Well, that makes things considerably easier. I begin kicking out at knees and arms, swiping my blade across arms and legs and anything else that’s within easy reach. Even still, the horsemen are largely overwhelmed.
Famine keeps growing plants, and they’re picking off some of the dead, but there are so many more corpses closing in on us that his efforts merely staunch the flow of them, not stop them altogether.
Amidst the chaos, I catch sight of a line of skeletons marching up the freeway. There must be a dozen of them, and they slip through the grasp of Famine’s plants and weave their way through the debris. Unlike the other dead, they aren’t hasty, and they aren’t focused on the horsemen.
Instead, they move towards me.
“Lazarus,” Pestilence’s calls as he cuts through an undead, “they’re coming for you!”
I race away from the skeletons, swinging my borrowed blade and cutting off limbs of attacking revenants where I can.
Death’s servants approach me as a unit, and the fact that I’m moving around doesn’t seem to bother them. Half of the group simply walks past me and the horsemen, while the other half fans out in front of us. It’s only then that they truly close in on me, moving into a tighter and tighter formation until they encircle me. Once they’re in place, they stand eerily still.
I try to shove past them, but the moment I take a step towards one of the skeletons, the entire group shifts in the same direction, maintaining a three-foot boundary around me as best they can. It puts them frustratingly out of reach.
I try again, stalking towards another skeleton on the opposite side of the circle, and again, the same result. I blow out a breath before I wonder: what would happen if I ignored the skeletons altogether and approached one of the revenants fighting outside of the circle?
I spot one charging towards Pestilence, and I move to cut the creature off. The skeletons move with me, but once I reach the charging undead, my guards stop moving forward, preventing me from getting any closer to the creature.
I swipe at the putrid corpse beyond the skeletons. My dagger sinks into the woman’s mottled skin, but it doesn’t do much, not with a skeleton between the two of us. So, withdrawing my blade, I close my fist around my weapon’s handle and punch the skeleton in front of me right in the skull. It jerks back, smashing into the rotting corpse and throwing both revenants off balance.
The fresher corpse falls to the ground, and moving over to it, I put a boot on the undead woman’s chest and slice her arms off at the joints, trying not to gag at the awful smell of her or the fact that she was once a human. I remove her legs the same way, only pausing to turn aside and retch when the sights and sounds and smells overwhelm me.
I’m not a monster, I chant to myself. Because dead or not, this feels monstrous.
Already, my skeletal bodyguards have reformed around me, but it makes no difference because I can suddenly fight again.
More revenants pour in by the second, and it seems to be taking everything to keep them at bay.
“Famine!” War shouts, slicing through more undead as he speaks. “Forget the revenants!”
At that, the Reaper seems to go still, a disbelieving look on his face. “Are you mad?” he bellows back.
“I may be mortal, but I am still a warlord and you will heed my command. Stop using your powers against the revenants and make a barrier around both you and Pestilence strong and tight enough to keep the undead out.”
No sooner has War spoken than two separate circles of trees rise from the ground. Each tree trunk is so close to the next that not even the smallest revenants could hope to get through. The circles of trees close in around Famine and Pestilence.
“What about you and Lazarus?” the Reaper says, for once not bickering with his brother.
“Lazarus doesn’t need protection. Death wouldn’t dare harm her.”
The Reaper’s eyes flick to me before returning to War. “And you?” he asks.
“One of us still needs to move around freely,” War says, even as he slices through a row of incoming corpses.
“Now, my brother,” War continues, “use everything in your power to get our brother out of the sky.”
My heart is hammering.
“Pestilence,” he calls out, “get your bow ready—once Famine brings Death low enough, I want you to shoot him.”
“Lazarus,” he says, cutting through a few more undead before he looks at me, “once Death’s out of the sky, if he’s not yet dead, you will be the one who must kill him.”
I blanche.
War must see my expression because he adds, “You’re the only one who can get close enough.”
I have killed Death many times, but that was when I didn’t love the horseman.
I do now.
“I don’t know if I can,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.
“Then we’re all doomed.” War’s eyes are hard. It’s the voice of a general, one who knows there’s no room for compassion on the battlefield, not when your enemy has none to offer.
But Death isn’t my enemy, and what he’s doing might be both misguided and wrong, but I don’t know that it’s evil. To be honest, I’m not really sure what evil is anymore.
Do this for Ben and everyone else who hasn’t yet lost their lives.
I breathe in hard through my nostrils, then nod, mostly to convince myself.
War holds my gaze with his shrewd one, and I feel like subliminally he’s saying, We all must make sacrifices. This is yours.
I realize then what he’s not saying—that while Famine and Pestilence are working to bring Death down from the sky, and while I’ll be priming to kill the un-killable horseman, War—mortal War—will be taking on the revenants alone.
He’s not going to survive this.
That’s why he’s giving me the intense look.
I draw in a deep breath. “I will do it,” I say. And I mean it, even if it means breaking my heart in the process.
Slowly, War nods. “Good.”
Still staring at me, he calls out, “Famine, Pestilence, Lazarus—it’s been an honor fighting at your sides. It will be an honor dying at them too. Let’s make it worth it.”
“Aww, don’t get emotional on us now,” Famine quips, but the set of his mouth is all wrong and his sharp eyes glisten.
“An honor,” Pestilence says, nodding to War.
I know nothing about honor and this whole glorious death business. Life still stretches out in front of me, vast and unfathomable and frightening.
But as the undead rush towards the horseman, I have to face all of it, just the same. I slash and kick and sometimes, when my guards get in the way, I shatter bone. My breath comes in pants as I try to be everywhere at once.
War is doing his best to aid his brothers, dragging the undead off of Famine’s makeshift cages as well as grabbing the last of Pestilence’s arrows and slipping them in to the horseman. While he does that, I shadow him, cutting down the creatures that are trying to break the warlord’s bones and tear his flesh.
Above us, clouds gather and the air shifts. A heavy drop of rain hits my head, then another and another. It begins to pelt down on us, washing away the grime but also making the revenants that much more … gooey.
Lightning flashes, and I draw my gaze up just as the bolt strikes Thanatos. His back arches a little as electricity courses through him, and my throat closes up at the sight. Another bolt drives down into Death. He hasn’t recovered from this one before a third slams into him. Famine strikes Thanatos again and again. With each hit, the horseman drops several feet before regaining his composure.
Do I feel bad that my true love is being roasted to death by supernatural bolts of lightning? Yes. Do I think he deserves it for being a bastard and forcing Judgment Day on everyone?
Also yes.
“Can’t steal souls now, brother, can you?” the Reaper taunts.
“That’s it, Famine!” Pestilence encourages, nocking an arrow into his bow while War slices through the revenants climbing up Pestilence’s cage.
Pestilence aims his bow, and for an instant, I stop fighting, just to watch. I can’t say what I feel. My emotions are in tangles. I want War’s plan to work; I’m also dreading that it will.