Contents
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Epilogue
Author’s Note
This is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
Published in the United States by Lavabrook Publishing, LLC.
death. Copyright © 2021 by Laura Thalassa
www.laurathalassa.com
Cover by Regina Wamba
www.maeidesign.com
All rights reserved.
To Dan
So it was fated.
When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, “Come!” I looked, and behold, an ashen horse; and the one who sat on it had the name Death, and Hades was following with him.
—Revelation 6:7–8 NASB
But [Death] has a heart of iron, and his spirit within him is pitiless as bronze: whomever of men he has once seized he holds fast: and he is hateful even to the deathless gods.
—Hesiod, Theogony
Part I
Chapter 1
Temple, Georgia
July, Year 26 of the Horsemen
The first time I meet Death, I am … not ready.
A trickle of sweat drips down between my shoulder blades as I look over the list of items I need to pick up for my niece’s birthday barbeque later today. There’s a dull drone of noise around me as people shop at our outdoor market.
Tomatoes—got it.
Leafy greens—got it.
Cantaloupe—got it.
I scan over the rest of the items. I think all that’s left are apples.
Stashing my list in my back pocket, I glance up at the open-air farmers’ market, scanning the tables for the one I’m looking for. As soon as I spot Tim’s stall, I start winding my way towards it. He’s a cantankerous old man, but he’s the only seller I know who regularly stocks produce that’s out of season.
I’m convinced witchcraft is involved.
I’ve just made it to Tim’s stall when the animals freak out. And they all freak out. The horses tied to nearby posts jerk against their restraints, dozens of birds take flight all at once, and the dogs in the area let out frightened, baying cries.
Old Bailey’s mule races down the highway next to the market, his horse cart still attached. And the sheriff’s steed throws his owner off his back before galloping away, saddle and all.
Still more creatures dash through the outdoor market, knocking over tables and baskets, scattering people and produce as they go. I can see the terrified whites of their eyes. They and their fear move like a storm cloud through the market.
Eventually, the stampede tapers off, leaving behind a hollow silence that raises the hair on my arms.
What … was that?
I glance around. Everyone else looks confounded as well.
“What in the hell?” someone says.
“In all my life, I’ve never seen animals act that way,” someone else says. But then the thought is punctuated by a laugh, and someone else joins in, and suddenly, it’s like the tension leaks out of the space.
People help right knocked over crates and chairs, the produce gets rearranged, and conversations resume. A group of men and women split off to retrieve the lost animals, and an elderly man helps the sheriff to his feet.
Everyone seems to be shrugging off the strange behavior like a bad dream.
I turn back to Tim, the stall owner, and then my eyes drop to the apples. I try to focus, though I haven’t shaken that unnerving silence that seems to ring in my ears. My attention drops to the apples.
I read the price, then I read it again.
“A dollar fifty per apple?” I say, astounded. That must be an error.
“You don’t like the price, then don’t buy them,” Tim says.
So it’s not an error.
“I didn’t even say the price was too high,” I respond, though it is. “The fact that you assumed it means you know it’s unreasonable.”
“Deal with it.”
He might as well steal my purse while he’s at it. Way to rob the customer blind.
“But it’s an apple,” I say slowly. This has to be a joke.
“You don’t like it, buy from someone else.”
Damn this man. He knows no one else has apples at this time of year. And my niece Briana was very specific that she wanted an apple pie for her birthday.
“A dollar,” I say. It’s still a ridiculously unreasonable price, but it’s better than a dollar fifty per apple. My God.
“No,” he states flatly. His gaze moves away from me, to another woman who is looking at a nearby crate of corn.
“A dollar twenty-five,” I try again, even as I’m trying to figure out if any other sellers would have apples in stock. Martha might …
Tim gives me an annoyed look. “I’m done talking about this.”
“This is ridiculous—you seriously want a dollar fifty for an apple? It’s an apple!” I say.
“They’re out of season,” he responds gruffly.
I guffaw. “I’ll pay”—this is so unbelievably stupid—“eleven dollars for eight of them.” These better be the best damn apples I’ve ever tasted; they better make me see God.
Tim folds his arms over his chest, casting me a withering glance, even though I’m only asking him to take off one measly dollar. “You can pay the full price, or you can take your business else�
��”
Right in the middle of his sentence, his eyes roll back.
