“Let’s find a neighborhood,” I say.
There aren’t many. Not in a town this small. Eventually, however, we do stumble across one. Most of the houses are dark, but then there’s one up ahead where I can see the flicker of candlelight. As we get closer, voices and intermittent laughter drift out.
I nearly sigh out my relief.
There was always the chance that I’d pick a house where the people inside hated one another. That would only further convince Thanatos of what he already believes—that humans are better off dead than alive.
“There,” I say, pointing to the house in question.
We ride up to it, then dismount. It’s a single story ranch house, with a decorative rock chimney and a low-lying fence. Even on a dark and rainy night, lingering outside someone’s house is a great way to draw attention.
Taking Death’s hand, I lead him over to the gate. Silently, I unlatch it and lead the two of us through, heading towards the backyard.
Back here, I can see more light flickering from inside. The curtains aren’t closed, and I draw Thanatos over to an out-of-the-way window that peers into the home’s living room.
Inside, a family appears to be winding down for the night. One boy and two girls are sprawled out on the floor, playing a board game. An older boy is curled up on a side chair, reading a book. Their parents sit close together on the couch, each of them drinking amber liquid out of mason jars. The woman’s legs are thrown over her husband’s lap as the two of them chat.
The horseman looks at me. “What now?”
“Just … watch them for a little while,” I say.
He frowns at me, water dripping from his dark hair. He extends one of his dark wings, shielding me from the worst of the rain, which is still pelting at our skin.
I glance up at the sky. “You can let up with the rain.”
“Must I?” he says. “I do so like the way your clothing molds to your skin, kismet.”
“Thanatos.”
The corner of his mouth curves up. “You’re only upset because I have armor on and you cannot enjoy the same sight.”
A ridiculous laugh slips out, one that I have to bite back immediately. But when no one inside glances out the window, I know that nobody heard me.
Still, I give the horseman a friendly push. He sways a little, but uses his wing to nudge me into him. I fall against him, and he wraps an arm around me, capturing me in a kiss.
As his lips move against mine, the rain tapers off, then stops completely.
Death breaks off the kiss. “I do still intend to make you wet again later.”
“Stop it,” I whisper, a flush creeping up my cheeks.
He grins, but turns his attention back to the family.
Their evening is pretty mundane, and yet next to me, the horseman has gone still, his focus riveted to the family.
The parents chat quietly while the kids on the ground argue about the rules of the game they’re playing. The boy overturns the game board and then his sister is crying and running over to their mother, who gives her a hug and consoles her.
The oldest boy, who has been peacefully reading on the couch, now uses this moment to grab a pillow and whack his younger brother. The boy topples over, but before he can react more, their dad grabs another pillow and whacks the oldest boy. Pretty soon the crying stops and the entire family just has an impromptu pillow fight.
I feel my throat close up. This could’ve been me and my family ten years ago if you added a few kids in there. There’s no grand proclamations of love, but it’s so obvious in the silly, familiar way they interact with each other.
The pillow fight ends with the mother tickling her kids and her husband throwing one of them up into the air and catching them—and now all the rest of the siblings are clamoring around their dad, begging to be tossed up as well.
“Alright, time for bed,” I hear the mom say.
One of the girls groans and her younger brother droops his head. However, within ten minutes the living room has cleared out, and that’s the end of that.
Death blinks, like he’s waking from a trance.
“It is strange to watch them, Lazarus,” he admits, turning away from the window. “I have assumed that living is what you and I do,” Death says. “I forget that it’s the exact same thing that millions of other humans do every single day.”
Millions of humans. He’s mentioned that number before, and I cling to it. Millions. There are still so many of us alive. All hope is truly not lost.
Death is quiet as we return to his steed, which has been munching on the lawn like he’s a real horse.
Silently, the two of us get back into the saddle. It’s only now that I feel the rest of our agreement closing in on me. Death promised to hold off on killing a city until he caught a glimpse of their humanity.
Now he has.
Maybe he’ll wait until we’ve actually crossed the city lines—like he alluded to earlier. It honestly doesn’t really matter. The thought of what comes next makes my stomach twist all the same. This is the part where good people die, taking with them all their love, all their light, all of their spirit.
The thought of those small children not existing tomorrow is painful, as is the thought of that couple, who drank alcohol from mason jars and draped their legs on each other’s laps.
“Let them all go to sleep first,” I say hoarsely.
The silence stretches out between me and the horseman, punctuated only by the scuff of his steed’s hooves.
I feel Death’s heavy intake of air and I want to believe he feels some hesitation or regret for what he’s about to do. I want to believe it, but I don’t know.
Finally, he says, “I will, kismet. I promise.”
We’re still threading our way through the city when Death says, “I still need to find you a place to rest.”
“I don’t want to stop,” I say. “Not here at least.” The thought of waking up in that city once everyone is gone … if I have a choice, then I want whatever the other option is.
After another pause, Thanatos says, “I will find us a house outside of the city, though I cannot promise you anything grand.”
I don’t care. I never cared.
Several minutes go by, and I’m still devastated by what will happen to that family—to this entire town. It never gets easier.
“Tell me a secret,” I say, my voice raw. “Something you know that no one else does.”
Maybe it’s the fatalism in me right now, but I need to make sense of all this anguish. If the world is going to burn—if some great God out there wants it to burn—then I need to understand why—or at least that it’s somehow right. Because I’ve looked at it from every angle I can, and I still can’t make sense of it.
“Curious creature,” Death murmurs fondly. “I will tell you all sorts of secrets,” he says, “but you must give up your human ones in return,” he says.
“What human ones?” I don’t have secrets.
“Oh, you have plenty,” he says.
I mean, I could give him the family’s secret recipe for the best peach cobbler in Georgia, but honestly that’s about as wild as my secrets get.
“What do you want to know?” I say.
“What is it like to be a child?” he asks.
The question catches me by surprise. I guess it shouldn’t, not when we literally spent an evening watching tiny humans run around.
“It’s always going to be strange to me that you don’t already know these things,” I say.
“I have met many souls who’ve died young,” Death agrees, “but I want to know what kids are like alive.”
“I don’t know …” I begin. I mean, that’s such a big question, it’s hard to form any sort of real answer. “They’re like every unguarded emotion you've ever had,” I say. “And sometimes they’re annoying.”
“Annoying?”