We continue to head north, passing one decayed building after the next, and things almost go back to normal—until we come to a stop.
Several skyscrapers loom over us, many of them missing windows. In between them are other multistory structures with weathered walls and peeling paint; all of it is crammed together like there wasn’t enough room to build so they had to squeeze themselves upwards. The road itself is relatively free of bodies and debris, though there is one overturned bicycle and a dead woman sprawled out next to it, and farther up the highway I can make out several more bodies lying on the road.
Behind me, Death hops off his horse.
I glance down at him. “Why did we stop?”
“I feel them coming,” Thanatos murmurs, staring northward.
A wave of trepidation rolls through me.
“Who?” I say, dreading the answer.
“My brothers,” Thanatos says, casting a grim look at the road ahead of us.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I thought we had more time.
“Then let’s go around them,” I say. I’ll explain my reasoning later. I just want Thanatos to get back on his horse.
“They intend to stop me,” he says, ignoring my words. “I will not let them get between me and my purpose.”
My blood goes cold, even as my heart begins to race.
“Your purpose?” I say, my tone light.
He turns to me now. “It is time, kismet.”
My brows pull together, even as my chest rises and falls faster and faster. “Time for what?”
Death reaches for the buckles of his breastplate and begins undoing them one by one.
“What—what are you doing?” I demand. I don’t mean for my voice to waver, but it does.
He continues removing his armor until every last piece of it lay at his feet. Then he tugs his shirt off, his eyes never leaving mine. “I never read to you all of my markings.”
Something is very, very wrong here.
I slip out of the saddle, my boots hitting the ground heavily. I swivel to Death. “What are you doing?” I ask him. “You’re not acting like yourself, Thanatos.”
Those mournful eyes meet mine. “I am acting exactly as I should be.”
He takes a step forward, his hand moving to his chest, his finger touching one of his many markings.
He reads it all in his native language. I understand none of it, but the power of the words sweep through me, making my knees go weak.
I back up as the horseman moves forward. He begins to translate.
“From the darkest reaches of the universe my form was forged. I am death, an end to all beginnings, a beginning to all ends. I am the one who can take the living and raise the dead. The one who can resurrect souls. I have unto me, all the powers of my forbears and that which ties the threads of creation fast.
“I am the last of my kind, and I bring with me every manner of malady to plague humankind. Their fields shall blacken, their creatures shall flee. Mortals will quake before my name and all will fall to my touch. For I will end the world.
“The buildings will break, the roads will be torn asunder. The world will unmake itself until every last remnant of man’s creation crumbles to dust. The brave will return to the soil, and the cowardly and cruel as well. And the barley shall grow wild once more, and the beasts of old may return to their lands. All shall be as it once was. For I am the heart of God, and I will carry out Her will. I am the last judgment of humankind.”
I have fallen to my knees and tears track down my face and I don’t remember crying or falling.
Death’s hand drops from his skin. “Do you know what happens once I have made my final decision?”
I can feel the world’s collective mortality hanging in the air between us.
“Why are you doing this?” I whisper.
“Do you know?” he presses.
I close my eyes and swallow. I have heard enough talk of the End of Days to know what he’s alluding to. He spoke of it himself only a moment ago.
“The Last Judgment,” I say softly.
The end of human life as we know it.
Chapter 69
Los Angeles, California
October, Year 27 of the Horsemen
Death
I gaze upon Lazarus, and I want to tell her this was never my idea. I take souls, but I’ve never hungered for their deaths. I’ve only ever carried out the orders I was given, from the very first death to this one.
I make exceptions from time to time—my brothers’ wives are proof of that. But in the end, the four of us horsemen must finish our task, regardless of our personal feelings.
Still, I am shattered because I love Lazarus and she will hate me as she once did. Because all the rest of humanity hates me and I love them and I cannot help them cling to these lives they covet. Not without betraying the entire sentient universe.
And I will not do that.
Lazarus
I … failed.
I seduced Death, I made him fall in love with me—I even fell in love with him. I have given up everything—my cause, my son, my body, my heart—and Death is still set to slay the world.
The thought closes up my throat. I can’t breathe around this paralyzing fear.
He looks grief-stricken, so I guess there’s some consolation in that. Not that it changes anything.
“I’m sorry, my love—”
“Don’t,” I say, my voice breaking. “Don’t call me that.”
His expression shutters. After a moment, he moves away from me. He reaches for his discarded clothing, putting it on once more.
Preparing for battle. Because I think that’s what’s about to happen.
In the distance I hear the pound of horse’s hooves, and it startles me from my thoughts.
The highway curves around a steep hill, so I see nothing beyond the bodies already scattered along the road.
A minute later, however, a figure on horseback rounds the curve, coming into view. Shortly after that, two other individuals follow on foot.
Death’s brothers.
I feel the last sand in my hourglass slip through my fingers. The task they gave me—seduce Death—didn’t work. All it did was make me love the one thing I shouldn’t. I didn’t even get to hold Ben in my arms one final time.
The closer the three men get, the more details I can make out. The most obvious is Famine with his coal-black steed and bronze armor, his scythe rising up behind his back. Both War and Pestilence wear black, though they lack the armor of their brother. Pestilence carries a bow and quiver, and War has a massive sword strapped to him.
They, too, came ready for battle.
The horsemen stop thirty or so feet from us, though it feels like they’re still an ocean away.
War’s gaze falls heavily on me, and I know what he must be thinking.
She failed.
“Lazarus, it’s good to see you again,” Pestilence calls out. He takes me in, his eyes pinched with worry. They harden a bit when they move to the man behind me. Returning his attention to me, Pestilence says, “Are you alright?”
That single question—that simple but heartfelt concern—threatens to crush me.
No, I’m not alright. I thought I was but this is really, really bad and I’m just one woman and I think we’re all about to witness the end of the world.
My own gaze moves from horseman to horseman. Without even fully intending to, I begin to walk towards them.
Death doesn’t stop me, though I swear he wants to. I think, despite how remote he’s being, that he wants to clutch me to his chest to ensure I never leave.
Famine hops off his steed while the others cast their flinty gazes on Death, as though the winged horseman might detonate at any moment.
I don’t stop walking until I get to Pestilence.
He likes to be called Victor, I remind myself.
The horseman doesn’t hesitate. The moment I’m within arm’s reach, he pulls me in for a hug I wasn’t expecting. His hand rubs up and down my back in an almost fatherly fashion. Without meaning to, I sort of collapse into the embrace, and he holds me all the tighter.
None of this makes sense. My lover killed my family, the man hugging me killed my parents, and the other two have killed countless more. My son is staying with people I have never met, and all of it might not matter very, very soon.