“Tim?” I say. Even as I speak, he begins to fall. “Tim!” I lunge for him, but I’m not fast enough.
The soft sound of his body hitting the grass is lost in the collective noise of many large objects hitting the ground all at once.
I jolt at the commotion, the hairs at the back of my neck standing on end. And that’s when I notice that disquieting silence is still there—the one that began when the animals first fled. Only now, it’s more pronounced than ever.
I look around, confused. In every direction, people lie motionless. Most of them are sprawled on the grass, but there are others who lay slumped over tables.
No one moves.
One second goes by, then two, then three.
I’m aware of my own ragged breathing and the pounding of my startled heart, and my head is trying to wrap its mind around what I’m seeing.
The thing is, I know what this is. It looks impossible, and my heart doesn’t want to believe it, but something like this has happened before. It’s happened to me before.
Still, I kneel down next to the woman who had been looking at Tim’s corn. Now her sightless eyes are staring up at the clouds.
I place a hand to her neck, waiting for her pulse.
Nothing.
A sick sort of feeling twists my gut. I stand, my gaze sweeping over the market stalls once more, taking in the dozens of still bodies.
No one moves. I can hear the gentle sound of wind stirring canvas canopies, the trees rustling in the breeze, and even the distant glug of some container dripping out its contents. But there’s no idle chatter, no laughter, no shouts or screams, no noisy insects and no bird calls.
It’s completely silent.
On a whim, I check Tim’s pulse. Nothing. Then I check another and another, my breath seizing up in my throat.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Everyone is dead—everyone but me.
A small noise slips from my lips, and I can feel my body trembling, but my mind is oddly blank.
Is this what shock feels like?
I stumble out of the farmer’s market, towards Highway 78. I can’t stifle my rising horror as I pick my way through the dead.
How far does the devastation extend?
I’m passing the last line of stalls, and the highway is right in front of me, when the clop of hooves interrupts my thoughts. I think I’m imagining it, but then it gets louder.
I turn towards the sound. At first I don’t see anything, the canopy of the stall to my right blocking my view. I take a few more steps towards the road, and suddenly, I see him.
Backlit by the morning sun, looking like some dark god, is a rider clad in silver armor, a set of black wings at his back.
Those wicked wings are all I can look at for a moment. They are just as impossible to comprehend as the sea of corpses behind me.
There are four known creatures alive who have the power to kill off life in an instant. And only one of them has wings.
God’s last angel.
Death.
Chapter 2
Temple, Georgia
July, Year 26 of the Horsemen
My knees nearly buckle at the realization.
My God, I’m staring down Death himself, one of the four horseman of the apocalypse.
I’ve never seen anyone—anything—like him.
He is dressed to do battle—though who could possibly stand against him is a mystery. That armor gleams as though it’s freshly polished, and those massive black wings lay folded at his back, so large that the tips of them nearly touch the ground. As the horseman rides, his eyes are pinned to something in the distance.
His face is solemn and captivating. I swear that I’ve seen the arch of that brow and the slope of that nose before in my dreams. And I’ve imagined the curve of those lips, the press of those cheekbones, and the cut of that jaw in every tragic poem read by candlelight.
He is more beautiful than I can make sense of and more terrifying than I could’ve imagined.
I must make some noise from where I stand because the horseman’s gaze lowers from the skyline, his black hair shifting a little where it skims his shoulders. For one perfect second, our eyes meet.
He has ancient eyes. Even as far away as he is, I can still see his age in them. This being has seen more of humanity than I could ever hope to. I feel the weight of all that history the longer he looks at me. His jaw clenches as he takes me in, and my skin tingles from his appraisal.
Maybe it’s because I’m still in shock, or maybe it’s because it’s simply too late to hide, but whatever the reason, I walk onto the highway towards the horseman.
Death’s brows furrow, and he pulls his horse to a stop. I stop then, too, the two of us still staring each other down.
After a moment, he swings off his horse and strides forward, closing the distance between us. His boots make an ominous, echoing sound on the broken asphalt, and my heart is pounding and I should run. Why am I not running?
Death comes to stop in front of me.
