I do for you today, miss?” the man drawls.
I draw in a deep breath. There is no sugar-coating this.
“One of the Four Horsemen is closing in on this city.”
I assumed I wouldn’t be believed. I assumed the officer I approached would laugh me off.
That wasn’t the case.
Two hours later, I find myself sitting across the table from Lexington’s mayor, its chief of police, its fire chief, and another official whose title escapes me, all of us gathered inside one of their City Hall’s conference rooms.
Unlike the officer I initially met with, not everyone here is eager to believe my story.
“Tell me again who you are,” the mayor says.
“Lazarus Gaumond—”
“‘Lazarus’?” the unnamed official interrupts. He guffaws. “Her name is Lazarus and you didn’t question her account at all?” he accuses the others. “This is just one of those loonies from the Church of the Second Coming.”
The chief of police glares back at him. “Don’t call my department’s judgment into question, George.”
“So you actually believe that a horseman is coming to our city?” George says skeptically, raising his eyebrows. He glances at me, then huffs out another disbelieving laugh.
The chief of police casts George a withering look, his jaw tightening, but he doesn’t say anything else.
“There have been eyewitness reports of mass deaths in the last few weeks,” the fire chief says idly. “It’s not unthinkable, especially considering the fact that we know the horsemen are here on earth.” The fire chief turns his attention to me, his hands clasped loosely on the table. “Why don’t you tell us what you know,” he says gently. The man has kind eyes, and he’s not looking at me like I’m a kook.
My gaze moves over the other three men in the room. I’ve never done this before—never tried to warn an entire town of Death’s arrival. I’m more than a little uneasy that these people won’t believe me.
“Death is heading in this direction,” I say haltingly. “Whether he’ll ride through this city remains to be seen—but he probably will. I—I think he’s drawn to big cities.” It’s another one of those assumptions I’ve made, but it seems right.
“What proof do you have that he’s coming here?” the fire chief asks.
Proof. The word has my heart sinking. I have precious little proof besides what I’ve seen and experienced firsthand.
I reach for my weatherworn bag, setting it on the conference table. I open it, and a sheathed dagger slides out. Pushing it aside, I grab my maps. I have one of Tennessee, one of Kentucky, and then a bigger one of the entire United States. All of them are meticulously marked.
I ignore the way my hands tremble as I open them one by one, laying them out on the table.
You thought you could just walk into this city and warn them, Lazarus? These people will never believe you, they’ll die not believing you.
All of my worries rise up, and there’s a sick sort of irony to it because there’s nothing for me personally to be worried about. I won’t be killed, after all; it’s the people around me who will.
I push the maps towards my audience. “The X’s are where Death has been already. Those cities are gone. If you look at the map of the entire country, you’ll see that these extend all the way to Georgia—that’s where I’m from.” I’m babbling, but I can’t seem to stop. “There were a couple months where I lost track of the horseman. I don’t know where he was during that—”
“This is your evidence?” George says, cutting me off. “A few marks on a map?” He makes a disgusted sound, then pushes out of his chair. “You all are damn fools if you’re going to waste your time listening to this.” Flashing me one last unpleasant look, he shakes his head and leaves the conference room. He slams the door behind him, the noise echoing.
There’s a few tense moments of silence.
“He’s right,” the mayor chimes in, running a hand over his silvery hair. “Why should we believe you? Seems to me like a great way to scare people out of their homes long enough for you to rob them.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You think I’m going to—” I cut myself off, even as my annoyance rises.
I meet each man’s eyes. “I have ridden through the towns Death has visited. I have seen the bodies and smelled the rot. Go to any one of those marked cities and see it for yourself, but for the love of whoever gives a shit, please warn your town.”
The room is quiet.
“There will be more sightings of the dead, especially as Death gets closer,” I say, softer, “but your time is running out. This is the first living town I’ve come across in two weeks.”
The mood of the room has grown grim. I see them looking me over again, reassessing whatever initial assumptions they made of me. I’m wearing a simple white shirt, jeans, and a scuffed up pair of leather boots, the items a little travel-worn. They’re also not mine. I’m sure I came in looking young and naive. I hope they see the haunted look in my eyes, and I hope they hear the truth in my words.
If they do, this might just work.
“No horseman has ridden through this country in two decades,” the mayor finally says. “Why would one show up now?”
I try to find my patience. I was never meant to be a diplomat.
“I don’t know why,” I say. “I don’t actually have any of the answers. All I do know is that I met a man with black wings who called himself Death, and he’s been riding through town after town, killing everyone in his wake.
Again, an ominous silence falls over the room.
“As far as I can tell, this horseman doesn’t sleep, and neither does his steed,” I say. “There is one thing and one thing only that drives him: the need to annihilate us. The only thing I can try to do is warn cities like yours. If you evacuate your city, you might survive Death’s wrath.”
The chief of police clears his throat. “There’s one problem with your story,” he says. “If Death is killing everyone he crosses, then how are you still alive?”
This is the question I’ve been dreading. Of course they’d want to know this. I haven’t come up with a convincing enough lie, so I go for the truth.
“I cannot die.”
The room grows quiet again; only now, I feel the collective skepticism and distrust.
Finally, the mayor laughs humorlessly. “George was right. This is a goddamned waste of our—”
“I can prove it.” I don’t want to, but I can. “I just need a knife and a little more of your time.”
Chapter 8
Lexington, Kentucky
October, Year 26 of the Horsemen
“This is ridiculous,” the mayor protests a minute later. “No one is going to let you cut yourself—or whatever the hell you plan on doing.”
“You want proof I cannot die; I have the proof. Do you really think any of this is bloodless?” I demand vehemently. “My hometown isn’t the only city I’ve seen fall. Look at those X’s. They represent every massacre I’ve seen with my own eyes. And there are countless more that I haven’t seen. I’m trying to prevent Lexington from being another X on my map, so if you need proof, I’m willing to give it.”