He takes me in—all of me, his eyes moving from my face to my vintage T-shirt and cutoff jeans to my legs and second-hand sneakers, then all the way back up to my face again. The appraisal isn’t lewd; I get the impression that he’s not taking in my body at all, his gaze is a little unfocused.
“I don’t recognize you.” His wings rustle and resettle at that. He frowns, his brows creasing. “Who are you?”
Chapter 3
Temple, Georgia
July, Year 26 of the Horsemen
Death
Everything in me demands I take her.
Everything.
Perhaps it’s because I cannot do so—not in any real sense. Her soul has cleaved itself to her flesh, and neither my hand nor my power can pry it loose.
And still, the urge to whisk her away rides me. It’s so foreign, so alarming, that my wings fan out, partially in shock, and partially in preparation to take flight.
I felt it the moment I saw her, and the sensation still hasn’t abated.
I stare at the woman as her lips part.
“I …” Her voice trails off, her chest rising and falling faster than it should be. “I don’t know how to answer that,” she says, looking lost and perhaps a little dazed.
I’m struck by the lilt of her voice. Even it is compelling.
Your brothers had their women. This one is yours. Take her.
I fight against the driving need.
Did this happen to my brothers? Were their struggles this … visceral?
It’s fucking awful.
I steel my spine.
Humans are the impulsive ones. Not horsemen.
Certainly not me, Death.
Nor will I become like them.
I whistle over my shoulder, calling for my horse, though I can’t bring myself to look away from the woman. I don’t know why I want to gaze at her. I have been awake for a year now. Never has a human caught my attention like this. That alone is unnerving.
My steed comes to my side. Reluctantly, I tear my gaze away from the mortal and force myself onto my steed, battling my own baser instincts to reach down and snag the woman’s shirt so I can draw her up here with me.
My mind needs to be set fire to.
Leave, I command myself. Put as much distance as you can between her and yourself. You have a duty you must not waver from.
Still, almost of their own accord, my eyes drop down to her, like they can’t help but take her in. At my back, my wings open and resettle with my agitation, and I ignore these strange sensations rolling through me.
“You shouldn’t be alive,” I bite out, my voice hostile.
Before the woman can say anything else, I kick my horse into action, and I flee.
Lazarus
I stare after the horseman as he rides away, unsettled by the strange, brief encounter.
Death.
&nbs
p; I get chills just thinking about that awful horseman.
Once I lose sight of him, I blink several times. Death’s departure seems to break the spell I’ve been under.
My gaze sweeps around me once more, at all the people who were alive only minutes ago.
Then the wheels in my mind begin to turn. Death has come to Temple, Georgia. He’s already killed off the entire population gathered at the open-air market (sans me, of course), and now he’s heading into the town proper.
My town, where my family and friends live. Where today, in particular, they’ve all gathered in honor of my niece’s birthday.
Oh, fuck.
That thought has no sooner clicked into place then I’m dashing down the highway, leaping over the dead, my heart pounding a mile a minute.
OhGodohGodohGodohGod.
Pleasenotmymom. Pleasenotmymom. At first, all I can fixate on is her. She’s been my entire world since she found me two decades ago, alone in another city full of corpses.
But then there are other people I love—my siblings Nicolette and River and Ethan, Owen and Robin and Juniper. Then there are their spouses and—
I choke at the thought of all my tiny nieces and nephews, my stomach roiling at the thought. Already I’ve seen children amongst the bodies lying in the streets.
What sort of monster doesn’t spare children?
I try to push away the thoughts of my family, but then I’m thinking of Hailey and Gianna, my closest friends and then there’s Jaxson, who I’d only started seeing.
All of them live in this town.
My fear and horror are choking me up.
Please God, don’t be that cruel.
The trip back to my house is quick, but my panicked thoughts make it feel like an eternity. The scattered remains of so many dead don’t help. Dread is already mixing with my fear.
My lungs burn and my legs are threatening to give out when I catch sight of the pea green house that I’ve always called home. It’s always been a bit snug for the seven of us siblings that grew up in it. Add to that all of the friends and neighbors we had coming and going through that front door over the years, and it was always a noisy, boisterous place where you could kick your feet up and hang—if you didn’t mind the fact that we all basically lived on top of each other.
Death (The Four Horsemen Book 4) Page 1